The last thing James "Jay" Hale ever imagined was to begrudgingly return to Beacon Hills, find out his older sister was murdered, and then be forced to go on a wild goose chase after some fuck ass Alpha that seemed to have a particular interest in r...
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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN:
Those Butterflies, They Make My Head Swim
✧✧✧✧
Tracking down Stiles and Scott was easy enough. Jay hadn't told Scott about the handy little trick of masking a scent yet, which made their trail practically glow in the air. It wasn't just the obvious sharp scent of adrenaline hanging in the atmosphere like gasoline fumes—it was the chaos that clung to both of them. It led Jay straight to them, a neon path winding from Scott's house, through alleys where they must've chased Jackson, into a club where Stiles sent off two of the voicemails, past the sheriff's station where they'd stolen a van, and finally, deep into the preserve.
Maybe it also helped that Jay could practically find Stiles anywhere at this point. He'd spent the last ten hours lying in the guy's bed, soaking in the familiar scent. It was practically etched into his brain now, a sensory map he could follow blindfolded.
And maybe that should have been the first clue into his developing whatever for Stiles. He didn't really need to be in his bed to feel so connected to the comfort of Stiles' scent, but he pushed the thought aside.
His whatever for Stiles was whatever. And by "whatever", he meant whatever. As in, whatever, he wasn't going to be actively thinking about it anymore. Especially not after that most recent voicemail. The cringe-worthy "Love you—sike! Why the hell would I ever say that? You're pathetic!" had been the final straw. He had to get a grip. Stiles saw him as a friend—someone dependable, someone who had his back. Jay couldn't go and mess that up by overanalyzing things.
Leaves cracked under his shoes as he trekked over to the not-so-stealthy police transport van and the two idiots sitting at the hood. He kind of felt a little awkward, considering he did the whole dramatic disappearing act only to come crawling back not even that long after.
But Stiles and Scott didn't look as bothered or stressed as he imagined them to be after the eventful voicemails. They somehow looked unbothered, almost relaxed, like they were on some kind of impromptu camping trip instead of holding Jackson hostage and on the brink of being arrested and probably sued in the near future. Lounging in a sunspot, they were tearing apart a beef jerky like a wishbone, immediately starting a shoving contest when Stiles got the bigger piece.
"I'm surprised Derek hasn't found you yet," Jay announced himself as he approached, taking just a little pleasure in the way they jumped in surprise.
Randomly appearing out of nowhere? Yeah, he finally understood why Derek did it all the time.
Stiles fumbled his jerky as he jumped, and Scott's werewolf reflexes kicked in, snatching it before it hit the ground. He shoved it into his mouth while Stiles gasped.
"But I guess he's not expecting you guys to kidnap the Kanima," Jay added with an unimpressed eyebrow raise.
"Hey!" Stiles cried in distress for his jerky, latching onto Scott's neck and pulling him into a headlock at the same time Scott perked up to shout, "I totally thought you weren't coming! Especially after what Stiles said on—"
