Broken Kiss (a Teen Wolf story)

Part 16

“He doesn’t look hurt,” Allison muttered.

            Lydia swallowed a growl of frustration and picked up the pace. Or she tried. She was tired. They’d been walking for what felt like years. Allison said that time didn’t just pass differently down there, it felt different. It felt like an extra helping of gravity, dragging at her stiff limbs. The omnipresent dust formed a film over her vision. It didn’t seem to be bothering Allison, whose senses were on overdrive. She’d heard the sound of a group walking along a dry river bed so far away that Lydia, squinting, could only see a dark ribbon over the land. And she’d spotted Peter ten minutes – or hours, or millennia – ago and Lydia could only now make out the shape of him.

            But Allison was right. He walked toward them with purposeful strides, his head a little low in that way he had when he stalked something. That posture she was familiar with. She shivered and zipped the hoodie up to her chin. Allison stopped, staring into the distance as she was doing more and more often. Something was happening, something that had her hand clenching around her bow, and the fingers of her other hand dancing over her quiver.

            “Do you need to go?” Lydia asked.

            “No.” Allison’s head swung back around. She blinked a couple of times. “It’s…it’s nothing.”

            “Remember what you two talked about,” came a male voice from beside her. Lydia turned to glare at the ghost…phantasm…guy. He was big, like really big. Burly, with biceps and triceps and those big muscles that stood out around the neck. Which was no wonder because he wore satin boxing shorts, in addition to the tape around his knuckles. Allison couldn’t see him. She couldn’t see the other one who’d suddenly appeared either, making Lydia scream a very unbanshee-like scream. That one was dressed and made up like a clown. Terrifying. They were both stuck, not quite dead but not quite alive either if they were showing up in the underworld. They said they’d both been drawn to Lydia, sensed her from a great distance. They could see Allison, but she couldn’t see or hear them. They'd been listening to the girls talk, and they were very opinionated about Peter.

            “You need to make him wait. If he’s tricky, that’s not a good sign.”

            Lydia rolled her eyes. “I refuse to take the advice of a comatose rodeo clown.”

            “If he’s telling you to stay away from Peter, then he’s a smart comatose rodeo clown,” Allison said. “I don’t want you to be hurt again, not in any way.”

            And those they cared about had the most potential to hurt them. She still cried sometimes, remembering Stiles possessed by the nogitsune. The way he’d carried himself, cocky in a way that Stiles couldn’t have faked if he was being paid. The flat malevolence of his eyes still haunted her. The problem with Peter was that he didn’t shift back and forth from sweet Peter to…not sweet. He was mercurial, always changing.

            “You don’t have to protect me anymore,” Lydia said. Allison’s face pinched as she shook her head. “You did everything you could have. Everything.”

            “I don’t want to forget you.”

            “You won’t.” Lydia hugged her. “Or, if you do, I’ll be sure to remind you when I get down here for real.”

            “Of course you will.” Allison smiled, her chin wobbling. She wiped at her cheeks as Peter neared.

            “Well, well, well,” he said, eyes narrowing as he looked back and forth between them. “The late Argent. You’re looking well. A tad monochromatic.”

            “And you’re looking surprisingly untortured.” Allison turned her shoulder toward him. He smirked at the aggressive posture, then turned to face Lydia.

            The tan of his skin was refreshing after so little color. The blue of his eyes was beautiful, bright pools of comfort, or something very like it.

            “And what are you doing down here?” he asked.

            Lydia raised her chin. “I came to rescue you.”

            He laughed – a short, sharp laugh. “You must be from the discount mercenary service.”

            “Excuse me?” she asked, hands going to her hips.

            “I mean no insult. You’re very pretty.” His gaze traveled over her pajamas, and he grinned. “But face it, sweetheart, you don’t look like much of a rescue party.”

            “Look at that,” the clown said, drifting forward to examine him. Peter gave no sign that he sensed the ghost.

            “Oh, yeah,” the boxer said, giving Lydia a sympathetic look. “There’s something wrong with your werewolf.”

            He got defensive when he felt weak or exposed. Unfortunately that was normal.

            “So where’s the portal?” Peter asked. As if he didn’t know that Lydia could open one at will.

            “They let you go but didn’t send you back to the earthly plane?” Allison asked.

            “No, they…” He frowned, his right hand clenching.

            “He’s got something in his paw,” the clown said, snickering.

            “Peter, do you remember being taken?” Lydia asked.

            “I wasn’t taken. Persephone wanted to chat is all.”

            “Persephone?” Lydia’s voice rose.

            “Queen of the underworld, wife of Hades. You really should read up on the players before you take a job in another dimension.”

            He'd been all over her after he discovered her in the woods. Now he was flippant and barely even looking at her. Oh, something was very wrong. And it wasn’t merely his attitude.

            “Who do you think she is?” Allison asked, pointing toward Lydia, whose heart began to race.

            “Someone Derek hired.” He made an irritated gesture. “Can we go now?”

        "No," Lydia said, shaking her head. He wasn't hurt, but he didn't remember her. All this, and he didn't even know her. "No."