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Chapter 103: Cracks in the Glass
The drive was agony. Derek's knuckles were white on the wheel, sweat dripping down his temple as the wolfsbane burned through his blood like wildfire. Every breath felt heavier, every blink slower.
The road blurred. Twice, he nearly veered off before jerking the car back into its lane. He bit down hard, forcing himself to stay awake, to stay moving.
The Hale house was too far. He couldn't risk leading hunters there anyway. No—the only option left was the Animal Clinic.
Deaton.
Derek clenched his jaw. If anyone could flush the poison out before it consumed him, it was the veterinarian with secrets, and steady hands.
Each mile stretched into a battle. His vision pulsed in and out of focus, lights streaking, trees blurring together. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, erratic, wild.
Finally—mercifully—the squat shape of the clinic came into view. Derek swerved into the gravel lot, braking too hard. His car shuddered to a stop.
For a long moment he just sat there, chest heaving, forehead pressed against the wheel. He wasn't sure if he could move again.
But he forced himself out, stumbling, one hand clutching his bleeding side. His boots dragged across the pavement toward the clinic door. Locked.
Snarling, Derek fumbled with the handle, then shoved—too weak to break it. Instead, he went around back, finding the small side door most people never noticed but Deaton always used. It yielded with a shaky push.
Inside, the familiar smell of antiseptic and animals hit him. It was dark, silent. No Deaton.
"Dammit," Derek rasped, his voice raw.
He staggered forward, collapsing against the counter for support, his blood leaving smears along the edge. His legs gave out once, twice, but he dragged himself deeper into the clinic, toward the storage room where Deaton sometimes kept patients overnight.
The shadows there welcomed him.
He slumped into the corner, his breathing ragged, vision narrowing to a tunnel. His claws flexed weakly against the tile as if even his body didn't know whether to fight or surrender.
The last thing Derek thought before the darkness claimed him was simple, bitter, and all too familiar:
Not like this.
And then he passed out, hidden in the quiet of the clinic, waiting for help that hadn't arrived yet.
Some time later...
Lucas's Perspective.
The day had been painfully normal—lectures, scribbled notes, the quiet buzz of Beacon Hills High going through its motions. But normal never lasted.
The moment the car pulled up near the school, I knew. The engine's hum was ordinary, the scent of gasoline faint. What wasn't ordinary was the smell riding on the breeze—two men, sharp with steel, faint traces of wolfsbane clinging to their clothes, and beneath it all, the unmistakable burn of the hunter's mark on their skin.
I kept my face neutral, glancing sideways. Malia was tapping her pen against her notebook, Isaac half-distracted in conversation with another student. Neither of them twitched. Neither of them noticed.
Of course they didn't. This was what being a true Alpha meant. The world whispered to me in ways it didn't to others.
I raised my hand, casual. "Bathroom."
The teacher waved me off without looking up.
I walked, unhurried, until the hallway bent out of sight. Then I moved. Out the doors, past the lot, following my nose. The hunters hadn't come close enough to risk being overheard, but they weren't that far.
By the time I reached the edge of the parking lot, I spotted them. Two men standing by the open trunk of a nondescript car. Black case opened wide, revealing equipment that screamed surveillance—directional mics, a thermal scope, etc.
I focused, letting my hearing stretch.
"You sure about this, Ed?" the younger one asked, his voice uneasy. "Malia Hale's just a kid. We have a code."
The older one—Ed—snapped the latch on a device, jaw set. "Andrew was also just a kid. Barely older than her. Didn't stop them."
The younger hunter shifted. "We still don't know what exactly happened."
"Then explain to me why Derek Hale was at the morgue," Edward shot back, eyes burning. "He wasn't there to grieve. He was there to destroy evidence. Even in death, Derek disrespected Andrew's body."
The younger one lowered his voice. "Chris told us to stay put. He's not going to like this."
Edward slammed the trunk shut—loud, final, like a gavel. "Malia and Laura Hale are our only options to find Derek. You want to go after an Alpha?"
The other man shook his head quickly.
"Didn't think so. We don't touch the girl. We just let her lead us to him."
That was enough.
I stepped forward silently until I was right behind them. Two hands lifted—one for each back. The charge came instantly, lightning dancing down my arms in small jagged arcs.
They stiffened—shocked, paralyzed—then dropped to the asphalt like discarded marionettes. Out cold.
I exhaled, the air still humming faintly with leftover static. Then I just stood there for a moment, looking at them.