I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
Patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 105: After School
Laura was halfway down the Hale house staircase when her phone rang. Deaton's name flashed across the screen. Her stomach tightened a little. He never called unless it was serious.
She answered briskly, "What is it?"
On the other end of the line, Deaton's voice came through calm and steady, but there was something underneath it—a subtle tension, a sense of urgency she couldn't ignore. "Listen carefully," he said, his words deliberate. "Your brother is here at the clinic. He's alive and currently stable, but he's been seriously injured. Someone stabbed him—and the blade was laced with a rare and dangerous variety of wolfsbane."
She felt her heart skip a beat.
"I've done everything I can to slow the spread of the toxin." Deaton continued, "but this particular variety is very difficult to treat. Without a precise sample of the same substance—without knowing the exact strain used in the attack—I won't be able to formulate an antidote. And without that, the effects of the poison will only get worse."
Laura stopped cold on the steps, grip tightening around the phone. "How bad?"
"Bad," Deaton admitted. "At most, forty-eight hours unless we find the source."
Her pulse spiked. "And Derek?"
"He's unconscious," Deaton said. "He tried to leave and handle it himself. I sedated him. He wouldn't have made it two blocks in his condition."
For a moment Laura closed her eyes, fury and fear twisting together inside her. Derek, reckless as always. Charging headfirst into trouble, like fire drawn to gasoline. But the thought of losing him—no. She wouldn't allow it.
"I'm coming," she said sharply.
The drive to the clinic blurred past in streaks of headlights and pounding heartbeats. Every stop sign felt like an insult. Her mind raced the entire way—Derek slipping through her fingers, the Argents already circling, that hunter's death pouring fuel on the fire.
By the time she burst through the back entrance of the clinic, Laura was all hard edges and raw fear, ready to fight the entire town if she had to.
Deaton met her in the hallway, composed as ever, but his expression softened slightly at the sight of her. "He's in the treatment room. Still out. Breathing is steady."
Laura didn't wait for more. She pushed past him into the room.
There was Derek. Pale against the sterile white of the table, chest rising and falling in shallow rhythms, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. He looked younger like this, almost fragile, and that terrified her more than anything else.
Laura stood by his side, fingers hovering above his arm but not quite touching, afraid that even her touch might jar him.
Her voice was low, a promise more than words. "You don't get to leave me, Derek. Not like this."
She finally rested her hand on his arm, grounding herself as much as him. Behind her, Deaton stood quietly, giving her space.
Laura stared down at her brother, fury burning under the fear. Whoever set him up, whoever wanted this war—they had just made the biggest mistake of their lives.
Back at the school.
The final bell echoed through the hallways of Beacon Hills High, signaling the end of another long school day. Almost instantly, the building came alive with a surge of energy as students poured out of classrooms, their voices rising in a chaotic blend of laughter, chatter, and the scrape of hurried footsteps. Backpacks slung over shoulders and sneakers squeaking against the polished floors, they spilled into the corridors like water bursting through a dam.
Lucas slipped through the crowd, when a sharp voice cut through the noise.
"Lucas."
Malia stood at the steps, arms crossed, a storm brewing in her eyes.
"You said you were going to talk to Isaac," she said flatly. Then she jerked her chin towards the end of the hallway.
Lucas followed her gaze. Sure enough, there was Isaac—standing way too close to Allison Argent near the lockers. Laughing. Flirting. They looked like they were in their own little world, blissfully unaware that the fragile peace between the werewolves and the hunters was about to shatter.
Lucas dragged a hand through his hair and sighed. "I was going to. I just… got distracted by other stuff."
Malia arched an eyebrow. "Distracted."
"Anyway," Lucas continued, nodding toward Isaac and Allison, "I don't think we need to panic. Just look at them. Even if Isaac wore a shirt that said I'm a werewolf in giant neon letters, Allison would be too busy staring into his eyes to notice."
Malia turned back to watch the pair for a long beat. Isaac leaned closer, Allison smiled in that dreamy way, and Malia groaned. "Ugh. You might be right. They make me want to barf."
Lucas smirked, but Malia's glare cut through it. "Still. We can't take that chance. So—what exactly was so important you ditched the Isaac talk?"
Lucas hesitated. Then: "It would be better if I just show you."
He pulled out his phone, thumbed out a quick text to Jenny—Can't drive you home today, Patrick's coming for you. Once Patrick confirmed, Lucas pocketed the phone and nodded for Malia to follow.
They cut across the road, weaving past blocks until they slipped into the wooded back lot where the hunters' car was parked. Malia frowned, catching the edge of tension in his stride.
When they reached the vehicle, Lucas checked the perimeter, then opened the back door.
Malia's eyes widened. Two hunters were slumped across the backseat, still as stone, breathing slow and shallow.
"What the hell, Lucas?"
"Got the jump on them earlier," Lucas said calmly. "They were staking out the school. Planning to use you to lead them to Derek."
Malia blinked, stunned, then turned back to the unconscious men. "And you just… stuffed them in a car?"
Lucas shrugged. "Bought us twelve hours. Maybe less. Had to make a call."
Malia stepped back, shaking her head, but her eyes stayed locked on Lucas. There was a sharp mix in them—anger, fear, and, buried underneath, something like admiration.