Broken Kiss (a Teen Wolf story)

Part 4

             “No,” Lydia insisted as she spoke into the phone, “it’s not dead. Two of the heads were decapitated and the neck was broken, but it was putting itself back together. Like a Humpty Dumpty made of teeth and claws.”

            She jerked around in her seat again, staring back the way they’d come. Nothing followed them, Peter was sure of that. He pulled the neck of his sweater away from his chest and shifted in the driver’s seat. The heat in Lydia’s small car was on full blast because she was still shivering, and it was getting uncomfortable.

            “I only saw one,” she snapped, her voice rising. “But it was still alive. It could have been a hydra, I guess.”

            “It was a Cerberus,” Peter said, slowing the car to ease it out of the ditch and onto the road. “Three heads, long tail, and a mane of snakes. Those, thankfully, were barely hatched.”

            He could hear Derek and Scott on the other end of the phone, demanding to know why Lydia was with Peter rather than focusing on the important part of the call – the fact that a hellhound from the underworld was roaming Beacon Hills and trying to paralyze beautiful girls with its toxic saliva. He glanced at Lydia’s legs, demurely crossed. It didn’t seem to have affected her beyond the few minutes she was out. That was a relief. From what little he knew, it wasn’t supposed to be deadly, but it also wasn’t supposed to be used on humans. Not live ones anyway.

            “Peter,” she hissed, covering the phone with one hand and pulling her skirt down with the other. He glanced up, and swerved back into his lane.

            “What were you doing in the woods dressed like that?” he whispered back.

            “I didn’t dress for the woods. That just sort of happened.” She rolled her eyes and turned back to the phone. “Just look for it, Scott, please. It’s vicious. I don’t want it to find anyone else.”

            She ended the call and pinched the bridge of her nose between two delicate fingers.

            “How are you feeling?” Peter asked.

           “Fine,” she said. She was accustomed to playing at strength, pretending that nothing hurt or affected her. She didn’t like being weak. That, he understood. But, while Lydia wasn’t weak, she was delicate. Banshees' power was all in their ability to inhabit multiple worlds. Physically, she was only human. He hadn’t meant to follow her. He’d told himself he wouldn’t, but when she’d turned abruptly and headed out of town, he’d known something was wrong. If she’d had one of her friends with her – the fox with the sword or even Scott McCall, he’d had let her go. He was glad he hadn’t. The being that had mesmerized her was not weak or delicate, and Peter had not liked him standing over her.

            He turned down the blasting heat and slid his hand beneath her hair to massage her neck. She stiffened, but didn’t try to shift away.

            “You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said. “What happened tonight was traumatic. It’s okay to-”

           “Be traumatized?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. The muscles in her neck tensed further, and Peter’s claws itched to extend. If he were to pierce her skin, in those exact places along her vertebrae, he could tell precisely how she was feeling. Know exactly how she felt about him. But that would be stealing and, while he wasn’t against theft as a rule – some of his very favorite things were stolen – Lydia wouldn’t forgive him for it. He didn’t ever want her to look at him again the way she had when they met after he’d bitten her. Horrified. Betrayed.

            He continued to stroke.

            “Be confused,” he said. “Or scared. It’s okay to feel lost. You weren’t prepared for any of these things that have happened, or that keep happening.”

            “I’m not lost,” she insisted, but doubt ringed her stubborn words. “I’m used to it. I’m a banshee. Waking up in strange places is part of the job description. What were you doing there, anyway?”

            “Communing with nature. It’s part of my anger management therapy.”

            Her head tilted back against the headrest. Beneath his hand, her muscles started to melt.

            “And here I thought you just had a thing for banshees.” In response to his look, she gave him an insincere smile. “You know, with Meredith, then me.”

            “Whatever Meredith thought occurred, that took place in an alternate reality.” His hand slid upwards, into Lydia’s silky red hair. “And I don’t have a thing for banshees. Just you.”

            Her lips parted, and a faint blush stained her cheeks. Leaned back, with her hair disheveled, she was gorgeous and wild. And she was so close, tucked beside him in the little car. Her fear was gone, the adrenaline spike dissolving under the heat and his touch. When she looked at him like that, as if she were starting to consider him differently, his heart beat faster.

            Suddenly she frowned and made a little sound of distress. Her head slumped.

            “Lydia?” He shook her shoulder. Her breathing became labored, and Peter floored the accelerator. The toxin hadn’t worn off. Her adrenaline had rebuffed it, but the second it subsided, the paralytic had attacked.

            The tired squealed as he swerved into the hospital parking lot. Running around the car, he lifted Lydia out of her seat and aimed for the emergency room.

            “Help,” he barked as he cleared the doors. “I need help.”

            She hung limp in his arms, nearly weightless, her hair hanging over her face. The seconds it took for a nurse to round the corner stretched intolerably long.

            “Put here there,” the nurse said, pushing him toward a white gurney parked along the wall. “I’ll call the doctor.”

            It seemed wrong to lay his Lydia, usually so vivid, so bright, onto the lifeless thing.

            “What did you do to her?” Melissa McCall asked, shoving him out of the way. Her dark eyes were full of suspicion. And she deserved that, but now was not the time.

            “Not me,” he said, forcing himself to stay calm and rational. It would not help Lydia for him to lose it. “She was exposed to a toxin. It’s supposed to paralyze the recipient, temporarily.”

            “What toxin?” Melissa’s lips thinned as she followed his gesture to Lydia’s legs where red welts had risen along her shins.

            “It’s…” Peter spread his hands. How to explain? “Not of this world.”

            “Seriously?” Her eyebrows shot up, but to her credit, Melissa recovered almost instantly. She called to the other nurse. “I’ve got this one, Carol.”

            Unlocking the gurney, she wheeled it toward a private room.

            “I need you to tell me everything,” Melissa murmured through her teeth as Peter shoved the door opened and helped maneuver the bed through. “How long ago? What were her symptoms and in what order did they onset? And then you can tell me what the hell is going on.”

             “Of course.” Peter took Lydia’s hand. Her face was pale, her body practically convulsing with each attempted breath. He’d tell Melissa whatever she needed to get Lydia through this, everything except the fact that the being who had mesmerized her and was likely trying to draw her into his world, was in Beacon Hills because of Peter.