The Blood Claim Part One: The Alpha's Right

Chapter Three: Battle Plans

Chapter Three: Battle Plans

The Morning, Two Days Later

Lydia had been found—naked –much to Stiles' relief, and I was annoyed to say the least that I had missed out on all of the fun. I was also annoyed with my twin brother because he refused to quit staring at me as if I was about to have another delirious fit of hysteria and scream the house down.  I couldn't be gladder that Dad had already left for his office, or I wouldn't have even made it halfway out of bed before he'd tell me to get right back in.

It was just the two of us in the house all by our lonesome. I was dead tired and felt like I could sleep for a year, but I wanted to prove to both of them that I was plenty fine, so I had gotten dressed before Stiles could come back five minutes after he work me up to check up on me and bring me breakfast. 

The explanation I had given Dad and Stiles was shaky at best, but it was all I had-and it least it made some type of sense. Besides, I couldn't exactly say anything about teenaged PeterHale, who was supposed to be dead, anyway.  Or that he just so happened to be in my bedroom during the Witching Hour and give me the best sex I had ever had with almost all my clothes on, or that he shredded my stomach to pieces with his bare claws.

Twice.

I was just having a night terror I could remember nothing about and ended up ripping my stitches—it happens. Everyone just so happened to believe this story more than the former, which I refused to tell another living soul for the rest of my days. I do not want to know how spilling those beans could possibly play out. 

And yet, my twin brother still managed to see through the veil of bull that distracted everyone else.

He was the only one who questioned my explanation, and maybe because he was the one who had found me in bed that night after I woke him up with my screams, going into shock with a raging fever and on the verge of having a seizure. Stiles had stayed with me in the hospital for the past two days, too; Stiles never left my side, not even when Dad tried to get him to go to school, or anywhere for that matter.

I didn't remember any of it, of course: my high tolerance for the medications Scott's mother had given me had me so high I was nearly committed.  I could feel those round hazel eyes keeping track of my every move, and it was distressing.

Stiles was standing up and leaning against the wall as he ate breakfast and waited for me to put my make-up on. He gave a heavy sigh for the umpteenth time, and, refraining from rolling my eyes, I glanced his way.

The look he gave me was frustrating.

"I'm alright," I huffed at him and turned back to the vanity mirror I was sitting in front of; he merely grimaced and spooned a bit of half-eaten cereal into his in mouth. "If you keep worrying so much, your hair will turn gray."

"Frankly," Stiles shrugged, "I'm surprised it hasn't turned white already."

I snorted at his joke and shook my head, too late to stop myself.

"Damn," I cursed and groaned softly, holding my temple. 

"Stella--" The humor dissipated from Stiles' tone and he was at my side a moment later, his face a mix of worry and fear.

"It's just a headache, Stiles, so don't you dare tell me to get back into bed. I can't sleep for another two days: I actually want to go to school!"

"God, you really are dying, aren't you?" he reared back to get a good look at me, and I rolled my eyes at him.

"Quit fussing, Mother Hen. I'm a big girl."