Phoenix || Malia Tate

06

Malia takes newly identified stalker Phoenix to the cafeteria. With school over, all students would either be heading home or to their after school activities, and the lunch ladies usually make a run for it as soon as the lunch rush is over and the cafeteria is cleaned up. The big room is empty and private, and most importantly, far away from any wandering ears. They can talk freely here.

Malia opens the door without care and doesn't even bother to hold it open for him. She thinks maybe she shouldn't be so rude to a guy who knows all her secrets, but his presence is tripping her up, unstabling her, causing her to react like... a human. Phoenix doesn't seem to mind her behavior, though. In fact, he finds it humorous. He smiles as she slumps into a seat at a random table before calmly pulling out the chair next to her.

She turns to him as he sits down. "Spill it."

"What do you want to know, wolfie?" He tilts his head in a mock manner when she glares at him.

Malia narrows her eyes. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Where are you from?"

"Born in San Diego, moved to Beacon County when I was sixteen."

"How do you know about me and my...time away?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You mean the eight years you spent as a coyote?"

Panic sets through Malia when he says it like that, so plain, so obvious, so normal. It's not normal and she wishes he'd stop treating it like it was. Anyone could hear if he kept saying it aloud.

She looks down. "Yeah. That."

Phoenix leans back in his seat, rests his arm on the table as he watches her. He turned the chair so his body faces her. There's nothing in his view but her. It makes Malia shift and fidgets slightly. Phoenix sighs and looks away. "Jeremiah and Leslie Rosary."

"Who are they?"

"My parents." Phoenix turns his head to look at her. "Or at least, they were. Exactly fourteen months ago, they were killed by a werewolf. I like to know about all the night-puppies since."

The utter bluntness of the statement catches Malia off guard, and she's stunned, totally stunned as she takes it in. She blinks, shakes her head, and looks at him. "How do you know it was a werewolf?"

She thinks maybe that shouldn't have been her first response. He just told her his parents are dead, for god sake. But Phoenix just chuckles, as he if expected this from her. "Claws and huge bite marks can only mean so many things."

Malia bites her lip. He has a point. "So, what," she says. She turns her body to face him and Phoenix leans forward, places his elbows on his thighs, and clasps his hands together. "You have a list of all supernatural in Beacon Hills? You have a notepad and you write down names and species and then you, what, become pay visits? Have lunch dates?"

Phoenix smiles. "Close, but not exactly."

"Then what?"

He presses his lips together. There's a pause, and in that pause, Malia takes the chance to look at him, and she realizes then that for the first time, she's actually looking at him, actually studying his face and his expressions. He has sandy brown hair that looks like all he does is run his hands through it and its instant hero hair. And he's got dark eyebrows that make his face look harsh (the angular jaw doesn't help, either) and thick eyelashes that frame emerald eyes. As she looks, with the light coming through the windows at the right angle, she realizes just how green his eyes actually are. Green like spring. Green like leaves. Green like the forest. Malia looks away.

If he noticed her staring, he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he just runs his hands through his instant hero hair, and breaths. "Okay, the just of it is this: my parents died years ago and it comforts me to know just how many of the same things that killed them are around. You fit in this because though you are not a werewolf, you, Malia, are the reason why I know there are more than just werewolves in Beacon Hills. You are my gateway into the supernatural world."

"And how exactly do you know about me?"

His jaw hardens. Malia worries she's crossed a line. "Girl involved in a car crash that killed two people goes missing for eight years and then suddenly just reappears with no knowledge of high school level education, or teenage level of social skills. With the photographic evidence of claw marks, it wasn't hard to figure it out from there. I did some digging, figured out your lineage."

Malia scrunches her eyebrows. "You know about my real parents?"

He nods. "Peter Hale and the infamous Desert Wolf."

That explains why he keeps referring to her as Malia Hale. No one except the pack, Peter, and Derek know she's a Hale. Still, Malia can't help but cringe as he announces who her parents are. Peter, she doesn't mind. He's sly and scheming, but he's done right by her. The Desert Wolf, on the other hand, is batshit crazy and Malia wants absolutely nothing to do with her.

The brown eyed girl shakes her head, no longer wanting to think about her unstable father and psycho mother. She leans back in her chair, but Phoenix remains leaning forward, close to her. "Why are you here?" She asks. "Why are you talking to me?"

He smiles cheeky, tongue pressed against his teeth. "Cause you're pretty."

Malia rolls her eyes. "I'm serious. What do you want, Phoenix?"

He tilts his head. "Why do I have to want anything?"

Because you said you did. Because people always want something. Because people are so corrupt and horrible and they suck ass and all of it is beyond my comprehension.

Phoenix shakes his head. "I don't want anything."

"Bullshit," Malia calls.

He shrugs. "Believe me, don't believe me. I can't make you do anything."

Malia doesn't say anything. Phoenix watches her closely in silence, watches as her mind reels the information. She bites her lip. He knows exactly what she's thinking. She still doesn't know if she's safe, if her pack's safe. "Are you going to tell anyone?"

Malia doesn't move, doesn't shift her gaze from him.

"No," he says. "I'm not going to tell anyone."