Broken Kiss (a Teen Wolf story)

Part 20

            “You don’t want that. You want to be one of the good guys.” Peter’s tone hardened and turned mocking. He needed to push her away, even as he couldn’t quite move away from her. “Running all over Beacon Hills, trying to save everybody. Even if they deserve their fate. But you never quite get there in time, do you?”

            She stiffened, her eyes darkening in warning. Those lush lips pursed, making him want to nip at them.

            “Stop trying to change the subject,” she bit out.

            “I’m not. We’re talking about us. You’re part of us.” He gave her a cool grin, and let the light come to his eyes. “And that is what you do, with your pack. Do you think I make sense, in a pack like that?”

            He needed distance, needed to regain his equilibrium. She was temptation incarnate, and everything about her – from the fire of her hair to the scent of her pale skin – was a reminder of how different they were. He’d thought he could take her, make her his. If she kept pushing, she’d wear him down. Even now that stubborn little chin was lifting.

            She crossed her arms without retreating, and Peter clicked his tongue, like Talia used to do when one of the pups made a mistake. Lydia’s eyes narrowed further at the condescension.

            “Sweetheart, you play the heavyweight. But compared to me you’re made of glass. It’ll take a few more years, and a few more tragedies before you’ll grow into anything like a contender.”

            Her eyes flitted away from him, and when she looked back, her smile was equal parts sweet and wicked.

            “I can’t stand up to you,” she said. “And that’s why you’re pushing me away. That’s what you’re saying?”

            “Are you seriously asking me that?”

            “Yes. I am.” She jerked her head, as though motioning someone onward.

            Hands clamped around Peter’s biceps, or something that felt like hands. He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t smell anything, but something restrained him. He roared, throwing one hand off only to have it grab his throat. Red rolled across his vision.

            “No,” Lydia cried out. “Not there.”

            The hand disappeared before closing around his wrist. Four hands. Two people, two ghosts. Under Lydia’s command. Peter roared again before dropping his head back and chuckling. Caught, by her puppets. God, the tricks she conjured up out of nothing.

            The hands didn’t loosen, but they weren’t doing anything other than holding him now. He was still tense, but managed not to fight them. This wasn't an attack. This was Lydia testing her strenth. What banshee had ever been this brave?

            Her eyes were round, white showing all around the deep green. She didn’t know whether they could hold him but she had to know he wouldn’t like being restrained. If he wanted to, he could throw them off, probably.

            Banshees wailed for the dead. They were attracted to the dead. But down here, in the land of the dead, nobody knew how powerful they could be. How many souls could Lydia Martin command, if she really wanted something? How far would she be willing to go? And what was that power worth?

            “You minx,” he rasped through his fanged teeth.

            “We need to talk,” she said, her voice steady though she was breathing hard. “And neither one of us is leaving until we do.”

            Peter leaned forward, inhaling deeply and putting his teeth within a few inches of her flushed cheek.

            “Are you so confident that your slaves can keep me?”

            In his peripheral vision, Peter saw her hand rise before Lydia made a fist and forced it back to her side. Even now, with him as monstrous as she’d ever seen him, she was able to stand her ground. She had to stop herself from reaching for him. She wanted him – not because of any compulsion – and the power of that realization shook through him and left him feeling confused and weak.

            “They aren’t slaves. We made a deal, is all. And yes, I think I can keep you.”

            “Lydia.”

            The door flew open, slamming against the wall on a blast of air. Peter tore loose and pulled Lydia behind him. His bones crackled, lengthening and strengthening. His claws slid longer and sharper and his vision narrowed, showing him the aura of the creature that strode through the door.

            But it didn’t matter. Even if he were still an alpha he never would have been able to stand up to Hades on his home ground. But for the human clutching at his back, he would try.