On Fire

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Stiles was seriously beginning to lose it. He was scared, and cold, and worried about Scott and Allison. He’d even stumbled back to Allison’s car and then returned to where Derek dumped him, as terrified as he was about running into the Alpha. Somehow he’d hoped he would find something that would tell him where they were.

He sat on a log, tossing twigs and leaves into the fire, which really didn’t help it grow. There was an art to these things, he knew. He’d actually been a Cub Scout, but he’d been booted for being too talkative during meetings. Go figure.

He tried calling Scott a couple more times, then Allison, then Lydia. He’d had her phone in his possession when he’d deleted the picture she’d accidentally taken of the Alpha. Of course he’d also inputted her number into his own phone; how stalkerish was that?

Taking a breath, he dialed the divine Ms. Martin, and waited. He had a queasy moment imagining Jackson, with Lydia, answering his call instead of her. Stiles nearly hung up, but he waited until it went to voice.

“Hey, just checking in on our boy,” he said, hoping that was sufficiently vague. Then he sighed and hung up, and thought about playing Angry Birds or something to pass the time.

“I couldn’t find them,” Derek said, coming up behind him, and Stiles let out a shriek.

“Can you not do that?” he said. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

Derek sat down on the log beside him. He was kind of sweaty, and he looked glummer than usual. Stiles drummed his fingers on the log, waiting for Derek to bring him up to date.

Finally, he couldn’t take the silence any longer and said, “So?”

“There are fires all over the forest,” Derek said. “I think the Alpha has been setting them so I wouldn’t be able to smell Scott.”

Stiles crossed his arms and hunched over, shivering and trying to make himself inconspicuous, in case the Alpha spotted Derek and decided to attack him. But Derek was a Beta werewolf, too, like Scott. Why wasn’t he part of the Alpha’s pack?

Maybe he is. Maybe he just hasn’t told us, he thought.

“Or maybe it’s some kind of trap,” Derek said. “Something the Argents cooked up.”

“You mean that Allison’s in on it?” Stiles asked, sounding incredulous.

Derek slid a glance at him. “Why do you sound so surprised? You know what the Argents are. What they do.”

“But Allison’s different,” Stiles said. “She’s totally into Scott. She’d never do anything to hurt him.”

“We can’t trust human women,” Derek replied. “Believe me, I know.” He stared into the flames, and remembered.

Derek swam.

Lap after lap, after school, he did laps to burn off the extra testosterone. On Mondays, he would begin the school week, wedged in with all the humans, watching their power plays, sometimes mixing it up with them, getting flirted with and hit on by girls he knew he should avoid. He stayed on alert all week, until by Friday, he thought he would explode from the pressure.

Added to that, Wolf Moon was coming in a month. Hales from all over the country would be arriving for the big ritual, when they honored their ancestor, the Beast of Gévaudan, the one who, it was said, created their werewolf heritage. Derek was sixteen, the age of manhood in their pack, and he would be taking his place among the adult males. His cousin Josh would be there, and Derek was anticipating his challenge for rank in the hierarchy. Josh was sixteen, too. And so Derek swam, for endurance, and lifted weights, for strength, and told himself over and over that he had just as good a chance at winning the challenge as Josh did.

Derek wanted to see his father collect on the bet he’d made with Uncle Peter. His dad was betting on Derek; Uncle Peter favored Josh, who was his sister-in-law’s kid. Derek’s sister, Laura, had told him that the two senior Hale males were keeping statistics on Derek and Josh—height, weight, workout regimes. Derek was insulted. Of course he could best his cousin.

Laura thought it was all so funny. That afternoon, in the cafeteria, she had mocked his supershake, the drink he had concocted that included ginseng energy boosts he bought from a senior named Michael Foy, whose father was into Chinese medicine.

“Josh is two inches taller than you,” she’d reminded him. “You can’t take anything that will make you taller.”

“Less than one inch,” Derek corrected her. “And he moves like a lumber truck.”

Swim it off. Grow strong, he told himself, as his hands sliced through the water.

One by one, the other swimmers finished their routines and got out. They had dates, and friends. Movies and parties to go to. Derek stayed aloof. Unlike Laura, who was popular, he didn’t have any human friends, and he didn’t want any.

Swim it off. Grow strong.

“Derek,” said Mr. Braswell, the basketball coach who also served as the after-school lifeguard. He was standing at the edge of the pool. “Remember, I’m taking some personal time while my wife’s home on maternity. My substitute starts on Monday. I’ve been looking the other way and letting you stay in the pool after hours, but you should probably play it cool. He probably won’t go for it.”

“Yeah, okay,” Derek said, frustrated. He didn’t see why he couldn’t sign a form or something saying that he was assuming the risk of swimming without a lifeguard. Swimming got it done for him the way nothing else did. He wanted to be ready for the challenge.

He wanted Uncle Peter to lose that bet.

The following Monday, after the final bell, Derek suited up in the locker room, putting on his black Speedo and showering before he hit the pool. With his towel over his shoulders, he warmed up a little, making circles with his neck and rolling his shoulders as he observed the other lap swimmers. The swim coach kept begging Derek to join the team, but Derek and his father both agreed that would be taking too many chances. It was difficult enough controlling himself at school, and the swim team traveled to meets. How would he explain his refusal to participate on trips taking place during the full moon?

He was about to dive into the water when he remembered that there was a new lifeguard. He looked across at the lifeguard tower, and he nearly fell in. The sub was a young woman—the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life. Her body was more sinewy than most swimmers’, and her black suit was definitely not regulation. Her honey-brown hair was shoulder length and her eyes were green, like a mermaid’s.

Don’t wolf, he told himself. Stay calm.

She smiled straight at him, leaning forward in that amazing, clinging Spandex suit of hers. He looked away, and his enhanced hearing picked up her lusty chuckle. Fighting to retain command of himself, he dove in from the side of the pool—not the best of swim manners, since he nearly collided with a girl who was doing the backstroke in the lane he dove into.

“Hey!” the girl cried, flailing as Derek came up for air. She waved her hand at the lifeguard. “Ms. Argent! Did you see that?”

The lifeguard—Ms. Argent—climbed down from her perch and sauntered over to the side of the pool. Derek slicked back his hair and ducked under the nylon lane line, meeting her there.

“You’re Derek Hale,” she said.

“Yes.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off her legs. They were amazing, muscular and long, and her suit bottom rode high on her hipbones. “Sorry about that.”

“You shouldn’t be sorry,” she said with a little smile, gaze traveling from his face to the waterline and back again. “Being Derek Hale looks pretty good to me.”

He felt himself go hot. It was a good thing he was in the pool.

“Mr. Braswell said you like to swim late,” she said. “I’m cool with that.”

“I’ll lock up,” he promised.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said. Her eyes were so incredibly green, and her coy little smile made his stomach dance. He was riveted.

Then she turned around and sauntered back toward the tower. Derek watched her, his predatory instincts coming into play.

She’s human, he reminded himself, but he couldn’t stop looking at her. He followed her every move as she climbed back onto her tower and laid the mandated rescue float across her lap. She was catlike, lithe and strong, and he was mesmerized. She knew it, too, judging by the way she gave her hair a toss and smiled at him again.

Swim it off, he ordered himself, finding an empty lane and putting on his swim goggles. Then he moved his shoulders and neck to work out the brand-new kinks, and began to swim. He didn’t follow any kind of program. He just did lap after lap.

Then he became aware of someone swimming in his lane. That happened; when the pool was crowded, swimmers shared lanes, one swimming from shallow to deep, and the other going from deep to shallow. As he raised his arm and took a breath, he caught a flash of honey-brown hair and green eyes. Then, through the water, a musky scent traveled toward him.

Kate Argent was in the pool, sharing his lane. He jerked, losing his rhythm, and stopped swimming. They were alone in the water, just the two of them. All the other lanes were empty.

She’s coming on to me, he thought. He couldn’t believe it.

She kept going, passing him by, and he watched her, stunned and unsure. When she reached the wall, she did a flip-kick and headed back. Would anything happen when she reached him?

He thought about reaching out, touching her. He wanted to, with all his straining body. But she was practically a teacher, and he was only sixteen. Of course she was just toying with him. She probably had a boyfriend or a husband waiting for her.

Flustered, even a little frightened, Derek ducked beneath the nylon lane divider, reached the side, and climbed out of the pool. He left without saying a word, heading for the boys’ locker room. Her amused laughter trailed after him.

He was almost afraid to shower, but he quickly rinsed off and changed into street clothes, still mostly wet. He practically ran out of the school, looking over his shoulder.

She was standing in the parking lot, scanning the cars. Moonlight gleamed on her hair, which was slicked away from her face. She was wearing a black V-neck sweater, tight jeans, and heeled boots that clung to her calves. His vision wolfed, and he turned his head away quickly before the telltale glow revealed his secret—although it was likely she’d assume the headlights from the cars on the road were being reflected in his eyes.

Her body was so curvaceous, and her features were so pretty. He wanted to growl to her, speak of his desire for her, but he pushed it all away and loped down the street.

He was due to meet his sister at the Beaconburger, a local hangout. Involved in school with friends, Laura was always content to wait for him so they could drive home together. They shared a Subaru Forester, not the coolest car, but Derek was planning to get something of his own once he landed a part-time job. Their dad said he could start looking if he kept his grades up. Derek was smart, and his GPA showed it. Laura, too.

He looked through the window at his sister. Laura was sitting in a maroon pleather booth reading a book. A Diet Coke and a very rare hamburger were placed before her. Brother and sister had started eating occasionally at the Beaconburger before they went home after school. It helped cut down on the traffic in the kitchen as their mom began preparations for Wolf Moon.

He went inside, and she raised her chin the merest fraction of an inch, scenting him.

Hey,” she said, smiling as he approached. Then something must have shown on his face, because her smile faded and she put her book aside. “Derek? Are you okay?”

He looked hard at her. Then he shook his head. “I’m not,” he told her.

She gestured to the empty seat across the table. He sat down very slowly, almost as if he couldn’t remember how to make his human body move. He felt strangely weightless.

She pushed the hamburger at him. “You look kind of pale. Did you overdo it in the pool?”

“There was this girl. Woman,” he said. He licked his lips. “Laura, she was . . . she’s beautiful.” He shook his head, dumbfounded. “She’s so beautiful.”

Laura blinked at him. Then she grinned. “Could she be . . . beautiful?”

He pursed his lips and took a drink from her Diet Coke.

“Is this . . . woman a student?” Laura asked.

“No. She’s the new lifeguard. Ms. Argent. Mr. Braswell’s replacement.”

“School lifeguard?” she said, looking mildly shocked. “A teacher?”

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. It was still wet, and he looked down at his hand as if seeing it for the first time. “She went swimming with me. Laps. I was alone in the water and then she was there.” He saw her sleek body moving through the water. Remembered her scent, and her husky laugh.

“It was like swimming with a wild thing,” he said.

“Oh?” Laura cocked her head and sat back in the booth. “And . . . did you do the wild thing?”

“What?” He jerked back to reality. To the booth, and the noisy crowd, and his sister, practically laughing out loud at him. “No!”

“Don’t look so insulted,” she said. “You’re sixteen, Derek. In our world . . . matable.”

“Sh,” he cautioned her. “Not so loud. Someone might hear.”

She made a pfft sound. “Don’t worry. I can barely hear myself in this din.” Still, she leaned toward him, grinning and peering up at him through her lashes. “So . . . she came onto you like a big slut?”

He blushed. Suddenly he didn’t feel like talking to her about it anymore. It felt like he was saying bad things about Ms. Argent, but he couldn’t really explain why. Because they were packmates, he and Laura were relatively close as teenage brothers and sisters went, but on occasion he’d gotten weary listening to her chatter on about her crushes on human boys and dissect each thing her girlfriends said and what they wore and who they went out with. But now the tables were turned, kind of. And he wasn’t used to talking about himself, and everything in him was denying that Ms. Argent had done anything slutty.

He picked the bun off her hamburger, staring down at the bloody meat, and replaced the bun.

“She’s not really a teacher,” he said. “She’s just a lifeguard.”

She gestured to the hamburger. “Go ahead. Eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said.

She leaned forward on her hands and giggled at her so-very-serious little brother.

“Then maybe you’re in love. Puppy love,” she added, giggling some more.

A few booths down, Scott McCall put down the cheeseburger from his kiddie meal. “I’m not hungry,” he said miserably. He wanted to get away from the arguing. His parents always fought a lot, but today it was worse. Something had happened. Something bad. “Can I have money for video games?”

“No,” his father snapped, as his mom opened her purse. “We don’t have enough money for crap like that. Am I right, Melissa?”

“I have a couple of quarters,” Scott’s mom said, ignoring his father. And somehow, even though he was only ten years old, he knew it would be better to take them than to explain to her that there was only one game in the entire Beaconburger that took less than a dollar. And that it was a stupid game, and he didn’t like to play it.

He held out his hand for her to drop the quarters in, but his dad clamped his fingers around Scott’s wrist. It hurt, but he pretended that it didn’t as he watched his mom looking through her purse.

Then Scott felt his chest go tight, and a crackle of distress snapped through him. It was starting. He was going to have an asthma attack. Here. Now.

In front of his father.

“I’m getting mixed messages,” his father said to his mom, who looked up from her purse and saw that his dad had hold of Scott’s wrist. “First we don’t have enough money to pay for cable. But we have enough money for Scott’s inhaler. We don’t have enough money for a down payment on a new car but we can stop in here at the Beaconburger instead of eating at home, where mac and cheese is a dollar a box.”

“Let go of my son,” his mom said in a low, deadly voice. Then, very softly, “Scott, do you need your inhaler?”

Scott pursed his lips together. He was trying to push the air down his windpipe into his lungs. Each puff of the inhaler cost money. His dad always said so. He didn’t want his dad to get madder. Scott didn’t want him to yell at his mom because Scott had asthma. It wasn’t her fault. It was his, Scott’s.

“Hold on, Scott,” she said, reaching back into her purse. “I’ve got it right here.”

“He doesn’t need that,” Scott’s father said. “It’s all in his head.”

Scott pushed harder, but it wasn’t working. He began to wheeze.

“Let go of him,” his mom said again. “Scott, here.” She held out the inhaler.

His father kept a painful grip on Scott’s wrist, grinding the bones together. Tears welled in Scott’s eyes as he gazed at his lifesaver—the inhaler.

“You baby him. That’s why he thinks he’s so delicate. C’mon, Scott.” His dad jiggled his wrist. “Stop being such a wimp.”

There was no air in his lungs. None in his body. He couldn’t get any. His mom’s eyes got big, and she turned the full force of her gaze on his dad.

“Let go of my son, now,” she said. “Let go of him or I swear to God, I will deck you.”

No, I’ll breathe, Scott promised her, promised them, if only to make it all stop. But he couldn’t. He was beginning to see yellow and gray dots.

His mom half rose out of her chair. Scott’s father made a show of releasing Scott, and Scott grabbed the inhaler from his mom and took a puff. His air passages opened and he sucked in air. He took another puff, even though each puff cost money, and shut his eyes as he trembled with relief.

“Yeah, he’s your son, all right,” Scott’s father said. “But maybe he’s not mine.”

Her eyes narrowed. She hated his dad. Anyone could see that. “Scott, are you all right?” she asked him.

No, he wanted to tell her. I’m not. And I won’t be, ever. Not as long as he’s with us.

“We need to go home. He needs to rest,” she said.

His father grabbed his mom’s purse and yanked out her wallet. His hand shook as he handed Scott a five-dollar bill.

“Go play your damned video games,” he hissed at him.

Scott took the money and stumbled away. Passing table after table, he heard some girl talking to some boy about being in love.

I will never fall in love, Scott vowed. Ever.