The cafeteria was louder than usual, though maybe it only felt that way because Scarlett's senses were still stretched thin from the morning. She sat near the end of one of the long tables, the light from the windows cutting across the polished surface in pale stripes, and let her gaze settle on Stiles standing in line for food as if he were the only stable thing in the room. He was arguing quietly with himself about two equally tragic lunch options, tray balanced against his hip, shoulders still a little too tight for someone pretending everything was fine.
Scott had decided to eat alone, as if being on his own would keep his emotions down.
Scarlett unscrewed her thermos slowly, lifted it to her lips without taking her eyes off Stiles. She wasn't listening for fear. She wasn't feeling panic. Just a residual thread of agitation from earlier, now dulled but not gone.
"It is still so strange to see a vampire in school," Evelyn's voice came quite, but it almost made Scarlett tense and she had to keep control of herself to seem unbothered by those words.
"I'm already regreatting it," she decided to answer as she observed the girl give her a smile her, eyes ever observant, but then she set down in front of her.
"How are things going with Scott?" Evelyn asked, leaning her arms on the table. "I've looked for him, but I couldn't find him."
"Yeah... the pup is on edge," Scarlett said looking around as if she could spot him. "He even left mid-test."
Evelyn's eyes grew larger, "He turned in class?"
Scarlett closed her thermos, thinking back at what happened. "No, he started getting overwhelmed. The lights, the noise, people breathing too loud." She let out a quiet breath through her nose. "He left as soon as he realized."
Scarlett's eyes drifted back toward the food line, where Stiles had just paid and was balancing his tray carefully.
Evelyn took a breath. "At least he's keeping control."
"He's dangerous," Scarlett said almost shocking herself. Evelyn's eyes kept studing her in silence for a moment.
"Did Stiles followed him?" The question made Scarlett frown, her eyes sharpened.
"Yes," was all she said.
"And you didn't?" There was no plain accusation in Evelyn's tone. It seemed just curiosity. But it pressed anyway.
"He told me not to," Scarlett answered. "He said he had it." Her gaze shifted back to Stiles, who was now scanning the room probably trying to find her. "I told him I'd go."
"And?"
"And he said he would handle it." Scarlett said trying to restrain from snapping. That girl really knew how to be nugging.
Evelyn didn't react to the edge in her voice. She just nodded slowly, absorbing it.
"That makes sense," she said after a second.
Scarlett blinked. That wasn't the answer she was expecting. "It does?"
"Well… if you did feel danger Stiles in danger, you wouldn't have followed." Evelyn shrugged lightly. And Scarlett could not denying it. She had been focused on Stiles' feelings when he disappeared behind the classroom door; and she felt worry, and anxiety. But nothing more than that. And then suddenly he just calmed down...
Evelyn hummed softly, absorbing that, fingers tapping lightly against the table in thought. There was something restless about her curiosity
"Can I ask you something?" Evelyn asked suddenly.
Scarlett didn't like that tone. "You're already asking," she replied.
"Scott had told me about the attack the Alpha did on Stiles," Scarlett's fingers stilled over the thermos. "And he told me that you gave Stiles your blood."
Scarlett's jaw tightened, even if she tried to control it. Why was she so curious about that night?
"He was bleeding on the ground," Scarlett said trying to keep her voice steady and calm.
"Yeah, I'm sure he did..." Evelyn nodded, "Did you know what your blood would have done? I mean what it does to humans."
Scarlett didn't like how calm that question was, how the girl's head tilted to the side as she observed her. Was she suspecting something? Did she knew something?
Then why talking to her and not directly with Scott and Stiles?
"Every vampire does." She decided to answer, and Evelyn semmed to took in that information.
"I thought vampires would be much more careful to whom they give their blood to," she was saying as if she was thinking out loud, but it only was able to made Scarlett unesy. "I mean," Evelyn said, "If I knew that that--"
"It would have healed him," Scarlett replied evenly.
"Yeah, but it would also bound him." Evelyn added softly.
"So we're really bonding Scott?" Stiles' voice slipped in before either of them could react, warm and slightly amused, though there was an undercurrent of something more attentive beneath it. He set his tray down and slid onto the bench beside Scarlett without hesitation, close enough that their shoulders brushed, his thigh pressing lightly against hers as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He looked at her first, his expression softening just a fraction, then he glanced toward Evelyn.
"No," Evelyn seemed entirely unbothered by his interruption. "I was actually asking about the night the Alpha attacked you."
Stiles' fingers stilled over the edge of his tray, and for a split second to Scarlett the cafeteria noise seemed to recede around them, reduced to a dull, distant hum of trays scraping and laughter rising too loud from somewhere across the room.
"Ah," Stiles said lightly, though his eyes flicked between the two girls, "Casual lunch topic." He picked up his fork, then set it down again without using it. "What about it?"
"You see," Evelyn rested her chin on her hand, looking at the with open curiosity rather than suspicion. "Vampires are very difficoult creatures to find." She said. "They do not normally hang around humans if not to eat them, so having Scarlett here gives the possibility to have answers to many questions." She tilted her head slightly, gaze shifting back to Scarlett. "I was really curious why you chose to give him your blood."
Scarlett did not answer immediately, and that pause was not dramatic enough to be obvious, but it was long enough for Stiles to notice it, because he had memorized the rhythm of her reactions without meaning to. She kept her gaze lowered for a fraction of a second, then lifted it with that composed, almost clinical calm she used when she did not want something to show.
"I thought he was dying" she said evenly. "That's the reason."
Stiles leaned back slightly, his shoulder still touching Scarlett's as he moved, but she didn't looked up at him for some reason. Maybe she should have?
But she couldn't, she didn't want to think about that night.
"It wasn't exactly optional, wasn't it?" he said lightly, though she could feel his eyes on her when he said it.
Everything about that night could have been optional.
Scarlett's eyes flicked to him. "No. It wasn't."
"That's so interesting," Evelyn tilted her head, thoughtful but not invasive. "For what is known most vampires don't create permanent links with humans. I guess you're much more compassionate than what folklore mentions."
Compassionate.
That word touched more than she liked to admit. She knew well what happened. And the bile in her stomach formed, disgusting and painful. She really didn't want to think about that night.
"Hey," Stiles' hand found her arm, the gesture made her turn to look at him. He was observing her face with his big brown eyes and he seemed concerned. "Is everything alright?"
No...
"Yeah," Scarlett said with a nod of her head. And for a moment she looked at him, flashing of that night hunting her again as she did and the words blunt out before she could stop herself. "I'm sorry..."
He took a breath, his eyes kind again, "It wasn't your fault," he said, tone light but edged with that subtle seriousness he tried to mask. "I wasn't exactly in a position to negotiate terms and conditions at the time."
"Yeah," Evelyn said from the other side of the table, "And he was lucky you were even there."
The sentence settled between them with a softness that did not match its weight she was feeling. Scarlett felt it more than heard it, like a fingertip pressing lightly against something that could bruise if pushed harder.
Stiles let out a small breath through his nose, half a laugh. "Yeah," he echoed, reaching for his fork again, "My timing is historically terrible. Except that night, apparently." He glanced at Scarlett, and there was nothing in his expression but warmth and a trace of leftover awe. "She kind of showed up like… I don't know. Dramatic supernatural backup."
Scarlett forced the corner of her mouth to lift. She remembered the shadows, the smell of his blood, Peter's claws, the careful choreography of violence that had not been careful at all once Stiles started screaming. She remembered calculating distances, angles, wounds that looked convincing but not lethal. She remembered choosing when to step out of the dark.
"This Alpha is really strange," Evelyn kept saying, "He's attacking random people. Why attack you?"
"It's crazy?" Stiles guessed as he ate.
"Oh, most definately," Evelyn said with a nod of her head. "But why you? I mean, it is already strange for a werewolf to go balistic in a small town. But why attack you? And other random people?"
In Stiles' eyes flicked something for a moment. A little frown appearing on his face. "Derek said revenge."
Fuck... Scarlett thought as she looked up at Stiles.
"Revenge against you?" Evelyn asked with a frown, "What did you do?"
Stiles blinked at her, fork hovering uselessly above his tray. "Wow. Okay. First of all, rude. Second of all, nothing. I mean— I don't think I've personally wronged any homicidal wolves recently."
Scarlett watched him carefully. She could feel the faint echo of his unease—not fear, not like that night—but confusion. A thread of it.
"Maybe it's because I was already help him Scott?" He tried to guess and Scarlett really did all she could to keep in a relieved breath that she was about release.
Evelyn tilted her head thoughtfully, absorbing it. "That actually tracks," she said. "Destabilize the beta, isolate him. It's basic pack psychology." She paused, tapping her fingers lightly against the table.
"Like he did the night in the school?" He said, his gaze shifting between Scarlett and Evelyn.
"So he had already tried to keep him alone," the brunette girl said, taking a deep breath. "Well this dude must be very angry if he needs Scott so bad." Then she looked at them, "You need to be careful, if he tried once he'll most definately try it again."
Scarlett had tried to hide how tense she was for the rest of the day. Once she would have turned all te tables in her favor, creating lies and half-lies, but now it was getting difficoult.
Every lie that she could ever say felt havier and she really was tired to make up story and excuses with Stiles.
She wanted just to move on. To not think about what had happened. Those were two different things.
She wanted to kill Kate for what she did. And maybe she shouldn't have brought Stiles in that story. But it was too late now. She just hope that at some point conversations like the one she had in the cafeteria would eventually became less and less. Until they disappeared.
She had truely feared that Stiles would figure out that his attack had been different from the others. She was sure that he would realize that her fault was hers in some way. But luckily what Peter had done that night in the school had helped to divert the topic.
She didn't want for Stiles to know.
In the afternoon she was meant to be with the team, taking times as they played. Listen all the nonsenses that the coach had to say.
"Come on, Black!" He said to her as she was set in his studio while they waited for the boys to change. Scarlett forced herself to nod with a smile, and she had to use all the self control she had to not roll her eyes drammatically.
As they stepped forward, Coach Finstock blowed his whistel. Sometimes she really whished she could crush it.
"All right, geniuses, listen up," he was saying, as Scarlett walked behind him with crossed arms. It didn't take long for her to find Stiles and Scott seated on a banch not far from where she was standing. Scott still seemed a bit shaken up, while Stiles turned to her. His lips turning up as they looked at each other.
"Due to the recent pinkeye epidemic, thank you, Greenberg, the following people have made first line on a probationary basis," the Coach said as the guys all gathered around. "Enphasis on the word "probationary"" Scarlett frowned at him from behind.
Then the Coach started reading the names, "Rodirguez," he said, and the guys standing behind her moved to congratulate the guy.
"Welcome to first line," said the Coach not too enthusiastically, "Taylor, and..." he read and then he frowned at the paper he had in his hand. "For the love of crap. I can't even read my own writing!"
Was it even surprising at all? Scarlett wandered as she took a breath observing the man doing all he could to undertand what he had written.
"What is that, an "S"?" Scarlett's eyes moved to Stiles at that and he seemed ready to hear his name, like he had waited all his life for that. But his hopes died on his face when the Coach kept talking.
"No, no, that's not an 'S'." He said, "That's a 'B'. It's definately a 'B'" Scarlett frowned, there was someone whose surname started with a 'B' in the team?
"So, Rodriguez, Taylor and... Bilinksi."
At the name, Scarlett turned to Stiles, who's eyes where grew larger just before he stood up whooping in joy. Scarlett could not help but let out a little giggle in seeing him so happy and proud of himself.
"Yeah!" he kept on whooping.
"Bilinski!" The coach called him.
"Yes?" Stiles proudly, with his hands on his hips.
"Shut up!" The coach was ready to answer, but even so and with the boys laughing around them, Stiles' enthusiasm didn't die.
"Yes, sir," he said, glancing at Scarlett as he was sitting down, he could still not believe that he made first line. The girl smiled at him as they looked at each other.
"Another thing." The Coach's loud voice made her turn her gaze towards the man. "From here on out, immediately, we're switching to co-captains." Scarlett frown a little as the man spoke. "Congratulations, McCall!"
That was so random, even Scott had turned confused at that. While Jackson's voice came loud as he protested.
"What?" he said to the coach.
"What do you mean 'what'?" Finstock answered, looking at the boy, "Jackson, this takes nothing away from you. This is about combining seperate strenghts into one unit."
Yeah, that will never happen, Scarlett thought as she eyes Jackson. She still could not understant what had happened to him when Peter had roared that night.
The Coach kept talking, "This is about taking your unit, McCall's unit, and we're making one big unit."
The word unit started to sound very strange...
"McCall," Finstock called the pup. "It's you and Jackson now." Then he turned towards the boys hurging them to go on the field. "Black!"
She almost jumped. She was standing right next to him, why the hell did he need to yell like that.
"I'll bring the boys, you write the new line up before I forget it," he said giving her the piece of paper that he was holding in his hand. Those were just three boys, what the hell was wrong with that man?
"Then come to the field to help me with those timings."
"Sure..." She said not hiding her frown, but she could just do what he asked. She rose her gaze noticing Stiles and Scott talking among them, glancing in her direction as if they were waiting for them. But she showed them the paper, gesturing them that she would have followed later. Then she entered the Coach's studio.
Even if she would not have taken long, it was always a menance to do this kind of jobs for the man. He was not very neat, and he always moved that damn folder. She let out a breath as she moved papers and other folders from his desk.
I will not clean this mess for him, she said to herself, before spotting what she was looking for. She set down opening the pages, her eyes found Jackson's name. He had always been in the front line since he joined the team. Scarlett really wandered what the hell Peter had in mind to attack Jackson...
Could it be that he had scratched him when he had attacked the jackass in the video store?
Flashes of that night came back, and the feelings that she had felt at the time came back. She remembered when she had that man in her hands, and how much she wanted to kill him. But yet she couldn't go on. And she could not lie... she felt ashamed by that...
I should have killed him, she said to herself, that man had helped killing her family and she did nothing...
"Are you okay?" Scott's voice made her look up. She was not expecting him to be there.
"What?" she asked not understanding his questions.
"Sorry, it's just..." he said, he was really on edge even just by looking at him. "I pick up so many emotions all around me and I guess I was picking up yours as well."
Scarlett froze at his words. What did he felt exactly? She could not deny that it slightly paniced her. But she could not let it show. Especially if he was so sensitive.
"Yeah, I know it's hard to handle," she said standing up, "Have you forgotten something?" she asked politely her arms crossed as she leaned against the desk.
"No, I..." he said getting closer, "I just need to ask you something." Scarlett frowed at him. What did he want to ask? Something about what he had picked up?
"Alright..." she said observing him. "Ask away."
"Do you…" he stopped, jaw tightening as if he was trying to fight through something. Then he looked up at her strangely. He was not confused. Not exactly. But he didn't even seem quite focused.
"Again… I— I'm feeling that again." His voice had changed again. It was lower and slower. Like it wasn't entirely his.
Scarlett didn't move.
"Scott?" she asked, keeping her tone steady.
He took another step closer. Too close.
"That night," he said quietly. "When he roared. I felt something. It wasn't just him. It wasn't just… rage."
Scarlett's fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.
"Scott—"
"I feel it now," he interrupted, eyes fixed on hers. "It's like it's under my skin. Like it's pulling."
Her stomach dropped. He had felt her joining the pack that night?
"It is," he insisted, breath uneven now. "You're angry. I've already felt that. It's so strong."
Then suddenly he closed the distance abruptly and kissed her. It wasn't soft, more desperate. Like he was trying to grab onto something before it slipped away.
Scarlett froze. Shock burned through her, sharp and electric. And she shoved him back hard enough that he stumbled.
"The fuck is wrong with you, Scott?"
He blinked at her, breathing heavier than before, eyes darker.
"I felt it," he said again, that strange tone still clinging to his voice. "A connection. You wanted it too."
"No." Her voice was flat now. Controlled and almost dangerous. "And I don't believe you actually want it either."
He straightened slowly, jaw tightening.
She observed him as he did, and something clicking into place. She had been so shocked by what he was saying, but she remembered now about the fool moon. A short, incredulous laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
"You werewolves are really weak things." His eyes flashed at that.
"I saw what an Alpha's little scratch did to you," he shot back getting close again, but he was very angry this time. "You really think you're stronger than me?"
She smirked as her fangs slid down before she even thought about it.
"Weak, a douchebag, and now you want to pick a fight with me?" she said, stepping into his space this time. "Listen to me carefully, pup. I know you're confused. I know you're heartbroken. But I won't think twice about kicking your ass if you keep this up. Understood?"
They stared at each other for a long moment, she was not sure if he would have attacked her. They were breathing heavy and glaring at each other, but after what it felt like an hour they both stood back. Then he turned and left without another word.
Scarlett exhaled only when the door shut behind him, letting her fangs retract slowly. But she felt angry and agitated. She could not believe he had felt her. How could she turn it in her favor that? Maybe he would have forgotten, maybe he would thought he was allucinating.
Fucking werewolves, she thought angirly.
She grabbed the folder, wrote the names quickly, closed it with more force than necessary.
Scarlett walked out of the office with the folder pressed too tightly against her chest, the edges biting into her palms through the paper like she needed something solid to hold onto so she wouldn't splinter into a dozen different thoughts at once. The hallway outside was loud with the usual after-school chaos — lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking against waxed floors, laughter that didn't belong to a town that had just been shaken by police tape and sirens — and it all blended into a background hum that she barely registered because her mind was still trapped in the small, stale space of Finstock's office, in the look in Scott's eyes when he said he felt it again, in that tone that had not been entirely his.
She really hoped he wouldn't tell Stiles anything.
She really hoped he wouldn't even remember it clearly enough to explain it without sounding insane.
And she hated that the fear of it made her stomach twist harder than the memory what he had said, what he had implied, what he had almost recognized inside her like it belonged to the same category as the Alpha's roar.
And even the kiss itself bothered her deeply.
The field air hit her face the moment she stepped outside, sharper and colder than the corridors, carrying the smell of cut grass, sweat, rubber cleats, and teenage adrenaline. The boys were already lined up, stretching and jostling one another, and Coach Finstock was pacing like a general preparing a battalion for war, whistle clenched between his teeth as if it was an extension of his personality.
Scarlett moved toward the sideline with the clipboard, eyes scanning automatically until she found them: Scott near the front of the line, shoulders tight, jaw clenched, and behind him Stiles — helmet on, hands on his hips, looking proud and nervous at the same time in that way he did when he was pretending he wasn't trying so hard. For a second Scarlett's chest eased in seeing him.
But then she felt something strange coming from him. She felt her stomach clench unconfortably. Was it from her? Was it from him?
Then Scott shifted his weight, starting with his drill. He took the ball, shoulders lowered, and drove forward harder than he needed to, defenders closing in from either side. pushing him on the ground.
"Guess some people don't appreciate your new status, McCall!" Coach shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear, laughing like it was comedy instead of a warning.
Scarlett's gaze flicked automatically to Jackson, and she saw it: that satisfied curl of his mouth, the way he leaned toward the guy beside him with a snicker as if it pleased him to see Scott go down. There were a few other boys laughing too.
Scott's breathing changed as he pushed himself up.
Scarlett didn't even realize she had stilled until she felt her own body go too quiet, her senses narrowing in on him the way they did when something was about to break.
It was Stiles' turn.
Scarlett tracked him as he stepped forward, hands ready, posture determined, and she felt that familiar spike of tension inside him — but then again she felt those angsty and frustrated emotions.
She observed him, as he was ready to take one of the balls on the ground.
But then Scott came back and hoved Stiles back, not hard enough to knock him down, but hard enough to steal the moment, hard enough to make Stiles take a stumbling step and blink in surprise.
Scarlett's eyes widened, while the Coach Finstock's grin sharpened, delighted.
He just took the ball and sprinted.
And Scarlett felt it then — the shift in him, the surge of something that moved beneath his skin like an undercurrent turning violent, the way his body seemed to run hotter, faster, like the line between boy and wolf was thinning with every step. The full moon wasn't even up yet, and still it was tugging at him, magnifying the worst of him the way it always did when a werewolf had no discipline and too much emotion.
He drove straight toward the goal.
Danny was in position, ready, braced, hands up, knees bent.
Scott didn't slow.
He hit him.
Not a normal collision. Not a clumsy tackle.
He slammed into Danny with an ugly force that sent the boy twisting sideways, his body folding wrong, his head snapping back as he crashed to the ground in a way that made the entire field go silent for one sickening beat before the shouts erupted.
"Doctor!" Coach yelled, not even pretending to be calm as the boys surged forward, clustering around Danny with a sudden panic that didn't care about status or drills or co-captains. Someone was already calling his name, someone else was yelling for help, and Scarlett stood still for half a second too long because her mind was locked on Scott's face.
He wasn't looking at Danny. And he wasn't looking even at Stiles that was now talking to him. And then Scott turned and walked away.
Scarlett moved before she fully decided to. Her boots sank slightly into the turf as she crossed behind the crowd, gaze fixed on Stiles, because Stiles wasn't looking at Danny either now. He was watching Scott's back as Scott disappeared toward the edge of the field, his jaw clenched so tight it made the muscle jump.
"Stiles," Scarlett said as she reached him, voice low but sharp with urgency. "Where the hell is he going?"
Stiles turned toward her, and the expression on his face made her freeze. It was anger — controlled, contained, but real.
"Why?" he shot back, voice tight in a way she had almost never heard directed at her. "You want to follow him?"
Scarlett blinked, caught off guard so completely that for a moment she just stared at him with wide eyes, the words not landing cleanly because the tone hit harder than the question. Stiles had never talked to her like that. His anger was towards her...
Oh god... she thought.
She stepped closer instinctively, putting herself in front of him as if proximity could fix whatever had shifted. "Stiles," she said, quieter now, controlled, "I don't know what he told you—"
"He didn't tell me anything," Stiles cut in, sharper. "I saw it."
Scarlett's throat tightened.
"Stiles—"
"I don't want to talk right now," he said, voice clipped, eyes flicking past her toward where Danny was still on the ground surrounded by bodies and panic. His chest rose and fell too fast, like he was trying to outrun something inside himself. "I'll see you at his house."
And with that, he stepped around her. And Scarlett stood there staring at him as he left.
Of course practice was cancelled, since Danny had to go to the hospital. And Scarlett had been tense the entire time. Her chest felt tight and heavy, like something was sitting on it. She hated the thought that he had seen them kissing. That really shouldn't have happened.
Fucking werewolves, she thought as she parked her bike in front of Scott's house. She would have gladly let him handle that night on his fucking own, but she didn't want him to hurt Stiles, so she waited. And it didn't take long before she saw the blue Jeep parking in front of the house.
She felt herself tense as she watched him get out of the car, and he didn't seem happy to see her.
"Hey…" she said as she got closer, watching him as he pulled a big bag from the back of his Jeep. "Can we talk for a moment?"
"We don't have time, now," he said, avoiding her gaze. "Evelyn will take some time, so we need to be ready." She didn't feel like pushing him to talk, but she didn't like how tense he was around her.
"Is he inside?" she asked as she followed him.
"Don't you know?" he shot at her, and she found herself glaring back.
"So you want to talk about it, now," she answered as he shoved a hand into one of his pockets, faking a laugh.
"That is hilarious, Scarlett. Really," he said, opening the door with a key. Scarlett frowned at that. Scott was not home, then?
"I can't come in," she said, making him turn with a frown. "Stiles, if he doesn't invite me in, I can't get inside."
"Oh…" he said, eyes widening. "I forgot about that."
"Stiles?" A woman's voice made them both turn. It must have been Scott's mom. They really did look similar.
"Yeah— Stiles," he said, forcing an awkward smile.
"Key!" the woman said not unkindly.
"Yeah…" Stiles stuttered, looking down at the key in his hand. "I had one made, so…" Scarlett watched them with a frown. He made a key to Scott's house?
"That doesn't surprise me," the woman said. She sounded more resigned than angry. "It scares me, but it doesn't surprise me." Then she noticed Scarlett standing just outside the door.
"Hello," the woman greeted her gently. "Who are you?"
"Oh, I'm Scarlett, miss," she said, offering a small smile. "I'm in class with Stiles and Scott." The woman nodded as she looked at her—probably a little strangely, since Scarlett still wasn't entering the house.
"Please, come in," she said, then glanced at Stiles with playful disapproval. "Even if it's nice of you to wait for an invitation."
Scarlett let out a small giggle as the weight around the doorway dissolved, and she could finally step inside.
Stiles chuckled too, more out of embarrassment than humor, and he let the bag drop. By the sound of it, it had to be heavy.
What the hell did he bring with him?
"What is this?" the woman asked, confused.
Scarlett looked up at Stiles. He was staring at the bag with his mouth slightly open, and after a moment of hesitation he said, "School project." Scarlett wasn't sure it was believable, but she nodded anyway.
"Stiles, can I ask you something?" the woman asked, her voice shifting, turning tighter. "He's okay, right?"
"Who? Scott?" he asked too quickly. "Yeah, totally…" He was really not good at lying. It made him visibly agitated.
"He doesn't talk to me that much anymore. Not like he used to." Scarlett watched her as she spoke. Only now did she notice the nurse uniform. She must have worked at the hospital.
"Well," Stiles said carefully, "he's had a bit of a rough week."
"Yeah, yeah… I get it," the woman answered, worry still clinging to her voice. But then she smiled at them again. "Okay. Be careful tonight."
"Yeah, you too," Stiles said.
"Full moon."
At those words Scarlett frowned, while Stiles' voice jumped up in surprise. "What?" he asked, eyes wide.
"There's a full moon tonight," the woman said simply. "You should see how the ER gets. Brings out all the nut jobs."
"Yeah, I've heard something like that," Scarlett nodded in agreement, while Stiles let out a relieved breath.
"You know," Scott's mom kept going, "that's actually where they came up with the word lunatic."
That was actually interesting. Scarlett didn't know that. And with one last smile, the woman left the house, closing the door behind her.
"She seems nice," Scarlett said, turning back to Stiles, who was still standing frozen. He always needed a few seconds to process things that surprised him. "So, what do we do?"
He turned to her, the faint tension returning as they looked at each other.
"I…" he muttered, bending to pick up the bag. "I'll go upstairs to set up this. You check that all the windows on the first floor are closed. We don't want him to escape." She didn't like the strange behavior between them. They had never had this kind of tension, and she wanted it gone as soon as possible. But she let him go upstairs, watching him climb. A frustrated groan slipped out of her when he disappeared from view.
She moved through the first floor checking every window she could find, closing them, checking the front door and the back door in the kitchen, muttering curses under her breath toward Scott and the werewolves. And then she felt it—this spark of anger she didn't fully understand, because it didn't feel entirely like hers. She was angry, yes, but beneath it there was weariness too, and worry, and something tighter, like panic trying to keep itself quiet.
"Stiles?" she called, turning toward the stairs, but he didn't answer.
She didn't like that at all.
And she liked even less the sound she heard when she got closer — like someone wrestling on the floor.
"Stiles!" she called, running up the stairs. She didn't have to search long; Scott's voice told her exactly where to go.
"What the hell are you doing?" he snarled, feral and angry.
"Protecting you from yourself," Stiles' voice answered, and Scarlett felt a sharp wave of relief as she reached the doorway. "And giving you some payback. For making out with Scarlett."
She had just stepped into the room when she saw it.
Scott was on the ground, one wrist cuffed to the radiator. He was yanking at it, muscles straining, but he couldn't free himself. Stiles stood over him, tense in every line of his body, like he was bracing for Scott to explode.
He must have heard Scarlett, because he turned toward her. Their eyes met for a beat.
"Stiles—" Scarlett tried, but he looked away.
"I'll go get him some water," he said, walking past her, his shoulder almost brushing hers. Scarlett let out a breath as she knelt to look at the bag.
Chains.
Stiles had filled it with chains. He must have tricked Scott just to get him close enough to handcuff him.
"Let me go," Scott said, his voice nothing like his usual one. The sky was dark now, and it could only get worse.
Scarlett didn't bother answering. She stepped back into the doorway and leaned her shoulder against the frame, eyes fixed on Scott, jaw tight. Part of her really wanted to kick his ass.
Then the sound of footsteps made her turn, and she saw Stiles walking back toward the room with a bottle of water in one hand and a white bowl in the other — Scott's name written across it in black marker like this was some ridiculous overnight pet-sitting arrangement.
If she hadn't been so painfully aware of the fact that he was angry with her, she might have laughed.
Instead, something tight and fragile twisted under her ribs.
Stiles crouched and poured the water into the bowl with exaggerated calm, setting it down in front of Scott like he was making a point. Scott stayed on the ground, wrist cuffed to the radiator, shoulders taut, eyes burning as he glared up at him. And Stiles — God — Stiles looked almost proud of himself when he stood again and walked back toward the door.
The bowl flew before Scarlett could fully process it.
Water splashed across the floor as Scott hurled it, his voice tearing out of him, "I'm gonna kill you!"
Scarlett instinctively took a step forward, ready to intervene, but Stiles turned sharply before she could move any closer. She felt it — the spike in his anger, sharp and bright and wounded all at once.
"You kissed her, Scott, okay?"
The words hit harder than the bowl had.
Scarlett went still.
For a second she forgot to breathe. Heat crawled up her neck, not from shame — not exactly — but from the way he said it. Like it mattered. Like it had been sitting in his chest for hours, grinding against him. And it hurt her to know that he was feeling like that.
Her gaze flicked to Stiles' back, to the tension in his shoulders, to the way his hands were half-curled like he was trying not to shake. She could feel all the anger and disappointment that he was feeling.
And the thought that he had been carrying that image in his head — her and Scott — made something ache deep and low in her chest.
Stiles kept talking, his voice tight but determined. "And you know, the past three hours, I've been thinking, it's probably just the full moon, you know? He doesn't even know what he's doing. And tomorrow he'll be back to normal. Probably he won't even remember what a complete dumbass he's been. A son of a bitch. A freaking unbelievable piece of crap friend."
Scott's expression twisted as he listened, something ugly and sharp cutting through his features.
"She wanted to kiss me."
Stiles' voice broke at that. "What?"
Scarlett's eyes widened.
The words felt like a slap.
For a heartbeat she just stared at Scott, disbelief flashing hot and bright through her.
Fucking werewolves...
"There was a connection," Scott continued, voice low and nasty. He was trying to hurt Stiles on porpouse.
That was enough.
Scarlett turned sharply toward Stiles before she could think better of it. "Alright," she said, her voice firm despite the storm churning under her skin. "Come with me."
She reached for his hand without hesitating this time, fingers wrapping around his, grounding and urgent at once, and pulled him toward the hallway. She didn't look back at Scott.
She closed the door behind them.
"Is it true?" he asked, and there was no anger in his voice now — just hurt, raw and unguarded. "You wanted to kiss him?"
Scarlett looked at him steadily. "No," she said. "And I didn't kiss him."
"I saw you, Scarlett."
"Good, so you see me pushing him away then," she said
, and there was no sharpness in her tone, only honesty. His eyes widened slightly as she kept going. "I didn't want that. And he didn't either. He kissed me because of the moon. There's nothing behind that."
"Yeah… I figured…" he muttered, running a hand through his hair, breath uneven. "But I don't really care. It doesn't make it any better." He swallowed hard, agitation rolling off him in waves. "There are a lot of girls in this school. And I don't— He knows. And he didn't care."
"What does he know?" she asked softly.
Stiles looked at her, and she could see it — the embarrassment creeping up his neck, the way his heart was racing so loudly she could practically feel it in the air between them. And then she understood. The realization settled warm and fragile in her chest, and when he looked away, unable to meet her eyes, she knew exactly what he meant.
He had feelings for her.
And the knowledge didn't frighten her.
It spread through her slowly, warmly — tender and steady instead of wild and consuming. She liked being around him. She liked the way he filled silence without suffocating it, the way he talked too much when he was nervous and made her laugh when she hadn't meant to. She could watch him smile for hours. She wanted to protect that smile. She wanted to protect him. The thought of him hurt — really hurt — twisted something protective and fierce inside her in a way that had nothing to do with power and everything to do with care.
"If it makes you feel any better," she said gently, "I don't like pups."
He scoffed faintly despite himself.
"He's not really my type," she continued, and this time he turned to look at her. "I've already set my eyes on someone."
There was a beat — a fragile, suspended second — and then she closed the distance.
She kissed him.
It wasn't rushed or desperate. It was soft, intentional. She felt the brief hesitation in him — the way he froze for half a heartbeat before responding — and she realized, almost immediately, that this was probably his first real kiss. The realization made something in her chest melt. It was awkward in the sweetest way, careful and unsure, and when she slid her hand to the back of his neck, fingers brushing over the short buzz of his hair, she felt him inhale sharply.
His hands settled at her waist, tentative at first, then firmer as if he needed to be certain she was real.
When they finally pulled apart, they just looked at each other, breath mingling, both of them a little stunned. She slipped her arms loosely around his neck this time, resting there, close enough to feel the steady thrum of his heart against her.
"Did you… really kiss me?" he asked, still sounding awed, like he wasn't entirely convinced it had happened.
She smiled.
"Did you really handcuff your best friend for kissing me?"
He blinked, and then something shifted in his expression as the absurdity of it caught up with him.
"They both sound kinda crazy now."
She chuckled softly, shaking her head before leaning in again. "No. Not both," she murmured, and kissed him once more.
This one was sweeter. Warmer. She liked the way Stiles' heat wrapped around her, not overwhelming, not consuming — just there. Solid. Real. It felt different from everything she had ever experienced with Peter. With Peter it had always been adrenaline and sharp edges, a rush that burned bright and fast. But this… this felt steady. Gentle. Safe.
For a brief, impossible moment, she let herself imagine staying there, in Stiles' arms, for as long as forever would allow.