For Carson Bradley, Stiles Stilinski, and Scott McCall, they were used to having a Plan B. This time, however, they were merely pawns in a far more deadly game.
(season 3, book 3)
(no longer updating)
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TWENTY MERCIFUL HOMICIDE
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The days that followed Boyd's death were somber, to say the least.
It seemed like a small piece of everyone had died along with him, fragmenting off from the whole and being buried six feet under with the sixteen year old. Every one of them seemed to see it as their own fault, in some way. That there was something in the back of each and every one of their minds telling them that there was something that could have been done to stop the alphas in time.
It really was the alphas fault, what had happened that night in the loft. Isaac had described the entire thing to the others, highlighting the fact that while Derek's hands had been stained with Vernon Boyd's blood, it wasn't really all his fault. His claws had in fact been the ones to jam through Boyd's thoracic cavity, ultimately piercing vital organs. But it was not Derek's intention at all. The twins had held him down and his claws up, just long enough for Kali to slam Boyd down onto them, skewering him like he was bait on a hook.
From that small bit of information, it was easy to see that Derek had had no choice. There was nothing he could have done. And yet, out of all the self blame the pack was placing upon themselves, Derek was the one taking it the hardest. So much so, that he vanished without a trace.
Once again, Derek Hale was out of their lives when they needed him the most. They were only as strong as they were united and when divided, they weakened the force they had. With one less werewolf there was more vulnerability to the alphas and the Darach. Carson hated to admit that they needed Derek, but it was the truth. They already had enough on their plates to begin with, but now with Boyd's death . . . it was just a painful reminder that any one of them could be the next fatality of these battles they were a part of.
They needed to find Derek Hale.
This was exactly why Carson and Stiles had set aside their newest differences for the time being and were currently sat in the Hale's loft. Cora was sat across from them, a look of pure boredom and the signature Hale disgust painted across her features. The hardened glares were merely a formality though, a facade that Carson saw right through. She could smell the fear and grief wafting off the youngest Hale when she had exited Stiles's jeeps all those floors below. Cora was basking in those emotions, as much as she didn't want to show it. Carson didn't say a damn thing about it though, rather leaving the girl be. Cora clearly mourned better in peace and the Bradley girl had no problem in respecting that.
Stiles, who couldn't pick up on chemo signals with his dulled human senses, was prattling on about every little thought that came to his mind. He had already gave Cora the rundown about how the alphas and the Darach were frightening to the core and how it was selfish for Derek to just walk off when they needed him the most. He had also gone on about the growing numbers of bodies being caused by the evils in the town which invoked more stress on his father every day; once again, he ranted about Derek leaving.
