Broken Kiss (a Teen Wolf story)

Part 7

            Lydia wandered through the halls of the school, her notebook clasped in front of her. She could barely focus. She’d been abuzz when she got home, all lit up. When Peter kissed her, it was like she was the only thing in his world, the only thing that mattered. The only thing that had broken his complete concentration on her had been Melissa McCall walking in and going drill sergeant. “You, step back.” “You, go get dressed.”

            Lydia smiled. Even the werewolves couldn’t stand up to her when Melissa got like that. No wonder Scott had turned into an alpha.

            Peter had been a perfect gentleman after that, driving her home and walking her to the door. He hadn’t tried to kiss her again – by then she’d been nervous about her mother or, worse, her boyfriend Dan, catching them. Sure Peter was older but it wasn’t like it was that big of a difference. If you subtracted his years in a coma, he was barely even…considerably older. But it wasn’t like she was naïve or all that innocent. Hell, she hadn’t been innocent since she’d found a series of very purple, very graphic novels hidden in her mother’s dresser at the age of eleven.

            Still…nothing had prepared her for Peter Hale.

            “You look terrible.”

            Lydia looked up to find her mother smiling down at her. Natalie Martin crossed her arms.

            “What time did you get in last night, young lady?”

            “Before you,” Lydia countered, raising her chin. “I’m surprised you were able to haul yourself out of bed this morning.”

            At that, Natalie winced. But then she brushed her hair away from her face and forced a smile.

            “Dan got me a fabulous concealing cream for our one month anniversary. Does wonders after an ill-advised night out. It’s on my vanity if you want to try it.”

            Lydia’s forced smile fell. “He got you concealer? As a present?”

            “It was nice.” Natalie looked around, peeved as always that Lydia was challenging her and – Lydia sensed – embarrassed that she’d mentioned it. “You could use some right now. You’re still in high school and you look worn out.”

            “Pot. Kettle. I’ll see you after economics.” Lydia beamed at her mother, even though she was seething on the inside, and marched away.

            It was preposterous. No, it was almost criminal that Dan would treat her mother that way. Giving her something that was no more than a suggestion that she hide her age and calling it a present. Natalie Martin would always be the most beautiful woman in the world, even if she was making bad choices.

            Lydia almost stumbled, the memory of the man from her vision coming back to her in a rush. The black hair, that statuesque body and renaissance face. He’d made her feel… Well, he’d been scary and too forceful there at the end. But before that, he’d made her feel comfortable. Almost at home, not like the home she’d grown up in with mom and dad fighting and using her as a weapon against the other. But like a home ought to feel, where you could be yourself and not worry about criticism or judgment. She had no idea who he was, and the place he’d selected for her vision had been unfamiliar, but he’d called to her like an old song.

            A pain in her arm startled her out of her reverie, and Lydia found Malia and Kira staring at her.

            “Ouch,” she said, belatedly covering her arm where the coyote had pinched her.

            “What is going on with you?” Kira asked, her eyes wide and anxious.

            “You were really out of it,” Malia said, indicating the wall that Lydia had been facing, unseeing. “Are you having a vision?”

            Peter’s daughter. For some reason that made her blush, and Lydia cleared her throat.

            “No, just thinking.”

            “Scott said you were attacked by some kind of beast-dog that smelled like brimstone,” Kira said as they turned and headed for class.

            “What’s brimstone?” Malia asked.

            “Sulfur. Are you okay?”

            “I’m fine,” Lydia said. “It wasn’t…as these things go, it wasn’t a big deal.” She caught a glimpse of her mother down the hall, her cell phone pressed to her ear, a frown creasing her forehead. Dan. He’d said he could give her what she wanted, the man in her vision.

            And that’s all it had been. She’d remained in the woods, at night, but inside of the vision he’d created she’d felt warmth. She’d had to squint against the strength of the sun. If she’d gone with him, would she have felt calm the way she'd felt that light? Would she have felt safe, happy? Could she have seen Allison again?

            Unexpectedly, a sob hitched up in Lydia’s throat and she swallowed it. They slid into their seats, Malia beside Stiles. Kira behind Scott. Lydia set her notebook on her desk and straightened her pen beside it. She was with them, but on the outside. She didn’t have their superpowered strength or healing. All her abilities were inside her mind, invisible, and they turned her inside out more than they helped anyone.

            And she didn’t have one of them. They all belonged to each other. A piece of Allison had always belonged to Lydia, no matter what was going on with her family or with Scott. Allison had believed in her, and coaxed her instead of growing frustrated when the voices weren’t clear. Lydia thought she’d loved Jackson, but they hadn’t belonged to each other. Funny. Her mom had always said she’d feel complete when she found a man. But she’d only ever felt complete with her friend. A sound whispered past, and Lydia zoned in on it. She listened for Allison when her banshee powers rose up, strained to hear her no matter what was going on. But she’d yet to catch her voice. Maybe if she were closer…

            “So what happened,” Kira asked when the teacher turned to write on the board.

            “Do you think,” Lydia asked, tilting her head, “there’s a way for a person to move between worlds?”

            “Like how you hear voices from the other side?” Kira whispered, her nose scrunching up.

            “Yeah, but I’m not talking about only the voice. I’m talking about the whole person. Being transported from one plane of existence to another.” Lydia leaned closer, glancing up when Scott turned around in his seat. He didn’t look happy.

            “That thing was a hellhound,” Stiles snapped. “Like a hound. From Hell. And you’re curious about whether you can skip over to its homeland?”

            “Not a hound of Hell,” Scott said. “A hound of Hades, Lord of the Underworld.”

            They all stared at him for a moment, and then Malia laughed a low, spooky laugh.

            “Wicked.”