Afraid Of Death ¤ Teen Wolf

01 ; mexico

afraid of death - chapter one.

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"This doesn't seem so bad." Stiles said, shrugging as the three walked around the town.

Lydia immediately argues back, "It's not the town, it's the plan."

"What's wrong with the plan?" He questions.

"Stiles, this could be the most stupid plan you've ever come up with. You know that, right?" I speak up.

He rolls his eyes, saying, "I'm aware it's not my best."

"We're going to die." I mumbled, looking around.

Lydia nods with me.

"Are you agreeing with her as a banshee or are you just being pessimistic?" He asks, confused.

"We're saying it as a person who doesn't want to die." I say, sarcastically.

Annoyed, Stiles asks, "Okay. Would you two mind restricting any talk of death to actual banshee predictions?"

"This plan is stupid and we are going to die." Lydia says.

"Oh. Thank you." He responds, sarcastically as he walked ahead of us.

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We kept walking, until we reached an old building with two large guards in front of the entrance.

Lydia speaks in spanish, "Estamos aquí para la fiesta."

"We're here for the party." Stiles translates with a smile.

I give him a shut up look and he immediately drops his smile.

The two buff guards only shake their heads no.

Instead, Stiles pulls out a card from his pocket and shows the two men. One tilted his head up towards a camera in the corner, so Stiles showed the card to the camera and the door opened.

The three of us, hesitantly, walked inside. There was a dark hallway that was vibrating from the loud music. Once we reached the door at the end of the hall, we all looked at each other, before Stiles pushed it open and we entered.

There were shirtless dancing bodies everywhere, the music was pounding, and lights were flashing. It was almost like the rave in Beacon Hills, a few years back when we had to deal with the kanima. Except, it's a lot more alive.

We walked around the dancing mob and headed towards the bar. The bartender set 3 shots in front of us, causing us to stare at them. Stiles, being a gentleman, pulled his wallet out to pay for them. Only to have a man step behind us and put a hand on his shoulder,

"On the house."

We only stare at him.

"Most American teenagers don't cross the border to refuse a drink." He speaks.

"We didn't come here to drink." Lydia responds, dropping the skull bullet in one of the shot glasses.

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The man led us to a back room, with guards and guns, and a women sitting at a desk in the middle of the room. She must be Araya.

"Severo hates this kind of music. Me? I've always loved the music of youth. It has a savage energy." She speaks, cutting a piece of rope.

"We're here for Derek Hale." I say.

"Is that so?" She questions.

"We know you have him." Lydia says, "We heard you can be bought."