Chapter 26
Henley wasn't going to take the last two pills. She was going to throw them away. Obviously. It wasn't like she had got the break from her problems she had hoped for.
She thought of all that as she lay in the bed in Peter's guest room and still couldn't remember half of what had happened over the last two days. But getting out the pills and tossing them was more than she could deal with right now.
She shuffled her way out of the room she had slept in. She had made a half-hearted effort at getting dressed, but, judging from the way Peter's eyes flicked over her, her baggy sweatpants and v neck t-shirt weren't much of an improvement over pajamas.
But his eyes lingered at the low cut t-shirt she had previously altered with scissors to hide burn holes in the neckline. So maybe not entirely as bad as her pajamas.
Peter turned his attention back to the elaborate coffee maker on the counter. Henley watched him pull a lever and savory dark-roasted liquid steamed into a cup.
"Coffee?" he asked.
Henley grunted and went to the pantry.
"There are toast and eggs," Peter said.
Henley poked her head out of the pantry and eyed him. He took his steaming coffee to the counter and took an experimental sip, wincing and sucking in some air before setting it down to cool.
"I can't start my days watching you eat like an oversized toddler on a sugar high," he said. "It ruins my appetite."
It wasn't the most flattering reason for someone to make breakfast for her, but she didn't argue. She took the other cup of coffee Peter had set alongside a plate. She added a creamer with a heavy hand and then dumped in some sugar. She lifted the steaming mug of scalding liquid and gulped some down.
"Thanks," she said.
This time Peter grunted in response.
She had almost finished her toast when there was a knock at the door. She looked to Peter.
He frowned. He clearly wasn't expecting a visitor anymore than she was. Then she saw his face settle into grim lines and knew he was thinking the same thing she was. Hunters.
Peter was on his feet and moving toward the door, fingers curving toward claws as he approached. He gave her a push farther into the kitchen as he passed her, Henley assumed to get her out of sight. She went, but lingered close enough to hear.
She listened to him open the door and froze when she heard who was there.
"I need to talk to Henley."
Derek.
Everything in her reacted to the sound of his voice. Her heart thudded, her hands heated and the heat flared around her.
"There's an eviction notice on the door to her apartment. Is she here?"
When Peter let him in—just let him into the apartment like it wasn't the worst thing he could possibly do—and Derek rounded the corner, Henley couldn't hold back the sudden flash of flames.
Peter and Derek both jumped back. Henley forced herself to draw the flames back, calm her erratically racing heart.
She was pretty sure it would have been a hundred times better if it had been a hunter at the door.
"We need to talk," Derek said.
Henley shook her head. "We don't," she said emphatically, shaking her head. What they needed to do was pretend the other night had never happened. Which it really hadn't, right? If she couldn't remember anything, did it really count?
She shook her head faster and took a step back. He stopped.
"What happened…" Derek started, then glanced towards Peter. His jaw twitched slightly and he looked back at her. "Can we talk somewhere alone?"
"Well this sounds tantalizing," Peter said. Under his light words, she could see how he eyed Derek. Then looked at her, his eyes narrowing slightly at the sparks she hadn't managed to fully rein in.
Her stomach shifted uncomfortably. Peter wouldn't kill Derek, would he? If he found out… But there was nothing to find out, she reminded herself. And no reason Peter should care.
"Henley," Derek said.
"There's nothing to talk about," she insisted. The sparks that flashed to life betrayed her.
Derek held her with a look.
She looked around the penthouse. Where was she supposed to take Derek? To her room? Like that wouldn't be awkward.
She heaved a sigh to be sure Derek knew she really didn't want to do this, and headed toward the balcony. She ignored the way Derek eyed the broken glass door. She fought the urge to try to hide her arm with its neat row of stitches. But Derek was looking at it when she closed the patio door behind them.
"You're not healing," he said, his brow lowering with concern.
"I'm not a werewolf," she reminded him. Said the words that pointed out that she was nothing like him. She wasn't like anyone.
"What happened?" he asked.
"It's been a rough couple days," she bit out, giving in and tucking her arm behind her.
"About that," he started.
"There's nothing to say about that," she cut him off, desperate to keep him from talking about it.
"You don't remember anything?" he asked. His dark eyes studied her.
Briefly she wondered if she should try to launch herself off the balcony again. Anything would be better than having this conversation. Than facing Derek. Than facing what she had done. She couldn't remember details, but she remembered him. The feel of his lips on her. His hands…
Sparks flew off her skin and the breeze carried them away from Derek. She clenched her fists, keeping hold of the fire that desperately wanted an escape.
"I was out of it," she said.
His brow furrowed farther. "Is that something that happens to you?"
Peter had told her about hellhounds and werewolves, that night he had stayed with her while she tried to stop the flames. About how Parrish used to wake up after protecting someone, or taking care of them, with no memory.
"Sure," she said. Whatever it took to get his attention off her and what had made her lose control.
"So you don't remember anything?" he asked.
She shifted uncomfortably. "Don't take it personally," she said, trying to sound like she didn't want to let the flames burn off the shame curling up in her. "I'm sure you were great." She wanted to vomit.
His lips twitched. "I appreciate the vote of confidence."
She rolled her eyes. Just act like this wasn't the worst conversation she'd ever been stuck in. It didn't matter. It didn't matter, she mentally insisted.
"Henley," he said.
She kept her eyes fixed, over his left shoulder. She would have this conversation, but she wasn't looking at him.
"Nothing happened."
Her eyes flew to him. Then away. "We just woke up…next to each other…my clothes were on the kitchen floor," she reminded him. "And that was nothing?"
He cleared his throat. Now it was his turn to shift his weight uncomfortably. "Not 'nothing'," he said. "But we stopped. I stopped."
Relief loosened the tight thread of shame that had been winding its way through her. Then hurt eased into its place. "You stopped," she said. The words knifed her throat when she said them. Because he didn't want her. With no warning, the memory of Peter rejecting her slapped her. He had stopped her. That's what had sent her to Derek's. Her throat tightened and the heat in her cheeks wasn't from flames. Embarrassment burned more painfully than her flames ever could.
"You weren't…it wasn't you," Derek said. "I didn't see it at first. But you weren't thinking straight."
Henley's eyes shot back to him. She scowled. "I'm sick of people deciding for me if I'm thinking straight." She remembered that. Remembered wanting to make her own decisions. Stop being a victim to whatever Peter or anyone else decided to do.
Derek sighed. Fine, he could be annoyed. He was the one who had insisted on this whole horrible, brutally honest conversation. Henley didn't want anything to do with it. With him.
She didn't need him. She didn't need the pack. She didn't need Peter.
She needed a break.
She swallowed hard and shoved past him, back into the apartment. She tried not to feel the flash of guilt when he hissed in pain at her heat searing his skin.
She went to the room she occupied. She fumbled with the drawer on the nightstand by the bed. Then pulled out the single plastic baggie that was in there. Two pills. She pulled out one and put it in her mouth, swallowing without water.
She didn't care what happened, she just didn't want to face it sober.
"What's that?"
Derek's voice had her wheeling around. She shoved the other pill into her pocket. "Tylenol," she said. "You're giving me a headache."
His face was unreadable.
Thankfully he stepped aside when she left the room. She needed to get out of the apartment. Her head really was pounding, and the air in the closed in space was hard to breathe.
Peter was in the living room. He looked at her in question. She ground her teeth together and left as quickly as she could.
She needed air. Air and space. Distance.
By the time she had made it a block from Peter's apartment, the pill was starting to settle in.
She drew a breath, and this time the air filled her lungs.
She kept walking, towards the other side of town. The buildings around her blurred out of her consciousness. Sounds faded to the background.
A break. Just a break from reality. That's all she had needed.
The dive bar that she had gone on a date with Bobby called to her. They had good music, and more importantly, she had good memories there. The way Bobby had jumped alongside her to the constant beat of the music. He hadn't flinched away from her, having no idea she could turn him to ash.
The club wasn't busy late morning on a Tuesday. She welcomed the dark interior after the bright sun outside. There were still a couple handfuls of customers lounging at the tables, or sitting at the bar. But it wasn't the press of bodies it had been during the concert.
She sank down into a metal chair at a small table. Her head spun, but not unpleasantly. She could barely remember Derek's name, let alone what he had tried to talk to her about.
The waitress didn't card her, so Henley ordered a shot of Fireball. Time blurred after the second shot. Or maybe the third. Fourth?
Sparks fell from her hands and she tried to remember why she wasn't supposed to let that happen in public. Or maybe she was. She knew it would make Peter mad, and that was a good thing.
She traced shapes on the scarred tabletop, letting her finger burn them into the wood.
She needed to go to the bathroom.
There were more people here now. People that were staring at her. She made her way to the bathroom, down a dark hallway. But she didn't need a light. She could make her own.
The bathroom was quiet, muffling the sounds of the bar.
She was drying her hands and admiring how quickly she could do that with her own flames when she heard a sharp crack and then nothing. The hum of noise from the bar had gone silent.
She screwed up her face, trying to listen, hear beyond the door blocking her from the bar.
It was hard with the drugs and alcohol inhibiting her system. She really liked that. She let out a contented sigh. Not having to deal with the overwhelming influx of information.
She went to the bathroom door and opened it. She started down the hallway to see what was happening.
"We're not here to make trouble," came a man's voice from out in the bar. It was clear, ringing out an announcement to everyone there. "We're only looking for one man. If he comes with us now, no one has to get caught in the crossfire."
She stumbled to a stop.
She slid down the wall, her heart starting to thud. Hunters.
#
Jordan idly scanned the streets as he drove his sheriff's department SUV through Beacon Hills. It was a quiet day, which was good for Beacon Hills, but made for a shift that dragged on.
His fingers drummed idly on the steering wheel. Then something caught his attention.
His foot reflexively moved from the gas to the brake, and he slowed before he realized it wasn't anything he could see. It was a feeling.
He knew the feeling.
Something was wrong. Someone was in trouble. A supernatural.
He let the feeling draw him. He pressed on the gas again and let instinct carry him towards it.
#
Henley's vision changed, shifted, and she knew it would only take one look at her eyes—glowing orange—and the hunters would have her. She pressed herself against the wall where she sat, and tried to think. The drugs slowed her until they sped everything up, then back to a glacial pace where she just didn't care. No in between, no warning. And everything was speeding up now. Her heart, her thoughts, her breathing.
She wished they would swing back to near comatose where she just didn't care.
But she cared. She didn't want to be cowering in a hallway with a band of hunters running her down.
"I guess you're the guy they're looking for," came a voice.
She whipped her head around and looked up.
A guy about her age was lounging in the doorway to the men's room.
She wasn't quick enough to change her eyes. He grinned at her, apparently unperturbed by glowing eyes in a dark hallway.
"You probably want to get out of here," he guessed, his words easy, no hint of anything but amusement at finding a woman crouched in the shadows with glowing eyes while a group of vigilantes shouted for her blood.
Her head was spinning. She had to figure out her options, not make small talk with this guy. She could go out there and take on the hunters. That's what Peter seemed to think she could do. Or she could run. Or just burn the whole building down with everyone in it. Including her. That idea was kind of appealing, actually.
"There's a back door," the guy offered.
Henley looked at him. Both of him. She squinted and there was just one of him. His shaggy light brown hair flopped over one eye when he motioned with his head.
"But I think some of their friends are stationed out there."
Of course they were. She took a breath and let her hands ignite.
"There's a window in the men's room." He looked at the flames coming from her hands, his grin growing.
She let the flames shrink back.
If they got outside, maybe she'd only have to take on a couple hunters instead of however many were inside the bar right now.
The guy held the door to the bathroom open for her. She stumbled slightly when she went through, but caught herself.
The window was at the top of the wall and Henley wasn't tall enough to reach it, but her new accomplice easily reached up and opened it. He clasped his hands together and crouched down so she could put her foot in his hands.
He lifted her and she wiggled out through the window, dropping onto the ground. Her reflexes weren't firing as quickly as thoughts flowed and spun through her mind, and she missed the landing, falling to her knees, her hands landing broken glass and gravel.
"Ow," she muttered. She held her hands up to her face, trying to see the cuts. Her two hands blurred, she saw four hands, and then they faded back to two hands. She probably needed another shot of whiskey. That would help.
The guy dropped down from the window and landed next to her with a lot more balance than she had managed.
She could still hear the guy in the bar, but now his voice was getting tight with anger.
"You have a whole fan club in there," he said.
"I'm popular," she mumbled.
Footsteps crunched across the gravel and she felt the guy tense next to her. She clenched her hands, bracing herself.
The footsteps drew closer.
A man in a deputy's uniform approached. Henley squinted. "Jordan?"
He approached quickly, eyeing the guy next to her. He reached out a hand to help her to her feet, glancing over his shoulder. When she was standing, he looked more closely at her hands. Henley followed his gaze to her bloodied palms. Blood trickled down one arm where her sutures had pulled with her rough landing.
He didn't say anything about the blood right then, though. "We need to get you out of here," he said.
She didn't know if Jordan had the same hearing she did, but a door opened and the voices inside grew louder so they carried easily outside.
"Let's get you away from them," Jordan said.
She wanted to say it was only delaying the inevitable. Eventually they'd find her. Or tell her dad and brother what she had become. But her thoughts were a blur, words were hard, and she let Jordan start to guide her away from the building.
More strident words built. The man who had demanded the people in the bar hand her over sounded like he was arguing with the hunters he had brought with him.
"I'll take care of them. You can wait in my car." He gave the guy who had helped her a hard look. "Who are you?"
The guy didn't look offended. He held up his hands in mock innocence. "Just a good Samaritan," he said.
Jordan didn't back down, he kept his eyes on the younger man.
The guy took a step back. He flashed a smile. "Stay safe, Henley," he said with that easy grin before Jordan narrowed his eyes at him. He sauntered off toward the parking lot and disappeared down the street.
Henley watched him go. She heaved out a long sigh. She really just wanted another drink, another pill. Anything to blur out everything that was happening around her.
"Come on," Jordan said, moving her towards his car.
He opened the back door and Henley fell down across the seat and closed her eyes.
Jordan closed the door on her and she was left in the muffled silence of his police vehicle.
She could hear what was happening in the bar and outside it in the distance. But she didn't care. She didn't care about any of it.
#
Jordan made sure Henley was secured in his car before going around the front of the building and approaching the men who were at the entrance. Three men stood in front of the door, rifles braced, standing guard.
"Is there a problem here?" Jordan asked, announcing his presence.
The three men turned to him, grips shifting on their rifles. Jordan eased his hand toward his own holstered weapon.
The beat of silence before they answered was loaded.
"No problem," one of the men said, eyeing Jordan's hand resting on his pistol. "Just looking for a friend of ours."
Jordan made sure they saw him looking over the rifles. "It doesn't look like a very friendly search."
The tallest of the guys forced a grin that didn't reach his eyes.
Jordan approached them, watching for any sign of movement in their hands or fingers going towards triggers.
"This isn't how things work in Beacon Hills," he said. He wasn't talking about walking around with rifles. And he was pretty sure they knew that. He wasn't going to pretend he didn't know what they were. What they did.
"Just like to keep ourselves safe," the tall guy said again. "And the people around us. There's a lot out there that could hurt a person."
"There's nothing in this town that concerns you," Jordan said sharply. Something in him rose up at the man's words. His insinuation that every supernatural was something to be feared. They weren't. Not to Jordan. They were people who needed to be protected.
Another loaded pause. Then the man gave a slight nod. "I don't think our friend is here tonight anyway." He nodded to the man next to him. "Tell Dante and Gia to wrap it up."
The man went into the bar. Jordan stayed in place, not breaking eye contact until the doors opened and two people emerged.
The woman's smile didn't reach her eyes any more than the man's had. "Oh," she said, feigning surprise. "The cops are here." Her smile was almost predatory. Jordan willed himself not to react. "I love a man in uniform," she said.
"Pack up and go," Jordan said to all of them. "If there are any calls about you showing up with firearms or harassing anyone in this town, you'll be locked up."
The man who had come out of the bar with the woman nodded once. "Understood, Deputy."
Jordan knew there was a world of difference between understanding and complying.
Jordan didn't move. He waited until they had all loaded into the two vehicles and two more people came around from the back to join them. He watched them drive off.
Then he finally let out a breath. He took his hand off his gun.
Going back to his vehicle, he looked in through the back window. Henley was passed out.
#