Pure × Isaac Lahey

52.

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       As dusk rested on the shoulders of Beacon Hills, Elora surfaced at the doorstep of her own home with a gust of air, seemingly being created from nothing.

       The brunette unlocked the front door with ease, going through without any hesitance. She seemed blank, vacant in her own body as she kicked off her shoes in the foyer.

       Isaac poked his head out of the living room, having heard her come in. In joggers and a thin tee, sneakers long gone, the beta greeted her. "Hey, there you are. Are you okay? Did you find Charlie?"

       "Yeah, yeah I found Charlie," El replied as she hugged a concerned Isaac. "We talked for a while, out at the Hale House."

       Isaac tucked a wave of hair behind her ear, an arm still around her waist. "Did you figure out what was wrong? You seemed really weirded out."

       El hesitated, "Yeah, don't worry about it. Everything's fine."

       "Are you sure?" he questioned with an arched brow.

       "Totally," El said with a feigned smile. "It's all good, I promise. I'm just really tired."

       "You've had a long day," agreed Isaac, kissing the top of Elora's head. "Go to bed. I'm gonna head back to Scott's. I just wanted to make sure you got home safe."

       Elora lightly smiled, kissing Isaac softly. "I love you."

       "I love you too." But after a moment, Isaac's brows furrowed. "El? Where's Charlie?"

       "I, uh," El had stopped on the eighth step, idly rubbing under her eyes, "he told me he wanted to stick around the Preserve, so he could pretty much be anywhere."

       Anywhere, however, happened to be the Argent household.

       Across town, as Elora attempted to sleep by her own account, Allison was sitting on the floor of her bedroom with an array of gun pieces around her as her toenails dried from a fresh coat of blue polish.

       Dark hair was pulled up into a messy bun, in sleep shorts and a sweater from her last high school in San Francisco as she completed field stripping a 1911 pistol.

       A pummel of wind barreled through the room, Allison nearly launching the skeleton of the gun. Her eyes went wide, turned over her shoulder with her attention on the sudden image of Charlie Danielson.

       Allison swore, "Jesus, Charlie! What the hell are you doing here?"

       Charlie's eyebrows furrowed as he looked to the bare bones of a gun with nearly nothing to it. "Planning on shooting me?"

       "I'd like to." Allison lowered the gun piece, her sudden burst of panic cooling. "What are you doing here?"

       "House call for my dear sister." Charlie only smiled, pocketing his hands in his jeans. "Do you always strip in your free time?"

       Allison shot Charlie a dirty look as she began to rebuild the weapon. "Do you have to make everything awful?" she flatly asked as her fingers worked the pistol with ease.

       "I'm pretty sure it comes in the villain job description." Charlie leaned on the bed frame behind the hunter, watching Allison. "But to be fair, I wasn't all that awful at that party the other night. You seemed pretty into it."

       "Keep talking, Danielson, you're in a house full of weapons with hunters that knows how to use all of them."

       "I like it," mused Charlie, "its a challenge to see how long it takes for you to shoot me. Not that it would actually do anything but tickle. A grenade, maybe, if I couldn't apparate quick enough."