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__________ c h a p t e r f i f t e e n
Peter speeds to the field in time to bite Lydia, terrifying Stiles.
"Don't kill her. Please," he pleads, wondering how the night went so wrong, so quickly.
"Of course not. Wouldn't want to be greedy," he hints, Stiles staring in confusion. Something was telling him to call Carson, tell her to go home, but he figured she couldn't be in danger if Peter was right here, in front of him.
"Just tell me how to find Derek."
"What?"
"Tell me how to find Derek Hale."
After a back and forth conversation, Stiles agrees to help.
"I'm not just letting you leave her here," he pants.
"You don't have a choice Stiles. You're coming with me."
"Just kill me okay? I don't care anymore," he whines.
"You know Stiles, it's not proper etiquette to leave your date all alone. She might get hurt," he just taunts him.
"She is hurt, you bit her!"
"You and I both know that's not the one I'm talking about," Peter smirks.
"Wh-What did you do to Carson?" he stands up, this night getting way worse. Like monumentally worse.
There were very few things that Stiles could honestly say would ruin his life. Losing Carson Rivera is at the top of the list.
"Nothing that would have happened had you just stayed with her all night. I mean Stiles, you ditched the only girl who ever gave you the time of day, for one chasing a guy that's nowhere to be found. Pretty sad isn't it? Let's go," he pulls him to start walking.
"You can call your friend to take care of this one. But I'm afraid it's much too late for the pretty brunette," he chuckles.
"No, no. You didn't kill her," he shouts. "Come on, Ill do anything, just please tell me you didn't kill her."
"Of course not, I'm not a monster. You help me with this, and I'll tell you where she is," he gets in the car.
"Fine."
_____
Meanwhile Carson was holding on to the little air left in the space between the barrier and the pool, coming up every few minutes with a gasp.
"God somebody help!" she yells, banging the glass.
"Not gonna happen. Daddy-o wants you dead," Tyler leans over.
