"KIRA, YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN."
Sierra spoke calmly with her phone pressed against her ear. "I can't understand you when you talk like that."
"The only part you need to understand is that a kid named Lucas is the second chimera," Kira summarized what she rushed out seconds before. "He attacked this kid, Cory, earlier today and he went to the club tonight to hurt someone else."
"What club?" Sierra asked, already rising to her feet from where she had been sitting at a library table.
Kira replied, "It's called Sinema. Scott and I are leaving the hospital now."
"Okay, do you mind picking me up from school? I don't wanna take the Jeep and leave Stiles stranded."
"Yeah, we'll be there in a minute or two."
"I'll see you then."
The girls hung up, allowing Sierra to quickly gather her things. Her blue eyes flickered to her boyfriend, who was completely knocked out with his face mushed against an open book. They had been trying to find anything about chimeras in the bestiary, as well as any other history book they could find.
Malia had left about an hour before, claiming her dad needed her home.
Sierra's face softened from seeing Stiles's exhaustion; she didn't want to wake him up. Unfortunately though, she didn't have a choice. She needed to help Scott and Kira.
"Honey, come on, wake up. Look at me," she stated, gently shaking his shoulder.
Stiles winced, grumbles tiredly tumbling from his lips.
"That's it," she encouraged and leaned down to look at him at eye level. "Look, I've gotta run, okay? Scott needs me but I promise I'll meet you at home." Sierra pecked his cheek for a goodbye, throwing her bag on her arm.
"Be careful," he slurred out, a yawn escaping him as he started to awaken.
She called out over her shoulder, racing to the steps so she could meet Scott and Kira outside. "Always am!"
*^*^*^*^*
"Am I the only one thinking that a club with the word 'sin' in it will never bring anything good?" Sierra asked Scott and Kira, walking between them as they headed towards the club.
It was almost on the outskirts of town, probably for good reason. The building from the outside looked worn down but Sierra and Scott could both hear the music thumping inside even from where they were.
Scott snorted at his best friend's comment but didn't say anything. Kira spoke up with a sigh, "A kid turning into a half-scorpion, half-werewolf fits the theme then. Is there even a myth for that?"
"Sumerian," Sierra answered, digging her hands deeper into her jacket pockets from the chill breeze. "I came across something similar to Lucas in the bestiary. And might I say, they were terrifying."
"Well an old drawing isn't going to scare us," Scott stated, his feet pausing as the trio came to the back door. "You guys ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," Sierra told him and Kira nodded in agreement.
Scott opened the door, the two girls sneaking in first before he followed. They hadn't even taken two steps forward before an alarm started to ring, echoing across the establishment.
Scott and Sierra exchanged wide-eyed glances while Kira looked to the ceiling to find the source. Quickly thinking, the kitsune launched a ring dagger towards the wall.
Immediately, the alarm stopped and Scott sighed with relief.
"God, I love you," he expressed, looking at Kira with a loving grin.
Sierra chuckled from seeing Kira freeze, Scott turning to go deeper into the club.
"Let me guess," Sierra spoke up, noticing the surprised expression on Kira's face. "That was his first time saying it, wasn't it?"
Kira nodded, her lips parted with no words coming out from them. Sierra pat her shoulder for comfort and then followed where Scott had disappeared through a doorway. Kira snapped out of her trance, hurriedly rushing after the pair.
They had paused from seeing a sea of new people, all of them drinking, dancing or doing a combination of both amidst smoke and strobe lights.
"Scott, you did it again!" Kira caught her boyfriend's attention. "You did something that changed everything and you don't even realize you did it but you did."
Scott furrowed his eyebrows, "I did?"
Sierra's face hardened, her ears perking at the sound of a werewolf roaring. "Liam," she muttered knowingly and raised her voice to Kira and Scott in order to be heard over the music.
"I know you two need to talk, but it can wait after we save Liam's butt."
Without another word, she stalked off--leaving the couple standing there, dumbfounded until reality set in. Then, they sprinted after her.
Sierra didn't hesitate to push through the people in her way, only concerned with her under-aged beta being somehow in a gay club on a Friday night fighting a kid, who was half-werewolf and half-scorpion.
She huffed as she laid eyes on Liam, the guy she assumed to be Lucas pinning him against a table. Brett and Mason were hidden by a post, the werewolf wearing a nasty cut to his abdomen.
"You're a little late!" Liam yelled, seeing the seniors enter the scene.
With a wave of Sierra's hand, Lucas was thrown back into a nearby wall.
"How many times do I have to tell you to text me if things go wrong?" she demanded to the sophomore, helping him back on is feet.
"I was a little preoccupied," Liam sassed back, but then smiled gratefully nonetheless. "Thanks for coming."
"Anytime, little bro."
Lucas growled angrily from where he had fallen, sharp stringers growing from both of his arms and down his spine. He barred his teeth and charged towards Sierra, who threw up a force field right before he reached her. This allowed Scott to race over, roughly shoving Lucas away from his best friend.
Scott managed to get a few hits in, but Lucas wasn't going down easily. Soon, Scott grunted from the ground, Lucas having kicked him right in the stomach.
Due to the stingers, Lucas blocked Kira's katana. However, as the two battled Sierra watched his movements carefully. It seemed he had a cycle, one Sierra could break if she timed it right.
Just as he ran towards Kira again, Sierra launched a red, electric tendril straight between his eyes.
Lucas instantly fell to the ground, the energy shocking him. And with a slump of his head, Sierra and everyone else knew he was out cold.
Yet, this didn't stop Kira from charging again. A fiery fox emerged from her soul, protectively surrounding her and igniting a deep orange spark in her eyes.
A war cry in what Sierra could only guess was Japanese escaped Kira's lips and she went to strike Lucas to end his life once and for all.
But Sierra didn't let her.
With one simple move, Sierra held Kira's arm in the air--red tendrils weaving around her body to keep her still. She glared at the spirit, daring it to try again.
Soon, the orange fox faded, leaving a very confused Kira to stare back at her.
Slowly, Sierra let the energy fade.
"Is everyone okay?" Scott asked, his eyes shifting between everyone in the room. No one said anything, too taken aback from the previous events to respond. He turned his focus to Sierra. "We need to get him out of here," he gestured to Lucas. "Liam, give me a hand."
The beta stepped forward, grabbing hold of Lucas's legs while Scott held his arms. They had barely lifted him off the floor, when an arrow appeared out of nowhere.
It flew past them, stabbing Lucas in the stomach and putting a permanent end to his life.
Sierra gasped, the boys dropping Lucas in shock.
A string attached to the arrow drew their attention to the rafters, where three men stood. Just as Malia warned them, they wore World War 1 oxygen masks and leather coats. One held the weapon fired, the others standing eerily still with another holding a cane of some sort.
The electricity in the air intensified merely from their presence and Sierra heard a strange buzz flitter through her ears.
"Why did you do that?!" she demanded sharply.
A low, robotic voice clicked an answer. "His condition was terminal."
"What does that mean?" Scott asked angrily next, not understanding. Yet, the men just turned around to walk away. "What does that mean?!"
The middle entity, the one who looked like a possessed surgeon, whirled around. It tilted its head.
"Failure."
Bursts of electricity sent sparks into the air, everyone forced to cover their eyes from the bright light.
But when they finally looked up, the men in the masks were gone.
*^*^*^*^*
Stiles was starting to believe his Jeep loved to taunt him.
It seemed it would run fine most of the time, but the second Stiles needed to get somewhere important, it acted up.
He had left the school library only moments before, calling it a night on the chimera investigation. The hours he spent researching with Sierra brought little results and he knew based on the exhaustion stiffening his shoulders that as soon as Sierra got home safely, he was going to sleep.
Now, he stood in the empty parking lot praying he could easily fix the problem and drive home.
Stiles coughed from the thick smoke that attacked him once he opened the jeep's hood, waving it away with the wrench in his hand.
"If you think I'm giving up on you, you're wrong," he muttered to the vehicle and pulled out his roll of duct tape. With a sigh, he began wrapping it around a part of the engine and hoped for the best.
He was so focused on fixing his jeep. Thinking of going to sleep with Sierra in his embrace before facing another day.
He didn't hear the footsteps sneak up behind him. He didn't see Donovan's palm opening to reveal razor sharp teeth.
But he felt it.
A hair-raising scream escaped Stiles from the teeth digging through his skin.
Yet, he was quickly silenced as Donovan wrapped his other arm around Stiles's neck.
Both boys grunted, Donovan attempting to hold Stiles still and move his hand with lamprey-like mouth towards his face.
Stiles pushed against Donovan's wrist with everything he had, wrestling with him to get out of his grip. His eyes landed on the wrench he had set aside and instantly his tactic changed. Stiles fought desperately to grab it, his attacker trying to force him to the ground.
Then, he remembered something his father taught him--the elbow was the strongest part of the body.
Stiles jerked his right arm, causing Donovan to stumble back from the brunt hit. He didn't hesitate to grab the wrench next, slamming into Donovan's jaw.
The supernatural teen stumbled to the concrete.
Stiles took the moment to sprint away, glancing back to see Donovan's eyes filled with pure rage.
He tried to think of where he could go.
The nearest gas station was too far to run, and he couldn't outlast Donovan in a footrace. His only option was to go back inside the school.
So that's what he did.
He barreled past the main double doors, frantically looking across the dark hallway between classrooms and possible escape routes.
Stiles turned right, wanting to create as much distance between himself and Donovan as possible. He knew he wouldn't give up easily.
Remembering the time he was trapped because of Peter, Stiles avoided going upstairs and chose to burst through the doors that led to an outside hallway towards the library.
Maybe if he just got inside, maybe he would be safe.
He pulled against the doors, panicking when they wouldn't budge. With no other choice, he quickly swiped his key card, flung the door open and raced inside.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears. Heavy pants escaped from his mouth. He tried to think of a place to hide.
Donovan beat on the library doors within seconds, telling Stiles his time was up.
He needed to hide. Where could he hide?
Stiles shrunk back against one of the bookshelves, forcing his mouth shut so his loud breathing wouldn't give him away. His body remained poised, ready to run if Donovan found him.
His ears perked at the sound of footsteps slowly moving throughout the library, Stiles daringly peeking his head around a corner.
But then, he heard his phone.
Stiles reached for his pocket to shut it off, yet froze when he realized he didn't have it.
"You dropped your phone," Donovan spoke into the silence, making Stiles close his eyes and inwardly spew curses at his carelessness. "It's Sierra," he taunted. "Should I text her back? Maybe invite her to come here so I can kill her too."
Stiles withheld from fighting Donovan right then and there. He didn't want Sierra's name ever coming out of Donovan's mouth. But he forced himself to keep quite by biting down on his lower lip.
"You don't really know who I am, do you, Stiles?" Donovan raised his voice, spitting the boy's name in distaste. "Maybe you heard about my father. Did your dad tell you about him?"
Stiles listened closely, but refused to say a word.
"Did Sheriff Stilinski ever tell you about the time he was still deputy and his partner got caught in a shoot-out?"
Donovan demanded, moving slowly around the library. "Did he tell you a bullet shattered my dad's T-nine vertebra? Went right through his spinal cord--you know what that means?"
Stiles caught sight of him, and he slowly moved back and was careful to not make a sound.
Donovan stood in front of the library's steps, his eyes scanning every inch of the spacious center. "It means everything below his waist is useless," he answered his own question in frustration. "And not just his legs. Yeah, I bet he told you some of it. But I bet he probably left out the part where he was sitting in a car, calling for backup while my dad was going in alone!"
Stiles clenched his jaw, his free hand curling into a fist.
"Did he tell you that he was too scared?" Donovan egged him on, a scowl on his face. "Too much of a frightened little bitch to go in after him? Or do scared little bitches not tell their little bitch sons about their failures? About how they put their partner in a wheelchair for the rest of his life?"
Stiles felt his fingers tremble at his side, his other hand gripping the wrench so hard his knuckles turned white. He could handle being taunted, but no one talked about his loved ones that way—especially his dad and Sierra. And Donovan had threatened both of them.
He held his breath as he saw Donovan heading up the stairs. Stiles took one step to his left, quietly pushing his back against a shelf as he listened intently for sounds of Donovan moving more. But he didn't hear anything.
Go now, his mind whispered to him. Run--get out!
He waited only a second too long.
Donovan's hand shot through the bookshelf, latching onto the side of Stiles's neck and pulling him back with full force. The wood split and papers flew, Stiles collapsing to the ground. Donovan straddled him from behind to keep him from escaping, his arms wrapping him in a choke hold.
He roughly lifted Stiles off the floor, shoving him forward into a construction platform.
Donovan pressed his face into the metal, Stiles grunting from the pain. "Just think," he hissed in Stiles' ear. "After I'm done with you...I'm gonna rip Sierra and your dad apart. Limb by limb. And you can't do anything to stop me."
Wrestling his arm free, Stiles once again slammed his elbow into Donovan's nose.
Donovan roared and stumbled back, revealing rows and rows of teeth that resembled a Wendigo's.
Stiles couldn't escape.
He scrambled to climb the rungs on the side of the platform.
But Donovan quickly grabbed his foot and tried to yank him down. "Don't worry, Stiles," he grunted as Stiles cried out. "I'm not gonna kill you..."
Stiles watched in horror as Donovan's eyes were washed completely yellow and his voice growled, "I'm just gonna eat your legs."
Stiles kicked desperately against Donovan's grip, using all his strength to pull him further up the makeshift ladder.
His eyes shifted towards the top of the platform, trying to find anything he could use for self-defense.
There was only a pin—holding the other half of the platform together.
Stiles stretched out his hand, yelling in protest as Donovan dug his claws through Stiles's jeans.
With a final shout Stiles pulled the pin, pushing himself as close to the ladder as he could to avoid being hit. Support beams, pipes and wooden planks crashed to the mat below, the thunder bouncing off the walls.
But then it was silent.
Stiles widened his eyes, his heart racing a mile a minute. He feared the worst and didn't want to check to see if it was true.
Yet his head turned and his breath got caught in his throat.
Donovan glared back at him, his eyes cold and full of hatred. But blood coated everything, a silver support beam sliced right through his stomach and into the floor. He coughed up more blood, coating his chin and neck.
And Stiles only stared in horror.
With a blink, he snapped himself straight and slowly climbed down from the ladder. He couldn't peel his eyes away from the gruesome sight as Donovan tried to gasp for air.
Even though Donovan was just trying to kill him, Stiles didn't want this. He didn't mean to kill him.
Stiles grasped the support beam, hoping he could maybe get it out and save Donovan.
But Donovan sputtered blood, his body falling limp, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his heart beating for the last time.
Stiles let go, his eyes round with fear.
He couldn't move. He couldn't tear his gaze away.
He felt his breaths become shallow, his heart rate escalating at a rapid rate.
His fingers became numb even though they shook and his vision became blurred as tears welled up in his eyes.
His feet started to back away before Stiles could process anything and somehow, he ended up at the main desk. Panic rattled him as he shakily dialed for nine-one-one. But the minute the line opened, he couldn't speak.
"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"
Stiles wanted to burst into tears, sob into the phone that he screwed up. He wanted to scream till his throat fell raw about he murdered a kid.
Wait—or was it self-defense? Right? It was an accident.
"Nine-one-one, please state your emergency."
But the blood, oh god the blood that coated Stiles's hands made him look psychotic.
But he had a reason right? Donovan attacked him and he was only trying to escape.
"You've reached nine-one-one. This line is for emergencies only. If you do not have an emergency, please hang up."
Would anyone even believe him?
What would Scott think—would he take his side or shove him away?
What about his dad? Would he throw him behind bars, degrade him to a criminal and never speak to him again?
"Do you want me to send a car over?" A male on the other end of the line asked the dispatcher. "What's the address?"
"It's the school, Beacon Hills High."
Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, his thoughts pounding against his skull. His heart felt like it was going to break his ribcage from how it beat so rapidly.
"Let's see if we got a car in the area."
Stiles heard the line go dead. He forced himself to unwind his fingers from the phone and put it back on the hook.
What was he supposed to do now?
If a patrol officer was close, that mean any minutes they'd come inside the library—home. Stiles needed to go home.
He stumbled away from the desk, barely able to walk in a straight line. Spotting a block of wood, he grabbed it and knelt towards the library's side door. At least the officer would be able to get in.
Then, Stiles heard a familiar buzz.
His eyes widened, his head whipping towards where Donovan remained emotionless.
His phone. Donovan still had his phone.
Stiles walked slowly, afraid that one step would cause Donovan to strike. He could see his phone screen in Donovan's jacket. Inhaling sharply, Stiles then held his breath as he carefully took it back.
At the sight of Sierra calling him, he wanted to break down then and there.
Would she even be able to look him in the eye? Would she scream that he crossed an uncrossable line? What if she didn't recognize him anymore—what if she only saw a murderer staring back at her?
Stiles shoved his phone back in his pocket and then dared to look at Donovan's lifeless eyes.
Then, he did the only thing he could do.
He ran away.
He sprinted outside, slamming the hood to his jeep down after hurriedly adjusting the engine. He didn't bother putting his seatbelt on, immediately flipping on the headlights and resting his hand on the gearshift.
Yet he couldn't make himself drive away.
Guilt ate at his insides, twisting his stomach and yelling at him to face reality.
Donovan was dead. And Stiles was the one to blame.
Stiles turned the headlights off. He reversed into a parking space hidden by a dumpster...and waited.
Red and blue lights caught his attention within moments, the siren ringing in his ears.
His breath caught in his throat, his fingers clenching and unclenching the steering wheel from the intense anxiety that rattled him.
The second he saw an officer he ducked his head, only lifting it as the officer walked towards the library with his hand on his holster.
And he waited some more.
He repeatedly bit his lip, tapping his thumb on the wheel and squeezing his other hand into a fist.
How long did it take to find a dead body?
"No," he whimpered out shakily. "Oh, God, what did I do?"
He caught sight of himself in the rear view mirror and immediately cast his gaze back to his bloodied hands. He didn't want to see the monster staring back at him.
The officer reappeared outside, and from what Stiles could see he was talking into his radio.
Stiles flipped on his police radio, listening intently.
"Dispatch, I'm ten-ninety-seven and there's no one here," the officer reported.
Stiles froze.
"It's a six-five-three," the man concluded.
"Roger that," the dispatcher agreed. "Prank call. Return to your patrol."
Stiles widened his eyes.
"What?" he muttered in disbelief.
He watched the officer drive off.
Surely, the officer was mistaken.
No. No, it wasn't possible...unless—no. Stiles watched a Donovan take his last breath, saw the light fade from his eyes.
Without waiting a moment, Stiles found himself sprinting back inside the library. He flung the doors open to race inside, yet he instantly came to an abrupt halt.
Donovan was gone.
And not just his body.
The entire bloody mess of a scene had magically been erased, everything looking as pristine as it was earlier that morning.
Stiles swore he was going to faint. Surely he didn't imagine the whole fight...the last time that happened was when the Nogitsune possessed him.
Stiles gripped the sides of his head, squeezing his eyes shut.
He couldn't go through that again. Please, not again.
Absolutely terrified, he peeked through his eyelids expecting to see his worst nightmare glaring back at him.
But only the construction platform stood there, completely still. Yet that sight alone shook him, because of what remained on one of the posts.
Stiles gulped as he stepped forward, reaching his hand to the substance and touching it with his finger.
Blood.
Maybe the Nogitsune wasn't possessing him. But all it did was confirm that Stiles didn't imagine the fight.
He killed Donovan.
And either someone took the body...or Donovan was still alive.
*^*^*^*^*
"Stiles, you will not believe what happened tonight!"
Sierra burst through Stiles's bedroom door, still unable to accept what she witnessed at the Sinema. She saw him sitting on the edge of his bed with his head down, and not thinking anything of it, she continued on and paced across his carpet.
"The guys with the masks? The ones Malia saw at the police station? They were there. Right in front of us they said his condition was—" Sierra's eyes finally landed on her boyfriend.
His whole body trembled and the way his hands were covered in red made her freeze. "Terminal."
Without hesitating, Sierra rushed over to him and quickly fell to her knees to be able to see his face. "Oh my god, Stiles, what happened?"
Stiles couldn't look at her.
He kept his head low, his guilt refusing to let him meet her eyes.
"Are you okay?" She tried again, alarmed at the blood staining his fingers. "You're scaring me—did someone hurt you?" She gently brushed his cheek with her hand and noticed how flushed it seemed against her palm. Tilting his chin upwards, Sierra felt her heart break from seeing his eyes full of tears. Her face dropped. "Stiles?" she whispered.
"I—he—the pin—it, he," Stiles choked out, but Sierra didn't understand any of it. She recognized the signs of his heart accelerating and rested her hands over his.
"Hey, hey, hey," she softened her voice. "Look at me, bub. Just look at me. There you go. I know you're scared about whatever happened, but you need to breathe, okay?"
Stiles couldn't focus, too many thoughts flashing through his mind.
Donovan. The blood. The wrench. Oh god, the blood.
He knew he was in pain—his chest hurt, tightened as if all the air was being sucked from his body. Sierra's figure wavered, making him dizzy. He faintly heard her call out to him but it sounded too far away, even though she was within a second's reach.
"Focus on deep breaths," Sierra continued to soothe him, attempting to keep calm as he panicked. "In and out through your mouth, feel the air slowly fill your chest. Let's count, okay? Let's count." She held up her fingers, slowly adding another until she got to four.
Stiles didn't know how he managed to listen, but he did and was able to keep her from becoming blurred in his vision.
"Now, exhale," Sierra instructed, "That's it, Bub, just like that. Remember when we were eleven and your dad took us to the beach for spring break? Digging our toes into the warm sand, our hair gently blowing from the breeze. We were content on simply sitting and building a sand castle, listening to the gentle waves continuing to roll. You picked up a stick and started drawing in the sand."
A soft smile started in the corner of her mouth, a light chuckle escaping her.
Stiles started to wind down, focusing on her words and the feeling of her hand in his. He stopped gasping and the longer he listened to her story, the more he felt like he could breathe again.
"You drew me and you, together," she went on. "We were in a castle and you said you were a palace guard and I was your princess...." Sierra heard his heart beat regulate, leading her to conclude. "That was one of my favorite days."
"Mine too," he mumbled so quietly, Sierra almost didn't catch it.
She slowly pulled her hand away from his, choosing to gently pat him on the knee. "Don't feel pressured to talk right now if you don't want to. But let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"
Stiles barely nodded, not reacting much as Sierra helped him raise to his feet. She led him to the bathroom, and he took a seat on the toilet lid while she shuffled through his bathroom cabinets. Grabbing a navy washcloth and some baby wipes, she knelt down in front of him and gently took his hands.
Stiles could only look at her.
If he looked down, then he would see the blood and if he saw the blood, he would remember what he did.
Sierra felt his stare as she started to clean his fingers with a wipe, trying to keep herself calm. Too many questions were on the tip of her tongue and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from blurting them out.
She needed to know what happened. Now. But the last thing she wanted was for him to have another panic attack.
His fear filled the air, but it was mixed with...guilt?
From what she could see, he wasn't injured other than a small cut on his cheek. But that couldn't have produced the blood on his hands. So where did it come from?
Her eyes flickered up to meet his gaze and blew a breath from her mouth, forcing a smile. "There...all clean."
Stiles just nodded and went to get up. However, the slight painful movement of his right arm caught Sierra's attention.
"What was that?" she asked and his eyebrows furrowed.
"What was what?" His voice sounded defeated, ringing with exhaustion.
"You winced," Sierra stated, tilting her head as she studied him. "Why?"
"I didn't wince," he attempted to move past her yet she firmly crossed her arms and stood in his way.
"Yes, you did. Now, sit back down."
Stiles sighed, knowing she wouldn't let it go. So, he silently agreed and sat on the lid once more.
"Sweatshirt off," she motioned to the cotton covering his arms and he looked at her, pained.
"Sierra—"
Sierra narrowed her eyes. "Stiles," she stated sternly. "Now. If you have a wound then it could get infected if we don't fix it tonight."
Stiles bit his bottom lip, clearly not wanting to take the sweatshirt off. It was obvious something happened; blood stained the material around his shoulder. But he didn't want Sierra to see it. Because once he did and Sierra found out the truth...how was he supposed to believe she wouldn't leave him right then and there?
Sierra looked beyond puzzled, just wanting to know what happened to him and why he felt so hesitant to be honest.
He always told her everything, but this time he didn't want to say anything.
Slowly, Stiles lifted his arms and removed his sweatshirt—trying not to wince from his injured shoulder.
She stepped closer to him, her eyes slightly widening from seeing more blood seeping through his white T-shirt. She pulled it away from his neck to reveal a nasty bite, a circle of teeth marks punctured deep into his skin.
Stiles looked down as her lips parted in shock. He waited for the yells, the judgment...the moment where Sierra would finally give up on him.
But all he heard was a sharp inhale and very quiet, "Who?"
"What?" he glanced up at her to see her face hardened and her jaw clenched.
"Who did it?" she repeated slowly through clenched teeth. "Who hurt you?"
"Sierra," he tried to explain.
She had it all wrong. He walked away from his battle with a little scratch in his mind. He thought he deserved worse. He deserved to be how Donovan ended up—dead with a pole through his heart.
"Who was it, Stiles?" She demanded, taking a step back. "Because I swear to God, they better pray I don't find them, 'cause if I do they are going to end up six feet under grou—"
"Sierra!" Stiles shot up from where he had been sitting, surprising her to silence. He had shocked himself, tears gathering in his eyes as he got ready to tell her. "You—you don't understand. I...I made a mistake."
"What do you mean?"
And Stiles burst out—telling her absolutely everything about what happened at the school, why there was blood on his hands, why there was a bite on his shoulder. He couldn't stop the words from pouring out from his mouth, and Sierra didn't try and stop him.
She listened.
"I just, I just don't know what happened," he cried minutes later, sitting on the ground with his head in his hands. Sierra sat beside him, a comforting hand on his arm. "I pulled the pin so I could get out, I, I didn't know everything would fall, I swear, but a-a pipe—" Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, a tear dripping down his cheek. The image of Donovan standing there, the metal completely torn through his flesh and his cold eyes glaring up at Stiles.
"You're okay, take your time," Sierra whispered in assurance, snapping him out from the trance.
Stiles let out a shaky breath, nodding. "One of the pipes," he started again, shaking his head. "It-It went right through him...and I couldn't stop it. I, I killed him." Stiles choked back a sob, the reality of his words striking him suddenly. "I killed Donovan."
Sierra watched with saddened eyes as he broke down, the devastation racking his body. She wrapped his arms around him without saying a word, and he clung to her with everything he had.
He was so scared. Scared that Sierra wouldn't believe him. Scared that he was going to be thrown in prison. Scared he was going to lose everyone he ever cared about because of one mistake.
"I swear, it—it was an accident," he begged. "I went to call the police but I couldn't, I couldn't say anything. My feet started to move and I ended up in the parking lot. I, I saw an officer go, go to the library. But—but he said he didn't find anything."
Sierra's body tensed at this, though Stiles was too focused on his rambling to notice.
"I don't know, I don't know what happened," he stuttered. "I went back in, but Donovan was gone. I swear, Sierra, I'm not crazy. He was right there but, but—"
The sound of Sierra's cellphone ringing interrupted him.
Immediately he snapped his lips shut.
"It's okay," she soothed instantly, and squeezed his hand. "Just let me check it—everything is fine."
Stiles forced himself to barely nod, his heart pounding in his chest.
Sierra pulled her phone out from her pocket with her free hand and squinted from the name flashing across the screen. "Scott?" she muttered in confusion while Stiles froze again. She quickly answered the call, pressing her phone against her ear. "Hey, what's up?"
"Sierra," Scott got straight to the chase. "Someone's taking the bodies."
Sierra felt her blood run cold and she glanced at Stiles, who nervously held his breath with wide eyes.
"Sierra, are you there?"
"Yeah, sorry, I'm here," Sierra finally replied, tightening her grip on Stiles's hand. "I, uh, what are you taking about?"
"I'm at the animal clinic with Kira," Scott explained. "Tracy's body is gone. The lock on the door was broken from the outside and my mom told me Lucas's body is missing from the morgue. They're searching the whole hospital for it. Someone's stealing the bodies."
"Okay, Scott, just calm down, okay?" Sierra said first. She could feel his stress through the phone. "We'll figure it out like we always do. And I know this probably isn't the answer you want to hear right now, but let's just wait till tomorrow to talk about it, alright?"
"Sierra," Scott tried but she cut him off.
"Scott, we can't help anyone if we're exhausted," she reasoned, sparing another concerned glance to her boyfriend. "It's been a really long night, for everybody. We can let them sleep tonight—get their energy back—and tell them in the morning. Okay?"
"Okay," Scott sighed, nodding his head even though she couldn't see him. "I'll see you at school tomorrow?"
"I'll see you then," she promised. "Goodnight, Scotty."
"Goodnight, Sisi."
The call ended and Stiles looked at her worriedly. "What happened?" he asked, preparing himself for the worst.
"You were right," Sierra told him.
"Someone's stealing the bodies."