Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter! I appreciate them more than I can say!

Chapter 16

Henley stared at the newest scorch on her countertop and scowled at it.

She didn't work today, something she had thought would be nice. Not having to deal with customers, not having to worry about Peter showing up. Just hide out at home, eating ice cream with her favorite indie bands playing in the background.

But the ice cream kept liquefying when her hand overheated her spoon. So she ended up drinking the ice cream. Then, when she decided to deep clean her apartment, she had burned entirely through a sponge, singed another, and melted through the laminate countertop in her kitchen.

Rubbing her hands over her face to hold back the scream of frustration that threatened, she tried to take a breath.

She needed to get out of her apartment. Just…go somewhere. Do something normal.

She immediately thought of that kid she had met. Isaac. Just a nice guy who had nothing to do with any of the nightmare Henley couldn't wake up from.

She glanced at the clock on her microwave. School was just about out. Maybe he had lacrosse practice. She could sit on the bleachers and watch. Pretend for a minute that she was just there to watch a friend practice. Maybe even pretend that she belonged somewhere.

She looked down at the scorch marks on her shirt and sighed heavily. She took it off, tossing it towards the trash and went to her room for a new shirt.

An old t-shirt with a faded logo of a gas station from when they lived in upstate New York was the first thing she grabbed. She pulled it on and got her worn olive green jacket from the closet.

She hoped she could avoid burning a hole in the jacket. It was comfortably broken in and she really didn't want to have to replace it.

She set out at a fast pace across town. A couple school buses passed, telling her school was out by now.

Henley avoided the front of the school with the crowd of teens- some only a year or two younger than herself.

She went to the back of the school. Lacrosse players were already walking out to the field, some already on the field and a few on the bench.

Henley went to the bleachers and sat on the lowest bench.

She scanned the boys around the field until she saw Isaac, his height setting him apart from the others.

But then she saw who he was talking to and her hands gripped the bench under her.

Isaac nodded at something Scott was saying. Lydia, Kira, and Malia sat on the opposite end of the bleachers near them and Isaac turned to say something in response to Kira.

A hissing sound reached Henley's ears, steam rising past her face. She looked down and quickly jerked her hands away from the bench. The metal glowed red.

She stood quickly and moved away from any evidence of her inhuman abilities.

"Hey. Isaac's friend. Henley, right?"

Henley quickly tucked her hands in her jacket pockets and turned toward the voice.

The coach glanced at the team congregating on and around the field, then back at her.

"Yeah," Henley said. "Bobby?"

"Or 'Coach' if you're one of these morons," he said with another look over the team.

Stiles came running out from the school, lacrosse stick in one hand, helmet in the other, trying to also juggle an oversized water bottle. He nearly tripped, dropped the water bottle, stooped to pick it up, dropping his stick then his helmet in the process.

There was no sign the awkward teen with no ability to carry more than one thing in each hand was friends with werewolves and a murderer.

"I'll stick with calling you Bobby," Henley said.

The coach had a nice smile. But Henley wondered how much of that was just because it didn't involve fangs.

"You came to watch practice?" Bobby asked.

Henley shrugged. "I thought I'd come say hi to Isaac."

Bobby nodded. "Lahey. He's not the worst one around here. He's better than Stalinski for sure."

Henley grimaced at the mention of Stiles. The coach had no idea how much better Isaac was than Stiles and his friends. He probably hadn't tried to murder someone. Or kidnap them.

"I should get these guys moving," Bobby said. He picked up his whistle from where it hung around his neck. Before he brought it to his mouth, he turned back to Henley. "Hang around any time, Henley. It's nice having you here. Someone not riddled with teen angst and body odor."

Henley couldn't hold back the hint of a smile. Not just at his words, but the sentiment. Someone who didn't mind having her around. Although, she was fairly certain the trouble she brought with her was about nine times the drama of teen angst.

She went back to the bench and sat, mindful to keep her hands off the metal. She watched as the coach split the boys up into two teams for a scrimmage and breathed a sigh of relief when Isaac jogged over to the opposite bench as Stiles and Scott.

She tried to avoid looking towards the girls on the other bench. And she definitely tried to avoid thinking of how much this felt like being in high school again. On the outside of the group. Everyone in a knot together while she sat alone. Because this time it was by choice. She wanted nothing to do with any of them.

She tried not to think of Derek. He was one of them. But he seemed more willing to give her some space, not hold her in proximity against her will. He was…nice.

But a wolf. Like Peter. Who was decidedly…not nice.

She reminded herself of that.

She sensed movement near her and studiously kept her eyes on the scrimmage, even as she was aware of one of the girls coming toward her.

"Hi."

Henley ignored the greeting.

"I, um, know this has probably been a lot for you."

Henley wasn't about to trust one of the mutants, even if this girl seemed sincere. Kira. Henley tried to remember what Kira was. Not a werewolf. But something equally weird.

"Do you want to sit with us?" Kira offered kindly.

Henley finally looked at her. Kira smiled hopefully. Henley looked past her to Lydia watching the boys on the field and Malia watching Kira and Henley with barely veiled suspicion. She met Henley's gaze and her eyes narrowed.

Henley looked back at Kira. "No," she said bluntly.

Kira's face fell in sympathy, but she didn't argue with Henley. "Ok," she said. "If you change your mind—"

"I won't." Henley tried not to think of how much she would have wanted someone to ask her that when she had been in high school. But she wasn't now. And she definitely wasn't desperate and lonely like she had been as a fifteen or sixteen year old.

Kira backed away and went back to Lydia and Malia. Henley folded her arms in front of herself and turned her attention back to the practice. Not lonely at all.

She did lose herself, watching the practice. Even if she wanted nothing to do with the supernatural group, it was still fun watching Scott and Liam on the field. And Stiles, though his contribution to the team seemed negligible. Isaac was good, though. Henley even caught herself cheering for him once. Isaac looked over at the stands and gave her a quick wave. Henley had crossed her arms in front of herself, uncomfortable with Scott and Stiles looking in the same direction as Isaac toward her.

The weirdos left her alone for the duration of the practice. Henley easily ignored the three girls on the opposite end of the bleachers. It wasn't until the scrimmage was almost over, Coach Bobby yelling at Liam about something, punctuated with blasts from his whistle, when Henley saw Alison Argent.

It had been years since she had seen her. She had matured, her hair was different, but it was her.

Henley thought of her conversation with Chris. He had said Alison knew everything. Which meant Alison had known what Henley's family was before Henley had.

She stood up abruptly. She waved to Isaac, already stepping down from the bleachers, intending to get out of there.

Isaac veered away from the benches and towards Henley.

Henley darted a look towards the wolves and other supernaturals before pausing and letting Isaac catch up to her.

"Hey," he said. "You came to watch practice?"

Henley shrugged. "Nothing good on TV," she said.

Isaac grinned. "It's hard to find something more entertaining than Coach and Greenburg."

She winced. "Yeah. That kid is…"

"…special," Isaac finished for her.

"Yeah."

She fidgeted slightly. Isaac really seemed happy she had come to his practice. And it really had been better than sulking around her apartment and burning half her possessions in the process. Even if it meant it put her in proximity with Peter's pack, or whatever they were.

"Those guys over there," Henley blurted out, looking toward Scott, Stiles, and Liam. "Are you friends with them? I saw you talking to them earlier."

Isaac glanced over at them. He shrugged. "I go to school with them. We're on the team together."

Henley could still feel her abdomen ripped open, laying in the woods, cold seeping through her jacket to her back. Her heart thudding, keeping up a desperate pace even as it lost strength, while she laid there sure she was going to die.

"You should stay away from them," she said. She looked up at Isaac. He was taller than her, broad shouldered. But what good would that be against claws and fangs? She suddenly wanted to protect this guy who seemed nice enough and had no idea about the threat that stared him in the face daily.

Isaac opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but closed it without a word.

"Really," Henley said. "Those guys, they're not—they're not like you. They could really get you into trouble. Just stay away from them."

Isaac frowned. His brows lowered.

"Isaac," she said, needing him to believe her that this was important. Life and death. She caught herself before the emotion spread to her eyes. She took a breath. "Those guys are really dangerous. Steer clear, ok?"

But he finally nodded slowly. "Ok."

Henley blew out a short breath of relief. "Good." She took a step back. "I should get going."

She could see her warning had discomfited Isaac, but he nodded. "I'm glad you stopped by." He ducked his head to lower to her height and met her eyes. "Stop by any time."

"Sure," Henley said, noncommittal.

She looked over at the crew of potential killers one last time before she turned and went.

Alone was better than surrounded by the pack.

#

Peter paced agitatedly.

He wasn't used to being denied. Especially not by some nineteen year old who worked in a record store, didn't seem to own a pair of jeans without holes in them, and looked like she chopped off her own hair into the blunt cut at her chin. Hardly the picture of someone with any bargaining chips to offer.

However she did have a bargaining chip. Unbridled power, unlike anything Peter had ever seen. And with that power, he could make people pay.

He got to the end of the short hallway in front of Henley's apartment door and turned around to retrace his steps.

Steps sounded in the stairwell and the door opened by the time he reached her apartment again.

Henley hesitated at the sight of him. But then ignored him, brushing past him close enough that he felt the scorch—the literal scorch—of her skin and went to her door without a word. She unlocked and went inside without another look at him.

Peter caught the door before it closed behind her. He figured her not actually launching a fireball at him counted as close enough to an invitation.

She was tossing her keys and her phone on the kitchen counter when he came in. He didn't miss the way her shoulders tightened when he closed the door behind himself.

"You're avoiding my calls," he said.

"You're not taking a hint," she countered irritably.

Peter came around and made her face him. "I told you not to ignore my calls."

The phoenix had the audacity to glare at him. "I blocked you. You can't ignore the calls you don't get."

"You blocked me?" he asked. He started to reach out to grip her arm, but then remembered the other day in the record store. The way contact with her didn't just heat his skin, but she could get into his head. Make his thoughts…less vindictive to put it mildly. And that didn't suit him.

"You murdered me," she snapped back at him.

"Are we going to rehash this every time we meet?" he asked. "I almost murdered you. You're fine."

"I'm a freak!" she said.

He would have rolled his eyes at her dramatics, but the tremor in her voice stopped him.

She wasn't just angry. She was scared.

He stared at her, trying to figure out why she would be scared of him. The attempted murder was clearly in the past. And he had made it clear that now she was more use to him as a phoenix than she was dead.

Her hands shook slightly as she went to her cupboard and pulled out a bowl. She slammed the bowl on the counter next to a scorch mark. She kept her back to him and got out a box of cereal, then a carton of milk from the fridge.

"I hope I'm not interrupting your dinner plans," Peter said.

She gave him a nonplussed look and poured her cereal.

He watched while she added milk and headed to the small table in the kitchen. He glanced at the fire scarred floor where he assumed a couch was meant to be. The melted Formica on her counter. A few scorches on the walls.

Clearly she had been fighting more of a battle with her powers than he was aware of.

He looked back at her, eyes on her bowl, eating her cereal like it required all her determination. But he had a feeling it was studiously ignoring him that was taking all her determination. Her hand clenched her spoon. She tucked her legs under her, like she was drawing into herself. Not exactly the phoenix he had seen last week, destroying the gravel pit with fury and power.

He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat.

"Have a seat," she muttered drily.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot," he said.

Henley snorted. "Murder isn't the best first impression."

"Attempted murder," he corrected her. She finally glanced at him and he thought he saw her mouth twitch slightly. There. Progress.

"Did Derek tell you what the hunters cost him? Cost us?"

This time he drew her gaze and some of the anger faded from her expression. He steeled himself against the curiosity that bordered dangerously close to sympathy. He had relived the events enough times while he was trapped in his mind recovering. And explained them more times than he wanted to remember. But Henley needed to know. He needed her to know what her family was capable of.

That reminded him of his purpose. Any sentiment that may have been threatening hardened and he returned to detached interest.

"Did your brother like playing with fire when he was growing up?" Peter asked.

Her forehead wrinkled. "What?"

"Because, as an adult, he's quite the firebug."

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Although, now that seems to be a family trait." Peter couldn't hold back the dig.

Her eyes flashed at him and he smirked. And that was why he couldn't resist. The spark in her eyes. The power that lurked under there. The strength.

"Is there a reason you're here?" Henley asked. Orange streaks glowed beneath her skin.

Peter shifted slightly in his chair, ready to move if she decided to launch an attack. But he also didn't stop watching her. The glow in her eyes brightened.

"Your brother decided to branch out on his own for a period," he said, "without your father's iron fist of control on him."

The blaze under her skin slowed. He could see she was familiar with that period in her brother's life.

"He and Kate Argent burned an entire family alive."

Henley jerked back. Her chair rocked and she quickly lowered a foot to the floor before she toppled over.

Peter pressed on. "Women, children. An entire pack. They had no regard for anyone."

"What…how…how do you know that?" Henley asked. The horror on her face made it clear she didn't want to believe what Peter was telling her.

"I know because I was in the fire. I made it out. Mostly."

"What?" Henley asked. Her gray eyes ran over him like she was looking for burns.

"I've healed," Peter said. "You know about that werewolf healing ability," he said drily. "Since you've managed to cause a few burns of your own."

"Why would he do that? I don't understand." Henley's cereal was clearly forgotten. Both her feet were on the floor now and she leaned toward Peter like he could hold an answer that would be better than hearing her brother was nothing more than a sociopath.

"He's a hunter, Henley," Peter said. "It's what your people do. They kill."

She flinched back. Peter felt a pang of regret at not softening his words. She wasn't a hunter. And never would be. Not with what he had turned her into. He didn't regret that. But he knew what it was like to lose your family. Even if you didn't see eye to eye with them or agree with their attempts to navigate a war between the supernatural and human hunters. And Henley was guaranteed to lose her family as soon as a hunter found out what she was.

"You…you were burned?" she asked.

"And I healed," Peter summarized, preferring to skip over the temporary loss of his sanity that ensued. No need for her to know the scars he carried ran deeper than physical at one time.

"But your family," she said. Somehow she managed to maintain to stay with sympathy and not sink to pity. "You lost all of them?"

"Most of them," Peter clarified. This conversation wasn't going how he planned. He wanted to explain to Henley why she shouldn't grieve the loss of her brother. She seemed intent on a therapy session for him to express his feelings. "You've met my nephew. The self-righteous brooding one? Doesn't talk a lot."

"It's just the two of you?" Henley said, clearly still trying to piece details together. "Everyone else…"

"Burned alive, yes. By your brother."

He saw it then. What he had been waiting for. The sympathy started sinking under the judgment that came in. The disbelief that her brother could do something like that washed away as she realized who Reed Dawson really was.

"He's a monster," she said softly, to herself. Peter didn't say anything now that she was finally coming to the point of this conversation.

"He's a hunter. There's no difference."

Henley lifted her eyes to him. "I'm so sorry, Peter," she said.

He hadn't expected that. Hadn't had time to brace himself for a quiet apology, spoken with more sincerity than Peter himself had possessed in a lifetime. It was enough to kick his legs out from under him. Drop him back in those first days and weeks when he was losing touch with reality under the grief of his family being taken. The sharp pain of sorrow and loss.

When he didn't answer, Henley reached across the table and rested her fingers on his forearm. Peter looked down at her hand. It didn't glow. There was no fear or anger there. He looked back at her and that's when he realized it.

She wasn't afraid of him.

She was scared of her powers, or losing her family. But not of him.

"It was a long time ago," Peter said, trying to find distance between himself and the memories. The feelings resurfacing. Henley's hand on him.

She studied him, and then nodded slightly, believing what he said. She sat back in her chair, her hand gone from his arm.

Peter stopped himself from rubbing his forearm where her hand had rested.

"Why did you come here?" she asked, belligerence gone from her voice.

Seeing her without the walls she automatically flung up any time he was near was like seeing a different person. He dragged his thoughts back to the task at hand. He was here to recruit Henley.

"We can stop the hunters," he said. Her fair brows knit. Her lips puckered slightly. Peter jerked his attention away from her lips. "You can stop them from another massacre."

He could see the wall starting to go up, so he slid his chair back. He wasn't going to push too hard and end up banging his head against a brick wall.

"Think about who you could protect," he said.

He left her sitting at the table alone in her apartment with a new well of history to sort through.

#