7. Chapter 7

Peter, who has a lot of experience at this, has fought the pain and the boredom of the following few hours by meditating, counting clouds, fantasizing about Chris rescuing him like some damsel in distress, fantasizing about ripping Alpha Korhonen apart and stealing his alpha spark for himself...in short, fantasizing about every possible version of “I’m not dying here like a dog” when the place bursts alive with activity, the betas flying out of cabins to follow the alpha down to the parking lot.

A sinuous, silver Mercedes roadster glides up the driveway into the parking lot and stops right at the feet of the alpha, who is standing with his hands on his hips. There are two heartbeats in the car, and Peter is shocked when Lydia steps out of of the driver’s side, followed by Chris unfolding himself from the passenger seat. These are the last two people he expected to see here, now. His gut churns a little, knowing what it means that neither Scott nor Stiles decided to show up for negotiations, but he’s confused at to why Lydia would bother.

The betas all shift back from Lydia, but the alpha does not twitch. He motions for the emissary to go to the car, presumably to search it for anyone who might be cloaked and hiding inside it. Lydia rolls her eyes but dutifully clicks the key fob to unlock it and open the tiny trunk.

Chris glances at Peter with disinterest. He looks less like a hunter this time and more like the high-level executive he is, dressed in a dark charcoal three piece suit. This one is more conservative than the lighter colors he usually wears, and his shirt is a classic off-white with a silvery patterned tie. He could be working for the FBI if it weren’t for the fact that it is obviously tailored to fit him, or if everything about it and his bearing did not scream “power, money, and prestige.”

The alpha eyes him warily but turns his attention back to Lydia, who looks over at Peter then moves toward him. The Alpha holds out his arm, blocking her way.

“If you think this negotiation is starting without me verifying who is in that cage, you are mistaken,” she snaps at him, walking right around his arm with Chris dutifully at her back. A few betas gape at the blatant insubordination but she ignores everyone.

She’s dressed to impress. Peter has seen her in all of her guises, and this one might best be described as “Queen Bee” — a sharply tailored burgundy suit that hugs her curves but is conservatively cut, the skirt hemmed at her knees and the jacket allowing her room to move. Her jewelry is likewise impressive, to anyone who can recognize the quality. Nothing is ostentatious save the bulky, almost gaudy bangle bracelet hanging off her right hand, although that is made up for by being encrusted with rubies. Her lustrous hair is in a tight chignon with a few strands falling artfully lose to soften the look. Even her shoes (which Peter knows are Labuton) are understated, the heel not quite as high as she normally prefers.

Peter understands, if no one else present does, that the entire ensemble is her opening shot. He’s just not sure who she’s aiming at.

Chris continues to look indifferent, his posture relaxed.

She stops in front of the cage and for a brief moment horror flashes in her eyes. It’s touching, but Peter is still wary. Then she pulls out her phone from her overly-large tote bag and smirks at Peter. “Smile!”

He bares his fangs as best he can with a cracked jaw but makes sure to look at the alpha with his one good eye so it doesn’t ruin the shot. She taps at the screen and then huffs in satisfaction.

“I’m keeping that photo forever.” She flashes it at Chris with a grin, who just raises an eyebrow. Chris’s poker face is a thing of legend, and he’s very much letting Lydia drive the proceedings. He doesn’t even look Peter in the eye.

“I suppose you’re the one in charge?” She says sweetly, turning to face the alpha who has walked up next to her. The rest of his pack are still keeping their distance.

“I am Alpha Randolph Korhonen, eldest of my line. It is an honor to meet the youngest Martin Banshee.” He bows like a gentleman. “Your magnificent reputation precedes you.”

Lydia preens at what is, Peter knows, hardly enough praise to satisfy her ego. She’s laying it on thick and he almost wants to laugh, except that would hurt his face a lot.

“However, it is unexpected to see you again, Elder Argent.” The alpha scowls at him.

“He is my guest,” Lydia says, snapping the words. The alpha merely tilts his head in acquiescence, although it is short of any kind of submission.

“So this is my dowry?” She nods toward Peter, and his brain stalls. What ?

“It is my pleasure to offer you the life of your mortal enemy.” Alpha Korhonen bows again.

Peter suddenly realizes that any chance he might have had to come out of this alive just evaporated. They told the Korhonens that Lydia is free to choose which pack to align with, and Alpha Korhonen decided to find the lure she might want more than any other: revenge on Peter.

Lydia bats her eyes. “It is true that Alpha McCall was far less understanding of my, shall we say, displeasure at having him as a part of the pack.”

“Does Alpha McCall know you have taken me up on my offer?”

“Of course. He respects that it is my decision, though, which is why he never returned your calls.” She rolls her eyes, as if all of the drama is beneath her.

“So he will not retaliate?” The alpha glares at her.

“That’s why Chris is here.” She motions for him to step forward. He does, taking off his jacket as he does so. It makes a few of the betas and the emissary tense up, but again, the alpha does not twitch.

He drapes his jacket over his left arm and casually unbuttons the right cuff of his shirt. “Peter was not lying when he told you that the choice of which pack to align with is Lydia’s. Alpha McCall would not infringe on her freedom to that extent, even to keep a valuable ally.” He rolls up the sleeve and Peter knows, without a doubt, what he will not see when Chris’s forearm is revealed. Chris holds it up and both the alpha and emissary frown at it. The bare skin is testament to Peter’s abandonment.

“Our emissary is exceptionally powerful,” Chris says, lowering his arm. “He created a fake bond between Peter and myself in order to represent the Hale-McCall pack. Hold up, listen to me,” he says firmly when the alpha begins growling. “That’s on you. Your antiquated rules made it necessary. The reason Lydia asked me to tag along after Emissary Stilinski unforged the bond was as proof to you that the Hale-McCall pack will stand down from any retaliatory action based on her decision. You can go to war with us over this white lie and get a lot of ‘wolves on both sides killed, or take your new-found banshee and leave.”

Peter glances at his own arm, where the mate mark is still dark and vibrant, even from under the blood caked on his skin. He wonders exactly what magic Stiles used to release Chris but not him.

“And you? You have no investment?”

Chis shakes his head slowly, a smirk cutting through his expression. “If I did, I would have gotten out of the car shooting.” He juts his chin out, toward Peter. “Everyone here knows his history. Despite that, he’s been useful to the pack so Alpha McCall wanted him around. Now he’s a liability.” His heart doesn’t stutter at all and he finishes with a shrug. Peter’s will to live, as useless as it is given the circumstances, breaks a little bit more.

The silence holds between all parties while Alpha Korhonen considers the matter. Finally he lets out a whoosh of breath. “So be it. The deceit will be a matter for me to settle with Alpha McCall at another time, through proper diplomatic channels. Tell him so,” he adds, glaring at Chris, who has rebuttoned his sleeve and put his jacket back on.

Lydia steps forward again. “I am here to take what you promised me, and give what you asked,” she says formally.

The alpha looks surprised at the traditional statement of intent for such negotiations. Peter figures Derek probably coached her. Another nail in Peter’s coffin.

“I am honored to complete the bargain.” The alpha pulls a brutal looking knife out of a sheath on his thigh. “It looks old, but that is only the handle.” He displays the knife to Lydia, who is genuinely interested. As she should be, Peter thinks. The handle is probably elk horn, engraved with a series of runes, and radiates both age and power. Even Chris looks impressed.

“The blade, though, is modern. My blacksmith forged it from the steel of an ancient but unusable blade, and electroplated silver into the fuller.” He points at the blood groove along the foot-long blade. “Deadly to human, fae, and werewolves alike.” He turns the knife around and holds it gently by its blade, the handle directed toward Lydia.

She eyes it warily. “You’re giving this to a banshee?” She raises an eyebrow.

“If you align with my pack and my power, you will have my life in your hands. If I do not trust you now, when should I?”

It’s...it’s unfortunately a pretty solid argument. Peter starts growling because that is about all he’s got in him, as far as resistance goes. The emissary re-opens the cage and a beta reaches in to pull him out. He can’t do anything but go limp, the pain radiating out from everywhere as he is artlessly dragged to lie flat on his back between Lydia and the alpha. Chris looks down at him impassively, and Peter hates himself for how much more that hurts then his actual broken bones.

He focuses on Lydia with his one good eye. “Finn’ly gettin’ your due?” He says, trying to move his jaw as little as possible. As if it matters.

“Long past due, I believe. And it is not as if Scott or anyone will care once you are good and dead. What’s done is done, I believe is the saying?” She smiles again, this time with ruthlessness shining in her eyes, the sunlight reflecting off her brilliant hair, the rubies on her wrist sparkling like living things. He always did admire her so much, perhaps this is his most fitting end after all. Under an Argent’s gaze, no less.

She reaches out and grabs the knife. It’s heavy and drops in her hand for a moment before she takes the handle with both hands, holding it in the air over Peter’s chest.

“As slow or fast as you like,” the alpha says, as if offering her the option is the epitome of being a gracious host. Peter feels like he’s in a scene from the tv show Hannibal and wonders if the alpha is planning to eat his heart. Seems like that would be a thing for Viking berserker werewolves , anyway.

“I don’t want a bloody mess on my shoes.” She eyes the knife in her hands with displeasure, but the move is too coquettish, even for her. Peter knows her well enough to know when she’s serious and when she’s not. Her heart is a steady metronome of beats, not giving anything away, but Peter knows her in ways even he prefers not to think about. She’s acting, but Chris is standing near her, unfazed.

It’s not enough for Peter to hang any hope on.

Lydia is still toying with the knife with a moue of displeasure. The alpha steps forward.

“Would you prefer that I make the killing blow in your name?” He makes the offer deferentially.

Lydia pretends to consider it, but Peter knows that was her intention all along. She sighs. “Do you need my blessing? Or?” She hands the knife over.

“Not at all. That a banshee has held the blade with intent is enough,” The emissary (Shasta! Her name is Shasta, and Peter hates himself for remembering that now ) says politely from her place several yards away. Peter wonders what the hell kind of information the Korhonens have about banshees that no one else seems to know. Chris has the same question, if the thoughtful head tilt he makes is any indication.

With a feral grin, the alpha steps up over Peter, holding the blade aloft. “With this death, we bind the powers of the Korhonen pack the Martin Banshee line!” There is a roar of approval from the crowd, and Peter feels they have moved from Hannibal to Gladiator . Are they not entertained?

“We shall be the most powerful pack on the continent again!” More howls and roaring. Chris looks intensely bored, while Lydia checks her nails and fiddles with her bracelet. “I will be the alpha of alphas! The power of the ancestors will be ours ! We shall—”

Peter tunes out the histrionics and looks one more time at Chris—because why not?—before closing his eye against the man’s complete indifference.

Somehow, Peter always knew it would end for him like this: helpless, unwanted, unlamented.

He escaped the fire, but he cannot escape his fate.