Unspoken ▹ Teen Wolf [01]

023.

Rachel regretted many things in life.

But she sure as hell did not regret chasing Jackson through the woods all night. She never thought she'd be the type to find humour in a person pleading for their life. Rachel was far from a psychopath, and even if she did have a few sociopathic traits; she wasn't crazy. But chasing after Jackson, with high-pitched screams echoing through the night, she swore she'd never felt more alive.

He might not have known it, but her intentions weren't to harm or kill him; they were to teach him a lesson. Jackson was crossing battle lines before they'd even been drawn, and if Rachel hadn't of stepped in; the possibilities of him becoming one of Beacon Hills' many casualties were disturbingly high.

In a way, she saved him.

Though her methods were a little unorthodox, Rachel, in a way, believed she'd prevented the dangerous fallout of Jackson's trouble-seeking. She gave him exactly what he'd asked for, therefore stopping him from going back to Derek. And to add to her confidence, her perfectly thought out plan had not a single fault. The bite wouldn't change Jackson, because Rachel wasn't a werewolf. It was merely a masquerade used to shelter the serpent she really was; a reflector. Her plan was complete & utter perfection.

And the entire way home, all she did was revel in the glory of it. She'd solved the problem without even consulting her brother, and all she had to do was get a little blood on her hands. Nobody died, Jackson thought he got what he wanted, and everything was wonderful. Hell, maybe she could even use him as her puppet.

After all, he totally owed her.

But the favour could wait. A certain strawberry blonde was still hospitalized, sporting an abnormally large & unhealed bite mark on her side, which according to Scott, was the complete opposite of what'd happened to him. Various texts had littered the screen of her phone once she'd finally scrubbed the blood from her hands & checked it. Stiles was staying with her at the hospital, and Scott was certain he'd passed out, leaving Rachel as the last option to check up on Lydia whilst he was "busy."

She didn't even need to ask to know that it involved everyone's favourite archer. The red-eyed reflector had hurriedly changed out of her blood-stained (and slightly torn) clothes, and into another outfit consisting of her signature leather jacket. Rachel had luckily taken it off before chasing after Jackson, in a weak attempt of giving him a head start. Hell, she could've played a game of chess & still caught him; she was supernatural, and he was human.

And thanks to her, all he would ever be is human.

Rachel managed to push all thoughts of her previous night to the back of her mind, as she rounded yet another corner in the maze of white hallways. She was beginning to wonder if she'd entered into her own rendition of the Maze Runner until her eyes finally locked on a familiar unconscious boy, sprawled out on a row of chairs. The brunette rolled her eyes, her heels clicking against the floor lightly as she walked over the Stiles. Still very much unconscious, he clearly was more than conscious in the world of dreams.

"You're dirty." He muttered puckering his lips. The nurse beside him gave him a strange look, whilst Rachel struggled to muffled her laughter. Of all the times he could've had one of those dreams, this was by far the worst. Still, Rachel found it hilarious; hilarious enough to play along.

"Am I?" She raised a brow, kneeling down beside him.

All too soon, Stiles awoke, both confused & disoriented. The duration of his aforementioned confusion lasted for approximately four seconds, until he turned & saw Rachel; their faces just inches apart.

"Morning, sunshine." She smiled, standing back up straight. "So, tell me; which of E. L. James' books have you been reading?"

"What? None." Stiles hissed, rolling off the row of chairs uncomfortably. The row had been his makeshift bed for the past two nights, and it was beginning to show.