xiv. MISCHIEF MANAGED
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CARTER KNEW THAT she was dreaming.
Instead of fighting it, she found herself falling deeper into her slumber, because of who was going to be in the dream. He was always there.
She was at a house party. She spotted Scott sitting with Stiles and Lydia on a loveseat in the corner of the living room. She settled on a large ottoman opposite them, and she heard conversations start to pick up again around the room.
"You look great," said Lydia warmly. "I just love that red sweater."
Carter nodded in thanks. "Where's Kira and Malia?"
"Kira and Malia? I don't know, around somewhere, I suppose. There's a lot of people here."
That was true. The decorative living room was packed, and from what Carter could see the crowd flowed into the dining room, the front parlor, and probably the kitchen as well. Elbows kept brushing Carter's hair as people circulated behind her.
"It's crazy that no one's talking about the murder," said Scott. "Everyone was talking about it last week."
"But not all the details," said Stiles firmly. "In fact, there are things the police still haven't let out because they think it might help them catch the killer. For instance"—he dropped his voice—"do you know what I heard my Dad say? Dr. Hank was talking to the guy who did the autopsy, the medical examiner. And he said that there was no blood left in the body at all. Not a drop."
Carter felt an icy wind blow through her, as if she were standing in a graveyard. She couldn't speak. But Lydia said, "Where'd it go?"
"Well, all over the floor, I suppose," said Stiles calmly. "All over the altar and everything. That's what the police are investigating now. But it's unusual for a corpse not to have any blood left; usually there's some that settles down on the underside of the body. Postmortem lividity, it's called. It looks like big purple bruises. What's wrong?"
"Your incredible sensitivity has me ready to throw up," said Scott in a strangled voice, fishing his inhaler out of his pocket before taking a puff. "Could we possibly talk about something else?"
"Well, you weren't the one with blood all over you," a familiar voice said from behind Carter, a brief moment of still air settled before the figure stepped into her line-of-sight. Allison Argent was standing alive and breathing with a towering Isaac beside her; their hands locked together.
"Have the investigators come to any conclusions from what they've learned? Are they any closer to finding the killer?" Isaac asked.
"I don't know," said Stiles.
"Can we please stop talking about this," said Carter desperately. If there ever were a place not to discuss this, it was in a crowded room. Stiles' eyes widened, and then he nodded, subsiding before lacing his fingers with Lydia's—the strawberry-blonde girl leaning into his side.
"I think I'll go see what kinds of refreshments are provided," Carter said.
She was hungry. In the dining room someone had set up an assortment of finger foods that looked surprisingly good. Carter took a paper plate and dropped a few carrot sticks on it, ignoring the people around the bleached oak table. She wasn't going to speak to them unless they spoke first. She gave her full attention to the refreshments, leaning past people to select cheese wedges and Ritz crackers, reaching in front of them to pluck grapes, ostentatiously looking up and down the whole array to see if there was anything she'd missed.
She'd succeeded in riveting everyone's attention, something she knew without raising her eyes. She bit delicately down on a bread stick, holding it between her teeth like a pencil, and turned from the table.
"Mind if I have a bite?"
Shock snapped her eyes wide open and froze her breath. Her mind jammed, refusing to acknowledge what was going on, and leaving her helpless, vulnerable, in the face of it. But though rational though had disappeared, her senses went right on recording mercilessly: dark eyes dominating her field of vision, a whiff of some kind of cologne in her nostrils, two long fingers tilting her chin up. Theo. She had no idea who he was but his name popped up in her head. He leaned in, and, neatly and precisely, bit off the other end of the bread stick.
In that moment, their lips were only inches apart. He was leaning in for a second bite before Carter's wits revived enough to throw her backward, her hand grabbing the bit of crisp bread and tossing it away. He caught it midair, a virtuoso display of reflex.
His eyes were still on hers. Carter got in a breath at last and opened her mouth; she wasn't sure what for. To scream, probably. She had no idea why, but there was this persistent nagging at the back of her mind to scream. Her heart was pounding like a trip-hammer, her vision blurred.
"Easy, easy." He took the plate from her and then somehow got hold of her wrist. He was holding it lightly, as she continued to stare and gasp, he stroked it with his thumb, as if comforting her. "Easy. It's all right. Do you mind if I check your pulse? You seem a little faint."
"I mind." The voice came from behind Carter. It was clear and cold and quiet. Carter had never heard him speak that way before; in her other dreams he was always so gentle and caring. Theo's fingers stilled on her throat, and, released from his spell, she stepped back.
"But do you matter?" he said.
The two of them faced each other under the faintly flickering yellow light of the brass chandelier.
Carter was aware of layers of her own thoughts, like a parfait. Everyone's staring; this must be better than the movies...he was so much taller than Theo...There's Stiles, Scott, and Allison—along with the others—wondering what's going on...He's angry but he knows not to start a fight...
And in front of all these people. Her thoughts came to a clattering halt as everything fell into place. That was what Theo was here for, to make him attack, apparently unprovoked. No matter what happened after that, Theo won. It would mean his life, thought Carter. Oh, please don't do it. Don't play into Theo's hands. Theo wants to kill you; he's just looking for a chance.
She made her limbs move, though they were stiff and awkward as a marionette's. "Malakai," she said, shocked that she was finally able to place a name to his beautiful face as she took his large warm hand in hers, "let's go home."
She could feel the tension in his body, like an electric current running underneath his skin. At this moment, he was completely focused on Theo, and the light in his cat-like green eyes was like fire reflecting off a dagger blade. She didn't recognize him in this mood, didn't know him. He frightened her.
"Malakai," she said, calling to him as if she were lost in fog and couldn't find him. "Malakai, please."
And slowly, slowly, she felt him respond. She heard him breathe and felt his body go off alert, clicking down to some lower energy level. The deadly concentration of his mind was diverted and he looked at her, and saw her.
"All right," he said softly, looking into her eyes. "Let's go."
She kept her hands on him as they turned away, one clasping his hand, the other tucked inside his arm. By sheer force of will, she managed not to look over her shoulder as they walked away, but the skin on her back tingled and crawled as if expecting the stab of a knife.
Instead, she heard Theo's low ironical voice: "And have you heard that kissing a red-haired girl cures fever blisters?" And then Lydia's outrageous, flattered laughter.
They were on the threshold before they stepped out into driving needles of rain.
Carter walked down the hallway in a curious vacuum. At school she was usually peppered with greetings from all sides; it was "hi, Carter," after "hi, Carter," wherever she went. But today eyes slid away furtively as she approached, or people suddenly became very busy doing something that required them to keep their backs to her. It had been happening all day. And she didn't remember a thing from her dream last night—she knew that there had been a dream because there was this nagging feeling in the back of her mind that something really important had happened.
"I'd better go check about the bonfire tonight," Scott said, snapping Carter out of her thoughts. "I just want to make sure that it hasn't been canceled."
Carter was concerned. "If it's not canceled, do you think you're feeling up to it?"
"I'll be fine, it's you we're worried about," he said evasively. But she noticed that his face still looked drawn. "Meet you at the bonfire later," he said.
She nodded. When she got to her locker, she saw Amanda—the bitchiest girl in the school—nearby talking to two other girls. Three pairs of eyes followed Carter's every move as she put away her books, but when Carter glanced up, two of them suddenly looked away. Only Amanda remained staring at her, head slightly cocked as she whispered something to the other girls.
Carter had had enough. Slamming her locker she walked straight toward the group. "Hello, Becky; hello, Elizabeth," she said. Then, with heavy emphasis: "Hello, Amanda."
Becky and Elizabeth mumbled "hello" and added something about having to leave. Carter didn't even turn to watch them slink away. She kept her eyes on Amanda. "What's going on?" she demanded.
"Going on?" Amanda was obviously enjoying this, trying to draw it out as long as possible. "Going on with who?"
"With you, Amanda. With everybody. Don't pretend you're not up to something, because I know you are. People have been avoiding me all day as if I had the plague, and you look like you just won the lottery. What have you done?"
Amanda's expression of innocent inquiry slipped, and she smiled a feline smile. "I believe you're time on the throne—as well as Lydia's—might be running out. But it isn't my doing. What's happening is simply natural selection. The law of the jungle."
"And just what is happening?"
"Well, let's just say that going through a mental-breakdown can put a cramp in your social life."
Carter's chest tightened as if Amanda had hit her. For a moment, the desire to hit Amanda back was almost irresistible. Then, with the blood pounding in her ears, she said through clenched teeth, "That isn't true. Nothing is wrong with me. I'm perfectly fine."
Amanda shrugged. Her smile now was patronizing. "Carter, I was you're friend before the fire," she said, "so I'll give you some advice for old times' sake: drop Scott and Stiles and go to counseling. If you do it right now you might just avoid being a complete social leper your senior year. Otherwise you might as well buy yourself a little bell to ring in the street."
Rage held Carter hostage as Amanda turned and walked away, her auburn hair moving like liquid under the lights. Then Carter found her tongue.
"Amanda." The other girl turned back. "Are you going to go to the annual bonfire tonight?"
"I suppose so. Why?"
"Because I'll be there. With Scott. See you in the jungle." This time Carter was the one to turn away.
The dignity of her exit was slightly marred when she saw a slim, shadowed figure at the far end of the hallway. Her step faltered for an instant, but as she drew closer she recognized Stiles. She knew the smile she gave him looked forced, and he glanced back toward the lockers as they walked side by side out of the school.
"What was that all about?" he asked quietly.
"Nothing. I asked Amanda if she was going to the bonfire tonight." Carter tilted back her head to look at the gray and dismal sky.
"And that's what you were talking about?"
"Yes," she said defiantly, still inspecting the clouds.
"And that's what made you so angry?"
"Yes," she said again, in the same tone.
She could feel his eyes on her. "Carter, that's not true."
"So, now you can read minds?"
They were facing each other now. Stiles was tense, his mouth set in a grim line. "You know I can't. But I thought you were the one who was so big on honesty in relationships."
"All right. Amanda was being her usual bitchy self and shooting her mouth off about my little adventure in the woods the other night. So what? Why do you care?"
"Because," said Stiles simply, brutally, "she might be right. Not about you but about us. About you and me. I should have realized this would happen. It's not just her, is it? I've been noticing hostility and fear all day."
"What they think doesn't matter! They're wrong, and they'll realize that eventually. Then everything will be the way it was again."
A wistful smile tugged at the corner of Stiles' mouth. "You really believe that, don't you?" He looked away, and his face hardened. "And what if they don't? What if it only gets worse?"
"What are you saying?"
"It might be better..." Stiles took a deep breath and continued, carefully. "It might be better if you don't see us—including Scott—for a while."
She stared at him. "And you think you could do that? Not see me or talk to me for however long?"
"If it's necessary—yes. We could pretend we've broken up and you and Scott could just not communicate in public." His jaw was set.
Carter stared another moment. Then she circled him and moved in closer, so close that they were almost touching. He had to look down at her, his eyes only a few inches from her own.
"There is," she said, "only one way I'm going to announce to the rest of the school that we've broken up and that Scott and I are no longer friends. And that's if you tell me that you don't want to see me. Tell me that, Stiles, right now. Tell me that you don't want to be with me anymore."
He'd stopped breathing. He stared down at her, those caramel brown eyes striated like candy in shades of gold and purling honey.
"Say it," she told him. "Tell me how you can get along without me, Stiles. Tell me—"
She never got the chance to finish the sentence. It was cut off as his mouth descended on hers.
Carter looked at the faces turned toward her, at the curious, furtive eyes and the wary expressions. Not the kind of looks she was used to getting when she made an entrance. Scott McCall was nowhere in sight, but Amanda was, seated on top of a red picnic table, which showed off her legs to their best advantage. She gave Carter a mocking look and then made some remark to a boy on her right. He laughed.
Carter could feel her smile start to go painful, while a flush crept up toward her face. Things had been getting weird lately. Last night, one of the Sheriff's deputies had tried to burn Jordan alive—after he had gotten his hands on the deadpool. But Jordan came out unscathed—which Carter found extremely strange; she hadn't even felt any pain. None. Nada. They had taken Jordan to Derek's loft to see if he could figure out what kind of creature the deputy was, but to no avail. He didn't have claws or glowing eyes or reptilian scales—which meant they were still at square one. Then a familiar voice came to her.
"Carter! Over here."
Gratefully, she spotted Logan sitting with Liam and Mason on another picnic table across the courtyard. She walked over to them, watching as Liam brought the rim of the liquor bottle to his mouth before downing a hardy gulp.
"Hey, give me that."
Carter quickly grabbed the bottle from the younger Dunbar, sending him a pointed look as she moved it away from his body. She originally hadn't intended on coming to the bonfire for the lacrosse team, but when she mouthed off to Amanda saying that she would be there with Scott, she had no choice.
Last night, two things had been revealed when the printers at the Dunbar residence randomly started running—printing numerous copies of the updated deadpool. One of the updates was that Derek Hale was no longer on the list, and two, was that Liam's price had raised from three million to eighteen million. Logan and Liam's reactions weren't the most enthusiastic, which is exactly why they were both making an attempt to get themselves intoxicated.
The bottle of Jack Daniels that Liam had managed to smuggle was suddenly snatched from Carter's hands and raised to Logan's lips. The older boy downing as much as he could before the yearning in his stomach was momentarily quenched.
"Oh, big brother, always the buzzkill," said Liam, and Mason turned a laugh into a cough. He wasn't amused, though. Carter could tell; she could feel it radiating from him. Mason was becoming curious; wondering why Liam and Logan were suddenly acting so strange. He was wary.
Logan hummed, throwing his head back to take another swig before handing the bottle back to his brother, much to Carter's surprise. "No worries, baby bro. I didn't come to bust your balls, I have other things on my mind," he said. "And if you don't tell Mom you saw me here, I won't her I saw you, either."
Carter could not relax, though. "I'm hot," she said abruptly. "I think I'll go see what kind of refreshments the school has provided...something other than alcohol."
Liam started to rise, wanting nothing more than to make sure she was all right, but Carter waved him back down. She wanted to be alone for a few minutes, to be moving instead of sitting, to calm herself. Being around Liam, Logan, and Mason had given her a false sense of security. Leaving them, she was once again confronted by sidelong glances and suddenly turned backs. This time it made her angry. She moved through the crowd with deliberate insolence, holding any eye she accidentally caught.
She was thirsty, but a familiar figure caught her eye before she could dwell on her dry throat. Scott McCall was moving toward a dancing Malia Tate. "Malia?" she muttered under her breath, eyebrows furrowing as she noticed the Werecoyote sloppily swaying to the music with a silver flask pulled up to her lips. "Oh, that's not good."
She walked over to the Werecoyote, somewhat stumbling as though she were an intoxicated adolescent—but she hadn't had a single drop of alcohol. Carter finally reached the girl, arriving at her side mere seconds after Scott had.
"Hey!" Scott greeted with a forced smile. "What are you doing here?"
Malia hadn't seen Scott and Carter since she left them in the vault, and she sure as hell didn't want to see them now. A small grin tugged at the corners of Carter's lips, acting as if she and Scott hadn't lied right to Malia's face, when in reality, they had—they all lied to her. They tore apart the trust she had put in them, and they completely destroyed everything they had created.
"Getting drunk!" Malia said, lifting up the flask for them to see. "What are you two doing?"
"Trying to make sure no one gets hurt," Carter said, moving until she was no longer standing beside Malia but next to Scott.
Avoiding eye contact, Malia lifted the rim of the flask to her mouth before stating: "That sounds fun too."
"I don't want to ruin your night or anything," Scott said, trying to catch Malia's darting eyes, "but we kind of can't get drunk. I think it has something to do with our healing. But, trust me, I've tried. You're not gonna feel anything."
"Maybe you should tell them that."
Scott and Carter shared a look before glancing to where Malia was gesturing. It was the table Carter had been at earlier with Liam, Logan, and Mason. The Dunbar siblings were consistently throwing their drinks back, Logan drinking straight out of the bottle while Liam steadily poured the liquor into an empty soda bottle. At the sight of them drinking, Carter's heart hurt. She was saddened that she couldn't get drunk—she wanted to get drunk enough so that she was able to block out all of the pain. She needed to force everything out of her mind so she could focus on finding him. That was all she wanted. He was out there, somewhere, in the shadows. Waiting for her.
Across the courtyard, Liam sighed and glanced down at Logan and Mason. "Not gonna tell me to slow down?"
"Nah, just take some Advil before you go to bed. Don't want to wake up with a hangover." Logan opted, his pounding head rested in his hands as he tried to control the spinning that he felt.
"Actually, I was gonna say, 'keep drinking.'" Mason suggested, nodding as he patted Logan's shoulder before staring at the dancing bodies scattered across the courtyard. "I think you should get drunk. And I mean stumbling down, fall on your ass, passed out with your face in a toilet drunk."
"Why?" Logan asked.
"Maybe then when I ask the two of you what's going on, you'll be too drunk to lie," Mason explained, his face dropping considerably as he glanced over at the siblings. "I'm not asking because I want to know. I'm asking because I want to help."
Liam and Logan both grew uncomfortable in the silence that formed, mostly because they knew that they could very well spill-the-beans to Mason while they were drunk. But they also knew that it would put their friend in a considerable amount of danger. And Mason didn't deserve that, he didn't deserve to lose his life just because he wanted to help his friends.
Logan seemed to realize that before Liam had, and glanced over through the crowd to see that Scott, Carter, and Malia were together still, the Alphas speaking to the bouncing Werecoyote. He knew all about what happened between Scott, Malia, Carter, and Stiles, knew that Malia was still upset that the four of them had lied to her about her who her parents really were.
"I'm gonna get another drink," Liam announced, gulping as he stared down at the empty soda bottle. His brother and best friend glanced up, surprised as he gave them a small smile. "And, yeah...I'm gettin' drunk."
And with that, the teenage boy walked off.
"Malia, we just want to talk," Scott said, watching as the girl continued to bounce around on the balls of her feet.
"Well, I just want to dance."
Carter stepped forward, "We had our reasons. We didn't tell you about Peter—"
"To protect me," Malia finished. "That's what Peter said you would say. And guess what he said next? That you were right. Does that surprise you?"
"No," Scott replied, his tone hard and serious. "It makes me wonder what he wants. Malia, we need to stay together. You, me, Carter, Stiles—"
"I don't want to talk about Stiles," Malia snapped, the Were-Pheanix tilted her head to the side; they had hit a nerve. "I just want to dance. And get drunk."
"Malia," Scott called out as the girl turned away from them, only for her to trip and stumble over her on feet. "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" He eased, bringing the girl back to her feet. Malia laughed heartily as she took another swig from the flask. "You are drunk."
Malia snorted, "Yep."
"But you can't be—" Carter was cut off when a shock of pain shot through her skull; making the area around her spin. She stumbled, falling right into Scott's chest, feeling his arms wove themselves around her waist. And that was when he noticed that Liam and Logan were stumbling as well; the smell of alcohol radiating off them.
"Is this what drunk feels like?" Malia asked, feeling the giddy-drunk feeling turn into something indescribable. She felt as though someone had punched her in the gut before smacking her head with a sledgehammer. "It doesn't feel as good as I hoped."
"I don't think it's supposed to," Scott said, readjusting his hold on Carter, her soft groans flittering up into his ears. "Malia..." his voice trailed off as Malia began to sway, looking as though she were about to collapse. He looks down at the flask in her hand, snatching it out of her grasp before bringing it up to his nose. "What's in this? What did you have to drink?"
Malia's eyes squeezed shut, her vision growing blurry. "Just vodka."
A looming figure amongst the crowd caught Scott's attention; a suspicious looking deputy was watching them. "Stay on your feet and keep moving." he instructed, guiding Carter and Malia over to where Logan and Liam were stumbling.
Carter saw that Scott was struggling to carry both her and Malia, the Werecoyote looking as bad as the Dunbars. She wasted no time in trying to help the Alpha. Despite her mixed feelings toward Malia, she still needed to help. So, Carter quickly grabbed the girl's other arm and struggled to get her to an open space at the table.
Sadly, Carter ended up falling down with Malia, the two girls crashing into the grass with slight groans. Scott's arm quickly shot out by instinct, reflexes quick, but Carter was already on the ground.
"Scott," Carter called, feeling his arms snake around her biceps. "Something's wrong. We can't get drunk. Something else is happening to us, Scott."
Scott nodded in agreement, looking over at Malia. "I think you're right, Car. But I'm going to go check on Logan and Liam, and I need the two of you to stay right here, okay?" He stood up, leaving the two Hales to try and control their breathing along with the pulsing pain in their heads.
"Carter," his voice rang out, making the girl look up to see that he was holding out two water bottles, one of them directed toward Malia while he gave the other to her. "I don't know what's happening but I need you to try and clear your mind. You're the strongest out of all of us—you're gonna be the only one that can push through this."
Carter glanced past Scott to see that Liam was sitting atop of the table while Logan stood to the side swaying back and forth. She shook her head at Scott before struggling to stand so that she could get to the brothers. Scott watched where she was going, and the second that she stumbled, his hands were grabbing a hold of her waist to stabilize her.
His hands were hot on her waist, she looked up at him. "Thanks."
Carter was next to the brothers in a matter of moments, the bottle of water that was intended for her was given to Logan as she wanted him to sober up before she considered taking care of herself. He glanced up from his focus on his stumbling feet, giving her a confused look when he noticed that she was holding out a water bottle for him to take.
"Logan, I need you to drink this," Carter demanded, the Alpha tremor in her voice enough to make Logan understand that he needed to do whatever she was telling him. He took the water from her hand and began to drink. She then moved to look at him, his head was bobbing back and forth. He didn't look good at all.
Scott seemed to notice this as well, turning to look over at Mason. "How much has he had to drink?"
"Not enough to get him like this." Mason explained, shaking his head.
Scott glanced around the bonfire, his chest beginning to heave as the pulsing music rang even louder in his ears. "Something's happening. We need to get them out of here. I think we're gonna have to, um..."
Carter and Mason both turned to the Alpha when they noticed that his words were beginning to slur together, sentence dropping off completely. Carter saw that Scott was staring down at his hand, eyes glazed over as he watched his hand began to blur. She looked toward him in worry. "How much did you drink, Scott?"
"Nothing," Scott denied, his body moving ever so slightly. "Not even a sip."
Mason had no idea what to do about the fact that Malia, Liam, Logan, Carter, and Scott all looked as though they were doing to drop into a coma in a moments notice. Scott, who had leaned on the table, realized that the music blaring in his ears became so deafening that, when he looked up into the crowd, he could barely make out a single figure beside the bouncing DJ. The man didn't seem the least bit bothered by the sound, instead, just increased the intensity of the song. Making it impossible for Scott to think clearly.
"It's not the drinks. It's the music," Scott shouted out to the best of his ability. "I have to...I have to turn off the music. Don't let them out of your sight."
Carter watched as he made his way to leave and her hand instinctively shot out and grabbed a hold of his upper arm to keep him from moving. He stared at her for a few seconds, blinking away the haze in his vision to try and get a clear image of her face rather than just blurred smears of color.
"Scott, please be careful," she pleaded, grip tightening before letting it fall completely.
He nodded once, barely capable of doing that, before making his way toward the crowd of people in his attempt to stop the music. Carter felt a lump form in the back of her throat, her head still felt as though it were splitting it half as she tried to push the music's effects out of her body.
And suddenly, a rough hand grabbed a hold of her, the brunette glanced up to see that one of the security guards that were in charge of supervising the bonfire was towering over her, a hard look on his face while the second one grabbed a hold of the Dunbar brothers. Carter wanted to protest; wanted to struggle out of the man's hold only to realize that the intensity of the music was making her weaker by the second.
"Let's go," one of them instructed, grabbing Liam's upper arm only to be stopped by Mason.
"Hey, what are you doing?" he snapped, reaching for Liam's arm all while giving Carter a hard glance. "These are my friends."
The man's stature didn't falter, a hand falling on Mason's chest to hold him back. "Your friends are overly intoxicated. They need to be escorted out."
"Okay, I'll go with them," Mason offered, refusing to allow those men to just drag away the four "intoxicated" teens, he promised he would look out for. To not let them out of his sight.
"That won't be necessary."
Mason's face hardened. "I said they're my friends."
The teenage boy's attempts to go with his friends were proven futile the second that the security guard grew annoyed and shoved Mason to the ground, giving him and the other just enough time to grab a hold of Liam, Logan, Malia, and Carter. All four teenagers were quickly moved through the crowds before Mason even had the chance to stop them.
Carter quickly began to struggle when the revelation that they were going to die dawned on her. "Let us go, you bastard! What the hell do you want?"
The man ignored her, shoving through the doors leading into the high school and effortlessly throwing her on the ground next to Malia, Logan, and Liam. The three of them were barely conscious, all while Carter felt herself growing more and more conscious—the fear of her friends falling victim to the deadpool awakening her senses. Using the wall of lockers behind her for stability, she pulled herself to her feet.
"Let them go," she pleaded, staring into the eyes of one of them just as two others came bursting through the doors. Scott's motionless body being dragged through the hallway before being thrown to the ground with the others. "You can have me, just let them go."
The biggest guard, the one that had shoved Mason, smirked. "It seems as though we've got ourselves a hero, boys. I think we should burn her last, make her watch her friends die before putting her out of her misery."
Scott tried to muster up enough strength to grab Carter to stop her from advancing on the man, but it was no use as the biggest one raised his arm, the brunette going down to the ground with a pained cry when his fist connected with the side of her face. Scott's chest rumbled as he let out a growl, Carter's weakened body landing in his lap. Even though rage was purling through his veins, he was incapable of doing anything but stare at what was in the man's hand. "What is that? What are you doing?"
"Gasoline," he said, inching forward and stepped over Carter's sprawled out legs. "Haigh says we gotta burn you."
The man began to unscrew the lid, gasoline poured from the red can while Scott continued to figure how he can anything besides sit there and burn. To his left, Malia and Liam and Logan were now becoming more aware of the fact that they were in danger while Carter lied on his lap with her eyes closed. Scott knew that if the man accomplished his plan, the Were-Pheanix would be awoken by their pain. Scott spluttered, spitting the gasoline out of his mouth as he made an attempt to lift up his body but had been stopped when the man shoved his boot against Scott's chest, sending him back to the ground. The teen Alpha's breathing became heavier as he filled with rage, the man pulling a zippo out from his pocket only to introduce the flame right before the eyes of Scott.
But before the man could drop the zippo and ignite Scott's gasoline covered body, there was a deafening silence from outside just before shouts of protest came and that meant only one thing: Mason had managed to stop the music. Scott now had full capability to use his strength, it no longer being diminished by the music. Scott's eyes blazed a bright red, his hand quickly outstretching to grab a hold of the wrist of the man that was holding the lighter all while flipping the cap over the flame. And in his fury toward the near-death experience, tightened his grip on the man's wrist, the sound of cracking bones and strangled cries was joyous to Scott.
His actions had been cut short when the butt of a gun shot out and collided roughly with the man's forehead. Scott glanced up to see that Braeden was standing above them while Derek came down the hallway. No words were exchanged between them as three other guards came rushing toward Derek and Braeden. Even with Derek's human strength, it only took moments before all of the culprits were down on the ground. The only conscious guard left was the one that held the lighter in front of Scott's face—the one who was fully prepared to set them all on fire and listen to them burn.
With a single twist, Braeden had succeeded in snapping the man's neck. Scott gaped up at Braeden and Derek, cradling Carter's head in his lap. "What happened to the gun?"
Derek raised his eyebrows at the boy. "You're covered in gasoline."
"Oh, yeah."
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