"𝓀𝓃ℯ𝓌 𝒽ℯ 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓀𝒾𝓁𝓁ℯ𝓇 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝒽𝒾𝓂"
A large breath is sucked in through a pair of chapped lips, and her green eyes snap wide open. As OpheliaStone wakens from her unconscious state, the first thing-the only thing on her mind is simple, really. It's the only thought, more like that the thought is so loud, it drowns out all the rest.
To kill Scott McCall.
Despite the bodies the hybrid had carelessly left at the rave, to later baffle the Sheriff's department as they found them, Ophelia's bloodlust had only continued to rise. Someone had triggered her raging, animalistic urge to kill, and she doesn't think she's ever wanted to spill someone's blood as much as his.
Scott was the reason why she went through that torture.
Scott broke the one promise she asked him to keep.
So, in Ophelia's mind, Scott McCall is more dangerous than the Argent family themselves. And she wants to rip his heart out of his chest. She wants to see his eyes turn lifeless as his soul is sucked out of its vessel. She wants to cause him so much pain that he would have to beg for her to end his life. No, she needs to.
The girl's eyes dart around, and she pushes herself up from the cool metal examination table that she is lying on, instantly taking notice of the multiple animal posters and diagrams plastered onto the four walls sheltering her from the cool nightly breeze. From first glance, it appears she is inside an animal clinic. She also takes note that there is currently no sign of Derek, who she vaguely remembers dragging herself and the other teenager out of the warehouse.
"Ophelia, are you okay?"
The soft voice from the side of her brings her back down to Earth, everything being forgotten as she locks eyes with Scott. In the blink of an eye, the already weakened werewolf has a deep cut across his torso, the thin fabric of his shirt ripped from the sharp talons used to create the injury. His brown eyes widen in shock, and his breathing becomes heavier in pain as he stumbles backward, crashing into the wall behind him.
The girl watches with a satisfied smirk and ties her hair away from her face.
Quickly, another voice adds to the situation, but it is unknown to the hybrid. "Ophelia, I don't tolerate violence in this building." The sound cuts through the thick tension like a knife through butter, but it is soothing at the same time, trying to calm the girl down, and hopefully stopping her from doing any further damage. "I mean you no harm," he tells her, raising his hands into the air innocently. "Quite the opposite in fact. I'd appreciate it if you step away from Scott, and take a few deep breaths."
Her eyes snap over to the source of the annoyingly soothing voice, her eyebrows raising at the sight of a dark-skinned man in a long, burgundy sleeved t-shirt. "Who the fuck are you?"
He shows no reaction to her vulgar language, nor her cold attitude to him. "My name is Alan Deaton. Scott's told me about you, with great hesitation of course." His eyes continue to dart between the now unsettlingly calm teenage girl, and Scott, who clutches onto his bleeding wound in agony.
His employee had informed him of the girl's supernatural status; that she is a mixture of a vampire and werewolf. However, Alan Deaton didn't have much knowledge on hybrids. He had encountered a few vampires throughout his life, but only heard of the more recent rumours that such a powerful creature, combining the two species, had been created. He had seen violent supernatural beings before, however, Ophelia's behaviour toward Scott right now is uncharacteristic. It stands out to him.
It's like she shares no emotion except for the crippling anger focused on the one teenage werewolf. She shows no sympathy or remorse that she had just severely hurt Scott, instead opting to just stand and watch him with something that resembles glee because she had been the one to cause him pain. What Alan Deaton can't figure out is why she had dealt such a fatal blow instead of just killing him.
The veterinarian's words do the exact opposite to what he intended them to do. They only fuel the fire inside her.
Ophelia meets Scott's wide eyes, and she almost scoffs at the innocence held within them. Her heart thunders loudly against her ribcage, and her blood rushes up into her head from the flood of adrenaline she feels. "I should kill you, you fucking bastard!" He flinches away at the volume of her voice, and an involuntary tear slips down his cheek as his blood continues to stain the once pristine flooring. The girl's eyebrows furrow in mild confusion as she smacks the side of her head, now directing the searing hot anger at herself. "I want to kill you. So, why can't I fucking kill you?"
Her quiet question causes the two males to share a look in concern, and the older of the two realises that the hybrid is quickly spiralling: becoming more unstable by the second. She needs to be reined in before someone does die.
Too caught up in her blinding emotions toward Scott, Ophelia misses the actions made by the adult behind them. However, she does hear his footsteps as he cautiously makes his way over to her, fully aware that the werewolf is bleeding out and needs urgent medical attention.
Her green eyes glow bright red as she spins around with a snarl. Just as the Stone speeds forward to slash Alan Deaton's throat, she loudly shrieks as an excruciating pain hits her eyes, her face burning intensely from being coated in the almost fluorescent, violet powder that had just been thrown in her direction. With burning eyes, Ophelia tries to take in deep breaths as her healing begins to get to work against the toxic herb; her burnt skin knitting together until it's smooth and fully healed.
Fangs back on display, Ophelia narrows her eyes and scowls at the small glass jar held in the veterinarian's hands. "Where the fuck did you get that?"
Deaton slightly smiles at the girl and sets the jar onto the metal table before him, emphasising the movements and making it painfully obvious that the substance is still with them. "Let's just say, I'm more accustomed to the supernatural world than you might think."
Ophelia clears her dry throat, ignoring the way Scott's heartbeat continues to slow. "I should kill you."
Even amongst his pain, Scott's eyes widen at the statement. "No, no, what?"
"Scott, right now, I would shut the fuck up," Ophelia snaps. Her sharp words cause the boy's mouth to promptly close, and a shaking hand reaches up to wipe the sweat off his forehead.
"Yes, perhaps you should," Deaton replies simply to her previous statement, seemingly completely unfazed from her threat. Giving her a final once over, he places the jar into his pocket, and the man grabs a sewing kit off the bench and crouches beside the werewolf to stitch him up.
The response causes Ophelia's body language to ever so slightly relax as she realises that she still has the upper hand; she's still in control here. She has one advantage left over Beacon Hills, one final ace up her sleeve. Unless of course she got unlucky, and someone already knew more about vampires than they let on to, like this newly introduced veterinarian. But so far, no one seems to know about her humanity. Which means that she could continue to manipulate these people for her own gain. She could play with them like children's puppets, tapping and pulling on their strings to her own desires.
She would go along with Scott and his pack for the time being to get to the kanima and its master. Then as soon as she had the chance, she would kill both Jackson Whittemore and whoever had the nerve to order the boy to lay a hand on herself. And of course, anyone else who got it her way.
She can't help but go back to the lingering thought in her head, that no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't kill Scott. Ophelia could have ended his life right then and there. She had the chance; she had the time to do so. But for some reason, she couldn't. Which is so insanely unfathomable to her because she has no humanity. She didn't care at all about Scott, nor whether he had family who would grieve over his death.
Wincing in pain as the needle pierces through his skin, Scott weakly looks up to the hybrid who is already staring at him. "Why- why didn't you kill me? Why haven't you killed me?"
Ophelia narrows her eyes at him, her nose flaring as the anger returns. She shuts her eyes to try and block out her thoughts that are still screaming at her to go through with those vicious imaginations. "I don't know," she mumbles. "Doesn't mean I don't want to." She inhales through her nose and regains her composure, an eyebrow arching as she looks back to the older man. "Care to explain what the hell you are?" The girl points to the powdered vervain peeking out of his pocket, then her eyes trail over to the countertop that is littered in other various glass containers with large symbols plastered on them. "I'm guessing another bloody witch?"
"No, I'm a veterinarian," he says simply.
She rolls her eyes in exasperation and folds her arms over her bloodied tank top. "Come on, you're a typical witch. Got all the shit for spells, the creepy ass symbols-"
Although he's on the brink of passing out, Scott's eyes widen in incredulity at the word that had just been casually dropped. "Witches are real?"
Ophelia rolls her eyes once more and gives him a condescending smile. "Well, duh."
"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm just a veterinarian," Deaton reiterates, his voice holding amusement to it.
"Yeah, right," Ophelia mutters under her breath.
⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆
The next two weeks were bliss. Now on spring break, Ophelia took the time to get away from Beacon Hills. She didn't know where she went, nor did she care to check or document the locations. To put it simply, she had fun. Utterly chaotic, violent, and careless fun. The kanima, Jackson Whittemore, Scott McCall, and all the other problems that resigned in the hellhole of a town stayed there. Ophelia didn't let them follow her, and she didn't let them bother her.
Aside from Stiles' incessant text messages telling her how Scott had healed just fine, or how they hadn't had any activity in regard to the kanima.
Then she decided to return.
Perhaps it was because she was getting lonely, perhaps it was because a tiny, tiny part of her missed Stiles' erratic behaviour, or perhaps it was because she felt somewhat empty not having her daily visitations with the coyote in the woods. Ophelia Stone had grown an attachment to Beacon Hills. And the girl isn't sure whether that is a good thing or not.
With a glass of whiskey placed in her hands, she stares into the flames roaring within the fireplace opposite her. There is something about looking into a fire that soothes her. It's as if the natural wonder is showcasing all of Ophelia's suppressed emotions, but the difference between the two is that one can be controlled. The other, not so easily.
A growl of annoyance slips past her lips as her phone continues to vibrate, just as it had been for the last hour. On repeat. She snatches the device off the side table by her feet, and rolls her eyes at the countless messages and missed calls; majority which consisted from Stiles, and surprisingly, the occasional one from Scott.
sherlock fucking holmes
hey!
are you back in town?
if you are, it's lydia's bday tonite. party at her house.
ok you aren't responding...
sorry?
i don't even know what i'm apologising for
are you coming to lydia's?
she's asking about you
it's been a few hours so assuming you aren't...
With another grumble of profanities, she switches the phone to 'Do Not Disturb' and throws it across the room. "No, Stiles. I'm not going to Lydia's," she retorts as if the boy is able to hear her.
She raises the tumbler glass back up to her lips, downing the rest of the alcohol before standing up off the sofa and turning around to smile sweetly at the human staring at her from the dining room table. Ophelia raises a finger and shakes her head slightly, her eyes lingering on the puncture marks around the woman's neck, stains of blood splattered across her pale skin.
"No, not yet, sweetheart. Thank you, though. So thoughtful." However, when the landline phone on the kitchen counter rings far too loudly for her liking, Ophelia groans. "For fuck's sake!" Just before she can reach it, whoever is calling hangs up, the sound abruptly stopping. A content smile lifts at the hybrid's lips, only for it to drop when the phone rings once again. She grabs the phone off the holder with impatience and raises it to her ear to yell at the poor receiver. "All right, fuck off-"
"Wait, it's Stiles," the boy rushes out in a panicked voice, breathing heavily, almost like he had just been running.
Ophelia tilts her head to the side. "And? I got your messages, I'm not going. Go follow after Scott like a lost puppy."
"Shut up." Her eyes widen slightly at his tone of voice, yet she hums for him to continue. "It's Matt. Matt's controlling Jackson."
Multiple things hit the girl in this very moment. The most painfully obvious being her taste for revenge, but another is confusion. "Who the hell is Matt?"
"Uh, he takes photos around the school. You broke his camera a few weeks ago?" Stiles tries, the sound of a car engine starting up in the background, mixing with Scott's frantic yelling for his best friend to hurry up.
She clicks her tongue in understanding. "Oh, yes. I remember. Where is he?"
"I don't know, he was at the party with the kani- Jackson. But they just disappeared," Stiles explains quickly.
"So, why are you calling me?"
"Because we're going to the Sheriff's station," Scott adds in. "We're gonna tell Stiles' dad, hopefully there'll be enough evidence to get Matt arrested."
She pinches the bridge of her nose, her head shaking slightly. "Bloody hell," she mutters. "Okay, well, I'll meet you down there."
"Wait, what? Really?" Stiles questions in disbelief.
"Yes. You're going to need backup if Matt shows up. If he's got a brain, he'd be assuming that this is exactly what you're going to do." Ophelia hangs up the phone, not leaving room for a response from either of the boys, and shrugs her leather jacket on. Then as if she remembers she isn't alone, she spins around with a charming grin on her face. "Right, I'll be back shortly."
The human blood bag stares back emptily, before slumping back down onto the chair and continuing to look into space.
⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆
The minute the red Porsche rolls to a stop outside the Beacon County Sheriff's Station, Ophelia contemplates turning around. What stops her from doing so is the overwhelming urge to kill both the kanima and its 'master.' Getting out of the vehicle, her eyes narrow as she scans the parking lot, finding Stiles' unmistakable Jeep and a black Camaro next to it. Quickly making her way to the front entrance, she pulls the door open to be met with her favourite scent in the world. Blood.
"Ophelia, get the hell out of here!"
The girl rolls her eyes as she steps inside the foyer, scoffing at Stiles' adamant protest. "Oh, shut up, you called me." Although when she finally reaches the main room where all the commotion and scents are originating from, her eyebrows raise in a mixture of curiosity and surprise. "Now, this is a fucking party. I almost hate how I predicted this so well?"
Her eyes slowly move across the room, finding Derek and Stiles both lying face down on the floor, no doubt paralysed once again. Though, she doesn't find herself to be in as much delight as she thought she would seeing Scott with a gun firmly pressed against the back of his head. Ophelia struggles to grasp the fact of how many times the werewolf had been standing directly in the face of death this month alone. Actually, now she thinks about it, Scott could rival the Mikaelsons.
The male in possession of the deadly weapon holds shock in his eyes at the appearance of the blonde, yet his features quickly fall void of any emotion as he scowls at her. "Make a move and I shoot him," he threatens lowly.
She squints her eyes at the boy and chuckles. "This is fabulous. I'm just gonna take a wild guess here and say that you're Matt?"
"Yes," Stiles calls out from the floor, his voice slightly muffled from how his t-shirt covers his lips.
The hybrid lets out a huff of a sigh when spotting Jackson in the corner of the room, although there is an apparent difference to his appearance. Only half of his body is covered in the scales of the kanima; he's not fully transformed like the other times she had seen him. "Great," she announces dryly. "Everyone's here."
Matt shoves the gun back into Scott's head, causing the boy to wince at the harsh sensation of the cold metal against his skull. "Shut up," he seethes at her.
Ophelia juts her bottom lip out in mock sympathy, completely unfazed by the situation she has found herself now engulfed in. "I'm going to give you five seconds to run. I would strongly, strongly suggest using them. But I do love a chase. You know, a good 'Tom and Jerry' moment. Makes sense why it was one of my favourite shows as a kid."
"Yeah, bitch!" Stiles yells out, hyping the girl up.
Matt laughs humourlessly, clearly not aware of the severity that her warning is presented with. "You know, Ophelia, not everyone's so lucky to have sharp teeth and glowing eyes." However, when the girl doesn't flinch a muscle at his revelation of being aware of the supernatural, nor react how he thought she would, his eyes somehow turn a shade colder than before. "Bit of a shame you won't be here to see how it all turns out."
Everyone's eyes widen in alarm when the gun is pulled away from Scott, and without any hesitation, Matt shoots a bullet aimed straight at Ophelia Stone's forehead.
𝘏𝘪 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴!
𝘉𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘯.
𝘐 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘓𝘺𝘥𝘪𝘢'𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘖𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘢'𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥.
𝘖𝘧𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘒𝘢𝘪 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘤, 𝘩𝘦𝘩𝘦.. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬.
𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳!
𝘓𝘪𝘷 𝘹𝘹
(gif by hazzawckd )