DUDE, THAT'S MY PHANTOM.

━━━ ii. death can't harm him.

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chapter two.
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Blaise sulks in the front seat of Stiles' rumbling blue jeep; the sun was falling ( thank whatever god ) and Scott has taken off on the back of  Braeden's motorcycle to la Iglesia, a place you won't find God, leaving the rest of the pack to deal with the broken down jeep. Now, the reason Blaise has been sulking is because of the disrespect Scott and Stiles had when he called shotgun, they threw him in the back like he were a bag of potatoes beneath Kira and Malia.

     It's been awhile since he fought against gravity by letting his bones unclench and become weightless floating in the air and drawing random symbols on his wrist to keep himself occupied. As he floats, he feels a dark cloud hovering over his head ━━━ one he's been trying to ignore but he can feel it dripping frost through his skin and making his bones clench again making it harder to keep himself weightless. He hates this feeling. It's all around him, even worse than Beacon Hills.

     Kira rubs her fingers together to create more warmth, it's strange because like werewolves they're bodies aren't affected by lowered temperatures. Unless. . . her head tilts to Blaise clenching his jaw, that makes sense. "Blaise," his scowl deepens even more at being called at, "Are you alright?"

     That's a strange question to ask, he takes his eyes away from the octopus drawing on his wrist to look up at her, "Why wouldn't I be?" He retorts.

      "Because you're making the desert cold, you brat." Stiles interrupts their conversation, gesturing his loose duct tape at him.

     "You're not going to die because of a tiny drop in temperature." Blaise bites back, glancing at him over his shoulder. He's positive Stiles will get his Jeep up and running again before he dies of hypothermia. "I can only bring it down, so if you don't get your jeep working soon it'll own you instead of you owning it. That's why I don't own a car."

      "You don't own a car because your not old enough to drive." Lydia piped up, her eyebrows drawn together ━━━ all three wearing them same perplexed expression.

     He shrugs his shoulders at them, "A minor coincidence."

      "Stiles," Malia grunts as her hand digs inside the gap between the car wheel and car, snatching out a long carved bone, "I don't think we hit something. I think something hit us."

     Blaise switched his position to the passenger's seat, poking his cheeks to entertain himself and save his phone battery. This is all taking too long, he should've stolen a ride with Scott. He wonders what Isak and Midge are doing at home; Midge is probably secretly watching Korean dramas she claims she hates, and Isak is either probably admiring his ugly cat paintings around the house or trying to hung another one of Midge's drawings with her permission. Time moves so slow, like it knows he's watching and wants to make him even more miserable.