𝗧𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗬𝗢𝗨 ── 𝘚.𝘚𝘛𝘐𝘓𝘐𝘕𝘚𝘒𝘐

♡ 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗘𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗬-𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘 ♡

♡ 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ♡
𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 eighty-three.

enchanted.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

PARRISH stood before Gerard Argent, hands stationed steadily by his sides and breathing steady enough to mimic midsummer wind. Next to Gerard, of course, was Chris. Both wore an accusing look -- and both dressed it up in nonchalant concern.

"I was part of an E-O-D team in Afghanistan. Explosive Ordinance Disposal." He glanced between them. "We handled I-E-D's."

"And what about before that?"

The deputy shrugged. "High School."

Sensing dishonesty in his tone like how a dog could sense a fresh cut a mile away, Gerard slammed an open book before his face. Parrish didn't jump, oddly, and instead forced his eyes downward onto the page. "What's that supposed to be?"

It was a drawing, obviously. An old one. An illustration of what seemed to be a dying man resting against thick tree roots and a hellhound being the cause of his demise. "Werewolf?"

"It's called a Hellhound."

A blanket of unease settled on them all. Thick. Itchy. Suffocating. Parrish wanted to tear it away.

Before he could speak, though, Chris did. "What else do you remember from Afghanistan?"

The deputy tried to blink away memories as they wriggled their way before his eyes. He tried to forget how heavy the army uniform was on his shoulders and how, at times, he wished he could hide behind the helmet instead.

He tried to ignore how shaky his hands had become over the years and how still he once had trained them to be. He tried to ignore the days he spent cutting red wires and radioing bomb squads and wishing the sunlight was the only type of heat he'd have to endure that day.

Gerard clipped a gun from his armory. "You said you came to Beacon Hills," He raised both brows at the sweatbeats coating Parrish's forehead. "Because you felt drawn here."

The memories of the knife above the wires came swarming in. As did the heat.

"You hid the bodies of the Chimeras." Gerard began.

"You've got a resistance to fire." Chris joined, circling him like the two hunters they were at their core.

He remembered how he clipped the wrong wire.

Gerard fiddled with a blowtorch menacingly. "We were wondering just how flame retardant are you, Deputy?"

Chris pulled at his shoulders and restrained him from behind. "What the hell are you doing?" Parrish spat, struggling against him.

Snatching at his lower jaw and steadying his head forward, the old man brought it to his eye. Instead of burn marks, though, a red glaze glimmered back through the iris, and teeth tore at his own lips. His roar shook the walls and caused Chris to buckle backward, cautious of the bite.

The blowtorch clattered the ground and Gerard flickered his gaze to his son. "Exposing a hellhound."

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

"Don't get lost, Lydia," Meredith murmured as the Banshee paced back and forth, tears gathering in her green eyes. "You can help them, but you have to get out of here first." 

"She's in trouble." Lydia nodded painfully. "I think it's happening now." 

The desert wolf stood before Malia, taunting her with narrowed eyes. "You know, your real name isn't Malia. 

"Oh, god." Lydia panted. "She found her."

Malia could feel her throat close up as her mother wrapped her hand around it; clutching and strangling the vocal cords beneath. "You don't have a name. Talia Hale took you away from me before I could give you one." 

She brought her closer with her jaw, nails digging into the skin until blood tickled the edge of her cheek. 

"What you do have is power." The wolf paused. "Strength, speed, and the capacity to heal. Do you know where you got it from, Malia? You know who you stole it from?" 

Deaton fidgeted with his chains as the clothed fabric tied around his lips came loose. He was tossing himself back and forth, almost rhythmically, and felt his eyes widen with each word that entered his ears next.

"Me."

Malia's head was knocked backward into the concrete as her boot shoved her away. "Tell me when it hurts." The heel dug into her ribcage and bruised her feverish skin. "Tell me when it really hurts."

Her claws extended - ready to tear right through Malia's throat.

"Corrine!" Deaton spat out the fabric, "You can't get it back like this. It has to be a full moon.. kill her now and you get nothing!"

Lydia dropped to her knees and gave out a pained shriek as Meredith yelled out from behind the glass. "Break it!" she watched her slowly rise. "Break the glass!"

Lydia planted her hands against the glass, screaming as loud as she could. Not only in her mind but in her body -- and jumped up out of her bed. 

The lights above Deaton exploded, as did every light in her radius. It gave Corrine time to stumble back and Malia time to recover, kicking her sharply in the gut. She leaped to her feet, sharp teeth extended and blue eyes shining like bright sapphires in her sockets. The lights flickered around them and convulsed them in darkness every couple of minutes, each one getting the upper hand and losing it within the mili-second.

Meanwhile, Lydia fought her own battle. One for freedom. One for her own sanity. She ran through the halls of Eichen House, dodging doctors and officers at every turn. They cornered her. Tasers wrapped underneath their fingers and malice lingered in their eyes. With each hit she landed on one, Malia copied it with a hit of her own on her mother.

"I killed them because of you!" Malia spat, her panting growing heavy and her claws tinted red. "I killed my family!"

"Your adopted family." Corrine smiled coldly, "I'm your family, sweetheart."

Mal could only roar in response, lunging for her and wanting to tear out the family tree from the root. 

Lydia felt the lunge, but in the body of another, and screamed until the sound waves blew him off his feet. 

The lights blew out above him and sent sparks littering her bare feet. She didn't waste any time spinning on them and darting the other way, dodging broken glass and bruised bodies on the way. 

Malia couldn't dodge the glass when she was thrown headfirst into a car bonnet, though, and coughed up a good chunk of her lungs as she clambered back to her feet. "But it if makes you feel any better," Corrine hissed, "I didn't care about them. I was just trying to kill you."

The were-coyote lifted her hands to shove her mother's chest until she could rattle the cold heart within, but a loud thud caused her hands to freeze in motion. Right behind Deaton, who sat disheveled and tied up, the tiles of the walls began to crack. He dodged the oncoming shards of broken brick and plaster as he hunched forward, covering his body with himself, and felt the ground shake from the growl that erupted behind.

It was the Beast of Geavudan. Blue-eyed and blood-thirsty.

Lydia saw her own shades of blue as her body became pressed down to the wet asphalt. Rain covered her skin as it lit up with electricity, sticks of blue and white digging their power into her as she was tased over and over again. She screamed, cried, and pleaded with the doctors. But they weren't there to help her. Nobody was.

"Please!" she shrieked out, "I have to tell them!"

Their hands grabbed all the stitches on her nightgown and kept her grounded on her knees. "They're all going to die." She cried out to the thunder above with wide eyes, "My friends.. they're all going to die."

Malia widened her own eyes as the thunder in Lydia's eyes reflected the flickering blue ones of the beast in her own. 

"Malia!"  Deaton yelped out as its furred hand reached out for his chair, bringing him closer to the hole in the wall.

Malia glanced wildly between her mother and Deaton. It'd be unlikely she'd ever be this close to her again -- close to beating her, at least -- and each moment she waited was a moment she lost her upper hand. Although, each moment she waited was a moment that the Beast had a firmer one on Deaton.

She snarled out, making her choice.

She leaped towards Deaton and untied him quickly, pulling him out of the chair just as the creature tore it through the wall. She helped Braeden up simultaneously until they both stood by her solemn side. "Come on!"

And just as they fled, Lydia couldn't. And the Beast had its eye on both.

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Theo Raeken shoved open the door to his basement, kicking heavy stones and breathing brittle breaths as he clutched his side. His lips were swollen, not for the reasons he'd like, while hickeys matched the same hue as the bruises on his arms. 

He didn't like being bested. Especially not by someone who carried a pink lacrosse stick and thought his charms were as effective as a dull nail. He had a bandage wrapped around his shoulder joints, stained cherry-red like the pies his skin reminded her of, and like brittle pastry his ego deflated.

Theo avoided the knowing stares of his pack members. They too, all being caught under the foot of someone with brown hair and too much power. The only difference being one howled and the other hissed. 

Most sat on the floor, visibly wounded in both body and soul, while others leaned against the wall. They held their ribcages to keep their insides from spilling out and bit their tongue to stop the words from pouring.

"All this to take down one blind werewolf." Theo jeered, his steps echoing behind him as they dragged against the stiff concrete.

Deucalion spoke in a hushed whisper, aware that each word was hung onto like a lifeline. "Recently re-blinded. Unfortunately. The healing of my eyes by a Dark Druid proved only temporary." His hazy eyes glanced upward. 

"A parting gift from my time with Scott McCall." Deucalion paused for a second, inhaling the scent of Chimaera blood. "Friend of yours?"

"We're working through some issues."

"Like the one in your neck?"

When Theo pressed his lips together in a sharp frown, Tracy shot an uneasy stare toward his face until she weaseled through the icy look in his eyes. "He knows why he's here. He knows about the Beast."

Deucalion hummed in response. The Beast of Gevaudan.. history's most vicious, most famous werewolf."

Theo kept his stare locked and loaded like the barell of a smoking gun he just couldn't put down. 

"And you think I'm going to show you how to steal its power."

Stepping forward, the Chimaera leaned forward and whispered lowly, his knees barely touching the ground as he knelt. "I think you're open to negotiation." He smirked. "All you have to do is tell me what you want."

The man's voice shook the walls of the basement. Cracks etched up the walls and dust settled on his shoulders with each syllable. 

"I want his eyes..." He paused. "On the tips of my claws."

"I want the eyes of Scott McCall."

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Dallas needed a day off. No, scratch that, she needed several. Could the supernatural world deal without her for a month? A year?

She rolled her eyes. Probably not. They couldn't go an hour without thinking about her.

Her lip curled upwards as the mattress dipped beside her. Neither could her flannel-wearing token tragedy. 

"You know," he pressed a kiss against her neck, spelling his name between the dippets of her collarbones with his lips. "One day you're gonna break something bigger than just my belongings."

"Aw, like what? Your heart?" She teased relentlessly. 

His words mumbled against her skin as the octaves of his voice vibrated smoothly against her skin. "Who said you already haven't?"

"By what? Simply existing?"

He spoke with faux disappointment.  "By reminding me there's only one person like you that does."

A smile etched on her face as she rolled her eyes playfully. Her stomach was in knots, but not from her usual boy-induced stomachache, but from the butterflies that became smothered by the closeness of her lungs. "Yeah, not many girls have to be restrained from eating their ex-boyfriend." 

He smirked. "Everybody has flaws, Dal."

"Mine are cannibalistic."

"I think you mean non-existent." He shrugged. "It's okay, the words are so similar, I think half the town gets them mixed up."

Dallas spent half of her life frowning. So much so, the soreness in her cheeks matched the aching in her heart. It was a weird feeling to hurt from smiling so much now. It was weird to understand that too much of a good thing could still sting the same. That even the prettiest roses still had their thorns.

She couldn't stop rolling her amber eyes at him. They sat inside of her head like sundrops that hid behind tears of golden rain. Dallas couldn't help but wonder if she had really died on that field on prom night, and everything else beyond that was her own version of the paradisiacal afterlife.

Especially since his fluffy duvets and pillows were the closest she'd probably ever get to one.

He noticed how deep in thought she seemed to be. Her eyes would glaze over and she'd disappear for a moment. Stiles' hands anchored her chin and brought her out of her own storm, rubbing his thumb against her sandy pores. "I don't hear much agreeing."

"What can I say? Its a controversial take."

He chuckled. "To you." Stiles paused. "You know we hate to love you."

"Love me?" She pursed her lips as she propped up on her elbows as she wore a teasing grin. "Do you pray to me, too? Do you think of me when you sleep and when you wake up? Am I your brainrot, Stilinski?" 

Stiles narrowed his eyes playfully. "This is what I get for stroking your ego, ain't it?"

"Don't stop now." Dallas laughed. "It doesn't bite."

He leaned forward to press a kiss against her lips, mumbling into it. "No, but you do."

In retrospect, the kiss wouldn't have stopped. It was like an endless string of red yarn, it would only tie them wrist to wrist with each impractical loop.

That was, until Stiles' phone began to ring. He dropped his head into her shoulder with a groan. If the previous moments was Dallie's paradise, this current one was his hell. 

"Don't move." the Stilinski boy asked politely before sitting up and grabbing his phone from the dresser hastily. His eyes rolled at the caller ID. "Scott, if this isn't important I'll kill you."

 Dallas frowned and sat up once she saw the worry etch across his sharpened features. Her brown hair fell over the slender shoulders that stretched uneasily. There it was. The grim reminder that paradise on earth was only a temporary one.

He turned to look at Dallas, well aware that the words he spoke would only make her more anxious. "What happened to Malia?"

Dallas widened her eyes and stood up. "What about Malia?"

"We'll be right there."

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

James Garcia was a demon way before he was bitten. He was a liar, an unreliable narrator, a trickster wrapped in expensive fabric, and a monster with a tainted heart that would only ever beat for his daughter. He'd place cigarettes between his teeth, rings between his fingers, and smirks on his lips.

Derek couldn't help but roll his eyes at it.

"You've adjusted well to this.. change," Derek mumbled to him, sitting at his kitchen counter and soaking up the silence like it was fresh vodka hitting his liver. "It suits you."

James cocked his head to the side as he chuckled lowly. "That almost sounded like a compliment," he paused. "Was it?"

"Don't inflate your ego." 

"Don't give me the opportunity, then." He split a grin, eyeing him as he leaned his forearms against the counter, the white shirt of his suit riding up his arms just a little more each second. "Or is that exactly why you're here?"

Derek didn't want to play these games with James. He was usually an outsider, looking in on the inside, and seeing the soft parts of him as a man utterly devoted to his wife in more ways than one. She'd tamed him, maybe. Maybe she was so feral, that he had to anchor himself down for her. He had to be the human one.

He saw his reflection in the gleam of his teeth and clenched his jaw.

Without Marilyn, he began to see he was just as wild as the women in his life.

"I'm here to apologize to Dallas," He spoke over him sternly. "When she comes back -- if she ever does -- do you not worry about where she is all the time? What she's doing? If she's alright?"

James chuckled lowly. "If I knew what she was doing, chances are I wouldn't sleep at night." His joke didn't seem to impress Derek, who simply stared back unamusedly.  "I promise you, I do. No less than you."

A silence loomed between them before Derek breathed in, inhaling some of the tension between them. "I hate when you do this."

"Do what?"

"Make me like you." He retracted his arms from the counter and leaned back. "Invite me over,  look at me like we're just friends, and then remind me that's something I never want to be."

James avoided his look as he leaned forward again, searching for his eyes. "You can't save me for when it's convenient. I won't wait for you."

It was.. complicated. James needed him, him and his familiar sihouette, but it was taboo. An unspoken rule.. a line even the most daring wouldn't cross. Derek spoke again as his heart thumped wildy in his chest like a pack of wolves thundering over the empty fields underneath his ribcage. 

"If you're just gonna torture me, atleast let me try to forget you." He continued to hiss, his emotions getting the better of him. "That's the only victory I'll get with you."

"Do you even care-"

The words ended up in James' mouth as he brought him closer, kissing the sentences from his lips and dulling the sharpness in his tongue with his own. It caught Derek by surprise - keeping him frozen in the moment almost - before he returned it with the same type of carnal need that only the lips of another could solve. He didn't give James a chance to breathe, not that he'd ever need to anymore, and pulled him closer with his collar.

The vampire pulled away for a second and took that breath anyway. "I love you, I admit it, I do." He swallowed thickly. "But how can I? It's.. too complicated."

The faint yellow glow coated Derek's eyes as watched him while veins peeked out from underneath Jim's eyes as they glanced away, filled with fear for once in his long life. Derek spoke softly, him too, for once in his long life. "You just do."

His lips ended up on his once more. Doomed by the narrative, ill-fated by the universe, their family ties around them would always pull the together.. knotting them into a symphony that held the same passion as a dying star.

And now that same tie stood in the doorway, her bag landing loudly on the floor, and eyes wide with so much confusion that it made her brain hurt.

"Derek?"

He glanced at her; eyes wide and breathing heavy. "Dallie," The werewolf watched as her face blotted with hurt. Not towards them, or who they decided to love, but James had decided to love someone who hurt her so much. 

"Dallas, I-" he glanced at James, who had frozen in place. 

She scoffed loudly. "Good to know when he says that all Garcias do is hurt, he really just meant me." Dallas grabbed her jacket from the hook and slammed the door after her, finding home in the silhouette of a flanneled boy instead of the shape of a house. 

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Theo Raeken stood in his bathroom, now a dreaded place, and pulled the bandage away from his neck. He winced at the bitemarks. Tossing the bloodied plasters into the sink, he placed a box of fresh cotton between his teeth as he ripped open the box. 

Truth be told, that wasn't how he was expecting a kiss from Dallas to go.

Theo understood her hatred towards him. He hadn't exactly been the greatest friend. Or the greatest lover. What happened between them was still sore. Sorer than a Siren bite, that's for sure.

In the days that Marilyn's disappearance hit hard, Theo tried to make the impact hit a little less. Especially when the boy she loved spent his spare time directing his attention to her best friend instead. It wasn't love as much as it was comfort. A desire to be less lonely, even if he person beside you was just a placeholder for another.

But for Theo, sometimes it was love. Sometimes it was convenience. It was fondness, undeniably.

But that placeholder promised he wouldn't leave like her mother did, then up and left town to pursue something bigger. Something better. Something that only made her feelings of insignificance grow.

An attempt to swallow him whole was barely comparable to the hurt he had given her. 

Dallas Garcia was too heavy to hold. An occasional cradle didn't strain the muscles, but to hold her? Indefinitely? He wasn't strong enough for that. He wasn't equipped with the tools to fix someone like that. Staying warm by her side would only result in her burning everybody alive with her.

Maybe that was her true curse. Not to be a Siren. But to constantly be misunderstood. Maybe she only ate men because their own stomachs weren't big enough to fit her love. 

She was doomed to be too much, to be the girl spoken about in locker rooms. Never the one spoken about at the dinner table with parents. 

She was the girl left in the cold. Of course, it would eventually freeze her heart.

But when Stiles Stilinski could disprove that? So effortlessly? Yeah. It made Theo jealous. Not of who he was. But because he managed to melt it with nothing but a smile.

Theo winced once more at his bandages. Maybe it was him who was always burning. Maybe he stained her heart with his ash. 

He placed another thick bandage on his shoulder. Maybe. 

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Scott McCall entered the vet clinic with Liam at his side. His eyes were stretched wide and his strides held panic, even though they were slow and short.  

The doorway felt a halo around him, brushing against his sides as he stood, his eyes finally drifting to Malia's. 

There was a silence around them. Not in his mind, though. He was thankful Dallas wasn't around to tease him about each thought he had only consisted of Malia's name. 

Malia stood holding her ribcage, her stare at the floor. But she noticed him. Quicker than he may have noticed her. A small smile worked its way to her face and she felt the pain suddenly dim at the sight of him. 

It felt like a century had passed in the guise of a few seconds. Then in a blink, it was over just as soon as it started.

Breaking the comfortable silence, Stiles and Dallie's footsteps could be heard as they appeared behind Scott. Dallas couldn't help but brush past the boys and pull the coyote into a hug, forcing the two to break their heavy stare.

"Ow," Malia immediately winced, her arms wrapping around Dallas almost instinctively. 

"Sorry." Dallas frowned worriedly and gave her a warm look. "I'd smack you for being so reckless if you weren't already hurt."

She didn't give Malia a chance to respond and instead pulled her in for another hug. Malia couldn't help but drift her eyes over her shoulder once more, connecting her doey eyes with Scott once more. 

"If you died, I would've killed you, you know that right?"

Malia winced through a chuckle. "Promise?"

Dallas pursed her lips and mumbled into her jacket. "Promise."

Scott and Stiles shared a look before turning back to the scene, both staring at women they couldn't help but love.

☆ word count: 4,062. ☆

a/n: everybody is so slutty this chapter. love is in the air for everybody except theo :/