REAPING INNOCENCE ◦ STILINSKI [3]

vii.

vii. RIOT

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"I'm not sharing my basement."

    Carter rolled her eyes at the Werecoyote. Rather than being on time to their next class, Scott and Stiles had gathered the rest of their friends and met outside in the parking lot where the buses were. They hastily began to explain that the bite on Liam's arm had completely healed, signifying only one thing: that he was a werewolf. But they had all been surprised when the Were-Pheanix strolled over with a reluctant Raeven and an overly eager Logan on her heels. She said that the boy has refused to leave her side unless absolutely necessary.

    They needed to figure out a way to get through to Liam, be able to explain what was going to happen. The worst part wasn't the fact that he was being hard-headed and refusing to listen, it was that the full moon was tonight. And if Carter was already beginning to feel it in broad daylight, he definitely will be feeling something in the next few hours.

    "Actually, it's my basement." Lydia clarified, all of them being completely aware that they always brought Malia to the Martin Lake House on the night of a full moon. "And my mom noticed how you tore it up last time."

    "All right, she's still learning," Stiles defended. Carter found herself rolling her eyes once more, still not liking the fact that the two of them were so close—knowing that it meant something completely different to Malia than it did to Stiles. She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaned against one of the buses.

    "But we're going to use the boathouse for Liam," Scott announced, glancing between them. "It's got support beams. We can chain him to one of them."

    "Okay, quick question," Logan stepped out from behind Raeven, eyebrows pulled down into a frown as he steadily became extremely worried about his little brother. "How do we get my brother to come out to the Lake House if he doesn't trust any of us—including me. Ever since last night, he's refused to even make eye contact with me."

    "I say if it keeps him from murdering someone, we just chloroform the little bastard and throw him in the lake," Stiles suggested, bitterness toward the freshman evident in his tone.

    "I'm in," Malia agreed, raising her hand like a first-grader.

    Carter scoffed, pushing herself away from the bus. "Malia, you'd do whatever Stiles told you to do. Hell, you'd fucking kill the President of the United States if he wanted you to."

    Her heart was pounding in her chest. Something was wrong—she could tell. It wasn't just from the fact that Malia was trying to move in on Stiles, it...it was something else. She felt power purling through her veins, a heightened degree of strength that she's never felt before. It was something that went beyond the abilities of a Pheanix—werewolf. She was beginning to piece together what they had done to her. They had combined and heightened her abilities. She wasn't a Pheanix. She wasn't a werewolf. A hybrid. She was evolving into something new and dangerous...

    Power was consuming her and the only thing she could see was red. Blood. A disgusting pain in her throat, trailing up into her jaw. Her hands balled up into fists as the sudden urge to punch something came to the surface. Whipping around, she shot her fist into the side of the bus. A searing pain jolted up her arm, but quickly faded as her healing kicked in. She glanced down at her hand and saw that her knuckles were stained with blood. Blood. They were dark red and a few drops of crimson rolled down her fingers.