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 FORTY-THREE:
Nightmare After Nightmare, Sometimes A Guy Just Snaps
✧✧✧✧
The only room Jay knew how to get to in Lydia's house was her bedroom, so he was stuck with a clumsy game of trial and error to find something easier—or at least less invasive. He wanted to lie down, maybe dunk his head in some water to jolt himself awake. Wash away the fog creeping into his brain, drown his inhibitions, and emerge as someone new. Someone better. Someone who didn't crumble under the pull of stupid forces, like the goddamn circle looming in the sky.
A baptism, if you will.
Or, more accurately, an exorcism. Jay needed to expel the demon—or rather, the werewolf—festering inside him and get his life back under control.
Right now, though, he just felt unhinged. Not the usual full-moon madness, where fury hummed as a constant pressure just under his skin and the metallic taste of bloodlust lingered on his tongue like a bitter afterthought. Not even the Scott McCall horny special, where all his thoughts and focus centred around the object of his affection—who, in Jay's case, was Stiles.
That probably would have been more fun.
But this was different. He almost felt sick, like he was teetering between passing out, throwing up, or simply driving his head straight through a wall to make it all stop.
All three options would be rather embarrassing.
He needed to pull himself together.
The first few doors he tried were locked, and he almost gave up before stumbling upon an unlocked bathroom. Relief flickered for half a second before the door swung open to reveal a couple tangled against the sink, oblivious to the world as they sucked faces with very graphic and very disgusting enthusiasm.
"Couldn't have locked it?" Jay muttered, slamming the door back closed harder than necessary. The hinges rattled, the wooden trim threatened to splinter, and the metal of the doorknob creaked under his grip, but the couple was too preoccupied to notice.
They were perfectly unaware of the monster who was only barely under wraps lurking outside. They were lucky he didn't act on the sudden, visceral urge clawing at him—to rip them apart and leave their remains in delicate ribbons of blood and flesh. His fingers lingered on the doorknob, claws skimming the metal as the thought played out vividly in his mind.
Too vividly.
He was starting to disgust himself. He was also starting to scare himself.
"Bad, Jay," he hissed to himself, physically shaking his head to get rid of whatever the hell kind of spell of bloodlust that image was. "Seriously? Ribbons of flesh? What the hell is wrong with you?" He stepped back from the door, muttering under his breath. "Great, now I'm talking to myself."
