AN: It's the weekend yay! Hope you enjoy this chapter!
On another note, I've recently started updating my Supernatural OC fic again, contra naturam, so if that's something you think you'd be into, I'd love for you to check it out!
Much love x
The cafeteria buzzed with the usual midday chaos—voices overlapping, chairs scraping against the floor, and the sharp clatter of trays hitting tabletops. Jamie moved through the crowd with purpose, a tray balanced in one hand and her bag slung over her shoulder. She spotted Boyd sitting alone at a corner table, picking idly at his food.
Sliding onto the bench opposite him, she set her tray down with a loud thud and gave him a bright, practiced smile.
"Hey, Boyd."
He didn't look up immediately, his fork spearing a lone piece of broccoli with deliberate slowness. When he finally met her gaze, his expression was flat. "Jamie."
Her smile faltered slightly, but she pressed on, leaning her elbows on the table. "So… I was thinking."
Boyd didn't miss a beat. "You're not getting your job back."
Jamie blinked, her face falling into a deadpan stare. "Wow. Great. Thanks for clearing that up. Definitely not why I'm here."
He shrugged, completely unfazed, and went back to his meal.
She sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "What I actually need is a favour."
Boyd finally paused, arching a sceptical eyebrow at her. "A favour," he repeated, his tone flat.
Jamie nodded, her expression shifting into something softer, more earnest. "Yeah. I need the keys to the ice rink. Just for tonight."
Boyd set his fork down, folding his arms across his chest. "The keys? Why?"
"Just… personal reasons," Jamie said, avoiding his gaze.
Boyd leaned back in his seat, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Personal reasons like stealing?"
"What? No!" Jamie said, indignant.
He stared at her for a long moment, as though trying to gauge the truth. Then he shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I think I've done enough favours for you, Jamie."
Jamie exhaled sharply, frustration flickering across her face. She reached into her bag, rummaging around until she pulled out some crumpled notes. Slapping them onto the table, she slid them toward him with a pointed look.
"Come on, Boyd. Help me out."
Boyd's smile widened, and he chuckled softly. "Well, why didn't you say so?" He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the keys, letting them dangle from his fingers for a moment before dropping them onto the table.
Jamie snatched them up quickly, her expression a mix of relief and exasperation.
"Thanks," she muttered, standing up and sliding her bag over her shoulder.
"Don't mention it," Boyd said, his voice tinged with amusement as he returned to his lunch.
As Jamie walked away, she could feel his eyes on her, like he was trying to figure out what she was really up to. She didn't look back. The keys jingled softly in her pocket, and for the first time that day, she felt like she was in control of something—even if only for a little while.
Jamie leaned against a locker, spinning the rink keys lazily around her finger as she waited. When Stiles appeared, weaving through the throng of students like he was late for something (which he probably was), she held them up, letting the metal catch the light.
"Your keys, my liege," she said dryly, dropping them into his open hand.
Stiles grinned, stuffing them into his pocket. "Awesome. You're coming tonight, right?"
Jamie snorted, crossing her arms. "Yeah, no thanks. I don't really feel like double dating with you and Scott. That sounds like actual torture."
Stiles rolled his eyes. "It's not a date. It's a mission. If you want to be part of the pack, you've got to help out. And part of helping out is keeping an eye on Lydia."
Jamie raised an eyebrow, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Right, because you're going to the ice rink to 'keep an eye' on her. Definitely not because you're hoping to get in her pants."
Stiles sputtered, his ears turning red. "What? No! That's—that's not even remotely what this is about!"
Jamie smirked, unimpressed. "Sure, Stiles. Whatever you say."
He looked at her, exasperated. "I'm serious! This isn't about me and Lydia. It's about making sure she's okay. You know, with everything…" He trailed off, gesturing vaguely, but they both knew he meant Peter and the bite.
Jamie shrugged, but her smirk softened into something more serious.
Stiles took a step closer, his voice lowering. "Besides, things are getting worse, Jamie. Derek's not stopping at just Isaac. He needs a pack to face the Argents, and that means he's going to turn more people—maybe even a lot more."
Jamie frowned, her expression darkening. "Hasn't he done enough already? And he didn't exactly seem remorseful the other night."
Her tone was sharp, and Stiles's eyebrows furrowed as he caught the edge in her voice. His gaze narrowed slightly, his brain clearly already working overtime.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, his tone edged with suspicion. "You went to see him, didn't you?"
Jamie hesitated, her lips pressing together, but she could feel Stiles's eyes boring into her. Finally, she exhaled, her shoulders slumping a little. "Look, I was looking for Isaac and he was there."
Stiles's face twisted with disbelief and frustration. "What? Jamie, are you serious? Why would you—ugh!" He threw his hands up, looking ready to launch into a full-on lecture.
"Relax," she said, rolling her eyes and turning away slightly, though her tone lacked conviction.
"Relax? Derek Hale is a walking danger zone, and you decided to waltz right into his lair? Alone? That's not just stupid, Jamie—it's suicidal."
Jamie stiffened, heat rising to her cheeks as she winced at his choice of words. "I can take care of myself, Stiles. I don't need you to play parent."
"Clearly you do!" he snapped, his voice sharp enough to make a few passing students glance their way. He ignored them, his frustration boiling over. "Derek isn't some misunderstood brooding anti-hero, okay? He's dangerous, and you don't know what he's capable of."
She turned to him, her jaw tight, images of Derek slashing Peter's throat echoing through her mind. She thought of his visit to the hospital, his intimidating demeanour and subtle manipulation. "I know exactly what he's capable of, Stiles."
That made him pause, his mouth snapping shut as he processed her words. She didn't elaborate, and he didn't ask, but the tension between them crackled like static electricity.
"Whatever," Jamie said finally, brushing past him. "I'll see you tonight. Try not to trip over yourself in front of Lydia."
"Jamie—" Stiles started, but she was already gone, her pace quick and purposeful as she disappeared into the crowd.
Stiles stood there for a moment, raking a hand through his hair and muttering under his breath. "This night is going to be a disaster."
The chilled air of the rink hung around Jamie like a faint memory, the sound of skates slicing through ice filling the quiet spaces in her mind. She sat alone on the edge of the bleachers, her arms wrapped around herself. Stiles and Lydia were out on the ice, Lydia effortlessly graceful while Stiles flailed like a baby deer. Nearby, Scott and Allison sat close together, their laughter soft but steady. Jamie tried not to look at them too long.
Her thoughts were heavy, swirling with the events of the day. Erica Reyes—a girl Jamie barely knew beyond the faint impression of a shy, awkward classmate—had been turned by Derek. It wasn't just that Erica was a werewolf now, though that alone was enough to unnerve her. It was the pattern. The inevitability. Derek was building something, and Jamie wasn't sure she wanted to know what it looked like when he was done.
"Hey," a voice said, pulling her out of her thoughts.
Jamie glanced up to see Scott standing next to her, his face warm with concern. He gestured to the empty spot beside her. "Mind if I sit?"
She shrugged. "Go ahead."
Scott sat down, leaning forward slightly with his elbows on his knees. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the sounds of the rink filling the silence.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
Jamie huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. "You know, everyone keeps asking me that lately. Kind of makes me think the answer's obvious."
Scott studied her, his expression kind but persistent. "Why aren't you skating? You used to love it, didn't you?"
She held up her arm, the splint on her wrist catching the light. "Hard to enjoy it when you're halfway broken." She leaned back in her chair, her lips pressing into a thin line.
Scott frowned but didn't push. His gaze dropped as Jamie reached into her pocket and pulled out her small bottle of painkillers. She shook one into her hand and popped it into her mouth, swallowing it dry.
"Jamie…" Scott started, his voice tinged with worry.
"It's fine," she said quickly, brushing him off before he could get going. "My leg's been bothering me all day."
He didn't look convinced, his eyes lingering on her for a moment too long. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.
"What do you think about Erica?" she asked, steering the conversation elsewhere. "What does it mean that Derek turned her?"
Scott hesitated, his brow furrowing. "It means Derek isn't done. He's still building his pack."
Her stomach twisted at his words, the confirmation of her own fears sinking in. She stared at the rink, watching Lydia laugh at something Stiles said.
Scott's voice softened. "I'm worried he might come for you next."
Jamie turned to him sharply, her eyes narrowing. "You've been talking to Stiles."
Scott didn't deny it. "We just—look, Jamie, you're… you're strong. Tough. And you've been through a lot. I think Derek sees that. He might think you'd make a good addition to his pack."
She scoffed, shaking her head. "Don't lie, Scott." She considered Isaac and his abuse from his father, and then Erica, who she knew had suffered with epilepsy most of her life. "You're not worried because you think Derek sees me as tough. You're worried because you think he sees me as vulnerable."
Scott's jaw tightened, but he didn't attempt to refute her words. Instead, he approached from a different angle. "Would you accept if he offered?"
Jamie sighed, shaking her head again. "Don't worry about me, Scott."
"That's not a denial," he said quietly, his tone careful but firm.
Jamie exhaled heavily, but didn't answer his question. She stood, brushing imaginary lint off her jeans. "I need some air," she muttered, already walking toward the door.
Scott started to say something but stopped himself, watching as she pushed through the exit and disappeared into the night.
The cold air hit Jamie like a slap, sharp and biting, but it was a welcome change from the suffocating tension inside. She stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets, pacing the small stretch of pavement outside the rink.
Derek's voice echoed in her mind, his sharp words mingling with Scott's cautious warnings. She wasn't sure which of them scared her more. She pulled out a cigarette from the pack in her pocket, the familiar cardboard rustling as she flicked it open.
Lighting the cigarette, she inhaled deeply, the smoke filling her lungs and briefly quieting the storm inside her. She leaned back against the wall, eyes closed for a moment, savouring the brief silence.
She hadn't even noticed him until his voice broke through the stillness.
"Should've figured you'd be out here, smoking in the cold like always."
Jamie's eyes snapped open, and she almost dropped the cigarette. Standing a few feet away, half in the shadows, was Tucker. He was leaning casually against the dumpster, looking every bit as smug as he always had. His hoodie was pulled low, but Jamie knew him well enough to see that unmistakable smirk.
She rolled her eyes, trying to mask the surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?" she asked, her voice flat but carrying a hint of annoyance.
Tucker shrugged, stepping closer. "What, I can't hang out by the rink? Didn't know you'd be here." His tone was light, almost mocking, but his eyes glinted with something darker as they flicked to the cigarette in her hand. "Old habits die hard, huh?" He paused a moment "You look... different."
She bristled at the comment, unsure if it was meant as a compliment or a dig. "What do you want, Tucker?"
"Relax," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I'm not here to cause trouble. Just passing through. But since we ran into each other..." He let the sentence hang in the air, his gaze lingering on her.
Jamie took another drag of her cigarette, forcing herself to appear unaffected. "Since we ran into each other, what?"
Tucker smirked, his lips curling into that familiar, infuriating expression that used to make her feel special. Now, it just made her skin crawl. "You seem tense. Still chasing that calm, huh?" He nodded at the cigarette in her hand. "Or did that overdose scare you into going sober?"
Her blood boiled. Of course he would've somehow found out about it. "I'm fine."
He tilted his head, studying her. "Fine. Sure. That's what you used to say back then too, right before you'd—"
"Don't," she snapped, her voice cutting through the night.
For a moment, Tucker looked taken aback, but the smirk quickly returned. "Alright, alright," he said, holding his hands up again. "Touchy subject, I get it."
Tucker stepped closer, his presence more imposing in the dim light. "I was just thinking," he began, his tone quieter now, almost sincere. "After the last time I saw you… I couldn't stop wondering what had happened to you. You were always trying to hold it all together, but I knew something was eating away at you."
Jamie stared at him, her pulse quickening. She hated the way he could read her, the way his words slipped through the cracks in her armour. "You don't know anything about me," she said, though her voice faltered slightly.
Tucker's smirk softened into something more wistful as he tilted his head, studying her face. "Maybe not. But I've been thinking… maybe you just needed someone to talk to."
Jamie snorted, her lips curling in a faint, bitter smile. "Talk to? You don't do 'talking,' Tucker."
"No," he agreed, stepping closer, lowering his voice, "I do other things. Things you liked." He paused, watching her as if he knew exactly what buttons to press. "You still think about it, don't you?"
She inhaled sharply, the smoke tickling her throat. She hated how easily he could get under her skin. She hadn't realised how much she missed this until now—his presence, his confidence, the dangerous thrill that came with it. Her thoughts were spiralling again, and she tried to fight it.
"Things are different now," Jamie said, holding herself back, staring at him like she could push him away with sheer willpower.
The cigarette in her hand burned down to the filter, and she dropped it, crushing it underfoot. He was standing so close now, the faint smell of him—leather, smoke, and something intoxicatingly familiar—pulling her back to a time when she didn't think, just felt.
"Tucker…" she started, but her words faltered as he reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You don't have to say anything," he murmured. "I know you, Jamie. I know how I used to make you feel."
Her breath caught as his hand traced the line of her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek. His eyes locked onto hers, their intensity as magnetic as ever. Against her better judgment, she didn't pull away when he leaned in, his lips brushing hers softly, almost hesitantly, as if daring her to stop him.
For a moment, she let him. The kiss was warm, familiar, a dangerous echo of something she thought she'd buried. Her body responded on instinct, leaning into him, letting herself drown in the memory of how effortless it used to feel.
But then his hand moved, sliding down her side until it rested on her thigh. His fingers brushed over her injured leg, and a jolt of pain shot through her—not just physical, but visceral. It was a sharp reminder of how much her world had changed since she'd last seen him.
Jamie jerked back, breaking the kiss as if coming up for air after being underwater too long. She took a step away, her hand instinctively going to her leg, as if to shield it from him. It was tempting, so tempting, to fall back into the easy chaos he offered. But then she remembered the hospital bed, the pain in her mother's eyes, the weight of everything she'd nearly lost. She took another step back, shaking her head.
Tucker frowned, his hand lingering in the air where she'd been. "What's wrong?"
She shook her head, her voice steadier now, though her chest ached. "You already said you were done with me, remember?"
"Jamie…" he started, his voice softer, almost pleading.
"No," she interrupted, her tone firmer. Her eyes locked with his, and she found she had to tear her gaze away almost immediately. The urge to give in was too strong, but she couldn't do that. Not again. "I have to get back," she said, moving toward the door.
"Wait." His voice stopped her in her tracks. She didn't turn around.
"What?"
"Are you happy now?" he asked, his tone oddly serious.
She hesitated, her hand on the door. The question caught her off guard, striking a nerve she didn't want to acknowledge. Without looking back, she said quietly, "Does it matter?"
Tucker didn't respond, and after a beat, Jamie slipped back inside, letting the door swing shut behind her.
The fluorescent lights of the classroom buzzed faintly, the only sound in the otherwise quiet space. Jamie sat slouched in her chair, one leg bouncing nervously under the desk. Her mind was a swirling mess—Tucker's voice still echoed in her head, Derek's actions weighed heavily on her, and the lingering haze of too many pills over the weekend left her feeling raw and frayed.
It didn't help that her brother and Stiles had been hovering all weekend, convinced she was going to be Derek's next victim. She'd barely left the house all weekend, save a few hours the previous evening where she'd snuck out of her bedroom window and taken her mom's car to a random parking lot to smoke her way through a quarter pack of cigarettes. Now she sat alone in the classroom, the rest of the students from last period having exited a while ago.
Her fragile peace was shattered as Stiles stormed into the room, his expression sharp and determined. He wasted no time, striding straight to her desk and dropping his hands onto its surface with a loud thud. Jamie barely glanced up at him, her tired eyes refusing to meet his.
"Where were you last night?" he demanded, his voice low but firm.
Jamie leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Good morning to you too, Stiles."
"Don't start with me, Jamie," he snapped. "Scott said you disappeared for hours. You didn't answer your phone. You've been acting weird—"
"When am I not acting weird?" she interrupted, her tone laced with irritation.
"You know what I mean!" Stiles shot back, his voice rising. "This isn't funny. You've got Derek Hale turning people left and right, and you're sneaking off in the middle of the night? What the hell were you doing?"
Jamie rolled her eyes and stood up, pushing past him. "Drop it, Stiles."
But he wasn't having it. He followed her, his voice relentless. "You went to see him, didn't you?"
Jamie stopped in her tracks, spinning around to face him. "No, I didn't," she said through gritted teeth, her fists clenched at her sides.
"Then where were you?"
"None of your business!"
Stiles's jaw tightened, his frustration boiling over. "What if he already bit you? Is that it? Did Derek bite you, Jamie? Are you hiding it?"
Her eyes widened in shock, and then narrowed into a glare that could've cut glass. "What did you just say?"
"You heard me!" Stiles pressed, his voice shaking now. "If you're hiding something, we need to know. We can help you—"
Jamie's laughter was bitter and sharp. "Help me? You think I need your help, Stiles? Or do you just need proof I'm not one of them?" Her voice rose, trembling with fury. "Is this what you want, huh? You want to see for yourself?"
Before he could respond, she grabbed the hem of her top and yanked it off, her movements jerky and furious. "Here! Is this what you wanted, Stiles? To see my body?"
Stiles froze, his eyes going wide as they locked onto the jagged scars running along her side—the remnants of the attack months ago. His mouth opened, but no words came out. His face shifted, pity and regret washing over him like a wave.
Jamie saw it, and it hit her like a punch to the gut. "Don't," she spat, her voice trembling. "Don't you dare look at me like that."
"I… Jamie…" Stiles stammered, his gaze flickering between her scars and her eyes.
The sound of a loud whistle snapped both of them out of the moment. A student passing in the hallway had stopped to glance into the classroom, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Nice show," he called before sauntering off.
Jamie's face burned with humiliation. She quickly yanked her shirt back on, her hands trembling as she struggled to pull it down.
"Jamie, I didn't mean—" Stiles started, stepping toward her.
"Save it," she cut him off, her voice cold and sharp. Her eyes glistened, but she refused to let any tears fall. She grabbed her bag and pushed past him, her shoulder brushing his as she stormed toward the door.
"Jamie, wait!" Stiles called after her, his voice desperate.
But she didn't stop. She didn't even look back. She was done. Done with Stiles' questions, his pity, his endless prodding into things he didn't understand. All she could do was put distance between them, the tension and hurt still heavy in the air as she disappeared into the hallway.
Jamie sat alone at the edge of the cafeteria, her tray untouched. She rested her chin on her hand, staring blankly at the room's chaos. Laughter, the clatter of trays, and the murmur of conversations swirled around her, but she felt removed from it all. Her leg throbbed, a dull ache she couldn't seem to shake, and her thoughts were a mess.
She didn't know why she'd gone from zero to one-hundred with Stiles earlier. Something about the way he'd looked at her just make her explode. It probably had something to do with seeing Tucker at the ice rink the other night. It definitely had something to do with the painkillers she'd been trying not to take all day.
She didn't notice Stiles until he dropped into the seat across from her, the sound jolting her out of her daze. Scott slid into the seat beside her, and Allison hesitated before sitting next to Stiles, her presence steady but watchful.
"Jamie," Stiles started, his tone too serious for her liking, "we need to talk."
Jamie sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Let me guess," she said, her voice flat, "you're still trying to figure out if I'm a werewolf now."
"We were wrong, and we're sorry," Stiles admitted, crossing his arms. "You've got your own secrets and that's fine. But it's not exactly comforting when Derek's out there turning half the student body."
Jamie rolled her eyes, stabbing at a limp green bean with her fork. "You ever think maybe I just want five minutes to myself? Not everything is about Derek."
Stiles leaned back, clearly unconvinced, and Scott shifted in his seat, glancing over at the tables in the cafeteria. Jamie could feel their collective concern wrapping around her like a straitjacket, suffocating and inescapable. She stabbed the green bean again for emphasis, but it didn't make her feel any better.
"You're right, not everything's about Derek," Scott finally said, his voice thoughtful. "But some things are. And we'd be stupid to ignore it."
Jamie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Suddenly, Scott tilted his head, his brow furrowed. "Where's Boyd?"
Jamie blinked, caught off guard by the question. She turned to look at the table where Boyd usually sat, near the far corner of the cafeteria. It was empty.
"Maybe he's in class?" Allison suggested, but her voice carried a note of doubt.
"Boyd doesn't skip lunch," Stiles pointed out. "I've literally never seen him miss a meal."
Jamie frowned, glancing around the room to see if Boyd had just moved tables. He hadn't. A knot began to form in her stomach, and she hated that it mirrored the worry etched on Scott's face.
"Do you think...?" Allison started, trailing off as she glanced between Scott and Stiles.
Scott nodded grimly. "He's the next one."
Jamie scoffed, though her heart wasn't in it. "You don't know that. Boyd could've just—"
"Just what?" Stiles interrupted, leaning forward. "Decided he didn't feel like being here today? Boyd's not exactly the unpredictable type. And Derek's pattern so far has been pretty clear. Erica, Isaac..."
Jamie shoved her tray away, her appetite completely gone now. "Great. So what? Are we supposed to just show up at his house and ask him not to go for a midnight hike with Derek?"
Scott shook his head, his jaw tightening. "It's probably already too late for that. Derek's not exactly the kind of guy who asks for permission. He finds people who are struggling and gives them what they think they need."
The words hit Jamie harder than she expected, and she swallowed down the lump rising in her throat. "So what's the plan, then?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended. "We just sit here and hope he doesn't end up like Isaac and Erica?"
"We need to find him," Scott said simply. "Before Derek does."
"And if he's already with Derek?" Allison asked quietly.
Scott hesitated, his hand curling into a fist on the table. "Then we have to try to bring him back."
"Because that's gone so well for you guys before," Jamie muttered under her breath.
Stiles shot her a look, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Someone should go to his house."
Scott nodded, standing up as well. "You go. I'll head to the ice rink." Allison followed, her expression tense but determined. Jamie stayed seated, her arms crossed as she watched them gather their things.
"Jamie," Scott said gently, glancing down at her. "You coming?"
She hesitated, her first instinct to say no, to tell them she was done with all of this. But then she thought about Boyd—quiet, steady Boyd—and how he'd covered for her too many times at work when he didn't have to. If he really was next, if Derek really had him, she couldn't just sit back and do nothing.
With a resigned sigh, Jamie pushed her chair back and stood. "Fine. I'm coming to the ice-rink with you."
Scott paused, his expression tense. "That's not a good idea." Jamie scoffed at him.
"Yeah, well I don't really need your permission," she shot back, stalking past him in the direction of the parking lot.
The parking lot outside the ice rink was eerily silent except for the crunch of gravel under Jamie and Scott's footsteps. The building loomed ahead, its fluorescent lights flickering weakly through the frosted windows. Jamie shivered and pulled her jacket tighter, but it didn't help. This wasn't the cold kind of chill; it was something deeper.
"Are you sure about this?" Jamie asked, glancing at Scott as they approached the entrance.
Scott's jaw was set, his expression grim. "No. But we can't just leave him."
Jamie didn't respond. She didn't have the right words anyway. She followed Scott into the rink, the faint smell of damp concrete and ice greeting them. Inside, the rink was dim, the ice reflecting the muted lights like a still, frozen lake.
Near the far end of the rink, Boyd stood, his back to them. His hands were jammed into his pockets, and he stared down at the ice as if lost in thought.
"Boyd!" Scott called, his voice echoing across the empty space.
Boyd turned slowly, his face neutral but his shoulders tense. "Scott. Jamie."
Jamie felt a pang of guilt at the way he said her name—quiet, almost resigned.
"Boyd, we need to talk," Scott said, stepping forward.
Boyd didn't move. "There's nothing to talk about."
"There's everything to talk about," Scott countered. "Did Derek tell you everything? And I don't just mean going out of control on the full moons—I mean everything."
Boyd's lips pressed into a thin line. "He told me about the hunters."
"And that's not enough for you to say no?" Scott asked, incredulous. "Whatever you want, there are other ways to get it."
Boyd's expression softened for a moment, and he looked down at the ice. "I just wanna not eat lunch alone every day."
Jamie's throat tightened at the quiet confession, and Scott's face twisted with a mix of sympathy and frustration.
"If you're looking for friends, you can do a lot better than Derek," Scott said firmly.
"That really hurts, Scott," a deep voice interrupted, dripping with mock offense.
Jamie's heart jumped as Derek stepped out of the shadows, flanked by Isaac and Erica. Isaac's smirk was unsettling, and Erica's sharp gaze flicked over Jamie with an almost predatory interest. Jamie stiffened as Derek's piercing eyes locked on her, his smirk faint but deliberate.
The alpha spread his arms, his tone sardonic. "I mean, if you're going to review me, at least take a consensus. Erica, how's life been for you since we met?"
Erica tilted her head, her lips curving into a dramatic smile. "Hmm. In a word? Transformative."
Derek turned to Isaac. "Isaac?"
Isaac shrugged, his smirk widening. "Well, I'm a little bummed about being a fugitive... but, other than that, I'm great."
Scott sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Okay, hold on. This isn't exactly a fair fight."
Derek's lips quirked up in a satisfied smile. "Then go home, Scott."
Scott's expression hardened, and his voice turned aggressive. "I meant, fair for them."
Isaac and Erica lunged toward Scott, and the fight began. Jamie stumbled back, her breath catching as she watched. Scott met them head-on, his movements swift and precise. Isaac was the first to falter, a misstep allowing Scott to slam him into the boards with a sickening thud. Erica followed, her strikes wild but no match for Scott's calculated strength.
Within moments, both were on the ground, groaning.
Jamie's relief was short-lived.
Derek stepped onto the ice, his movements deliberate, his presence almost suffocating. "You think you've won, Scott?" he asked, his tone low and dangerous as his face transformed, fangs descending from his gums as his eyes glowed a searing red.
Scott didn't respond, charging at Derek with everything he had. But Derek was faster, stronger. The fight was brutal, and Scott's strength began to falter under Derek's relentless assault.
Jamie watched in horror, frozen as Scott was thrown to the ice, blood trickling from his side. He tried to stand, but Derek planted a foot on his chest, holding him down.
"Stay down," Derek growled.
"Don't..." Jamie whispered, barely able to breathe.
Derek's smile vanished, and the tension in the room grew heavier.
"Don't you get it?" Scott continued, his voice rising. "He's not doing this for you. He's just adding to his own power, okay? It's all about him. He makes you feel like he's giving you some kind of gift, when all he's done is turn you into a bunch of guard dogs!"
Derek's expression didn't waver, but there was something colder in his eyes as he responded, "It's true. It is about power."
Scott groaned in pain on the floor, but he wouldn't give up, his voice softening as he looked at Boyd.
"Don't... You don't wanna be like them..." For a moment, Jamie thought Boyd might listen. His face wavered, his hands twitching at his sides. But then he looked at Scott, his eyes steady.
"You're right," Boyd said quietly. He lifted his shirt, revealing a fresh bite wound on his abdomen "I wanna be like you."
Jamie's chest tightened as Boyd turned and walked away with Derek, Isaac, and Erica, leaving her standing alone with Scott in the icy silence.