bloodlust.

Stranded

Stiles' POV

"Is this normal for this school?" Arianna asks her nose scrunching up. "How long will this last? Wait how did you even know about this?"

"So now you get chatty. Well, it isn't exactly normal but anything is possible in Beacon Hills," I wink. It's not necessarily true but it's kind of fun scaring her. She seems so fragile. I realized that's not the nicest thing, but I needed something to light up my mood. She was staring up at me now, her eyes widening.

"And I have no idea how long it will last. My dad said it might take from 2 to 4 hours though so we might want to get comfortable." I walk her to the library.

"Your dad?"

"Yeah. Sheriff Stilinski," I say with a proud smile.

"Your dad's sheriff? Oh... that's how."

"Yeah, I'm always on the inside of everything that happens in this town. The police radio tends to be pretty interesting."

"So what are these animals?" She seems nervous.

"Don't worry. It's California. How bad can they be?"

We got to the library and sat down at a table near the back end. People were crowded around, some were even sleeping. A boy walked by and was staring at Arianna intently. She glared back at him. The guy continued walking but didn't take his eyes off her.

"What a creep," She says her nose scrunching up again.

I laugh.

"What?"

"Nothing," I keep smiling.

"Just tell me! I want to know," she whined.

"It's just that you look adorable when your nose crunches up like that," I say quietly.

"Oh," she says blushing.

"Do you want to walk around the school? We're going to be here awhile so I don't see a point in just sitting around here," I say.

"Sure," she says smiling.

We walk together sort of aimlessly out of the library. There's no one else in the hallways.

"Wow, the school looks so empty," Ariana says.

"Yeah..."

In front of us is the trophies display.

"A lot of these are for lacrosse," Arianna points out.

"Yeah, our school's famous sport. I'm on the team," I say proudly. I sucked and was always on the bench but she didn't have to know that.

"What are you staring at?" I ask. She was staring at one trophy.
"I don't know. He looks familiar. And he's kind of hot..." I don't think she realized she said the last part aloud. I brushed it off.

"Peter Hale? Literally. His family died in a fire years ago."

"Wow. Thanks for the image," she says grimacing.

"No problem."

"Poor guy," she says touching the glass display.

All of a sudden we're enveloped in darkness.