10. Chapter 10

The sound of Chris’s SUV roaring out of the parking lot down below is long gone before anyone says anything, and of course “anyone” is Stiles.

“How is this even a surprise?” Stiles says, crossing his arms and staring intently at Peter. “I told you how he felt.”

“You did what?” Kira chirps, voice pitching up, with Scott playing bobblehead next to her.

“It’s...complicated.” Stiles grimaces at the word.

“Ohhhhh, that’s why you couldn’t break the bond!” Scott says, because he always gets really smart and insightful at the worst possible moments . Everyone in the room oohs and ahhs at the sudden revelation. Mason looks particularly taken with the romance of it and no , just no, this has to stop.

“I’m not discussing this with any of you. And especially not you!” Peter jabs a finger at Stiles, who has the gall to try and look innocent. He’s seriously rethinking the fruit basket idea. “I don’t know what is going on but I am going to find out.” He gets up to follow after Chris, but is hauled up short by Derek.

“Don’t do anything stupid just because he’s an Argent.”

Peter narrows his eyes, readying a come back he already knows he’ll regret, but Derek shakes his head.

“I mean, don’t let what she did to me — to us — get in your way. Don’t be stupid because you think you have to hold a grudge.” Derek lets go and then pushes him hard enough that Peter stumbles.

It’s not until he’s standing in the parking lot that he realizes A) he does not have his car; B) he has no idea where Chris went; and C) he is barefoot, wearing Derek’s hobo-chic ensemble.

Also, it is just after noon so doing anything supernaturally inclined, like running faster than cars doing a timid 25 mph in a residential zone, is out of the question. Sighing heavily, he turns in the direction of his own townhouse and starts walking because going back up to the loft with the kids and their opinions is also out of the question.

It gives him plenty of time to think about everything, for better or for worse (despite the couple of times people stop him to try to give him money because they think he’s a shoeless homeless person...at least until he growls at them. So sue him, he’s had a bad day ).

He had long thought that ignis fatuus , a term he has not even heard in years, was a myth. He assumed that such rarity meant it was false, existing only as legends told in the form of children's fairy tales about marks that would spring to life in times of danger or trauma to protect mates from harm. About how such marks were born out of a deep and pure love. He vividly remembered reading in a few old, untrustworthy tomes that only the strongest bonds could be wielded by emissaries into weapons, something so ridiculous that he had always dismissed it. But wasn’t that exactly what Lydia had mocked the old (very dead) Korhonen alpha with? Even so, Stiles had been surprised by it, so it was obviously not something he had planned on happening.

Most mate marks Peter had ever seen were abstract or symbolic, not literal images of creatures like a phoenix, and could not spring to life in any useful way. His parents shared a complicated geometric, many-sided prism-like shape, while Talia and Frederick wore the simple triskele that Derek, named for his father, had burned onto his back. Not exactly symbols that could do much, although he nearly laughs thinking of the triskele as a ninja star. The mate mark he shared with Amanda had been reminiscent of copperplate scrollwork, delicate and complicated in the same way they both were, that arched over their right shoulders. He still remembers the pain of it burning off his skin.

Lost in bad memories, he pulls up short when he gets to his townhouse and sees Chris’s car parked on the curb.

Not in the second space in the driveway, where he’s been parking for nearly a week now, which means...Peter is uncertain of what that means. Chris is an Argent and they don’t do anything without a reason, he knows that, but what that reason might be? He’s got no idea. He can’t hear any heartbeat inside, though.

In fact, he can’t hear anything from the townhouse, not the air conditioning or the drip from the sink in the utility room or the shuffle of rodents through the attic, and that gives him enough pause that his self preservation instinct wells up through the pain of his confused emotions. He stands on the sidewalk, staring at the house, uncertain of what he’s waiting for, but certain that something is just plain wrong .

“I know you’re out there, wolf. Come inside and face me. Save your mate if you can.” The words float out to him, soft and ethereal, but he recognizes the voice instantly: Shasta, the former Korhonen alpha’s emissary. He growls at himself for not thinking to make sure she was tracked down or dead. Also for not thinking to bring Derek’s phone with him, because now he is standing outside his home, barefoot in borrowed clothes, with no way to call for backup short of howling like a maniac in broad daylight. Tempting, but he also doesn’t know the situation with Chris, how much danger he is really in. If he’s even still alive...the thought brings up a rumbling growl in his chest.

For all Peter knows, Shasta is bluffing, and Chris isn’t even there. But the timing is too coincidental, and she could have just waited until Peter breezed into the house, oblivious to danger. But no, she let him know she is there and that she has Chris at her mercy.

He snarls when he realizes that she’s playing with her food.

Walking up to the front door, he finds it unlocked, which at least saves him the humiliation of knocking because who knows where the hell his keys are. He really could not have planned this worse if he had tried.

He walks softly through the house to his bedroom on instinct. And there she is, standing proudly over Chris, who is on his knees with his hands behind his head. His back is to the door, but he tenses up, clearly hearing Peter walk into the room. Peter also notes the lines drawn in charcoal on his expensive wood flooring. Chris is on his knees inside of a circle that is only just big enough for him, and is but the innermost circle of a complex casting. The runes are all accurate if haphazard and obviously kept in place with some low-level magic.

“Your alpha is dead, you have no pack, and I doubt any pack would be willing to align with you after this whole clusterfuck.” Peter speaks with a casual tone he doesn’t really feel.

She rolls her eyes at that, as if the gun in her hand is not pointed at Chris’s forehead. “You do like to state the obvious.”

“Do you really think killing us is going to do anything for you? Help your cause? Boost your reputation? I have news for you, emissary : my alpha and my family will tear you limb from limb.” Peter says the words with a surety he would not have felt even 24 hours ago, and it surprises him a little to know how true the threat is.

“They won’t dare touch me with the powers I will be able to wield.”

Peter pauses. She is talking in the future tense about powers she will be able to wield at some point, but not now. Right now she’s gone the old fashioned route of holding a gun to a hostage’s head. Her alpha’s death probably ran her magical battery down to its lowest levels and she was not particularly talented to begin with. She’s trying to trade up. She had to have gunned for Peter’s townhouse the second she cleared out of the camp, to set this all up before either of them showed up.

“What are you here to bargain for?” Peter hazards.

“Bargain? No.” Her smile is slow and full of teeth, like the wolf she isn’t. “Take.”

“Steal,” Peter corrects.

She shrugs and steps away from Chris, giving some room between his head and her gun. Chris remains very still, though, which surprises Peter enough for him to be cautious and not risk just taking a flying leap for her.

Instead, Peter crosses his arms and inspects them carefully. There is nothing to her that he’s not already seen and smelled, but humans do not like being under the eye of a predator and he’s willing to capitalize on that if he can. She does shift a tiny bit, just a small show of discomfort, but otherwise doesn’t move.

“So let me guess: this is about the ignis fatuus.”

She smiles again, greedy and bright-eyed. “I’ll make it mine.”

“That’s not how mate marks works. You can’t steal it.” Peter frowns at her. Maybe she’s just gone insane, which would make everything easier but also a lot more risky. Peter knows that there is nothing to bargain with when someone has been driven mad by pain and grief.

He remembers that all too well.

She smirks at him. “You underestimate me.”

“I doubt it.”

“Fuck you! You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“You’re right. And frankly I don’t care. There is no spell or power anywhere that can possess a ignis fatuus. They are bound to the mates they belong to.”

She nods, the smirk coming back into play. Peter is already sick of it.

“I don’t have to possess it, personally. I merely have to take ownership. ”

Peter has no idea what she means by that, which bothers him a lot, but he’s a better poker player than to let it show. He rolls his eyes. “I’ll kill you first.”

“You—”

“You don’t have the magical pull to light a candle right now, or you’d just take what you want.” Peter says with as much boredom and disdain as he can muster, given that his fucking mate is ten feet away with a gun to his head. Instead of looking at that chilling scenario he inspects one of his hands, flicking his claws out and flexing his fingers.

He hears the gun click-clack loudly as she smacks the hammer back, and he barely has time to spring at her before she fires.

Peter’s wolf aims for Chris as he falls backwards from the force of being shot, and just like in the fire, everything dials down to happen in slow motion. Peter falls to his knees to catch Chris, dimly realizing that it wasn’t a head shot, that Chris’s head is intact, that the blood splatter is coming from his belly. Chris brings his hands up to clutch at the wound, his pale blue eyes wide with shock. Peter lands on his ass with Chris in his arms. After a long moment of Chris gasping for air, which is as much proof of life that Peter’s wolf needs, time speeds back up.

“What the fuck!” Peter yells at her.

She lowers the gun with a shrug, backing up to lean against the dresser. “Now we wait.”