Phoenix || Malia Tate

22

When they finally do arrive at the animal clinic, Malia can't help the audible gasp when she sees him. Kira had given her PG-13 version of the situation. Scott didn't look like he was dying – he looked like he was already dead. Had it not been for the faint heartbeat, Malia would've thought the alpha had truly left them.

The pack is a barely sewn-together mess, to put it lightly. Kira, Liam, Stiles, Lydia, and even Peter, whose reason for being there is unknown to her, sit there with sunken faces and stiff bodies. Hands clasp another's for some sign of support, some sign of 'it'll be okay', some sign of 'I'm with you'. They all look a bit traumatized, and the sight of it all, of pale and bloodied Scott McCall and red-eyed, shaken-to-the-core looking friends, almost traumatizes her too. She is so confronted, so overwhelmed that she forgets to introduce Phoenix, but the pack seems too worried about Scott to care about the newcomer. Peter's the only one who raises an eyebrow.

After she's confirmed that Scott is still alive, Deaton is the only one who is relatively calm enough to explain what happened. Phoenix stands next to her, doesn't let go of her hand as Deaton, with a certain horror, recounts the story.

He tells them how the pack was all at the Sheriff's Station, going over some files, some recent deaths that were becoming more and more common in their little town. There was a distinct pattern, certain victims chosen to be shot and killed and the entire situation just screamed serial killer. They were busy creating a list of names when it happened. Men and women dressed in all black, their faces covered with different animal masks, shot up the entire station. There was no warning, no reason given, just absolute chaos.

The station was a massacre. Deputies are injured, some are even dead. It is a miracle that Scott isn't.

Malia cannot believe what she is hearing. She almost crushes Phoenix's hand as the anger and the emotions take over.

Apparently, werewolves in Beacon Hills have been dying for a while now, and she had no idea about it. The pack was at the station creating a protection list before the incident. Peter, as the last residing Hale in Beacon Hills, was there to give his expertise and assistance.

She is so angry. Angry at the pack for not telling her, but more so herself for not knowing anything. For not seeing the crisis that was so clearly unfolding before her very eyes. For running off to Phoenix every day instead of being with her pack, instead of being there to help. Now Scott is hurt, and she has no idea what to do.

"Who –" Malia starts. She's not exactly sure what to say, what she wants to know, what she needs to know.

But, still somehow Stiles, who's clutching onto Kira's hand, showing his best friends girlfriend some kind of support, understands. He clears his voice. "We, we don't know, exactly," he croaks out. "Faces were covered. But they were definitely hunters."

"This doesn't make sense," Malia says. "We haven't done anything. Why would hunters kill in Beacon Hills?"

The room falls silent. No one has an answer for that.

"Is there a way to identify them?" She asks. "There has to be. Some kind symbol or clue as to who these people are."

"There is." It's Peter who answers. "But they're hunter's we've never heard of."

Deaton hands Malia a plastic bag, which holds a single bullet inside. Letting go of Phoenix, she winces as she holds it, and not just because she knows it's the bullet he pulled out of Scott. "It's made of an intense mixture of highly concentrated silver mixed with mountain ash, Wolfsbane, and mistletoe," Deaton explains.

"A homemade weapon created to kill," Peter adds. "Not hurt or injure, but kill."

Deaton nods at Peter's words. "Scott would be dead if he wasn't a True Alpha."

Malia drops the bag back into the vet's hand.

"Here," Deaton says, as he moves the bag a bit to show the back of the bullet. "This how we know they're hunters. See that symbol? That's their sign. Only problem is we've never seen it on a bullet before. We've only ever seen it as a –"

"A rosary," Malia finishes.

Her entire body runs cold as she stares at the symbol. A circle of holes meant to be beads with a cross on top, the unmistakeable outline of what's mean to be Jesus of Nazareth nailed to the cross. Usually, Rosary's are necklaces, but Malia's seen enough rings and keychains that carry the same sign and message to know what the bullet means. After all, she grew up with that sign. Her adoptive parents were Catholic, and as a child, she spent every Sunday going to church. She once even had the very necklace on her headboard.

"Yes, a rosary," Deaton confirms. He moves the item closer to her and points to a spot on the bullet. "There's something else. A capital R etched right there. Could be a name, could just be for 'rosary'. We're just not sure."

The heart behind her suddenly stops, and the moment her ears catch it, the moment it's all confirmed, is the moment that hers does too. 

Could be a name, could just be for 'rosary'. 

Or it could be both. 

She turns around, and when she finally manages to face him, his green eyes, which she once thought of as home, are brimming with tears. "Malia, I can explain."