Happy Thanksgiving to US readers. I'm so thankful for favorites and follows and reviews on my stories, but-most of all-thankful for anyone taking the time to read them. A huge thank you to anyone who's reading!

Chapter 22

Henley wasn't sure if she was supposed to leave her apartment. It was a little too late to worry about that now, though. She had been at work all day.

She shook her hands lightly in spite of the shopping bags she carried to extinguish the sparks. Every time she thought of hunters—people who literally hunted other people—her heart started to thump erratically in her chest. She assumed that was a normal reaction to finding out there were people on their way to find her and try to kill her.

But Peter had tried to kill her and she had survived. So the idea of being hunted lost a little of its threat. Plus, she needed to keep her job.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she walked quickly towards her apartment building. She had bought a few groceries after work. Because life had to go on, even if there was an angry mob with pitchforks and torches looking for her, right? She wondered if the hunters knew who the phoenix was yet.

She felt her heart skip a beat with every corner she had to walk around. Did the hunters hide in bushes? Empty stairwells? She entered her apartment building and ventured up the stairs.

She really wished Peter had given her more of a clue about what to expect besides…fighting for her life.

She made it to her floor and immediately stopped. There was a uniformed man standing at her apartment door.

The plastic shopping bag in her hand started to melt and she quickly caught herself.

The man in the sheriff's department uniform wasn't Parrish. His back was to her, but Henley figured it was safe to assume he wasn't going to be as relaxed around flames as Parrish was.

The man moved and Henley saw he was talking to her landlord. The door to her apartment stood open.

No…

Heat built in Henley, but it stayed beneath the surface. She clamped down on the heat, keeping it inside.

Both men turned when she approached.

"Henley," Marv, the landlord, said.

Henley stopped a short distance from them. Marv wasn't a hunter, was he? The stray thought made her heart skip a beat. She shifted her bags to one hand, freeing her other hand to hold him at a distance with flame. Her fingers twitched nervously.

The sheriff held his hand out to stay Marv.

"Miss Dawson…Henley…" he said. He looked at her like he expected her to recognize him.

Henley didn't know why she should. Had Parrish told this man about her? She looked between them.

"Marv represents Beacon Hills Properties, Limited," the sheriff said. "They notified my department that—"

"You're evicted," Marv cut in bluntly.

"What?" Henley said. She knew exactly what was happening, but shook her head, like it didn't make any sense.

"You're kidding, right?" Marv asked, his reddish eyebrows raising almost to his hairline. "I kept getting complaints from the neighbors about the smell of smoke, and smoke alarms going off. I go in to check and your place is destroyed!" He flung a hand in the direction of her open door.

"It's not… 'destroyed'," Henley said without conviction.

"What happened in there?" Marv demanded.

Henley looked through the open door. Every few feet the carpeting was burned away. There was a giant scorched mark where her couch had once stood. Every wall had marks from flames racing up to the ceiling.

"Ok, I'll take it from here," the sheriff said. When Marv didn't move, the sheriff stared pointedly at him until he got the idea.

"She has to be out tonight," Marv said. "She's a safety hazard. If she burns this place down, I'm going to lose my job."

"You've made yourself clear," the sheriff said evenly.

He waited until Marv had got into the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind him before he turned to Henley.

Henley didn't look at him. Her thoughts were already tumbling ahead. Evicted. Which meant she'd be out on the street. Her breath grew shallow. Out on the street with no cover from anyone who was hunting her.

She had no idea what she was going to do.

"Henley," the sheriff said.

She looked to him.

"Why don't we step inside?" he asked with a pointed look at her hands.

Sparks coursed over her skin. She looked to him in alarm.

"It's ok," he said. "I know."

He knew?

Oh no. He was one of them, too? Was there anyone in this town who didn't have fangs?
But she stepped inside before any neighbors came out and saw.

Henley quickly moved away from him. She didn't have enough control to keep from burning him.

She quickly set her shopping bag down before the plastic melted entirely and ruined her few groceries.

"So what are you?" she asked him, shaking her hands, trying to get the sparks under control.

"What am I?" he asked.

Henley motioned vaguely, sparks falling to the carpet and melting new holes. "Werewolf, kitsune, Bigfoot, Loch Ness monster?"

The hint of humor moved his mouth. "Sheriff," he said. "Noah Stalinski," he said, holding out his hand, then thinking better of it.

"Stalinski?" burst out of her before she could catch it. "Stiles belongs to you?"

"For better or for worse, he's mine," Sheriff Stalinski affirmed.

"Sorry," Henley grimaced, apologizing more for Noah having to endure Stiles as a son than for her comment.

"Me too," Noah said with a sigh.

Henley heaved her own sigh and looked around, back to the current reality.

The apartment wasn't much, especially now that she'd more or less burned the entire interior, but it was at least a place to live. And a place to hide from the hunters.

Her heart began to thud again.

Evicted.

She had to pack up and get out.

She went to the cabinet under her sink and pulled out a couple trash bags. She wasn't about to haul dishes around with her if she was going to be homeless. She took the afghan from the single chair left to that occupied the living room and folded it into the bag.

"Do you have somewhere to go?" Noah asked.

Did the woods outside town count as somewhere? Or maybe…no. That was the only option she could think of.

"We have a spare room," Noah said. "It's nothing fancy, but—"

"No," Henley said abruptly. There was no way she was staying with Stiles or any of his friends. She was done being the pity project.

"Ok," Noah said. "Can I help you carry that to your car?"

She didn't have a car, but that wasn't something he needed to know. She finished stuffing her belongings into the second bag and tied them both shut.

"I've got it," she told him, sounding like her stomach hadn't bottomed out.

"If you need anything," he started.

"I won't," she cut him off.

But when his SUV pulled away and she was left on the sidewalk with her two garbage bags full of clothes and not much else, she was very aware of how much she actually needed.

How had this all snowballed? She had been attacked. Lots of people were attacked. It was awful. The nightmares still haunted her. The way she woke up gasping for breath, sure she could still feel the warm blood seeping out of her onto the ground.

But now she had to deal with more than just he memories. She had to deal with fire. Constant fire and flames. Wrecking her apartment. Homelessness. Hunters.

She wondered if it would have just been easier if Peter had actually killed her.

Peter. Thoughts of him had her muscles tightening. This was all his fault. Every single piece of her shattered life. It was because of that single strike from him.

She hadn't realized she had started moving until she was halfway down the block.

He had bit her and left her in the woods. He hadn't cared what happened to her. Did it really matter if he had stayed with her the other night when she was on fire and couldn't stop? She wouldn't have been on fire, if it hadn't been for him in the first place. And then he had kissed her! What was he thinking?

The more she replayed all his offenses, the faster she walked. And the angrier she grew.

At the modern apartment building he lived in, she ignored the buzzers at the entrance. She lifted a hand and blasted the entire panel. The panel exploded with a burst of sparks and the entrance door unlatched with a click. Henley let herself in.

She ignored the elevator. She had too much pent up energy and rage.

She lugged her bags up every single flight of stairs, a new name to call Peter coming to mind with every single step.

When she got to his floor, she dropped her bags unceremoniously at her feet and pounded on the door.

#

Peter felt the pounding as much as he heard it. Whoever was at his door was banging away like the world was ending.

He didn't have a guess of who it could be. Malia and Derek were equal possibilities along with pretty much anyone else he'd ever offended. Which was a long list.

He swung the door open.

The phoenix stood there glaring at him.

"Hello," he said.

If looks could kill, he would be incinerated.

"Hi, roomie," she said. And then she picked up two garbage bags at her feet and shoved her way past him.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

She whirled around at that. "You've helped more than enough!"

He lifted an eyebrow.

She kept moving. Heading down the hall to the spare room.

He followed after her.

"Do you want to tell me what you're doing?" he asked.

She tossed the bags on the queen size bed. "I'm moving in."

"Excuse me?"

She ripped open one bag and shook out the contents, which looked to be a lot of clothes that some sort of maintenance worker would wear. Ripped jeans and t-shirts.

"I got evicted," she said, as if that was his fault. "There's no way I'm getting my damage deposit back. I don't have money for a deposit on a new place. And I don't have a car I can move into." She opened the second bag and emptied it on the bed. "I'm your new roommate."

Peter eyed her. Her jaw was set. Every move she made was jerky, barely constrained fury jolting her movements.

She took a grocery bag from the pile on her bed and brushed past him again, this time heading into the kitchen.

She unloaded the bag into his pantry. Peter caught sight of chocolate cereal and a bag of marshmallows among the goods she put on the shelves.

"Slow down there, Fireball," he said. "You can't move in."

"And you can't murder people. There are rules that society generally follows. But you decided they don't apply to you." She finished putting whatever garbage she had bought as groceries on the shelves and turned to face him. "So I'm moving in." Her eyes flashed orange at him. "Feel free to move out. I'll take your room, then."

Peter narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm not going anywhere."

She tilted her jaw stubbornly. "Neither am I." Her eyes glowed. Her skin matched the glow.

The silence stretched between them.

The clock in the living room ticked steadily.

Outside a dog barked in the distance.

"Don't leave dishes in the sink," he said.

"Don't leave the toilet seat up," she snapped back.

"Don't leave lights on."

"Don't turn the heat too high."

Peter scowled at her. "Trash day is Thursday. Recycling is every other Thursday."

"I work late on Tuesdays."

They eyed each other.

Having her there would make it easier to know what was happening with the hunters if he had the phoenix under the same roof as him.

"Have you eaten supper yet?" he asked.

"No. I was busy getting evicted." She went back to the pantry. "I have cocoa puffs. Do you have milk?"

"I have steak," Peter countered. "Grab some potatoes and wash them."

#

"She was breathing fire?" Isaac asked.

Alison nodded. "That's what Kira said."

"We missed an epic party," Isaac said.

Alison gave him a pointed look. "She also said it was cut short when Sheriff Stalinski came home early."

Chris Argent listened to his daughter and Isaac at the kitchen table. School books were spread out in front of them, but clearly talk about Stiles' party was more interesting.

"Henley was at Stiles'?" he asked.

Alison nodded. "But everyone just thought it was some sort of cool trick. She didn't go up in flames all the way until they got her outside. No one saw that."

That was a relief. Word was already out among the loose network of hunters that there was a phoenix in Beacon Hills. A rumor of a girl on fire at a party would be a sure way to draw them directly to Henley.

Chris debated again if he should warn the kids about the hunters, already arriving in town.

"How's Henley doing?" Chris asked instead.

Isaac darted a look at Alison, then dropped his eyes to his schoolbook, suddenly interested in the homework he had been ignoring.

"She's…adjusting," Alison said, unconvincingly.

Isaac's jaw moved. Chris kept his eyes fixed on him. Isaac risked a look up, then quickly back down.

"Have you been helping her?" he asked the two teens. "I can't imagine…" he trailed off. There weren't words for what it must be like to be introduced to an entire world you never knew existed and then becoming what everyone feared.

Isaac's neck flushed and Alison bit her lips together.

"We…" Alison started. "We've been trying."

It clearly hadn't been going well.

His phone vibrated with a call. He left them to their homework and picked up the phone.

Alarm flared. He quickly took the phone from the room.

Closing his office door behind him, he answered.

"Hello?"

"You've heard the rumors?" Dante Calavera asked without preamble.

"I've heard," Chris said.

There was a pause. Chris waited him out.

"So have you seen anything?" Dante asked impatiently.

"A phoenix is extremely rare," Chris said. He wasn't about to risk a lie being detected. "There haven't been rumors of one in decades."

"Not in my lifetime," Dante said. "Which means it's likely true. There aren't rumors floating around if there's not something there."

"What are you planning to do?" Chris asked. He tried to keep the wariness from his voice.

"We're going to find it. Nothing that powerful is safe. No one will be safe with a creature like that around."

Everything in Chris recoiled at the statement. They weren't talking about a phoenix. They were talking about Henley Dawson. He had known her since she was a kid. He wasn't close to the Dawson family, but their paths had crossed enough for him to get to know the blunt-speaking kid who was always on the fringe of her own family.

But Dante wasn't done talking. "We got to town yesterday. As soon as we find the phoenix…we kill it."

#

Peter heard the phoenix padding around the apartment. He looked at he clock. It was after one am. She had been pacing the better part of an hour. There was a thud and then a quiet curse.

Giving up on the idea of sleep any time soon, he kicked off his blankets.

In the living room, the phoenix was standing on a stool from his kitchen island, balancing precariously to reach the smoke detector. Sparks fell from her outstretched hand, landing on her t-shirt.

She wobbled slightly, the stool shifting under her as she stretched on her toes to reach for the detector.

The stool slid slightly and Henley swayed.

Peter moved quickly to anchor the stool. She looked down at him in surprise.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I didn't want the alarm to go off and wake you," she said. A few sparks drifted down from her to land on him.

Peter let go of the stool to brush them away. He looked up at her. "Are you planning on starting a fire that would set it off?"

She pursed her lips in annoyance. "I don't plan any of the fires."

Peter held out a hand. She eyed it, but then took it and hopped down from the stool.

Her pajama pants were too big on her and singed. Her shirt nearly drowned her. She looked…fragile.

Peter got up on the stool and reached the button to deactivate the alarm. "There," he said. "Now we'll have no warning and be trapped in any fire that may start."

Henley didn't make any retort. Peter looked at her. She wasn't listening to him. Her hands were glowing orange from beneath the skin, flames silently coursing over her.

She paced away a few steps, then paced back, shaking her hands lightly. He could see her lips moving.

"Alpha, beta, omega," she whispered to herself. The flames spread over her arms.

She shook her hands again as she turned away and paced the length of the living room.

A trail of sparks marked each footstep in her wake.

She shook her hands more firmly, but it only served to fan the flames to life, falling from her hands and landing on his newly replaced leather couch.

She shot back as the couch caught fire.

Peter jumped down from the stool. He ran to the kitchen for the fire extinguisher under his sink. His bare feet slid across the tile floor and he bumped into the cabinet before he reached under to get the canister. He grabbed it, pulling the pin as he ran back to his couch, half of it nearly engulfed in flames now.

He sprayed the flames, the roaring hiss of the extinguisher mixing with the sound of flames, until the canister was empty.

He squeezed the nozzle again for good measure, but nothing more came out.

His apartment was silent in the wake of the flames and extinguisher battling.

He surveyed what was left of his new couch. A total loss of expensive craftsmanship.

He swung around to face the phoenix.

"What is it with you and couches?" he asked. "What do you have against comfortable seating and Italian leather?"

"I can't help it," she snapped. "They take up half the living room—flames just find them. And they're flammable."

He frowned darkly and turned to her. She wasn't looking at the couch remnants. She was pacing again.

"The entire town is going to be filling up with hunters," she said. He didn't know if she was talking to him or herself. "And there's no way I'm going to be able to hide from them if I keep going up in flame."

Her steps carried her farther from him. He chased after her. He wasn't about to let her burn anything more. He planned to keep what furniture he had left.

She turned to pace back and nearly crashed into him. He reached for her arm to stop her, but hesitated. He looked at her.

Her gray eyes met his, desperation there. Like she was asking him to…help her?

He put his hand into the flame. It was warm, but not painful. He took hold of her arm and she leaned into his touch like it anchored her. He held steady.

"It will be ok," he said.

Her eyes pleaded with him for it to be true.

His other hand found her other arm and he moved a step closer. She leaned into him.

"I don't want them to find me," she whispered.

His entire plan was for them to find her. She was the bait.

She blinked up at him, silently pleading for him to tell her they wouldn't find her.

He told himself it didn't matter if they found her. They were no match for her. Not with her power.

But she looked anything but powerful now. She trembled beneath his fingers.

"They can't hurt you," he said.

"Their entire job is to hurt me," she said. Even her voice was shaking.

He moved a hand to cup the back of her head. "They won't hurt you," he said firmly. He would make sure of it. They would fight off the hunters. He would get his revenge, and none of them would get to her.

Her fingers were resting against his chest. They curled into the fabric of the t-shirt he was wearing with flannel pajama pants.

"They won't hurt you," he promised.

Her breaths were uneven. He could hear the beat of her heart, her fear was palpable.

"I just want normal," she whispered desperately.

He lowered his head so his eyes were closer to hers. "You're anything but normal," he said. He had never seen power and force like hers. He had never seen anyone wield fury like she did. "You're better than normal."

She wanted to believe him. He could see it. He could also see she didn't buy any of it.

Her small frame was against him. The flames were receding, but not the heat. The heat was building. Not just in her.

This wasn't what he wanted. None of this was part of the plan.

He stepped back. Henley faltered slightly when he released her. She stood there, within arms' reach, staring at him.

"You can't protect me," she said. The way it came out, like an accusation, made him think she wasn't solely talking about the hunters. Like she needed protection from Peter.

He couldn't protect his couch from her, but he hoped he could keep her safe. And get her on his side against the hunters. If he didn't, then they would all be at risk.

She looked at his couch and her shoulders sagged. She looked at him and frowned. She went to the sliding glass door at one end of the living room and stepped out onto the balcony. He watched her curl up in one of the chairs out there. He waited to see what she would do, but, for all intents and purposes, she looked like she was planning to stay out there.

Peter went to the spare room and picked up the pillow and pulled the spread off the bed. Going to the balcony, he unceremoniously dropped the pillow and blanket on the phoenix's lap.

Without a word, he went back inside.

#