Chapter Twenty-Six
• Aubrey •
The Hale house feels as if it was never on fire at all. The penetrating blackness is cold, sinking down to brush my soul with icy fingers. It’s late at night― not quite midnight, but close. I waited for Stiles to fall asleep before I left him, sneaking out the window and burning his image into my mind. I also changed back into jeans and his t-shirt, the fabric clinging to his scent.
The door swings open, the alpha pack symbol still painted on the door. So that will be the last thing I see. No matter what I do, I’m still tied to them. All roads lead back home.
The house is a silent, wooden grave. Only a few lights are on, enough to illuminate the shadows of furniture and Peter’s silhouette. His voice sends a chill down my spine. “I see you’ve decided to grace us with your presence.”
When I speak, my voice is bitter and laced with hatred. “I didn’t have a choice, did I? It was either I come to you or you come to me. I figured this was the more peaceful option.”
He laughs, clasping his hands together in front of him. “You really are very clever, my dear. Enough to escape me and escape your pack― twice. I really wish I didn’t have to kill you. You have a lot to live for.”
Unconsciously, I start to back up. “If you don’t want to kill me, then don’t.”
Peter laughs again, making the hairs on the back of my neck raise. “Oh, I never said that I didn’t want to kill you, dear. Killing you will only make me stronger. Imagine this: the alpha that slit the descendant’s throat. I’ll be revered by all.”
“Murdering me won’t get you that.” The words keep flowing, knowing that the longer I keep talking is a longer time I’ll remain alive. “Murdering me won’t make you anything.”
He laughs again and circles me slowly, my body tensing up. “You know, I already had everything planned out before I met you. When Derek brought you here, that was merely the cherry on top. Your timing was impeccable. You were the final puzzle piece.”
I’m completely still. “What are you talking about?”
“I knew Roxanne’s plans long before you escaped; I was the one that convinced her to bring the pack to Beacon Hills. I knew everything about her plan, except I didn’t know why she needed you.” He stands behind me, claws grazing the back of my neck lightly and tangling in my hair. “That head alpha of yours is quite brilliant, I must say. Her plans surprised me, and I’m not easily surprised. Tricking her entire pack; why didn’t I think of that?”
Catching my blank stare, he continues, “Oh, did she not tell you? Better that you not know, really. We don’t want you to die in agony, now, do we?” He presses his lips to my neck, fangs nipping at the skin. I shiver, hating his touch. “I had a visitor earlier today― that human that you love so much. He told me that he knew the reason the alpha pack came to Beacon Hills. Do you want to know what it was? You.”
“Me? Why would they come here because of me?”
“My dear, Roxanne needs you to complete her plan. And that’s why I have to kill you.”
“But I thought you were in on it with her. Why would you want to disrupt your own plans?” The whole idea disgusts me, yet it makes sense. Roxanne and Peter working together; they’re perfect for each other. I hope they live happily never after.
“Roxanne only needs the power of a descendant to complete her plan. Aubrey, you are only fifteen years old. It isn’t fair to have someone so young hold so much power; you don’t know how to use your gift correctly. It would be much better used by someone older, with more experience. Someone like me.
“There is an old legend about the descendant: He who derives from the wolf rules all. They are the most powerful being in existence, able to control every living thing. The blood of the very first werewolf runs in their veins, tainting their eyes violet― the color of wolfsbane. A descendant is the only natural-born alpha; you don’t need to kill your way to the top. Legend also says that if an alpha kills a descendant, the alpha then becomes stronger because the blood runs through their veins. In short, they become a descendant themselves.
“If I kill you, my dear, I would become the final key in Roxanne’s plan. She wouldn’t need you anymore. No one would need you. And really, you’re just more of a burden than anything else. But I… I could be of real use. I could make her plan successful.”
He glances up through the holes in the roof, where the moonlight shines through. Then, he sees the time on his watch and grins manically. Midnight. “It looks like it’s a little too late to be saved. Time’s up.”
All of a sudden, a rush of heat sweeps through the room, removing Peter from me. He’s crouched low to the ground, blood dotting his face. Derek stands above him and corners him, hands balled into fists. He looks back at me, his eyes glowing red. “You remind me so much of Laura,” he whispers, so low that I can barely hear him. “Maybe, though, I can actually save you.”
From below, Peter snarls, his hand snaking out. I yell for Derek to watch out, but Peter grabs Derek by the ankle and knocks him down with one blow. Derek’s fangs snap out, his claws slashing open his uncle’s side. Peter howls, fist coming around to connect with Derek’s face; his nose cracks loudly and blood gushes out, spraying the front of his shirt. He growls and lunges, pinning Peter to the ground. Teeth sink into exposed throat and Peter screams― a gurgling, horrible sound. Derek snaps his head up, mouth dark with blood― only some of it belonging to him― and yells at me, “Aubrey, get out of here! Go! Run! Get the hell away from here and run as far as you can!”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. My body unfreezing itself, I tear down the front stairs and into the woods, slipping on slightly wet leaves in my haste. Glancing up at the moon, I know that something is extremely wrong with this night. Chills run through me. I feel extremely self-conscious in this shirt; wearing a target isn’t exactly something ideal, especially when you’re the girl wanted dead. Point one for irony.
Without quite realizing where I’m going, my feet find pavement beneath them, and I’m staring up at the front of Stiles’ house. His shape looms in his bedroom window, pacing back and forth. Guess I didn’t leave him asleep after all.
Taking a deep breath, I climb up the siding, finding natural footholds. I knock on his window and he opens it without hesitation; he must know that it’s me― who else would be scaling up two stories?
When he throws the window open, I’m expecting for his face to be full of delight― realizing that I’m not dead, not now. But his face is a mask of worry, his phone clutched tightly to his ear with white fingers. I was right― something is extremely wrong.
“We have a problem,” he says simply, putting his phone on speaker. Scott’s voice filters through, equally alarmed and unusually high-pitched.
“…He just appeared out of nowhere. It was so fast; I didn’t even have enough time to shift or anything. I want to track him, but I have to stay here with her. Oh, God, Stiles… It’s really bad.”
“I’m here,” I say abruptly, seeing the way Stiles is at a loss for words. “Scott, tell me what happened. Where are you?”
He sounds panicked― more human than wolf. “We were taking a walk when he just came out of nowhere. He ran out of the clinic and went straight for her. Sliced her across the ribs and took off. She’s not paralyzed, but she’s bleeding really badly. She’s unconscious.”
He’s not making much sense, so I try to figure everything out. She’s not paralyzed… He’s saying that the kanima attacked Allison. I try to make my voice seem as calm as possible, filled with authority. “Scott, take a deep breath. In and out, okay? You need to get Allison into the vet clinic; Dr. Deaton will take care of her.”
“Okay.” I can tell he’s nodding, trying to calm himself down. “Okay. But… Bree, I saw the kanima’s face. It flashed when it ran out of the clinic. I know who it is.”
This seems to snap Stiles back to reality. “You saw its face? Who is it?”
Scott takes a rattling breath. “Stiles, it’s Gerard. He’s alive.”
For a second, I’m confused, before I remember Allison talking about her grandfather. Except, she didn’t call him her grandfather; she called him by his name― Gerard.
“Of course,” Stiles breathes, more to himself than to anyone else. “‘My father would never let a rabid dog live.’ Unless he was the one turning rabid.” His eyes snap to mine and he says into the phone, “Remember when you gave him the mountain ash and he started bleeding black blood? Well, so did Jackson before he started turning into the kanima. That’s the trigger― bleed black, and you’re a kanima. And, I’m sorry, but it would make sense why he would go after Allison― she’s his granddaughter.”
“Oh, God,” Scott breathes, not listening to Stiles anymore. “I just got into the clinic. Oh, God. He’s dead. Oh, my God. Deaton’s dead. Oh, God. Oh―”
“Scott,” I order. “Stay at the clinic and we’ll be there soon. Stay with Allison and make sure she stays on her side. Call 911.” With that, I disconnect the call and grab Stiles’ hand, rushing out the door.
• • •
The clinic is drowning in blood. Black blood from the kanima coats the walls, streaking along the ceiling tiles. Scott sits in a corner of the lobby, Allison cradled in his arms. His face clearly reads as distraught, tears cutting a clean path through the blood. She’s hurt really badly― there’s no denying that. There’s a wound across her ribs, the skin gaping open in a gruesome way. Stiles immediately kneels beside Scott, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. They communicate with only facial expressions and after a minute of silence, Scott sighs and lets Stiles help lift Allison onto a metal operation table.
“It’s my fault,” Scott says, his voice breaking. “If I had only acted quicker; chased Gerard down…”
“No,” Stiles says firmly, turning Scott to look at him. “This is not your fault, okay? Allison will be fine. She’s a survivor and she’ll make it through.” He looks at me when he says this, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Let’s try to clean this place up, okay?” I grab a cloth off the table, motioning for Stiles to leave Scott alone. Though they’re as close as two people can be, Scott needs some time to himself to realize that the situation is under control.
When we’re out in the lobby, Stiles grabs my hand and whips me towards him. “How are you here?” he whispers, eyes scanning me up and down.
I offer a small smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. I’m not supposed to here. I’m supposed to be dead.
And soon, I will be.
Shaking my head to clear the undeniable thought, I say, “Derek― he was on our side all along.”
“Scott told me you would survive the night; I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe him so badly…” He trails off, pulling me closer. His breath tickles my ear as his lips lightly trace my cheek, showing me his affection. I wish he wouldn’t.
“Well, I’m here now.” I make my voice sound light, but my thoughts scream, The night is not over.
All of this is too similar. It’s just like that nightmare I had, the night I first escaped from the alpha pack. I can’t calm my wild heart.
His arms tangle around me and his lips move to mine, his body heat radiating against me. Fingers knot themselves into my hair, black against white. I’m out of breath, gasping and struggling, drowning in his loveliness. I want to hold on, I want to let go, I want…
A screech assaults my ears, followed directly by the bell above the main entrance going off. Shielded behind Stiles, I turn my face to the door. My heartbeat― finally a different pace than his― ascends to my ears until all I can hear is my own fear.
Roxanne stands in the door, the streetlights lighting her hair from behind so that it looks like fire. “How sweet,” she sneers. Other members of the alpha pack stand behind her, all shifted with eyes glowing red. “You’re going to make me sick.”
And she descends on us.