As the lines between good and evil were blurred and new, unlikely alliances were formed, there were very few things keeping Carson Bradley sane. But sometimes, even sanity was not enough to win a war when there was already so much blood raining down...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN CROSSBOWS AND NAIL FILES
▿▴▿▴▿▴▿▴
There was something completely offsetting about the idea of Lydia being the kanima.
I had absolutely no proof whatsoever to say that she wasn't though. Every time we saw the kanima, she wasn't around. She had been bit by Peter but had neither died nor become a werewolf. We knew she was turning into something else, but a murderous shape shifting lizard didn't seem like the right option. But it was truly just my word against theirs. The test had been handed out and Lydia had failed miserably. It was basic biology that snakes couldn't be poisoned by their own venom; but did that really mean Lydia was the snake currently slithering through our garden?
Either way, we weren't going to let anyone touch her. Once Erica and Isaac got the message back to Derek that Lydia didn't become paralyzed, we all knew what he planned to do. He would take her out, violently and sadistically. I couldn't let that happen. Sure, Lydia could be abrasive and controlling and a total bitch, but she was my friend. And friends don't let friends get murdered by annoying leather sporting werewolves.
So, between Scott, Allison, Stiles and I, we had to protect her. There was only a little more time before the day ended and Derek could swoop in and take his shot. We needed a surefire way to get her as far away from the trio of newbie werewolves and their leader. Meaning we needed to somehow babysit her without her figuring out what the hell was going on. But we were dealing with Lydia Martin, so I was positive this would end badly.
I nodded at Allison from across the hall. She had her arm linked with Lydia's, dragging them to their history class. As far as I knew, there weren't any pesky little werewolves in there so she should be fine for now. I pushed a strand of hair out of my face and sighed. I had class on the other side of the building. And it was geometry. I rolled my eyes as the bell rang, walking into the bathroom. Hopefully Stiles will be able to make up some lie about why I was going to be late. I mean, I probably should be getting to class, but I had to pee. Sue me.
Five minutes later, I was finishing washing my hands. I shook my hands dry, considering the janitors were clearly incapable of restocking the paper towels. I momentarily remembered that one of the janitors had been killed by Peter and shook my head. Nope, not thinking about him today. It was already crazy as it could get. No need to involve the nut job uncle of the guy who has my friend on his hit list.
The bathroom door swung open and in the mirror, I could see my least favorite person saunter into the room. Erica was in another one of her outfits, tight and revealing. Red lipstick was slathered on her mouth which was currently upturned into a smirk. I rolled my eyes, digging through my bag.
"Well, look who we have here, little miss perfect," she sneered.
"Werewolves are technically dogs right? I'm sure there's a bitch joke you haven't heard yet," I muttered, brushing out my hair.
