Broken Kiss (a Teen Wolf story)

Part 17a

The redhead confused him. He wanted to yell at her for bringing her fragile humanity into the land of the dead, and he wanted to speak quietly and slink at her feet until she relaxed around him. That second inclination was disturbing, really disturbing. It felt…vulnerable, close to rolling over and showing his throat. But the discomfort didn’t make him strike out or try to drive her away, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.

            The hunter was no help. The dead gave off no scent markers of their mood or thoughts, and while Allison kept herself firmly planted between him and the girl – who was clearly a friend and not a mercenary – that could have meant anything. Lydia. She was a bead of mercury with a hummingbird’s heart, her mood shifting and swiveling. She knew him, he was sure of it. But she wasn’t sure what he meant to her, and he felt himself holding his breath each time she glanced at him, hoping this time she would reveal herself. He wanted to know what he meant to her, what he might mean to her.

            She crossed her arms over that bulky sweatshirt, stuck her nose in the air and followed the hunter’s footsteps. At least they were moving away from the hall of Hades.

            “So,” Peter said, clapping his hands together. “How far to the portal?”

            “It’s closer than you might think,” Lydia said through clenched teeth. She glanced away and shook her head slightly.

            “Who is it you’re talking to, Red?” he asked, sliding behind Allison and inserting himself beside Lydia. He peered over her head, then lowered his eyes to her. “Did you bring an imaginary friend to the meet-up with your dead friend? Which one’s the third wheel in this scenario?”

            “The only one who’s messing up the group dynamic is you, Peter.” She tripped toward him as though she’d been pushed. His hand grazed her elbow and she jerked her arm away. Her other hand came up to cover the spot he’d touched, but it wasn’t out of disgust. No, the sudden increase in her pulse and the heat that flooded her cheeks, that wasn’t disgust. That was pure, anxious desire. He found himself leaning closer.

            “Why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing here? You’re not a supernatural, and a human – a girl – like you shouldn’t be in a place like this.”

            “I’ve been a lot of places I shouldn’t have gone,” she said, her lip curling up in what could have been a snarl. “Sometimes I was taken by people who had no right. But I came here for you, and you need to tell me what happened.”

            She said it as if it mattered to her. Gone was the terse sarcasm. Her deep green eyes were somber, and something flickered in Peter’s mind, a moth-wing rustle in his memory. He inhaled deeply. Her scent was strong as there was nothing to interfere with it.

            “What are you to me?” he asked, then stiffened as a blade pressed against the back of his neck. Allison Argent. She’d attacked him once in Derek’s loft, with one of those stunners the hunters were so proud of.

            “You need to be very careful,” she said. “And you need to tell us the truth. Now.”

            He rolled his head back to look at her, letting the blade slice shallowly into his skin.

            “And if I don’t?”

            “There’s someone following us – following you – and they’re closing fast. If you’ve done something that’s going to get Lydia hurt, then I will cut you and leave you here for them to find.”

            “No.” The protest exploded out of him. It was an absolute denial, a fierce imperative. Nobody was allowed to hurt Lydia.

            “Peter,” she murmured, desperation filling her quiet words. “Tell us.”

            “I don’t know.” He stepped away from Allison, who didn’t pursue, and ran a hand through his hair. His mind was full of gaps, white spots that hummed but did not speak to him. “Persephone did something to me, as punishment. She…took something from me.”

            “Punishment for what?” Lydia asked, her eyes narrowing shrewdly.

            “I hurt her husband.”

            “You attacked the lord of the underworld?” Lydia asked, circling him slowly. “Why? Wasn’t he a customer of yours? What would you have to gain from it?”

            What, indeed? Hades was a true immortal, plus he was a good pay. Peter had nothing to gain from it, and he hadn’t been defending himself. He’d been facing the god, who’d stood half in, half out of a portal. There had been a Cerberus. There had been a fire crackling in a fireplace. There had been…

            “The apples,” he said, remembering gathering them from his warehouse even when he couldn’t remember why. “That’s how you got here.”

            Lydia shared a look with Allison before nodding. “You gave them to me.”

            He looked her up and down, then rolled his eyes when he noticed the lumps in her pockets.

            “They’re supposed to be kept together. They’re stronger that way.”

            “I didn't think you'd like the sound of them chiming together.”

            He didn’t. It was like aluminum foil on a filling, times a thousand. But he wouldn’t have told anyone that. She turned suddenly, focused on something he couldn’t see. Her breath caught.

            “We need to leave,” she said, eyes going wide. “There’s a Cerberus coming. A big one.”