Deception || s. stilinski [2]

bardo

He is wrapped in bandages.

The antiquated military uniform tells Beatrice Knight the bandaged man likely served around the time of World War II. She stands with him in a snowy courtyard, confusion settling in her bones at the sight of snow in California.

There are no holes in the bandages for the man's eyes, blood staining the gauze around where his mouth should be. The redhead stands almost six feet from him, her feet bare and dressed only in an oversized t-shirt and shorts. Goosebumps cover nearly every inch of her skin, her breath forming a cloud in the air before her.

"Where am I?" she whispers to herself, her eyes taking in the strange sight of the white snow. It melts around her feet, numbing her pale skin.

"Between life and death," the man rasps, revealing his razor-sharp teeth. A gasp leaves her lips as the metal of his teeth glistens in the night. "Bardo."

The Tibetan word catches her attention, and her blue eyes stay trained on the strange creature, eyebrows deeply furrowed. "What am I doing here?"

"You shall find out soon enough, Beatrice," he answers, a smirk curling the corners of his bloody, gauze-covered lips. He takes a few steps closer to her, his knees bent at an odd angle, causing his steps to stagger.

Bea stumbles away from the creature, her heart pounding in her ears. "What do you want from me?" she shouts, her back colliding with a brick wall as he continues to advance toward her, his body towering over her short stature.

"I crave what you feel." His breath smells of death as he brings his face mere inches from hers, his bandaged hands leaning against the brick on either side of her head, effectively trapping her between them. "And I'm insatiable."

||

She wakes with a start.

Sweat clings to the girl's skin as she sits straight up in her bed, the covers falling from her shoulders and pooling around her waist. Her chest heaves, the panic she felt from her nightmare slowly dissipating from her body.

The cool air of her bedroom wraps around the skin of her bare arms, sending a chill down her spine with goosebumps rising on her skin, much like in her dream. Her sapphire eyes scan the darkness of her bedroom, the only source of light the sliver of silver moon that peaks through her curtains and the glaring, white light of the bedside clock, reading 3:05.

Bea sighs, rubbing her hands over her tired face. Exhaustion weighs her body down like a brick, though she knows it will be difficult to fall back to sleep now that she has awoken. That is how every night has seemed to go since the defeat of Jennifer Blake nearly three weeks ago.

Things have been relatively calm in the supernatural world since the McCall pack had taken down not only the dark druid, but also the alpha pack. But as for Beatrice Knight, the last three weeks could not have been more fatiguing.