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.
Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Raeven's nostrils were flaring. The sight of fresh, warm blood was something she doesn't see very often—and it was enough to have her on edge. Air hissed up Raeven's throat, spitting through her clenched teeth with a low, menacing sound like a swarm of bees. Before the sound was out, her muscles bunched an arched, twisting. A dry, scorching ache in her throat at the sight of blood.
Carter seemed to gather her bearing enough to try and distract Raeven. But, for she was momentarily preoccupied by the way her body moved. The instant she'd considered standing erect, she was already straight. There was no brief fragment of time in which the action occurred; change was instantaneous, almost as if there was no movement at all. She had gotten faster. She was faster than before.
She moved slowly toward her doppelgänger—each step taking nearly half a second, each step flowing sinuously like river water weaving over smooth stones—her hand outstretching to her.
Raeven watched with hunger at the grace of her advance.
"Raeven?" Carter asked in a low, calming tone, but the worry in her voice layered her name with tension.
She did not answer immediately, lost as she was in the drying blood on Carter's knuckles. It was the most perfect shade of red, a smell so captivating and sweet that she couldn't imagine anything ever smelling any better, but she could imagine the taste...
"Raeven...Rae? I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have done that with you here. But you're all right, remember? You've learned control. Everything is fine."
The dry ache was all she could think about, and the more she thought about it, the more it hurt. Her hand flew up to cup her throat, like she could smother the flames from the outside. The skin of her neck was strange beneath her fingers.
Raeven swallowed through the pain, slowly backing away from them as her fangs slipped through. "I'm sorry, don't—I've got to go."
She finally turned away from them before bolting across the courtyard. Carter felt a pang of guilt course through her chest, knowing that if she hadn't let her emotions get the best of her then Raeven wouldn't have needed to flee. The brunette saw the amount of pain her doppelgänger was in—see in her eyes as she stared at the blood. When was the last time she fed? That was also when she began to wonder what Raeven had done after she ran away...
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Everyone had already arrived at the Martin Lake House, excluding Scott and Raeven. They were awaiting the arrival of the Alpha, and more importantly, Kira and Liam. While Carter and Stiles were setting up everything in the boat house, Stiles had stumbled across some highly concerning information regarding Liam. Which resulted in the brunette scolding Logan for not telling them.
A few minutes later, the headlight of Scott's dirt-bike was breaking through the darkness, the boy roaring into the driveway next to the five of them. He parked his bike, pulling his helmet off of his head. His hair was slightly disheveled and his dark eyes were shining.
"I just talked to Kira. She's on her way. She said it's all going fine." Scott announced, glancing at all oft them.
"No, it's not that," Stiles muttered, releasing a nervous sigh before approaching Scott. He had uncovered an alarming piece of Liam's life, making the teenagers all grow even more nervous about the full moon. "I have to tell you something. I asked around about Liam. I know why he got kicked out of his last school."
In confusion, Scott looked toward Carter and Logan, his eyes lingering on Logan a bit longer as the rest of them remained silent. Stiles, pursed his lips, dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
"This is going to be bad, isn't it?" Scott asked, looking toward Logan, getting a nod of confirmation in return. Carter could see the irritation in the depths of his eyes. He was getting annoyed that every single plan they've ever had, constantly had some sort of issue or problem or flaw.
"He kind of got into it with one of his teachers," Stiles began, pulling up the picture of the aftermath on his phone. "Uh, kid's got some serious anger issues."
Anger. She could feel the changes due to the full moon—it was starting to have an even greater effect on her. Her head was throbbing in anticipation. She might not have been ready for it, but her body and mind were more than willing to let the transformation take control.
"How serious?"
"Well, that's his teacher's car," Stiles breathed out, holding out his phone for Scott to see. "After he took a crowbar to it."
On the screen was a picture of a blue sedan; there were scratches, busted windows, dents, and holes. The tires were slashes with their rims bent in awkward ways and the passenger side mirror was knocked off. There was also a menacing message carved into the passenger side doors: THIS IS YOUR FAULT.
The situation wasn't demeaning because the boy had anger issues, Carter knew that most of the people who have been turned by a bite have anger issues—it just happens. The problem was the fact that Liam, the freshly turned werewolf, was going to be experiencing a whole new level of anger on the full moon. And she knew that they were severely overestimating themselves if they thought they would be able to control Liam once he shifted. Not even Scott will be able to control his own Beta.
And they were already done two people. Malia was out of commission because of her inability to control her shift yet, and Raeven was off God-knows-where trying to keep the loose grip she had on the blood-thirsty monster inside her. Her doppelgänger had been fighting an internal battle for centuries. And she still had no idea what was going to happen to her. With how crazy she's been acting those past few weeks, she just expected that something bad was going to happen with her tonight. She just didn't know how they were going to be able to keep her locked up. Without the full moon she was already stronger than Scott and Malia combine; they were going to have to encase her in cement to even slow her down.
Carter didn't want to put anyone at risk, even more than she already was, and with the fact that she could transition and hurt someone...she couldn't focus. She knew that she needed to tell someone, and for some reason, she was hesitating to tell Scott and Stiles. They had always been the ones that she could tell anything to, but that night...that topic, the words were getting stuck in her throat and she just couldn't seem to claw them out and put the letters in the correct order. Stiles already knew something was wrong with her, she noticed. His eyes have been lingering on her more than usual ever since she came back to Beacon Hills with Raeven, and he was constantly begging her to him what happened to her while she was gone.
She knew that the events that occurred while Scott and Kira were fighting the Oni in the "fake Japanese garden" at the school—when she almost lost complete control of the Pheanix, when she was begging Stiles to kill her just to stop the pain. It scared him. She also knew that when she had left with Raeven, only leaving behind three letters of goodbye, it had sent him into a state of pure-anxiety. He had texted her at least six times a day, wondering where she was and if she was ever coming back, just because Carter hadn't replied, didn't mean she hadn't read every single one of them—even the ones from Scott. That's why she didn't want to tell him. She's scared that when he finds out what happened to her—what they did to her—he won't be able to see her as anything other than broken or damaged.
She would be something that he needed to fix.
He couldn't fix her, because she wasn't broken.
She didn't need to be fixed.
She didn't want his sympathy—especially not from him—she could handle everyone else's pity, but if she had to feel his saddened eyes survey her changing body, she wouldn't be able to cope.
"Kira just texted me, they'll be here in a few minutes," Scott announced, glancing down at his phone. They were all gathered in the den of the Lake House, standing—waiting patiently for them to arrive.
Carter was pacing anxiously. She couldn't keep still—she had to tell someone before they had to deal with Liam. She has to tell someone, she just didn't know who. And at moment, she wished Raeven had been there. The five-hundred and ninety-three year old brunette already knew what happened to Carter, it would've been so much easier and less complicated if she was there. Everyone in the room, beside Logan and Malia, had been walking on eggshells around Carter ever since she had returned—afraid that the slightest misplacement of words would make her leave again.
Suddenly, a familiar hand grabbed her wrist before saying to the rest of them: "We'll be back before Liam and Kira get here, don't worry."
Her eyes widened as Stiles dragged her out of the room, leading her through the kitchen. She bit her tongue, keeping her mouth shut as he forcefully pull her into the nearest room with a lock on the door. He shut the door, twisting the lock before flicking the lights on.
"Carter," he began lowly, crossing his arms over his chest, "you need to tell me what's going on, right now."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Carter lied swiftly, crossing her own arms over her chest. He wasn't a werewolf, he couldn't hear the lurching sound her heart made when she lied. But she could hear his. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest; his cheeks and the tops of his ears were red—oh, he was mad.
And then she caught sight of the expression on his face, his eyes now locked on her twitchy fingers—her physical tell. Damn him.
She held her breath while his skin changed colors—fair to red, red to purple, purple to red, red to red. She started to back up—she wasn't sure what she planned to do. The silence was long and thick with tension. Then, gradually, shade by shade, Stiles' color returned to normal. His lips pursed, and his eyebrows furrowed. He studied her for a long moment.
He let out an even breath and moved toward her. "Carter, I notice when you start to act differently before you even notice. I noticed that the Nogitsune was possessing you—you hadn't even known about it until it was already gone. I noticed that in the letter you left behind, you secretly put in an actual goodbye just in case you never made it back. And last week when you kissed me in the bathroom at Scott's house, you only did that to deter off the subject that I'm trying to talk to you about right now—I mean, it did work, but you did it because you were trying to hide it from me."
What happened to her—they weren't things she could explain to Stiles.
"I'm not going to ask again, Carter." His voice was low, words cutting through the air like a knife through butter. Her Pheanix could feel the effects of his anger seeping into it, arising a natural panic that had her already anxious body on the edge.
"Stiles, if you could just wait—"
"No, I'm not going to wait. Tell me what's going on," he snapped, cutting her off.
She opened her mouth to speak once more, but stopped when the sound of a car pulling into the driveway reached her ears. She silently thanked the Lord that Kira and Liam had gotten there before she was forced to tell Stiles what happened—she had been mentally conjuring up a lie to tell him, not wanting to actually tell him the truth...at least not all of it.
"Liam and Kira are here!" She exclaimed, wrapping her hand around the doorknob, twisting it the the point where the lock broke and she bolted out of the bathroom. She could hear Stiles following behind her, feeling his anger radiating off his body.
She made it back to the den just in time to see Liam enter the house, his face noticeably darkened at the sight of Scott, Stiles, Carter, and Logan. They were all a bit sheepish, not entirely sure of what to say or how to go about the situation. The boy turned to glare at Kira.
The raven-haired girl shrugged, shutting the door, "Sorry."
Liam reluctantly turned to face the rest of the group. Kira placed herself in front of the door, making sure that the boy didn't try to turn and escape. He held his arms out in questioning, "What the hell is this?"
"Think of it like an intervention," Stiles suggested, anger still underlying in his tone. Carter watched him as he spoke, feeling a wave of guilt come over her for making him so angry. If she had just told him what happened to her when she came back, he wouldn't be mad and she wouldn't feel like shit for not telling him. "You have a problem, Liam."
"And we're the only ones that can help," Scott finished, stepping forward.
It grew incredibly silent, and that was when they delved into the story that the world was filled with supernatural creatures.
Kira—thunder Kitsune; a Fox.
Lydia—Banshee; death omen.
Malia—Werecoyote; hasn't been a human for eight years.
Scott—werewolf; True Alpha.
Carter—Pheanix turned werewolf; hybrid...bird? Wolf?
The brunette's species had been a little bit harder for them to explain, seeing as though none of them really even knew what being a Pheanix truly meant. Only Raeven did—she had done extensive research on Pheanixs, almost being able to trace the lineage all the way back to the very first Pheanix. But Raeven wasn't here to explain that to Liam.
Eyeing them all suspiciously, Liam pointed at Scott: "Werewolf?" Malia: "Werecoyote," Lydia: "Banshee?" Lydia held up a finger in acknowledgement. He turned to look over his shoulder at Kira: "Fox?"
"Kitsune," she shrugged, "but, Fox works."
He became even more confused when he look toward the brunette standing away from the group. "What even are you? A bird? A werewolf? Phoenix?"
Carter sighed, running her hands over her face. "Pheanix; spelt P-H-E-A-N-I-X, it's a little different. I don't turn into a flaming bird if that's what you're wondering. But, long-story-short: I was born a Pheanix and bitten by a werewolf last year. So, I guess you could say I'm a hybrid. I can also feel your pain—when you broke your ankle yesterday, I felt it."
Liam shook his head, not even bothering to touch that explanation with a ten-foot pole. He then turned toward Stiles, all of them knowing that he was the only human left in the group. "What are you?"
"Uh, for a little while, I was possessed by an evil spirit," Stiles announced, rubbing his forehead in frustration. Carter nodded in agreement; she could still smell the mark that the Nogitsune left behind. It was hard not to notice it—it was fading, but it would be prominent on his soul for years to come. "It was very evil."
"What are you now?"
Stiles quirked up a brow. "Better?"
Liam nodded, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes scanned across the room. Soon enough, they landed on the table where chains were lying. They were for Malia, but Carter had feeling that she would be needing them more than her.
"Are those for me?" Liam asked.
Malia opened her mouth, but Carter stepped forward. "No, they're for me," her dark brown irises beginning to glow with a fire so bright that they lit up the area around her eyes.
And as soon as she had done that, a splitting pain erupted in her skull. She gripped the sides of her head with both hands, screaming out in pain as the beast inside begged to get out. A spasm rocked through her body, she fell to her knees at that exact moment, gripping the sides of her head even tighter than before. She wailed out once more in bewildered agony—it was a different degree of pain, something she had never felt before. All the pain she's ever experienced came from the Pheanix, but this pain, it came from the werewolf.
She could hear her breathing get faster, but she couldn't control it as she started to gasp. Carter couldn't process properly. Her concentration ripped to shreds by the agony and the power that wanted to be released. She had absolutely no control, like she was caged in some small corner of her head, no longer at the controls. But she couldn't do anything about it. That was what they wanted—they wanted her to lose control...become the beast she was meant to be.
There was no escape.
This was inevitable.
She was going to transition...and she was going to hurt someone.
She was first aware of the cool hands touching her. Arms holding her, a palm curved to her cheek, fingers beginning to stroke her forehead. Stiles kneeled down and asked her what was wrong, having Scott tell him that she was losing control. That she was actually being swayed by the full moon. Stiles' freezing hands grabbed at her arms again in a desperate attempt to pull her to her feet.
Carter tried to understand the spiraling voices, tried to follow the curling pathway through the blurry images that whisked passed her as Stiles pulled her through the house. She struggled to focus to pick out individual voices and images. She shook her head, feeling the pain slowly rising up her spine, across her throat, and into her face. She felt unsteady there—everything was making her dizzy.
And suddenly, her vision cleared and she saw that she was in the basement of the Lake House. Stiles and Malia were beginning to chain her up; the imminent danger to Stiles' life enough to keep Malia in control. They hastily began to wrap the shackles around Carter's wrists, watching in shock as her fingernails elongated into claws. She growled lowly at them, baring her vampire-fangs at them as a warning to get as far away from her as possible. But Malia stood up to the challenge, growling back as she tightened the shackle.
"Malia," Stiles called out, "you should leave."
She shook her head, glancing down at the struggling Carter, "No. No way in hell am I leaving you down here when she's this out of control."
"I'll be fine."
"She hardly has control over herself when it's not a full moon. How do you think she'll—"
"Don't talk about her like you know everything about her, Malia," Stiles boomed, startling the girl. "You don't know anything about her. She's gone through struggles that none of us can even relate to, so, if you want to talk to someone about not having control, then you should go and talk to Liam."
And with that, Malia left the basement. Carter's head lolled to the side, watching as the Werecoyote drug her feet until she disappeared completely. She had never seen Stiles snap at anyone like that before; but she knew that he honestly hated to see the saddened look on Malia's face. He wouldn't have yelled at her if he didn't believe what he was saying was true.
"She's right," Carter panted, barely being able to talk through the pain. "You shouldn't be down here. You don't know what'll happen."
"I'm not going anywhere," Stiles replied, pulling up a stool so that he was sitting a few feet in front of her. "And to be honest, I'm probably safer down here than in a party with fifty freshmen and a very pissed off Lydia."
If the situation had been different, she probably would have laughed. But she didn't have the energy to waste on laughing—focusing it all on trying to keep herself in control. She felt sick—everything was inside out. That afternoon, she'd been chomping at the bit to release her anger. But now that she finally had the option, all she wanted was for it to go away. Battling against her heightened werewolf side wasn't a fight she'd been ready for.
It was obvious when she roared and tried to swipe her claws at him. Other than the pain, all she felt was guilt. She could feel the drive, the need, to break the chains and kill him. The compulsion grew, and she fought it uselessly, writhing on the ground where she was.
"P-P-Please, Stiles...go," she commanded lowly, afraid that if she raised her voice it wouldn't come out as words but as a roar.
Stiles leaned in closer, an aching in his chest, "It's okay, I hate parties. It's a social anxiety thing. You ever had a panic attack? I know you've witnessed me having one—and you helped me overcome it. Help me get through it."
Carter yanked on the chains once more, screaming in frustration.
"Baby, just breathe, okay," Stiles cooed, softly. "I'm not going to leave you. Remember? We never leave without each other, okay?"
She wanted to cry, but the pain in her face kept her from doing so. "Wh-What if I hurt you? I w-w-won't be able to...live with...live with myself."
"You're not going to, Car, I know you won't."
"Ah!" She wailed, pounding her fists into the floor with so much force that several of the bones in her hands ground, also causing thick cracks in the cement to form. Her body was more than ready to slice into his soft flesh. Her muscles flexed and relaxed on their own accord. "But I want to!"
"I'm not leaving you. And I'm not going to let you hurt anyone."
She growled at him, eyes flashing their supernatural hue for the first time since she had shone them to Liam—it was a sign that she was losing control. Her strength causing the metal shackles around her wrists to begin to creak...bending under her power.
She raised her arms up, showing him the crack in the metal. "You're not going to have a choice. I'm too strong, Stiles—these chains won't be able to hold me for much longer. And when I break free...I'm going to kill you."
And with one more yank, the metal shackle on her right wrist snap in half. That one brief second in time seemed to move in slow motion, watching as the restraint fell from her wrist, falling through the air before clattering against the ground. But, like a lightning strike, everything came to life when she lunged at him, now being able to get onto her feet. Stiles jumped away, knocking over the stool in attempt to get away from her.
"Okay, Carter, I know you can hear me," Stiles stated, being to make his way back over to her, watching as she tried to yank the end of the chain out of the cement pillar. "Just listen to my voice."
"Run, Stiles!" Carter cried out, another flash of pain and heat shooting up her spine. "Please!"
"I'm not going to run, Car," he announced, moving to where he was standing right behind her as she continued to pull on the chain. "Because I don't think you're going to hurt me. And I think that maybe you're so afraid of hurting me because of what you did to that group of hunters four years ago."
Her next snarl got caught in her throat as she thought about what he said. It struck a chord. Rarely ever did she recall back to the night when everything changed, mostly for the very reason of how gruesome it had been. She didn't like remember the blood on her hands and the fire and the screams...it was all too much. But how could Stiles know? How could he know what she's done and stay with her? With a murderer?
"I know what that's like, Carter, you know I do," Stiles continued, his voice soft as her breathing began to even out. "I remember everything I did. And the worst part is I remember liking it. Because I felt powerful. I felt fearless. And most of all, in control. But when I came through it, I learned something else..." he paused, waiting for Carter to turn and look at him before he continued: "Control is overrated."
He moved slowly, inching himself forward enough to put the key into the lock. She watched him, watching him gulp past his anxiousness, watched as his wrist turned ever so slightly to unlock the one remaining shackle from her wrist. As soon as the shackle fell she moved like a lightning strike—power and speed and death rolled into one movement.
She growled, lunging at him with all her might. He reacted immediately, wrapping his hands around her biceps to keep her at a distance. And just like, when she saw the split second of fear on his face, the bloodlust was gone. She felt the burning in her eyes fade, the aching in her jaw and gums be soothed, the pain in her spine and skull vanished. Carter looked down at her fingers as saw that the claws had disappeared—she did it. She stayed in control.
She fell to her knees as her panting turned into sobs. Stiles kneeled down and pulled her into his chest. She gripped onto him tightly as he began to sway them back and forth in a soothing way; but the sobbing refused to cease. "H-H-How can you e-even look at m-m-me now that you know wh-what I-I-I did to them?"
"Because I know it was self-defense," Stiles soothed, stroking her hair and he continued to rock her back and forth. "And I understand why you didn't tell anyone—I only know because Raeven told me, she was afraid that you'd never tell any of us."
"I'm a monster."
"No, you're not. And I won't let you slip into becoming one, either."
He saw the darkness in her beauty.
And she saw the beauty in his darkness.
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ooh, Stiles knows what Carter did four years ago...but y'all still don't know *evil laughter* i mean, it's obvious what she did, but you'll have to wait and see how bad it actually was. ooh, and how hot was Stiles in this chapter? Angry and funny Stiles is my favorite Stiles.
major starter feels in this chapter. but poor Raeven, the blood just makes her crazy! and if you hadn't noticed, im making the plot for Carter in season 5 start in the fourth season. those pesky dread doctors hurting my bby Carter.