Lydia closed her car door, took five steps, and stopped. Her hands clenched around her chemistry notes. In front of her was a forest, dark except for the beams of her headlights. She turned around. The forest was behind her, too. Her tires had left dark, muddy tracks between the trees. This wasn’t the high school. She was supposed to go to the school to help Malia and Kira catch up on a chemistry lab since they’d missed one while off helping Scott with some superpower werewolf thing. Not drive into a creepy forest, all alone. And her front tires were sunk halfway into the loose dirt. Great.
The headlights flicked off, and Lydia swallowed. Super great. Her heart pounded in her chest. Inside, another pressure built, that thing that tugged at her when death was close. The problem with trying to master the banshee powers was that she couldn’t do it without death, and death was scary. She pulled the binder against her chest and took an experimental step. Moonlight filtered through the canopy of branches. Leaves and small sticks crunched beneath her feet, impossibly loud. But there was no other sound. No birds, no bugs. No animals and, hopefully, no monsters.
“Hello?” she said. It was something the stupid girl in a horror movie would say, but the call inside of her was growing stronger. Something was nearby. But she was coherent, and her mind was quiet. Whatever had called her, it wasn’t a corpse. Yet.
“Hello,” a voice said from behind her. She jumped, then started running almost before her feet touched the ground. The forest disappeared.
She raised her hand, blocking the sudden, searing sunlight. Gone was the leafy ground. Gone were the trees and her car. All around there was nothing but lush green grass coating low, rolling hills. And him. The man facing her must have been six foot five, and built like a god. Thick black hair waved down to his broad shoulders. The thin silver robe he wore rippled around his muscular body, as if it was made of liquid. Very revealing liquid. Or maybe it didn’t matter how heavy his clothes when he was packing that kind of below-the-waist firepower. Lydia jerked her gaze back to his face. His skin was milk pale, his eyes obsidian black, and he was a complete stranger. She’d have remembered seeing someone so…impressive.
“Lydia Martin,” he said, and she shivered at the sound of his deep voice. “I’ve been searching for you.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why me?”
He moved closer, and her eyelids drifted almost closed. He smelled good, earthy and sweet, and the warmth of the sun was nothing compared to the heat emanating from him.
“I’m here to help you,” he murmured. That didn’t sound right. She forced her eyes to open, which was strangely difficult.
“What do you think I need help with?”
“I think that you are lonely.”
She flinched, the comment driving into her with no resistance.
“You do not need to be lonely. I think that you are scared.” He touched her chin, raising it until all she could see was the curve of his lips, the proud line of his nose, and those bottomless eyes. “You do not need to be scared.”
She shook her head, not denying what he was saying but agreeing with him. She didn’t want to be those things.
“And I think you want to see your friend again,” he said, blinking slowly. “Allison.”
She stopped breathing. “That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” He smiled, those luscious lips curling into a smile. “You of all people should know that the dead can always be found. I can show you the way.”
She wanted to reject it, but even more she wanted what he offered. Calm. Safety. Allison.
“Will you come with me?” he asked, turning to point toward a distant hill.
"What's on the other side?"
"A river. Cool, refreshing, it has the ability to cleanse the spirit."
She opened her mouth to answer, and a low sound filled the air. She started to turn, and he grabbed her, both hands roughly closing on her cheeks.
“Look at me,” he commanded, the words rushed. “Only at me.”
“What is it?” Lydia asked, her stomach churning. Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right at all. His hands were so cold, his eyes so dark. And that sound…it was a werewolf. And it was someone she knew.
“Come with me now,” the man said, his fingers digging in harder when she shook her head. “Now,” he yelled.
“No.”
The sun and grass faded, and he went with it. Leaving Lydia sitting on the pokey ground in the dark, her bare legs cold and…covered in slime. Something moved next to her knee and she squinted through the darkness, trying to make it out. It looked like…she tilted her head. Oh God, it was a head. She scrambled back, freezing when a roar shook through the night. A second head sailed through the air and landed beside the first, and she turned away, afraid she was going to vomit.
“Who knew,” Peter said, breathing heavily as he sauntered toward her. “That dogs came with three heads.” He dropped the third one – still attached to a large, oddly shaped body – and looked around. His eyes were neon blue, and his clawed hands dripped blood. But she still nearly threw herself into his arms, she was so relieved to see him. He was real, familiar. Not some mystical bully trying to pull her out of her world.
“What happened?” she asked, trying to fix her short skirt as she pushed herself to her feet. Peter gently grasped her elbow and helped her up. The claws, thankfully, had mostly retracted.
“When I found you,” he said, brushing loose hair back from her face as he looked her over, “this beast was licking your legs while a hideous, black, Voldemort-looking thing crouched over you, staring into your unblinking eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was mesmerizing you or if you were on some kind of kinky date.”
She smacked his arm, infuriated by his cool sarcasm. “I was not here on a date.”
Peter smiled and Lydia rocked back. His teeth weren’t quite shaped right yet. Realizing it, he closed his lips, and frowned.
“I don’t know what that thing is,” she said, pointing at the collection of body parts, “but I didn’t see a thing. I saw a man. He summoned me here somehow. He was big and…” She trailed off as Peter started to growl low in his throat. “Big,” she repeated lamely, swallowing the word “handsome.”
Peter’s chin was tipped down and he stared at her, his eyes brilliant, his expression raw. He’d killed that thing for her, woken her from hypnosis with his voice, and now…
She reached out and touched his face, jerking her hand away when he winced. But he caught it, pulling it back against his skin. His jaw was rough with stubble, the muscles beneath her palm tense. His claws pricked against the back of her hand. He was a werewolf that was still bloody from a fight, and they were close to the full moon. She had to swallow twice before she could speak.
“Pull your claws back, Peter.”
He showed her his teeth, which still weren’t right, but the sharpness retreated. His fingertips stroked the back of her hand, soothing her, pleading her to stay. He leaned against her touch, making her want to move closer to him, press herself against him to see how he’d react to that much contact. God, how would she react to it? She should hate him. But the way he was looking at her now, not with the soulless darkness of that creature that had infiltrated her mind, but with need. Raw, human need.
She knew what that felt like, to crave a connection.
The animal on the ground twitched, and Peter pushed her behind him. His hand was hot against her hip.
“I don’t think that he wants to play dead anymore,” he said. Lydia peeked over his shoulder. Tendrils stretched out from the animal's body, creeping along the ground, reaching for the other pieces.
“Oh God.” Lydia covered her mouth. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Bad dog.” Peter kicked one of the heads far into the woods, then scooped Lydia into his arms and started running.