xv. A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME
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THE TRANSITION INTO her subconscious was so smooth and gradual that she scarcely noticed it. But she knew, somehow, that she was seeing something that wasn't actually happening. It was as if a little part of her was standing aside and watching the events unfold like a play.
She was sitting in a long hallway, which was covered with mirrors on one side and windows on the other. She was waiting for something. Then she saw a flicker of movement, and Malakai was standing outside the window. His face was pale and his eyes were hurt and angry. She went over to the window, but she couldn't hear what he was saying because of the glass. In one hand, he was holding a tattered bow, and he kept gesturing to it and asking her something. Then he dropped the bow and turned away.
"Malakai, don't go! Don't leave me!" she cried. Her fingers flattened whitely on the glass. Then she noticed that there was a latch on one side of the window and she opened it, calling to him. But he had disappeared and outside she saw only swirling white mist.
Disconsolately, she turned away from the window and began walking down the hall. Her own image glimmered in mirror after mirror as she went by them. Then something about one of the reflections caught her eyes. The eyes were her eyes, but there was a new look to them, a predatory, sly look. Raeven's eyes had looked that way whenever she would feed. And there was something disturbing and hungry about them.
As she watched, standing still, the image suddenly whirled around and around, as if dancing. Horror swept over Carter. She began to run down the hall, but now all the reflections had a life of their own, dancing, beckoning to her, laughing at her. Just when she thought her heart and lungs would burst with terror, she reached the end of the corridor and flung open a door.
She was standing in a large room. At the far end of the room, two huge doors swung inward. A figure appeared between them. It walked toward her, and she saw that it was a young man.
Stiles! She started toward him eagerly, feeling the weight of her dress swing from the waist. But when she got closer she stopped, drawing in a sharp breath. It was Scott.
He kept on walking toward her, confident, casual. He was smiling, a smile of challenge. Reaching her, he put one hand over his heart and bowed. Then he held out the hand to her as if daring her to take it. But instead of taking his hand, she turned away, the silk of her dress turning after her. She moved lightly toward one of the statues along the wall, not glancing back to see if he was following her. She knew he would. She pretended to be interested in the statue, moving away again just as he reached her, biting her lip to hold in the laughter. She felt wonderful right now, so alive, so beautiful. Dangerous? Of course, this game was dangerous. But she had always enjoyed danger.
The next time he drew near her, she glanced at him teasingly and turned. He reached out, but caught only the jeweled chain at her waist. He let go quickly, and, looking back, she saw that the pronged setting on one of the gems had cut him.
The drop of blood on his finger was just the color of her dress. His eyes flashed at her sideways, and his lips curved. At the sight of the liquid her throat tightened—something deep in the pit of her stomach was tugging at her insides. She wanted the blood to touch her lips, consume her tastebuds. Boldly, she took his hand and held it a moment. And just before it reached her lips, his smile faded. His dark eyes were not amused any longer, but fierce and heated. She looked up at him soberly, unafraid. And then for the first time she felt as if she were dreaming; she felt slightly dizzy and very languid and weak.
The room around her was blurring. She could see only his eyes, and they were making her feel more and more sleepy. She allowed her own eyes to half close, her head to fall back. She sighed.
She could feel his gaze now, on her lips, on her throat. She smiled to herself and let her eyes close completely.
He was supporting her weight now, keeping her from falling down. She felt his lips on the skin of her neck, burning hot as if he had a fever. Then she felt the tips of his canines graze over her skin. It was a simple action, and she relaxed to the pleasure of his hold.
She remembered this feeling, the feeling of floating on a bed of golden light. A delicious sensation shuddering through her limbs. She didn't want too move; she felt too good.
Her fingers were resting on his hair, clasping his head to her. Idly, she threaded them through the soft dark strands. His hair was like silk, warm and alive under her fingers. When she opened her eyes a slit, she saw that it reflected rainbows in the candlelight. Red and blue and...red...red, just like—just like the blood flowing...
And then everything shattered. There was pain at her throat suddenly, as if her soul was being torn out of her. That was when she realized that he had bit her, just like the night she turned into a werewolf. She was pushing at Scott, clawing at him, trying to force him away. Screams rang in her ears. Scott was fighting her, but it wasn't Scott; it was a bird made of flames. Huge wings beat against her, thrashing in the air...
The stars were distant and clouds bright in the night sky. Carter felt like them. Part of her was shouting over the roar of the rain, but part of her was watching from far away. Scott pulled up to the animal clinic, the engine roaring through the downpour until it stopped and the only sound was the fluttering beat of her heart up between her ears.
"Hey," Scott's voice broke through the untimely weather, making the brunette glance over at him. The long and curly chocolate hair, which reeked of gasoline, stuck to her wet cheeks as she turned. And she couldn't tell if her eyes burned from the smearing mascara or the strong smell of the gasoline. "You don't have to go in there if you don't feel up to it."
Carter stared at him for a few seconds, her eyes becoming hard as she realized that he was actually being serious. "What I have to do is make sure that you don't get yourself killed, not matter what I feel up to. Scott, there is only one reason why I'm standing out here in the pouring rain with you and not sitting at home warm and dry. Me—I know it sounds selfish, but damn, don't you think I deserve to be a little selfish now and again? So, yes, I do have to do this. Not for you, not for Stiles, not for Kira or Brett or the deadpool. I'm doing all of this for me...to make sure that I don't disappear into the darkness that I've created."
Scott watched her for a long moment; eyes surveying her every feature as he watched all of her hard exterior shell began to crack apart right before his eyes. And that was when he realized that he had fallen in love with a girl who had already welcomed the fate of Death into her life. And the only thing she cared about was proving to everyone that she was made from more than just blood, fire, and pain. She just didn't want to get sucked into an oblivion where she wasn't anything more than that.
Scott, for the umpteenth time, felt his heart break at the sight of the crumbling girl in front of him. "Disappear? Carter, you could never disappear—you're too strong for that. And you're strong enough to know that nothing bad is going to happen to you."
"You don't know that, Scott," she challenged, an underlying meaning in her words. She knew exactly what was going to happen to her; she also knew that nothing her friends said or did was going to stop it from occurring. "And I'm mad because we were all stupid enough to believe that we could actually save people. I'm mad because I should've never come back to this fucking town. Originally, I thought things were going to be different, and I thought that this time I would actually be of use to someone; but, I was wrong. And you and Stiles were foolish to believe that I could be saved. Scott, you can't save someone from something that lies within."
The True Alpha opened his mouth to speak, but she just simply waved him off before she moved around his shoulder to get to the entrance of the animal clinic. She began to think that Scott would transcribe her words as a sign of her weakness—of her giving up fighting the good fight. And giving up was a sign of weakness to Scott. He was wrong. If anything her words meant the exact opposite. She was simply accepting the fact that no matter how hard she tried, her natural role in the supernatural world wouldn't and couldn't and shouldn't be changed.
A shrill bell chimed upon her entrance and a skull-splitting chill shuddered through her body. It made nausea sweep through her like it was a tangible tidal wave. Even with her faltering realities, she pushed herself onward just as Scott stepped through the door behind her.
The person that either of them saw was Kira Yukimura; the raven-haired girl had stood against the door frame until she heard the sound of Scott's motorbike from outside. The girls gave one another fleeting looks, neither of them looking or feeling up to dealing with the events that were about to unfold. Carter shook her head, dropping Kira's gaze before moving past her and into the operation room of the clinic.
It was after, that she saw the tall frame of Brett Talbot. The young werewolf was leaning on one of the metal tables with his head down looking as if he had a raging headache. A staggered sigh let her lips as she realized the last time she had saw the boy, he was about to get his head cut off by Violet.
All around her were people—members of a pack she didn't remember—her eyes scanned every single one of their faces until she had rounded back to Brett. The next thing that caught her attention was Kira and Scott standing in the doorway. And the look on Scott's face had been enough to have Carter averting her eyes.
Satomi," Kira's voice broke through the thick silence that had settled in the room. The sound of her name being called, the woman that had been watching Carter turned her head to face the Kitsune. "This is who I was telling you about."
Despite their situation, Satomi seemed to be pleasantly amused, a smile stretching itself across her thinned lips. "I know who Scott McCall is."
A young girl with blonde hair—who had been standing next to Brett—pursed her lips. Carter felt a jolting lurch in her chest as the realization that the girl couldn't have been any older than Liam; making her stomach fill up with dread. Carter had experienced first hand what it was like growing up in the supernatural world and she knew that this girl had grown up in madness and fear. Her entire life consisted of running and hiding, doing everything in her power to stay alive and that wasn't living. That was just fighting against gravity...going through an uphill battle...just staying alive.
Just breathing.
Surviving.
"Are we safe here?" the girl's light voice cut through the still air, causing Scott to turn his head in her direction and saw the same thing Carter had: the undeniable distinction of a young soul that had been battered and soiled by the constant chaos that was her life.
Scott couldn't help but think that that was what a younger version of Carter would've looked like. The Carter from before the fire—the girl that used to love life, who would've done anything and everything in her power to stay alive. But, now, everything had changed. She had been dealt a hand she was prepared to handle; fighting against the odds. No matter what the next card showed, the ending was always going to be the same for her. He had been asking himself the same question ever since the day he walked into the boys' locker room sophomore year hearing her screams and saw the blood dripping from her lips: Why did it have to be her?
We're going to need help. A lot of help."
And at the time, he hadn't realized how much help he would actually need and how much it would cost him.
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When Carter received a phone call from Jordan saying that Meredith Walker was at the station, she realized that it was almost dawn and she hadn't even had the chance to go home and change—let alone made the time to eat or sleep. She hadn't even been up a full twenty-four hours and she was already beginning to feel like she was going to crash. And she was still recuperating from the bonfire with a borderline skull splitting headache and fire-licked veins.
But Carter refused to stop, though. She refused to allow anyone else to fall victim to the deadpool. There was something about this new found determination in her that reminded her of Scott—back at the animal clinic he made sure that every surviving member of Satomi's pack had a secure place to hide until they dealt with the assassins.
For now, she just had to help Sheriff Stilinski in the process of getting Meredith Walker to talk—after she had revealed her true identity to Lydia and Stiles last night at Eichen House. Carter could've kicked herself in the face. The Benefactor had been under their noses the entire time and no one had even bothered to consider the possibility that the person who had been helping them was just simply throwing suspicion off themselves. An internal battle raged in her head as she slept right outside the Sheriff's office with her head leant up against the window and her legs curled beneath her thighs. Jordan Parrish's deputy jacket was clutched tightly around her shoulders; the scent of it flooding through her system.
She woke with a start—her eyelids popping open wide—and gasped as the office door opened. Dull gray light, the familiar light of an overcast morning, took the place of the consuming darkness in her head. She took a deep breath, and then jumped again when the door slammed shut. She struggled to get a rip of herself as Stilinski made his way over to sit beside her on the bench. She cracked her neck, rubbing the stiffness out of it before attempting to run a hand through her matted hair, but to no avail when her fingers got caught in a knot at the base of her neck.
"I thought I told you to go home."
"I thought I told you I wasn't going anywhere." Carter replied, looking over her shoulder through the window to see Meredith's still form. "Did they get anything out of her?"
"Should have gone with the medium."
That was when Jordan Parrish walked in, and he held out his hand for Carter to take. She took it eagerly, forgetting, for a moment, her glum mood as he helped pull her to her feet. His skin was smooth and pale. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. She looked into his eyes and her heart gave a not-quite-so-gentle squeeze of its own as a flash of pain seared across her ribcage where his previous wounds had marred her skin.
"We went through everything in Brunski's office, and so far everything amounts to pretty much nothing." Jordan said to Stilinski before turning to Carter. "Did you not go home yet?"
"No, and I still smell like gasoline and cheap beer." She tried to run her fingers through her hair again before giving up completely and tying it into a bun on the top of her head. "And I'm not leaving until Meredith starts talking."
"Carter, I promise she'll talk," Stilinski said. "And when she does, I'll let you know. Trust me on this. Everybody talks eventually."
"Then let me try."
He sighed. "No, we've already discussed this."
"I've gotten through to her before," she said, keeping her voice steady. "Just let me try, and I'm almost one-hundred-percent sure that I'll be better than a medium."
Sheriff Stilinski was a little more than hesitant, but deep down in his gut, he knew that Carter was right. Carter might have been the only person who could get through to Meredith and in turn, figure out how to stop the deadpool. And before she knew it, she was being escorted into the Sheriff's office by Jordan and Stilinski. At the sound of someone entering the room, Meredith looked up to meet Carter's eyes. She seemed genuinely pleased that the Were-Pheanix had been the one to come and talk to her.
Jordan appeared to be the most reluctant out of the pair, not wanting to purposely put Carter in harms way. They were, in fact, dealing with a serial killer. The same one that wanted her dead—badly. And as much as he hated to admit it, there wasn't much him or the Sheriff could do once Carter had decided that she was going to speak with Meredith. She was as stubborn as an Ox. So, instead of arguing, he opted to remain silent and allowed his eyes to follow her every move—analyzing the slightest movements just in case Meredith reacted badly to what Carter was saying.
"I think I'm getting an idea of how all of this happened." Carter said, her shoes pattering against the floor as she paced in front of Meredith. "You used Brunski, right? You knew he'd killed people, and that he would do it again."
She glanced over at Jordan for a moment, who tilted his head at her before she sighed and sat down on the couch beside Meredith. That seemed to spark something in the Banshee—her eyes lit up and she appeared to be overly enthused by Carter's actions.
"He used Lydia's grandmother's code for the deadpool." Carter admitted. "He put it online. He took the money from my family's vault, then turned the bearer bonds into cash. He made the payments. Was it Brunski's idea to fake your death? Did he get nervous because you helped us with one of the cypher keys?"
Meredith tilted her face toward Carter. "I wanted to help. I want to help you, Caterina."
The sound of her full name made her cringe.
"What do you want to help me with, Meredith?" Carter asked, her interest peaked.
She lowered her voice, to almost a whisper. "I know what they did to you. And you know what's going to happen, don't you? They're going to come for you and your friends—they're not done with you yet, Caterina. I can still hear your screams—your crying. I hear your pain every night. Your pleas for them to kill you. All you ever wanted to do was to make the pain stop."
"You're right, all I've ever wanted was to make the pain stop." Carter said, her throat tightening. "And all you ever wanted to do was help." Meredith nodded. "Is that why you're here? I know you wouldn't want to be here if you didn't want to talk."
"I do wanna talk, but only to one person."
"Who?"
"Peter—Peter Hale."
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"Her? That's the girl that stole my money?"
"That girl is a Banshee, and they're more dangerous than you think."
In all honestly, Carter couldn't give two fucks as to why Meredith did what she did. All she wanted to know was how the entire system worked. What the codes were—the master key—how the deadpool was updated—and how to shut it all down. That's all she wanted to know, the why could be sorted out later. They just needed to put a stop to all of it before someone else died.
"Oh, Carter—my dear—I think that girl's pilot light went out a long time ago." Peter replied, watching Meredith Walker, through the one-way window, sulk in the interrogation room with a looming Jordan pacing behind her. "Sheriff, not to question the unquestionably sterling reputation of your department, but are you absolutely sure you got the one?"
Stilinski's eyes hardened when they locked with Peter's, the former Alpha irritating him to no end. "How about you just go in there and see what she has to say?"
It was obvious that not a single person wanted to be anywhere near Peter Hale, not even remotely. They all had their own reasons for hating him. He had been the one that triggered everything, taunting and tormenting them—baiting them into his game. And they just let him, because the alternative is so much worse.
Peter dramatically rolled his eyes before leaving Carter and Stilinski and entering the interrogation room. He took a seat on the other side of the table, facing the Banshee. And beside them, closer to the door, was Jordan. The Sheriff and Carter remained where they were, looking through the glass. They were able to see and hear everything that occurred within the other room. They didn't want to miss a single thing that Meredith said about the deadpool.
"Okay...Meredith," Peter began, his jaw set. "Where's my money?"
Carter fought off the urge to scoff.
Meredith's head cocked to the side; seemingly confused by his question.
"Or more correctly, what's left of it."
Meredith's eyes were locked on Peter's face, analyzing his every feature. Carter was set on her toes, watching as Meredith slowly leaned across the table. Her arm was fully extended, fingers flexed as she neared closer and closer to Peter. The tips of her pale fingers hovered above his cheek before finally stroking it, and she quirked her head to the side.
Her eyes were hazed over—almost blank. Carter was becoming increasingly confused. Why had she wanted to touch Peter's face? What could she possible gain from that?
Peter's hand shot out, curling itself around her wrist with lightening-like speed and tore her hand away. His reflexes were those of a predator latching its mouth around its prey's neck—Carter's stomach churned. Jordan immediately stepped forward, his fingers itching to pull his gun out of the holster.
"Let her go," Jordan demanded, green eyes darkening with authority. Peter broke Meredith's stare, blinking as he tried to process what had just happened. "Let her go."
"Why did you do that?" Peter asked, slowly releasing her wrist. Meredith cautiously eased back into her seat as he rested her hand against the table.
"They're all gone."
Carter's mouth fell open in realization. "Oh, my God. They have met before."
The Banshee had been referring to the burns that, at one point, covered the majority of his face. For years, the scarred pink flesh had been a constant reminder of what had happened to him and the rest of their family the night that Kate Argent had set fire to their family home.
"The burns..." Meredith trailed off, her eyes as wide as saucers, like she couldn't believe that the scars had completely faded from existence. "They're all gone."
Peter's body was completely rigid, keeping himself away from the Banshee. "Meredith, you put everyone, including my niece, my nephew, and my daughter, on a death list. Don't you think you owe us the slightest explanation of why?"
"You said it had to be kept secret."
"I said?" Peter asked, seeming slightly amused by the girl's accusation. "I said that to you?"
"You said it."
Meredith's face was wrong. There was something buried in her eyes that Carter couldn't be sure of—and it scared her. She didn't want to acknowledge the possibility, but she wasn't sure if avoiding the subject would be worse.
"Meredith, allow me to remind you, yet again, we have never met." Peter insisted, growing frustrated. Carter knew that something was off—Meredith had known about the burns, which more-than-likely meant she knew Peter better than he thought. "Ever."
"What is he doing?" Stilinski asked.
Carter nibbled on her jutting bottom lip. "I don't know."
Meredith's eyes were wide, fear swimming in her orbs—fear that he had forgotten her. "You don't remember?"
"No," Peter replied, his voice low and venomous. "But maybe you do."
And before anyone could so much as blink, Peter was bolting out of his chair. He curled his hand around the edge of the table before tossing it out of his way.
Carter shot forward, her fingers flattened whitely on the glass. "No! Peter, don't!"
Jordan tried to block Peter's advances, but the former Alpha already had his sites set on Meredith. He was determined. He threw Parrish to the ground as if he were nothing. Peter was moving toward Meredith with his claws extended. He positioned them at the back of her neck before he sunk them into her flesh; digging through her memories. He was restlessly searching for their encounter—trying to find out when they met and why she was blaming him for the deadpool.
A black sling supporting his arm, Sheriff Stilinski storming into the interrogation room with his gun cocked and aimed at Peter. Jordan, now back on his feet, had his gun unholstered and pointed at Peter as well. They were ready to shoot him, or at least, pull him away from Meredith. But they couldn't.
She knew what it was like, to be in someone else's mind. And if something were to happen to the link that was created, it would kill them both.
"Don't!" Carter screamed, her voice shrill. She could hear the strain in her own voice, the terror evident. "Don't touch them!" Carter stood between the two cops and the two supernatural creatures, acting as a barrier. "If you break the bond you will kill them both—believe me, I've seen it before."
"What are we supposed to do?"
"Nothing," Carter answered. "We can't do anything. The only one that can stop this is Peter. And he won't let her go until he gets what he wants."
"What the hell is he doing to her?" Parrish asked, standing a few feet behind her.
Suddenly, Meredith inhaled deeply, her head tilting back as her eyes snapped open.
"He's delving into her mind—digging through her memories."
Several long and silent moments passed before Meredith's lips began to move. She was speaking, that much was obvious, but her words were barely audible. Her voice was softer than peaceful breaths; Carter's head tilted to the side in confusion—she had never seen this happen before.
"Do you hear that?" Stilinski inquired. "She's saying something?"
Jordan, not being able to make out any of the words, looked toward Carter. The brunette was taking small and precise steps toward Meredith. Her eyes were wide, head tilting to the side even further. "Can you understand that?" he asked.
"I-I-I can only make out certain pieces," she admitted. "My hearing isn't as heightened as a Banshee's. But she's saying that she was in...in a...in a hospital. The same hospital."
"Same as who?" Jordan asked.
"Peter."
"Here we have a rather extraordinary case. Near fatal burn victim. The interesting part is that typically in a situation like this, the coma is induced medically as the pain can often be too much for the patient to bear. We're not sure how Mr. Hale became comatose, however. His survival is honestly a mystery we're still trying to solve."
"It was right after the fire," Carter continued. "Meredith could hear him."
"Hear what?"
"Everything," she breathed out. "She was hearing every thought in his head, like they had somehow found the same wavelength. And now everything going through his mind was also going right into hers."
"For how long?"
"Weeks? Maybe even months. It was almost like he was standing right over her bed talking about the fire—about getting revenge."
"I predicted this. I told...I told Talia this was going to happen. Something like this was going to happen. I said that they were gonna come for us. The Argents. They're gonna come for us. They are gonna burn us to the ground. They're gonna burn us to the ground. Did she listen? Of course not. Did anyone listen? They listened to her. Yes! Say that everything was going to be fine. That we were all perfectly safe.
"Perfectly safe. But she made us weak! She made us weak. And what happens to the weakest in the herd? They get picked off by the predators! We used to be the apex predators—until Talia turned us into sheep. But I'll start over. Like a vengeful God, I will raze this earth to the ground! I will take out all of them! Not just the wolves, but the Wendigos, the Banshees, every shapeshifter. I will obliterate the weak and I will remake the supernatural of Beacon Hills in my image.
"I won't have to do any of it myself. Because I'll hire people. Assassins. Professional killers—people like The Mute and The Chemist. Even...someone like the Desert Wolf. I'll use the money in the vault. The bearer bonds. I'll use every penny if I have to. I'll start with the professionals, and then maybe I'll disseminate the list further. No. No. Not a list. A deadpool. Eventually everybody will want a chance. Anyone can become a killer for the right price because when it comes down to it, everyone can be corrupted by money!"
And without a second's notice, Peter's eyes snapped open and he retracted his claws from Meredith's neck—backing away from her like she was the plague. Meredith's body arched from the movement, Jordan grabbing a hold of her before she collapsed. Peter stumbled backward, woozy and disoriented. He quickly crashed to the ground, leaning his back against the wall as the realization set in.
Once again, the Sheriff aimed the barrel of his gun toward Peter.
"It was your idea and you don't even remember." Carter announced, staring down at Peter in disbelief.
"You're under arrest."
Peter scoffed. "Are you kidding me?"
"Hands where I can see them."
"How the hell was I supposed to remember any of that?" Peter asked, scrambling to his feet.
"She got it from you." Carter drawled out, fury laced in her voice. He did this to them. This was all his fault—just like the rest of their problems—it always led back to Peter in some way.
His eyes met Carter's, pleading with his niece—the only one in the room who would understand—to believe him. "I was out of my mind."
"You've been out of your mind since your first full moon." Carter spat. "You've always been power hungry."
"Do you know what it's like for one of us to be in a coma?" He was her uncle and she couldn't bring herself to take pity upon him. All of her pent up anger surged to her surface, a familiar fire roaring in her chest—igniting everything it touched. "Paralyzed but cognizant? You try not going crazy."
Jordan stepped forward, his arm brushing against Carter's. He was immediately consumed by her warmth, but instead of it being soothing like it normally was, it was angry and possessive. "She was listening to you."
"She was listening to the ranting and raving of a lunatic," Peter defended. But no matter what he said, he wasn't going to get out of this. Not this time. Carter wasn't going to let him get away. Not after everything that he's done. Peter blinked, "A former lunatic—I'm much healthier now."
"You're not gonna be able to talk your way out of this," Carter pointed out, her eyes narrowed into slits.
"I had nothing to do with this, Carter."
"If she was following your lead on this, then how do we know there isn't more?" Stilinski asked, his gun still aimed at the former Alpha.
"Stealing my own money?" Peter barked out a bitter laugh. "Really?"
"You were going to use it anyway."
"This is what she wants," Carter drawled out, finally coming to a conclusion as to why all of this had been so important to Meredith. "It's why she's here. Look around, Sheriff. There's three people in here right now. Three people still on the deadpool. Me, Jordan, and Meredith—with me being the highest price."
"But not him," Jordan concluded.
"Carter's right," Peter agreed. "We don't want to kill each other."
"The only person I'm pointing a gun at is you." Stilinski announced.
"Then you better make it a perfect shot, Sheriff, because I don't go down easy."
A low growl escaped Carter's lips—despite what she had said, she couldn't help the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that kept telling her to kill him. She knew she could do it. Hell, she's wanted to do it ever since he killed Laura, but everything that he's done after that, just made her want to kill him even more. She didn't care about the consequences—what only mattered was that everyone would be safe and she would finally get her revenge.
In a sudden burst of anger, Carter shoved Peter, the man colliding roughly with the wall behind him. Everything in the room slowed—Jordan and Stilinski watching as Carter bared her fangs, her eyes glowing with a fire so fierce they could feel their burn. She roared, grabbing Peter by the throat and pushed him against the glass. The force behind her assault caused the glass to crack. Carter snarled, her anger rising as Peter smirked down at her—he enjoyed watching her snap—he had been waiting for it.
Her claws positioned themselves on the side of Peter's neck, sinking into his flesh with ease. His eyes flashed their steel blue as his blood pooled between Carter's fingers, dripping down the underside of her forearm. Her lips pulled back, revealing her perfectly sharpened fangs—she wanted to do it. God, she wanted to do it so bad. She wanted to kill the man just like he had killed so many others. He deserved it.
And suddenly, between the two werewolves growling at one another, Carter cried out in pain. A searing pain engulfed her side, feeling a set of foreign objects scrape themselves between her ribs. She looked down to see a clawed hand latched into her side. Peter.
Carter's grip on Peter tightened, but loosened when she felt a familiar hand on her arm. She turned to look at Jordan and saw the look on his face. That was all she needed. With strangled cries, Peter and Carter removed their claws from one another before backing away from the other.
Peter smirked down at his niece before wiping the blood from his neck and moving toward the door, but paused at the doorway when Stilinski spoke: "That's twice, Peter. There's not gonna be a third."
And with that, Peter disappeared.
Jordan wrapped his arms around the brunette, looking down at the wound on her side. "Hey, Car, are you all right?"
Carter nodded, lifting up the side of her shirt in time to watch the wound disappear. She looked up at him, offering him a small smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"Okay."
"Okay."
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not edited
ok, i finally updated. it's been twelve thousand years, but, here it is. im so close to the end of season 4 but i have no energy to write it oh my god. like, all i wanna do with my life right now is to write season 5. and this chapter took me forever to get done lol. i kept getting distracted with cover designs and then spent like three days depressed from watching Civil War because my attention span has literally been shit because im about to graduate (which is next weekend)
also, there isn't a lot of starter or McHale because im trying to showcase what's going on with just Carter. and i have everything planned out with stiles and scott and carter for the end of season 4; some serious shit is going to go down.
and i hoped you enjoyed this crappy chapter.