❝ 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥.❞
Grace Stilinski can hardly believe her ears when she learned that her father could no longer afford her boarding school and she had to move back with him and her older brother in Beacon Hills. L...
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• Grace Stilinski •
„Three things cannot be long hidden The sun. The moon. The truth."
It was a clear night, with not only silver stars in the cloudless sky, but soon the moon in a flawless circle. Cold was the stainless steel of the handcuffs that connected Grace's right wrist to a heater. Hesitantly, she jerked it, thinking she could already hear plaster trickling out of the wall at this pitiful strain. "And you trust that?"
"No," Stiles replied tersely, pulling the chains tighter. "But if you are indeed a werewolf or whatever, it'll stop you for a while anyway, and in a pinch," he broke off to nod his head in his friend's direction, "We've got Malia."
"She doesn't have any problems during the full moon?" asked Grace in wonder, because she still hadn't really understood the principle of werewolves or werecoyotes.
"Not anymore, at least not like before," she confirmed, looking with a slight smirk on her lips at Stiles, who returned her gaze gently. Inconspicuously, the brunette rolled her blue eyes.
"Liam is still in trouble, though," her brother explained. "For him, the chains were. He's very... temperamental."
Grace nodded curtly and let herself slide to the floor against the wall. The basement of the mansion was not nearly as pompous as the rest of the house. Possibly that was precisely why it lent itself well to being a werewolf abatement site. The stone floor was cold, and she had to kick a few woodlice out of the way with her foot as they crawled in her direction. "So that's what you did here during the house party."
She got only the faint hint of a smile from Stiles in response before silence enveloped the three of them. Scott and Kira were in a room next door, tending to Liam, and where Lydia was, Grace had no way of knowing. Shivering in the crisp evening air, she wrapped her thin denim jacket a little tighter around her body. She knew now what the redhead had meant earlier; she did indeed stink.
For a moment she closed her eyes and reviewed the last few hours. It was amazing what could happen in the space of a day. Thoughtfully, she rolled a pebble across the cold floor. Doing something calmed her down and in a messed up way made her feel less absurd about the fact that creatures like werewolves and banshees exist. Perhaps it was just fatigue talking. Maybe she was dreaming at that moment and all this was just a nightmare, or maybe she had fainted from fright and had become a victim of her imagination. What if she had not survived the day at all? Maybe it was simply as Haigh had said; impossible.
"Are you scared?" Stiles finally brought her out of her thoughts and looked at her hesitantly. Her silence should have been answer enough, because a moment later he stated matter-of-factly. "You're pissed."
