Chapter 17

Henley stalked across her dark bedroom. Sparks covered her sheets when she passed the bed, before dying out. She hissed out a sigh. She was already out a couch, her spare set of sheets, one kitchen chair, and half her wardrobe. She didn't want to be without a mattress, too.

Restless energy kept her moving. She had started the night sitting at the table, lost in the middle of everything Peter had told her.

He had lost his family.

Burned to death.

By her brother.

Eventually it got too hard to sit still under the weight of what she had learned. She had opened her door to go outside for a walk, but sparks had fallen from her hand and she had quickly retreated back into her apartment. The walls had been closing in on her ever since.

She stopped by her nightstand, glancing at the time on her phone.

Four thirty am. Close enough to morning.

Only a few weeks ago, she would have grabbed a heavy sweater against the chill of the early morning. But now she was constantly warm.

She went out to her small kitchenette and paused when she saw the chairs she and Peter had sat in last evening. When he had told her about what hunters—her family—had done to him. Who they had killed.

She couldn't reconcile that with her dad and brother. Sure, Reed was a royal first class jerk to her. He always had been. But there was a big jump from being a creep to being cold blooded killer.

She thought of the vulnerability in Peter's eyes when he had told her. He had tried to hide it, but she had seen it. What the killings, the fire, had done to him.

She didn't want to feel sympathy for Peter. He was the cold blooded killer. She needed to remember that. She might not be intimidated by him anymore, not with her powers that made him no threat, but he still was the man who had tried to kill her.

When she started to turn the new information around in her mind, picturing Peter waking up, covered in burns to realize his family was lost, her hands started to heat. Ok. Not thinking about that. She wiggled her fingers slightly until the sparks reabsorbed into her skin.

She blew out a sharp breath between her lips. She tried again to integrate the information with the people she knew. Her brother was a murderer. Peter and Derek were the only survivors.

Derek.

He could tell her what had happened. Maybe there was some other side to the story. Maybe Reed hadn't meant to start the fire. Maybe none of it was even true. Peter Hale couldn't be trusted. This could all be a lie.

Maybe this wasn't true.

Latching onto that thought, Henley went to the door. Derek was going to answer her questions.

#

Derek jerked awake to the pounding on his door.

He kicked off his covers, claws already released. He glanced out the window on his way past, but the lot outside his warehouse was empty.

The pounding continued.

It wasn't anyone that was actually able to get in. That knowledge had him withdrawing his claws, though he didn't let down his guard.

He opened the door.

Peter's phoenix stood there, a wild, desperate look in her eyes. Her light hair was rumpled.

"What happened to your family?" she demanded without preamble. The words were as desperate as she looked.

Derek stayed still, watching her without reaction. But every muscle was coiled under the stillness. Ready for whatever she may do.

"Why do you want to know about them?" Derek finally asked. Family wasn't exactly a happy memory for him.

"What happened?" she asked again, her voice rising, and with it, an orange glow under her skin.

Derek stepped back and let her in. He glanced at the clock. It was just after four thirty in the morning. Judging by the flannel pajama pants that hung low on her slim hips and the rumpled tank top, she had made an attempt at going to bed at some point. Based on the wild look in her eyes, she hadn't actually slept. She half strode, half stumbled inside, past him and whirled around to face him.

"They died," Derek said.

The orange flared brightly. Derek winced at the brightness in the dark of his apartment.

"How?"

Derek sighed heavily. "Is there a reason you want a tour down memory lane? At four thirty in the morning?"

"How did they die?" she demanded, ignoring his question, clearly fixated on one thing only. Her hands shook, her breath came in short gasps.

Derek wanted to put her off. But when she flared brighter, he resigned himself to telling her. "There was a fire. The entire pack—my family and my pack—they all died. Except for Peter, but he may as well have been dead for the years it took him to heal. And two of my sisters. But only Cora's left now." It was a blunt retelling of history.

Henley's eyes closed. Her lips worked like she was fighting back tears. She shook her head slightly, denying what he was telling her. When she opened her eyes again, they were orange.

"How did the fire start?"

She whispered the question.

Now it made sense. Everything else had been demanded. The orders for him to tell her what she wanted to know blasting out of her. But this question…she was ready for it to break her. She already knew the answer.

Derek held her gaze. "Kate Argent. Your brother, Reed. They wanted to kill us. All of us."

He was ready for a burst of flames, but they didn't come. She stared at him, sorrow starting to bow her shoulders. A few flickers of light flitted across her collarbone. The flickers grew to sparks and rolled over the curve of her shoulders. Sparks started to fall. Raining down the length of her arms, dripping from her fingertips as she backed away from him.

"No," she whispered. She looked up at him, her gray eyes swimming with fire, pain there. "You lost…everything. They did that." Her words were barely audible. "My brother took that from you."

She took a couple steps away from him and Derek got the feeling she was trying to distance him from the pain her family caused. Like she was distancing him from her.

She bumped up against his table, the scrape of the table legs shifting across the floor loud.

Derek didn't say anything. She wasn't wrong. It was her family—her brother—who had taken everything from him. It was something he had known for years, but seeing her come to the realization of what hunters actually were, was painful.

Her fingers curled around the table behind her. The sparks congealed onto the surface of the table, the beat up wood starting to smoke.

"Careful," Derek said.

Henley looked behind her and quickly jerked away from the table. Derek grabbed a towel sitting on the counter and beat at the small flames that started to lick at the wood. He tossed the scorched towel into the sink.

Henley's gray eyes darted around. She crossed her arms in front of her protectively. Not for protection against Derek, she looked like she was trying to protect him from her. Or at least protect his furniture.

"I…" she looked around her. "I shouldn't have come here." She started to lift a hand, to rake it through her hair, but stopped when the sparks rained down onto his floor. She shuffled nervously away from them, gripping her hands together, then crossing her arms, clenching her fingers around her upper arms.

Derek would rather her lighting his table on fire than half of Beacon Hills. Which meant he would willingly let her come here. But she was edging toward the door.

"I just…just wanted…to know…" her words trailed off, her eyes darting toward him then quickly away. She bit her lips together. The sparks were thickening, rolling together into flames. "I'm sorry," she said through a tight jaw. She met his eyes again. Derek frowned at the apology. He didn't think she was apologizing for the table.

"You didn't know," he said, guessing she was talking about her psychopath of a brother.

It was the wrong thing to say.

"I didn't know," she repeated through clenched teeth. The flames built around her. "I didn't know anything. They didn't…" her voice shook. "They didn't tell me anything. They—they didn't want me around."

He frowned, not sure what he was supposed to say. To reassure her that he was sure her murderous family really did love her and would want her to join them on their killing sprees? That they were monsters and probably incapable of feelings, so she shouldn't take it personally?

She saw his frown and shook her head, closing her eyes briefly. Then she started toward the door, trembling as she went. Flames falling to the floor behind her.

"You can't go," Derek said. It came out as a command. She ignored him, reaching a hand to the door. A shaking hand.

It had been easy enough to let her leave after bringing her home from the gravel pit, once she had got her strength back, her grit and clear annoyance enough to drive her on. But seeing her like this…Derek frowned and put a hand on the door, keeping her from opening it.

She looked up at him. The flames started to wrap around her. She looked lost. Scared. And that could be more dangerous than controlled determination and denial.

"I didn't want this. Any of this," she said.

Yeah. He didn't much want to be dealing with a phoenix either. Peter was going to pay.

#

"I didn't want this. Any of this," Henley said, the words scraping out of her throat weakly.

She didn't know what to do. She tried to think of the words that would bring her back from the edge, but her mind wouldn't cooperate. What was she doing here? She got her answer—Peter had been telling the truth. Now she should…should do what? Leave? Leave and go where?

She thought of her apartment, scorched walls, damaged floors, destroyed furniture. Her anger toward Peter, the fury at what he had done to her had drained from her when she had heard him say what her brother had done—what Reed had destroyed. Taken from Peter.

She felt the warmth of the flames securely around her, wrapping her in a hold that she couldn't get from anyone. Had never got from any person. Protecting her. Taking care of her.

Her throat hurt, a rock of loneliness lodged there. It hurt. It physically hurt to realize how alone she was. Had always been.
Someone was talking. She wrapped herself tighter in the flames, just wanting to let the heat comfort her. Let it block out her horrible new reality.

"Henley."

She edged away from the voice.

She tried to pull the flames in closer around her. Anything to stay safe. Unhurt.

"Henley." This time she felt someone take hold of her arm.

She recoiled. No. She wasn't going to—to think, to feel. Secure in the flames she could just let her brain burn. The heat melting away any memories of her brother and father. The new knowledge seared away under the burn.

But that grip on her arm drew her from the reprieve.

"Come on," the voice was tight. Tight with pain. That drew her out.

The flames fell, dropping like a curtain to pool around her feet.

Derek's dark eyes were fixed on her. As soon as she blinked back to the present, he released her arm. She looked around the apartment, getting her bearings. She was at Derek's. She had come over here, hoping the truth was better than what Peter had told her.

Derek was guarding his right arm at his side. Henley felt her eyes widen in horror at the sight of the charred skin, blisters already forming, deep wounds where his skin had burned away.

"It'll heal," Derek said, moving the arm stiffly in a failed attempt to make it look like it was no big deal.

He had grabbed her to drag her back to reality. And she had burned him. Again.

She was a danger to him. To everyone. More of a threat with her fire than Reed ever could be. She was just as much a monster as her family. Her family of hunters.

She closed her eyes, just long enough to cool the last of the fire. Feel the chill around her.

She met Derek's eyes. She took a step back. His eyes narrowed slightly.

"I'm going," she announced, feeling a pit in her stomach at the thought of going back to her empty apartment.

"You can stay," Derek said.

She couldn't. He had his pack. People and supernaturals who relied on each other. She wasn't part of that. According to what they had told her, she was part of Peter's pack. It was her and a homicidal werewolf. Which should be familiar to her, since it had been her and a homicidal father and brother her whole life.

She didn't get the good guys. The good friends. Family.

"I'm sorry," she said again. She hoped it encompassed everything. Coming over here, burning him, her brother killing his entire family. "Sorry."

She shook her head slightly. She lifted her hands, aware that sparks still lined her fingernails and the creases in her palms. She made a vague gesture. "I'm really sorry."

She backed away, bumping into the door behind her.

"You can—"

Whatever Derek was about to say, she shook her head quickly and fumbled for the door handle. She needed to get away.

The door slid open with a rattle that reverberated through the mostly empty space. She slipped through the opening and headed for the stairs. Her feet clanged against the metal with quick steps. She picked up pace when she got outside. Anything to put distance between herself and the freaks who, it turned out, were nowhere near as dangerous as the family who had raised her.

#

Peter had wanted to be an alpha. But not just an alpha—the alpha. The most powerful alpha. That plan had failed when the McCall kid turned out to be an epic disappointment.

But being the alpha of a social misfit from a family of hunters had the potential to be even more of a failure.

He watched her leave Derek's apartment. She looked awful. He frowned in distaste. The thought of having a phoenix—a rarity with unequalled power among supernaturals—on his side had a growing appeal. This particular phoenix, though, held less appeal.

Her movements were uneven. Whatever had led her to his nephew's apartment, it hadn't left her reassured. She looked even more unsettled than she had when he had last seen her.

But maybe unsettled was something he could work with.

He let her leave without seeing him, then got out of his car.

He knew Derek would be aware of his arrival, but knocked anyway before sliding the heavy door open.

Derek was in his pathetic excuse for a kitchen and looked over at him.

"Why was the phoenix here?" Peter asked. He could imagine she was bemoaning how horrible Peter was, questioning her very existence and Derek was right there to be a sympathetic ear when it came to how horrible his uncle was.

"Henley," Derek said, using her name pointedly, "didn't believe a word of what you told her. She had questions." He turned his back on Peter, his attention back on the sink, the sound of running water filling the silence.

Peter couldn't hold back the roll of his eyes. He went to the couch and sat down. "And I suppose you had a heart to heart with her? Put her mind at ease?"

"Something you could at least try to do," Derek bit out.

Peter narrowed his eyes. "What has you so bent out of shape?"

Derek turned back to the sink. The water kept running.

"The silent treatment?" Peter asked. "Really?"

Derek still didn't answer.

Heaving a sigh, and not sure why he had to be saddled with such an over dramatic nephew, Peter levered himself off the couch. He approached the sink. "Has she convinced you I'm the villain?"

That at least had Derek sparing him a glare over his shoulder.

"What? Trying to murder her? You're still upset about that? Please," he scoffed. "I improved her."

Derek finally turned off the water and reached for a singed towel.

The burned sleeve of his shirt caught Peter's attention. Then he saw the arm Derek was guarding.

"OK," Peter said. "I'll admit that's not quite an improvement."

Derek shot him a dark look. He turned his attention back to his burns.

"Did you come here for a reason?" Derek asked.

Peter moved into Derek's space. "Stay away from the phoenix. I don't need you making her weak."

That had Derek swinging around to face him. "Weak? She's already weak, Peter. She's some kid you turned into something none of us know how to deal with. Something out of her control."

Out of her control. But maybe not out of Peter's. The thought that had been growing over the past week took a firmer hold. He could use her. Punish the hunters who had nearly destroyed him.

"Just stay away from her. Tell all the bleeding heart pups in your and McCall's packs to stay away."

"Get out of here."

Peter hadn't really expected agreement, and there was nothing left to say, so he headed back toward the door.

Hopefully Henley would continue to detest Stiles, Scott, and the rest. This would all be easier if her moral compass wasn't being directed by any of them.

#

"Did you see his arm?"

"Ew, please. Not while we're eating lunch." Lydia poked at the food on her lunch tray.

Stiles leaned closer to hear what Isaac had to say, ignoring Lydia's protest. "Derek's arm?"

"Yeah," Isaac said. "He said Henley came by yesterday, but that's all he would say. He didn't say what she wanted or why she was upset."

"And his arm was burned?" Stiles asked. He could imagine a hundred different ways Derek could have annoyed Henley and been burned. But also a hundred ways she just accidentally incinerated his arm.

"This isn't working," Alison said. "Henley's all alone and…you guys, I hate to say it, but she's also dangerous."

"Yeah," Kira joined in. "I want to help her out, but if she keeps managing to injure Derek, the rest of us aren't going to stand a chance."

"So we agree?" Malia chimed in. "We put her out of her misery."

The table fell silent.

Stiles slid his hand over to Malia and took hold of her hand gently. Sometimes she still managed to surprise and horrify him.

"That's not even an option," he said.

Malia frowned. "Why? Isn't that what people do with rabid dogs? Dangerous animals?"

Stiles tried to ignore the looks she drew. He gave Scott a reassuring smile. Nothing to worry about. His girlfriend wasn't actually a sociopath. She just didn't want to see someone suffer. That was normal, right?

"Malia," he muttered under his breath. "Henley's still a person. Not a rabid animal."

Malia shrugged. "Fine. I'm just trying to help."

"And we appreciate your help," Stiles said, giving her hand a squeeze. "Maybe just…just help in a more pacifistic kind of way. One that includes helping Henley live her best life."

Malia's brow furrowed in annoyance. "Her best life with Peter."

Yeah. Stiles didn't think that was much of a concern. Henley could hardly stand Peter, and Peter probably wouldn't survive proximity to Henley.

"Her best fire-spurting, controlled-power, not-terrifying-supernatural-phoenix sort of life," Stiles said.

He looked around the table and was met with dubious looks. "It can happen," he said. He motioned to Isaac. "We already have our buddy here bonding with her. He'll help her out. She'll make a friend, Isaac will keep an eye on her, everyone lives happily ever after." He held his hands up, gesturing towards the fairytale ending Henley would clearly have.

"I think she's already made a friend," Lydia said.

They followed her gaze to the windows lining the cafeteria. Outside the school, Henley stood there, talking to Coach.

#

Henley smiled uncertainly at Bobby. She hadn't expected to see him. She had only been passing by the school, out for a walk, hoping to find some sort of distance from what Peter had told her and Derek had confirmed yesterday. Bobby had been getting a box from his car and had called out to her.

"Henley! Henley, right? It's Henley?" Bobby asked.

Henley had slowed her steps and hesitated. All she could think of was Derek's scorched arm. She stopped a distance from the coach.

"Henley," she confirmed.

"Bobby," he said.

She remembered. The lacrosse coach with the hair that may have seen a hairbrush prior to him going through a wind tunnel. The guy who had been friendly to her.

"Bobby," she repeated. Apparently she was only capable of repeating after someone trying to be nice to her. Or burning him alive. Both awkward situations that weren't going to find her a place to fit in any better than she had ever fit in anywhere else.

But Bobby didn't seem to notice. He set the box back in the trunk of his car and leaned against the bumper. "You coming to watch Lahey at practice today?"

Henley shook her head. "I'll be at work."

Bobby nodded. "Where do you work?"

"Spin Doctor," she said. "The used record store. Over on Fifth."

His eyebrows lifted. "Yeah, I love that store. I got a Bad Bloods vinyl there. Perfect condition."

"You like Bad Bloods?" Henley asked.

"Well not their last albums. The early stuff," he said like it should be obvious.

"Yeah," Henley said. Some of the heavy weight fell from her shoulders. "As soon as they changed drummers—"

"The whole sound changed," Bobby finished for her.

Henley felt a smile part her lips. For the first time since moving back to Beacon Hills—and for the first time in awhile since before then—someone was listening to her. And someone had something—other than fangs and claws—in common with her.

"You know, I have tickets to see the Trash Pandas tomorrow." His face ticked nervously. "I'm sure you're busy. Probably working or—or more likely you already have a date—"

"I don't. I'm not," Henley said before she caught herself. What was she doing?

Bobby's face lit up. "You want to maybe…I have two tickets."

Henley should say no. Right? Tell this guy that he would most likely end up with third degree burns and a lifetime of nightmares if they did anything together. Or at least lie and say she couldn't go for some reason.

But he was nice. Human. Two things that were seriously lacking in her life. And she loved the Trash Pandas.

"Yeah," she said before she changed her mind.

His entire face lifted, his brows raising in disbelief before he caught himself. "Yeah? Yeah. Ok. Ok then. I can pick you up. Tomorrow at seven?"

Henley nodded, knowing this was a terrible idea. But unable to stop from grasping at some tiny bit of normalcy.

Bobby felt his jacket pockets and produced a pen. "I don't have paper," he muttered to himself.

Henley took the pen and wrote her address on his hand.

Bobby grinned at her. "Ok. Seven. It's a date."

A date. This was definitely a huge mistake. And she was looking forward to it.

#

"They're not friends," Stiles said.

Scott heard the doubt in Stiles' voice. He doubted Coach really had friends. And he knew Henley didn't. But even from this distance they could see her tentative smile to whatever Coach was saying to her. Scott hadn't seen her smile. Ever.

"She deserves to have friends," he said. Had they tried to reach out to her? Like, really reach out to her? Or were they just trying to stop her from burning the town down? Guilt pricked at him.

"That's not friends," Allison said. "At least, not just friends."

Scott looked out he window in time to see Henley take a pen and write something on Coach's palm.

"Definitely not just friends," Kira agreed.

Stiles fell back from the window into his chair. He turned a dour look on Isaac. "Great job, Isaac. You were supposed to be her friend, keep her out of trouble. Now she's going to turn Coach into a human s'more."

Scott watched her back away from Coach after handing him back his pen. Whatever he said had her flushing slightly and…

"That's not good," Isaac said.

Sparks fell from Henley's hands and they watched her quickly snuff them out with the toe of her shoe while Coach's eyes were down, putting his pen back in his pocket. When he looked up again, Henley took a couple steps away, hands shoved in her pockets.

"That's going to end well," Stiles said darkly.

Scott watched Henley turn and quickly walk away, head down, shoulders forward, hair shielding her face. Coach turned back to the box in his car. When he closed the trunk, the grin on his face was a mile wide.

"Oh, this is not good," Kira whispered.

Scott was surprised at the prick of sympathy he felt for Coach. The guy looked thrilled with life right now. Something Scott got the feeling Coach didn't get to feel often. And the poor guy had no idea what a mess he was putting himself right in the center of.

#

Peter didn't bother knocking. He swung open the door to Henley's apartment, taking in the same scorched walls, missing couch, and noting a couple new burned areas on the carpeting.

"Who's ther—" The phoenix's exclamation died on her lips when she came into the room and saw Peter. Orange eyes flashed. "Haven't you heard of knocking?"

"What are you thinking?" Peter demanded.

"I'm thinking it's late and I was in bed, trying to watch a movie," she retorted. She tugged at her oversized shirt and that's when Peter realized how little she was wearing. The band t-shirt was at least four sizes too big for her, but it still didn't reach more than mid-thigh.

"Seriously, dude, what is your problem? It's like ten o'clock at night." Henley glowered at him.

Peter hadn't realized what time it was. He only knew he had finally checked his messages and there was one from Malia, detailing Henley looking cozy with a high school lacrosse coach.

"If you hadn't blocked my number, I could have called," Peter reminded her.

"And whatever you want to talk about couldn't wait until tomorrow?" she asked. "Do you have something more to tell me about my family? Did my grandma run over your childhood pet?"

Her sarcasm wasn't quite enough to mask the pain. Or the guilt.

"You're doing enough all on your own," he said, the reminder of her family and what they were capable of enough to get his attention off the ridiculously short hem of that t-shirt and the way it raised an inch or two with every move she made. "You made a friend." He didn't bother hiding his distaste for her sudden decision to socialize.

Her brow furrowed. "What? Bobby? Our date tomorrow?"

"You're going on a date with him?" Peter frowned. When he had listened to Malia's message, it had been bad enough thinking she was just talking, maybe flirting with, some loser. But hearing she was going on a date with this guy, it had him ready to go find the guy and put the loser out of his misery.

"Yeah," she said, crossing her arms in front of her. "It's a thing normal people do."

"You're not normal," he reminded her.

"Because of you!" she threw her arms up in frustration, a spray of sparks launching through the air. As they floated to the ground and landed on the carpet, they melted the fibers in a constellation of spots.

"So you're going to go out with this guy and what? Let him see your powers and have him end up at Eichen House when he has no idea what he's seeing? Try to hide them and not let him know you're a public safety hazard until you're burning him alive?"

He didn't voice his other concern. That she might actually like this guy. And if this guy liked her, things might happen. Things he didn't want to actually picture her doing with any guy.

She stared at him. The glow faded from her eyes. Her shoulders dropped.

"He likes me," she whispered under her breath.

Being unlikeable was something Peter had become accustomed to. He took it in stride. It went hand in hand with being powerful. A necessary effect of power. It wasn't something he dwelled on. But clearly gaining affection wasn't something she was willing to relegate to the back burner.

The vulnerability in her expression was uncomfortable.

"He's a risk," Peter told her bluntly, needing to prod her back to safer territory.

"He's nice," she countered, some of the frailty pushed away by her glare for him.

"You're dangerous."

"I'm lonely!" she snapped and then reeled back.

Peter stared at her. She stared back at him, pain drawing her mouth into a tight line, before she looked away.

The flames started at her shoulders, falling at her side, then sweeping up until her full phoenix wings were extended behind her.

Peter braced himself, sure she was about to launch an inferno at him.

Instead the wings settled down over her, wrapping around her, until she was sheltered in the flame.

It was his turn to step back.

When nothing happened, he tossed out a parting shot. "Have fun on your date tomorrow. Make sure he wears something flame retardant."

He slammed the door behind him. He had chosen Henley Dawson as a target because he had assumed she would be easier to deal with than her brother or father. But he was starting to realize nothing was easy with Henley.

He hesitated outside the door to her apartment. The look in her eyes when she told him she was lonely had echoed something he usually kept buried deep.

He went back to the door and gripped the doorknob.

Power. That's what he had wanted. To never be weak, vulnerable, ever again. Not like he had been when Kate Argent and Reed Dawson had locked him in a basement to burn alive with his family.

He wasn't ever putting himself in a position to feel that helpless again.

He released the doorknob.

Henley could do what she wanted. He would do what he wanted. And if the town burned to the ground, so be it.

#