Howling to the Heart || Isaac Lahey

41.

We were still driving around, just now we were trying to figure out what to do with Jackson and where to put him. It wasn't like we could exactly drop him home in the state he was in.

"Uh, what about your house?" Stiles asked Scott, focusing on the road.

Scott gaped at him, and I sat further back in the middle seat. "Not with my mom there. We need to take him somewhere where we can hold him long enough to figure out what to do with him. Or long enough to convince him he's dangerous."

"I still say we just kill him," I interjected, and Stiles nodded his head agreeing.

"We're not killing him!" Scott exclaimed, looking at me.

"Fine! But I would really like some blood right now," I snapped, glaring at him. "I haven't had any since Boyd and that was hours ago. A girl craves her food!"

"We'll stop in at the hospital when we can, okay?"

"We better," I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I got an idea," Stiles suddenly said and we both looked at him.

"Does it involve breaking the law?" Scott asked a dumb question.

"By now, don't you think that's a given?" Stiles rhetorically asked.

"I was just trying to be optimistic," Scott said with sass, looking forward again.

"Don't bother," I mumbled.

"This is our worst plan yet," I said, pulling away the blood bag from my mouth the next morning, standing in the woods a distance away from a police van used to transport prisoners. Where Jackson was currently locked in.

"Oh, I know," Stiles said, staring at the van.

"Stiles!" Jackson yelled from the van, and I shook my head, drinking my blood again. "McCall! Hale! I'm gonna kill you!"

"Let's get this over with," I sighed, walking toward the van. "Do I go in first or one of you?"

"I'm on it," Stiles said, jogging ahead of me.

By the time I got there, Stiles was carefully opening the back door. I followed in behind him, carrying a bag that I threw to Stiles before closing the door behind the two of us.

"Hey, jackass," I mused to a furious Jackson who was handcuffed by the wrist and ankles, thankfully in pants.

"Okay," Stiles started, opening the bag. "I bought you some foo—"

Jackson moved toward Stiles, who crashed back into the opposite wall while I watched them from the door. "Let me out now!"

Stiles threw the bag down on the metal bench next to him. "You know, I put those pants on you, all right, buddy? One leg at a time. Being all up-close and personal with your junk wasn't exactly a highlight of my day. So don't think this is fun for me either."

"We're actually doing you a favour," I stated, taking another sip from the blood bag. Turned out the O positive was my favourite.

Jackson turned his glare to me, not even bothered by the blood bag. "This is doing me a favour?"