Alone • Liam Dunbar

One

"You think this is digestible?" I joke to the True Alpha next to me as I take a shot glass from the tray of a girl who passed us. 

It had a foggy brown liquid inside that smelled sour and made my eyes water. That mixed with the dozens of bodies dancing around us, gyrating and grinding on each other, wasn't pleasant. But the fact that no one took a second look at a teenager with alcohol in their hands was definitely a plus.

Scott reached for the glass and held it up, staring at the minuscule unrecognizable fibers that floated within the shot. 

"First of all, Jac, you're sixteen. Second, honestly no, I don't." He responded, smirking at my disappointment as my hand hung in the air where my shot had previously been.

"You're no fun, McCall." I pouted jokingly, only making his smile widen. 

Movement over his shoulder stole my attention. A guard for the club was making his rounds around the building, and he'd be inches away from us soon enough. I gave Scott a subtle tilt of my head in a warning. He nodded before placing the shot glass down, our focus needed elsewhere now. Both of us move as one, slowly making our way to a different area of the packed club. I usually hated being so close to other people, able to feel the warmth of their skin on mine, but we used the foreign bodies to our advantage now, sticking to the shadows to remain out of sight. 

The Calaveras were a family that was arguably even more dedicated to the hunting code than the Argents had been in their prime, and if they discovered us here, uninvited, we'd be in for a world of trouble. 

Last week Derek hadn't picked up any of our calls or texts, which honestly wasn't that unusual, but it didn't feel the same. Not after everything we've been through these past couple of months. 

Scott went to check up on the Hale yesterday, wanting to get answers for his silence, but was only left with more questions when Derek was nowhere to be found. All that was left for us to potentially find him were dozens of bullet casings scattered around his loft from an obvious shoot-out. This set everyone into full-blown panic mode, but luckily we weren't entirely lost. When Scott showed us the casings, I immediately recognized the skull engraved into each one, familiar with the telltale sigils of my fellow hunters. 

Within an hour, we were packed and heading to Mexico, the homeland of the Calaveras. Scott, Lydia, Malia, and Kira all stuffed into Stiles' rusted Jeep, while I trailed behind them on my motorcycle. Biking leather wasn't exactly desirable for Mexico's heat, but Derek needed us, so a little sweat was manageable. 

It was bold of the Calaveras to nab Derek like this. It made no sense, especially when Derek hadn't done anything to warrant being taken. The Calaveras took the code seriously, they only hunted those who hunted them, and Derek had become the farthest thing from a predator as of late. 

"Stiles and Lydia are coming in." Scott informs me, though I'm already aware of their approach. 

The communication device in my ear emits an annoying ring that makes me twitch. It alerts me to the fact that its counterpart, currently hidden in Stiles' ear, was drawing near. With proper proximity between us now, I would be able to hear everything around him perfectly. 

My stare drifts across the open room toward the entrance hall. Lydia and Stiles stand at the end of it, taking in the scene before them with stunned eyes. Parties here are far more impressive than in Beacon Hills. Lydia's curious green eyes scan the area and they meet mine for a brief second. She keeps her gaze moving and tugs at the sleeve of Stiles' jacket, silently telling him to move. 

I give her and Stiles a prideful look as they follow my instructions perfectly. They weren't exactly world-class spies, so I had to drill it into them to stay focused when they were here and be aware that we were walking into a hunter's den. One wrong move and Derek would be left with his captors.