Broken Kiss (a Teen Wolf story)

Part 1

             Life was a series of problems and opportunities. Lydia Martin had always known that, even before it was spelled out to her, even before she realized that she could solve the problems more quickly than most people. Usually that made her feel good, but not when the solutions evaded her.      

   Meredith had been broken, turned into a hot mess who had then unleashed her crazy on Beacon Hills. Maybe all banshees ended up crazy. Lydia felt it sometimes, and not just when she heard the voices. She was detaching more and more frequently, looking up to find herself in another room. Moving past people without seeing them, without hearing them.

           She rubbed at her eyes, refusing to remove her compact from her purse. Her eyes would be bloodshot. Her mascara would be smeared. She’d look tired. She’d look…lost. And that idea pissed her right off. Martins were always put together, as perfect as perfect could be.

            Stiles was asleep in the chair behind her, head hanging back, arms and legs sprawling. She closed his laptop and stood, blinking in the darkness of his room. Lydia wasn’t the only one who’d been affected by the madness that had infected Beacon Hills. Stiles played it off, what had happened to him, but he’d lost some of his playfulness. When he wasn’t trying to act normal, his eyes were dark. Haunted. Malia was good for him. She was a distraction and – Lydia couldn’t help but roll her eyes – she didn’t think too deeply. Stiles needed that. He needed something light. Lydia hadn’t felt light in months. Not since she’d started hearing voice, and Jackson had left, then Allison…

            She slipped out of the house. The sheriff was gone, hopefully occupied with only ordinary crime. They all needed a break.

            Water beaded on the grass of the lawn and the windshield of her car. The night air was chill with water and the promise of fall. Lydia reached for the door handle, then froze.

            “You shouldn’t be out alone at night,” a man said from behind her. Fear ran through her, a cold jolt through her entire body. And then, because it was him, something else followed, something hot and needy and just as strong as her fear.

            But the problem – one of the problems with Peter Hale – was that you could never, ever trust him. Even if you wanted to. Even if you remember what he was like when he was focused only on you, seducing you, kissing you.

            Lydia turned around, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “What do you want?”

            He stood a few feet away, a silhouette outside of the range of the porch light. But she would always know him. He stepped forward, his blue eyes catching the light.

            “Maybe I just want to make sure you’re all right, Lydia.” His eyebrows rose, his expression faintly mocking. “Beacon Hills is a dangerous place, especially at night.”

            “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” she asked.

            “I do, indeed. I’ve been fighting monsters for years.”

            “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

            He made a sound, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, just acknowledging she’d spoken. Then he smiled, and her trembling had nothing to do with fear. He took a step closer. It wasn’t obtrusive. She’d had men come on strong. She’d had all kinds of things trying to intimidate her lately. But he stayed a few steps away, his hands linked behind his back in a way that made the muscles in his arms seem like they were chiseled out of stone. He appeared so strong, so sure of himself, and she felt anything but that.

            “You look-”

            She threw her hands up, her bag bumping against her side. “I am not in the mood for you to judge my appearance. Not that you have any right to. Why don’t you just say whatever it is you snuck out here to say and leave me alone.”

            He moved so fast when he wanted to, ending up right in front of her, his eyes bright as the wolf rose behind them. Then his expression softened as it moved from her eyes to her mouth. He’d kissed her before, when she was drifting through the haze of his bite, following the orders she’d never heard him say. She could feel his gaze now, wanted to reach out and touch her own lips. Touch his.

            And then she was doing it, watching her fingers glide along his generous lower lip. His breath hitched before the heat of it ghosted over her fingertips. She needed to get away from him, but when his hands closed around her waist, all she could do was lean closer.

            “I was going to say you look beautiful.” His hand slid up her back and neck, winding into her hair. “You always look so damn beautiful.”

            Her eyelids fluttered closed as his mouth slid over hers. It was a chaste kiss, not like some teenage boy trying to plow into her. His lips were soft, gentle, as they pressed against hers. But she could feel the hunger he was controlling. His fingers clenched around her waist and in her hair, pulling the strands tight until it almost hurt. She’d seen him out of control, but he was trying to be gentle with her. He tilted his head, kissing her jaw, lower. He made a sound against her neck, a low rumble that shook her to her bones. She jerked back, not enough to escape his arms, but enough that cool air replaced the heat of his hard chest against hers.

            “What are you doing to me?” she asked, terrified that somehow he’d taken control of her again. There was no way she could be wanting him like this. There wasn’t!

            He looked up, bright blue gaze clashing with her own. He shook his head, appearing as mystified as she felt.

            “I could ask you the same,” he murmured, brow furrowed. “Banshees aren’t known to beguile. So it must be all you, Lydia.”

            Her heart tripped, and his smile was heartbreakingly sweet. His hand unraveled from her hair, massaging her neck before it slid away, and she nearly fell against him it felt so good.

            She opened her mouth, wanting to yell at him. Wanting to deny him. She was a master at telling people off, but no words came out. He stepped back into the shadows as Sheriff Stilinksi’s cruiser rolled down the street.

            “Good night, Lydia,” Peter said. “Keep yourself safe.”