St. Clair || Stilinski [2]

Forty-Eight || To The Surface

     Gerard sighed as he retrieved an old family book, flipping to a drawing of a large dog-looking creature in a forest.

     Jordan's face scrunched at the image. "What's that supposed to be?" he asked. "Werewolf?"

     "No," the prior villain replied. "It's called a Hellhound."

     The deputy's heart thudded in his chest, eyes trailing from the Argents before looking into a small mirror. He studied his own face before returning to the image and of a hellish looking dog, an unsettled feeling coating his stomach.

     "What else do you remember from that night that Allison found you?" Chris asked.

     Jordan shook his head, drawing a full blank. "Allison told me that I said, 'I rise from the ashes' in Latin before passing out."

     Gerard retrieved a small blowtorch from one of many cabinets littered with both conventional and unconventional weapons before slowly he rounded the counters towards Jordan. "You hid the bodies of the Chimeras."

     Argent crossed behind the deputy as Gerard came from the front. "You've got a resistance to fire."

     The memory of Deputy Haigh burning Jordan alive surged in his mind.

     Gerard lit the blowtorch, approaching the eldest Parrish child. "We were wondering just how flame retardant are you, Deputy?"

     Jordan was jerked back as Argent secured his arms behind himself. "What the hell are you doing?" he snapped.

     Gerard grabbed Jordan's jaw, gripping tight to keep the cop from struggling as he brought the blowtorch up to his face.

     As the burning blue flame neared Jordan's skin, his eyes began to sear a fiery orange. He let out a roar, fangs protruding as he ripped free from both Argents' grasps.

     And when he caught an image of himself in the mirror, his heart dropped.

     He had seen the eyes once before off the reflection of the elevator that he had touched Jacy in, but that was the first time he had witnessed what he truly was.

     "Hellhound," Jordan softly said, the shift falling away. He looked to Gerard, his pulse still ticking down from great heights. "And what if you were wrong? Would you have burned my eye out?"

     "Yeah," Gerard flatly replied, ceasing the flame from the blowtorch.

     Jordan turned back to Chris. "This guy's your father?"

    Argent sighed. "Wasn't my choice."

     "I guess I know the feeling," Jordan murmured, shaking off his nerves as he stepped away for a moment. "Our father is a homicidal maniac as well."

     Gerard's lips pursed. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

     "You really are a piece of work, aren't you?" Parrish bit back.

     As Gerard shrugged in response, Jordan's phone began to buzz violently in his back pocket.

     "Hang on, it's my mom." Jordan held up a finger, turning over his back to the Argents. "Mom?"

     "Sweetheart, oh my god," Olivia stressed, gasping for air at the sound of her son's voice. "Have you heard from your sister?"

     Jordan's eyes closed. "Mom, I-"

     "The police just called. Not our police."