Pure × Isaac Lahey

50.

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       The bedroom slowly came into focus, Elora's eyes adjusting to the dark quickly. Her heart still beat heavily from the lingering dream of Charlie two weeks before he was caught by the Council and banished to Russia.

       El was propped up in her bed, Isaac sound asleep next to her as Hale green eyes remained on Stiles' still frame. "Wh- how did you..."

       But when Stiles smirked, she knew.

       "You're not Stiles."

       "Well done, Elora," mused the gangly teen. "Well done indeed."

       Elora hesitantly glanced over to Isaac soft snore emanating from him as the beta was turned away.

       "Don't worry," Stiles purred, simply not himself, "he can't hear us. He won't wake until sunrise. Or, maybe, if you don't make the right choice, not at all."

       Elora slowly drew the covers away from her legs, still in the clothes she had fainted in when the Oni paid her a visit. She remained quiet for a long pause, judging her options as she stared Stiles down.

       There was a sudden burst of energy, Stiles' body striking back into the rail of the upstairs balcony, the witch bolting past him with purpose.

       Elora lept down the stairs, sharply turning the corner toward the kitchen. She suddenly gasped as her weight was thrown off, Stiles slamming her body against the wall.

       Stiles leaned in close, his forearm directly across El's throat as he held her in place. "Now, that's the spirit! If you want Isaac dead, keep on making choices like that."

       Elora struggled against him, inhaling deeply for breath. "What do you want from me?" she growled, no longer seeing the sheriff's loving son but a void trickster.

       "I want you to come somewhere with me," he told her as he held eye contact with Elora. "A little outing for the two of us. God knows Stiles would kill for some alone time with you. Too bad he would never admit it. So indulge us both."

       "I need gas if you're so intent on a road trip," El bitterly said.

       Stiles allowed a laugh, belittling in spirit. "You won't need a primitive machine to get there."

       Elora's eyebrows narrowed before catching what he intended. "I can't apparate. I haven't been since -"

       "Since you let me out?" Stiles tisked mockingly. "Catch on a bit quicker, dear. I was why you couldn't. I was keeping it from you."

       "Wh- why would you do that?" she questioned, barely able to wrap her head around the situation.

       Stiles only smiled, "Because I could. Because it's so fun. So, shall we?"

       Elora pushed his arm off of he, agreement in her eyes. "Where?"

       Stiles forced Elora to put her hands on his shoulders, well aware she'd likely try to escape. "Root cellar."

       El gritted her teeth, the two engulfed by a bitter breeze as their surroundings morphed.

       The wind picked up Elora's hair as she let go of Stiles, the temperature unsettling cold. She crossed her arms over her chest for warmth, turning over her shoulder to the Nemeton. "Why here?"

       "Because this is where it all started," Stiles said as he slowly circled the cut down tree. "This is where we met."

       Elora's brows furrowed, eyes trailing Stiles' figure. "What are you talking about?"