Broken Kiss (a Teen Wolf story)

Part 3

            Lydia closed her car door, took five steps, and stopped. Her hands clenched around her chemistry notes. In front of her was a forest, dark except for the beams of her headlights. She turned around. The forest was behind her, too. Her tires had left dark, muddy tracks between the trees. This wasn’t the high school. She was supposed to go to the school to help Malia and Kira catch up on a chemistry lab since they’d missed one while off helping Scott with some superpower werewolf thing. Not drive into a creepy forest, all alone. And her front tires were sunk halfway into the loose dirt. Great.

            The headlights flicked off, and Lydia swallowed. Super great. Her heart pounded in her chest. Inside, another pressure built, that thing that tugged at her when death was close. The problem with trying to master the banshee powers was that she couldn’t do it without death, and death was scary. She pulled the binder against her chest and took an experimental step. Moonlight filtered through the canopy of branches. Leaves and small sticks crunched beneath her feet, impossibly loud. But there was no other sound. No birds, no bugs. No animals and, hopefully, no monsters.

            “Hello?” she said. It was something the stupid girl in a horror movie would say, but the call inside of her was growing stronger. Something was nearby. But she was coherent, and her mind was quiet. Whatever had called her, it wasn’t a corpse. Yet.

            “Hello,” a voice said from behind her. She jumped, then started running almost before her feet touched the ground. The forest disappeared.

            She raised her hand, blocking the sudden, searing sunlight. Gone was the leafy ground. Gone were the trees and her car. All around there was nothing but lush green grass coating low, rolling hills. And him. The man facing her must have been six foot five, and built like a god. Thick black hair waved down to his broad shoulders. The thin silver robe he wore rippled around his muscular body, as if it was made of liquid. Very revealing liquid. Or maybe it didn’t matter how heavy his clothes when he was packing that kind of below-the-waist firepower. Lydia jerked her gaze back to his face. His skin was milk pale, his eyes obsidian black, and he was a complete stranger. She’d have remembered seeing someone so…impressive.

            “Lydia Martin,” he said, and she shivered at the sound of his deep voice. “I’ve been searching for you.”

            “Why?” she asked. “Why me?”

            He moved closer, and her eyelids drifted almost closed. He smelled good, earthy and sweet, and the warmth of the sun was nothing compared to the heat emanating from him.

            “I’m here to help you,” he murmured. That didn’t sound right. She forced her eyes to open, which was strangely difficult.

            “What do you think I need help with?”

            “I think that you are lonely.”

            She flinched, the comment driving into her with no resistance.

            “You do not need to be lonely. I think that you are scared.” He touched her chin, raising it until all she could see was the curve of his lips, the proud line of his nose, and those bottomless eyes. “You do not need to be scared.”

            She shook her head, not denying what he was saying but agreeing with him. She didn’t want to be those things.

            “And I think you want to see your friend again,” he said, blinking slowly. “Allison.”

            She stopped breathing. “That’s impossible.”

            “Is it?” He smiled, those luscious lips curling into a smile. “You of all people should know that the dead can always be found. I can show you the way.”