Til The Dawn [Midnights #1] ✓

chapter 34

Deaton stared down at the silver shards in the little pan that he'd spent the better part of an hour removing from Derek's body, and Peter struggled to stay quiet as he watched the other man. His mouth was moving, like he might be counting the pieces, but Peter wanted an update.

Scratch that. Peter needed an update. Like, yesterday.

"I think... I think I got it all out," Deaton finally murmured. "I'm fairly certain, anyway. The, uh, the effects should wear off soon. And it's going to take a few days for him to recover, obviously, but I think he should be fine." After another second, he put his hands on his hips and looked up, meeting Peter's eyes. "I'll monitor him here to make sure I didn't miss anything, if that's all right with you," he tacked on.

"Of course. Yeah. Thank you, Deaton," Peter said, sighing deeply in relief. "I owe you. Seriously, any favor you ever need."

Deaton shook his head and chuckled, his hands falling to his sides. "I'll hold you to that." His smile faded as he looked down at Derek again. "You and Derek are good people, Peter. I couldn't have ever just stood by and let something happen to him. No matter what our history. Honestly, I'm, uh, more concerned about why this happened."

Peter gave a nod, unsure of what other information Deaton thought he was holding onto, refusing to reveal. At the moment, Peter was as in the dark about all this as anybody else in town. Which, he had to admit, wasn't a great feeling.

"As far as I know," Deaton continued, "the Argents are the only hunters in town, and you've had a truce with them since before the fire. A truce that's widely known among other hunting families, right?"

"Trust me," Peter said, "I've thought of all of that. I'm not any closer to an answer, though. But I have been thinking about it."

He stepped closer to the table, moving his hand out of the way of the silver. Even in its little bowl, Peter didn't feel comfortable being right next to it.

"Between you and me," Peter pressed, dropping his voice to a whisper, "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"I can see that," Deaton agreed, reaching up and patting him on the shoulder. "You've got a rogue Alpha running around who likely bit Scott and is now killing people. And a group of hunters shooting at you. I'd be surprised if you did know how to handle this." Deaton gave a gentle smile. "But, uh, have you thought of how it might all be connected?"

"It's possible, I guess," Peter conceded. "I really don't see how, though. Derek and I have been looking for days, and have zero leads, man. It's almost like whoever is doing this, really doesn't want us to find anything."

"Exactly," Deaton emphasized.

"But the who and the why are driving me crazy," Peter confessed, letting his head drop. "If it was just someone passing through, they would've passed by now. If it was someone who'd come to take over Beacon Hills, they would just do it outright. There's only two of us. It's just... none of this adds up, Deaton."

"If they got you two out of the way, and made it look like an accident, they could swoop in and have it appear as if they're doing everyone a favor," Deaton speculated.

"Without an obvious takeover, the packs close by would have to convene and select a new one to keep Beacon Hills safe. A rogue Alpha wouldn't qualify, in their eyes. And not even a pack that's new, really, you know? They'd even have to select a new Emissary. With the Nemeton here, you can't really do it another way," Peter explained. "It may not be active, or whatever, but it's still right down the street. That's not going to change."

"But what if this other pack doesn't know that?" Deaton retorted. "What if they don't know about the Nemeton at all and just see a vulnerable little town?"