On Fire

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

In Randy Andy’s Bar and Grill across the street from her apartment, Kate bought Mr. Harris, the chemistry teacher at Beacon Hills High, two more shots. The empties were lined up in front of him. He was a hard-drinking alcoholic. And he sure knew his fun facts about arson.

His love of Randy Andy’s was precisely what had prompted her to rent her apartment. Though he hadn’t seen her around school, she had quickly figured out that he was a man who could help her. She’d pinpointed him as someone who was weak. Someone who could be manipulated.

Someone she could use.

“So,” she said, “let me go through this with you one more time.” She described the process by which you could burn down a house and not get arrested for it. He had explained it all to her a few nights prior. He was so drunk right now she doubted he’d remember this conversation.

“Yes. Hypothetically, of course,” he said, staring down at her cleavage. She was wearing her pendant, the ancient family heirloom commemorating their triumph over the Beast of Gévaudan.

“Want another drink?” she said after a beat.

“Oh,” he said, jerking his head back up to her face. He nearly fell off the bar stool. “Sure.”

She gestured to the bartender to order another shot. Then she pulled a wad of bills from her wallet and dropped them onto the bar. The cheap but sweet ring Derek had bought for her glinted in the subdued light in the bar. It was a little bit too big and she played with it while she toyed with Harris.

“I have to go home now,” she told Harris. “You should probably call it a night soon, too.”

“I’m so drunk,” he informed her, his head lolling.

“Poor baby,” she cooed as Harris’s last shot of the evening was placed before him on the bar.

Then she left. As she crossed the street, she spied Derek walking out of her apartment with his backpack.

Walking through the front door.

The door that had been locked.

She froze. He’d broken into her place. She couldn’t believe it.

So, had he known all along that she was playing for the other side? Was he playing her? Had he found anything incriminating? Was her plan blown all to hell?

As she watched from the shadowed porch of the bar, the neon light casting pastels over Derek like a lightly woven blanket, he got on his motorcycle, kicked it, and zoomed out onto the street.

Weighing various possibilities, she waited until he was out of sight. Then she darted across the street and jumped into her car. She drove after him, maintaining a safe distance as she followed him through the city of Beacon Hills, then up behind the preserve. The Hale house loomed in the darkness beneath the nearly full moon. Wolf Moon, on Saturday. There were cars everywhere. Full house, that Hale house.

Unwilling to get to close to the house, Kate parked and crept through the trees with a pair of binoculars. She followed Derek’s progress as he entered a door set in the earth beneath the house. That would be the basement, the place where they congregated for special occasions, or used when their young wolf cubs couldn’t control the shift. Shadows were moving around. So the family had moved down there for Wolf Moon. Nice. All she had to do was lock that entrance tight as a drum and throw in a few firebombs. She and her partners would douse the house proper, and ensure that all the Hales—werewolves or not—were taken care of.

Kate waited for a while to see if Derek raised some kind of alarm, which would indicate that he had found something in her house that had tipped him off to her plan. But the house and the werewolf den stayed dark.

Kate drove back to her place, body thrumming with the thrill of the chase. It was on. Without realizing it, Derek had thrown down the gauntlet, set the play in motion. If she found anything back at her apartment indicating that Derek knew about her plan, she’d cancel the operation, pack, and leave.

After she parked, she opened the door and hurried inside, to find a note from him on her entry table.

She breathed a huge sigh. That had been very careless of her. She took note that he had begun to write Love and changed it to Yours. Sweet, unsure Derek. She was about to free him from his unending teenage angst.

By then, it was almost time for her late-night appointment, the last of her busy night. His name was Garrison Meyers, and he was an arson investigator. Kate’s associates had authorized her to pay him a huge sum of money to declare that the fire at the Hale house they were about to set had been caused by an electrical wiring malfunction.

The fire had been planned for Saturday before dawn. But Derek’s unexpected appearance in her house had scared her badly enough for her to want to get it done as fast as possible.

While she waited for Meyers, she placed a call on her cell phone.

“Dawn,” she said. “Tomorrow. We’re not waiting.”

She got the answer she expected, and hung up.

The doorbell rang. Meyers had arrived.

It’s showtime, she thought.

And smiled.

Dawn the next day.

It was not yet light out when Kate stopped at the gas station to fill up her gas can. She wanted to douse something with it—maybe the Alpha—and strike the match herself. She wanted—needed—to watch one of the Hales go up in flames the good, old-fashioned way, by her own hand. Maybe it was foolhardy to expose herself like that, but after the fire, she would be long gone.

She did take the precaution of going into the minimart to pay for the fuel with cash, rather than paying at the pump with her card. The man behind the counter was on his cell phone and he looked pissed off.

“I told you, I get paid next week,” he said impatiently. “Jeez, Melissa, I get fired, and you complain. I get a job and you complain.” He listened a moment. “Scott doesn’t even need that damn inhaler,” he went on. He saw Kate. “I gotta go. I have a customer.”

He hung up.

Just another fine specimen of manhood, Kate thought. Wouldn’t it be lovely to be married to someone like this guy?

“Hey, McCall,” a man said. “I’ll get that. Some guy’s having problems with the car wash again. Go check it.”

McCall made a face and muttered, “Why do I have to do it?” but came around the counter and went out the front door in disgust. The man turned to Kate, looked her up, looked her down. He was wearing a white shirt with Alan Seber engraved on a cheap plastic nameplate.

She put down thirty bucks and Alan Seber got her change. Then she hustled into her car and took off. Her pulse began to race, her heart to pound. She couldn’t wait to see that house go up.

As she punched on some bouncy music, she replayed some of the finer moments of the crazy, no-holds-barred sex she and Derek had had. She couldn’t deny she’d miss that. No one knew she’d slept with the enemy. They’d be shocked—revolted—if they found out. But she loved the danger. Derek had been a virgin, and a werewolf going through puberty, and she’d seduced him and taunted and lured him to do a full shift. He never had. Impressive. There were sixty ways she could have ended up dead—except for the Taser she kept under her pillow. And the weapons she’d hidden all over her house—under the couch, in the kitchen, and the bathroom. The risk had been huge. But that was what had made the sex so fantastic.

She looked down at the ring he had given her. Her lips twitched, and then she began to laugh. She laughed all the way to the Hale homestead.

The killing fields.

Was that Kate? Derek wondered as he came out of the bathroom at the minimart. He had his earbuds in, listening to Wolfgang Gartner, so he hadn’t quite picked up the voices of the customer and the bored store clerk. Of course, he was so in love with Kate that he heard her voice everywhere. He thought every other woman he saw was her.

He and Laura were driving into school together super early so Laura could attend her homecoming dance committee meeting. Her friends had agreed to hold it before school so she could participate. She couldn’t do it after school today because the pack would begin its Wolf Moon celebration, and the excuse Laura had given was that family was visiting from out of town. Very true. And since Derek couldn’t swim after school, either, their dad had ordered Derek to leave the motorcycle at home and ride with his sister.

Derek didn’t know how he would be able to stand an entire weekend without seeing Kate. He loved Wolf Moon and all that came with it, but he loved Kate Argent, too. Maybe this time next year she would get the Bite.

He knew Kate only lifeguarded in the afternoons, but after Laura parked and went off to her meeting, he went to the pool and watched the water shimmer. He could almost see her swimming like a mermaid beside him. He wanted to howl of his devotion to her. Instead he walked to the pool’s edge, dipped in his fingertips, and smiled.

Then he took advantage of the spare time to lift some weights in the gym. Surrounded by sweaty jocks, he silently pumped iron, reminding himself to hold back so he wouldn’t betray how superstrong he was. He was going to kick Josh’s ass in the challenge.

Derek showered, dressed, and entered the main corridor of the school. A freshly painted banner announcing the sale of homecoming dance tickets hung across the front door, where students were pouring in. He’d never been to a school dance before, and he was actually looking forward to it.

She’s opening up my world, he thought. She is my world.

And then he heard Laura screaming.

“You can’t trust human women,” Derek murmured as he and Stiles stared into the campfire. The big bad wolfman had been silent for a long time, and Stiles wasn’t sure where his mind had gone. Before Stiles could ask Derek if he’d like to share his story with the class—being him—Derek abruptly stood.

“I’m going to look some more,” he said.

“Right. I’m good to go,” Stiles affirmed, but as he scrambled to get up, he looked around and realized Derek had ditched him. He was already gone, charging back into the woods.

“Arghgrrwoww,” Stiles muttered, imitating werewolf displeasure as best he could. He hunkered down to be useless and was about to play some more Wolfenstein on his phone—you had to love the classics in part because they were so ironic—when he heard a ding and jumped half a foot. Scott had texted him. Plus pictures. He looked at them. Cliff. Yow. Bushes.

Hmm.

“Derek!” Stiles shouted into the woods. “Scott checked in!”

There was no answer.

“Damn it, Derek. You know what you’re getting for Christmas, right? A cell phone. So don’t devour the Claus when he comes down that chimney,” Stiles grumbled.

Stiles made the command decision to head off in Scott’s direction. He would feel a million times better with some backup, but maybe Derek would hear him and close the distance.

On my way, Stiles texted back to Scott.

Derek heard Stiles yelling that he had found Scott, which was fine. And also nothing to do with him. Scott wasn’t his priority at the moment.

The Alpha went this way.

He had caught the scent and was on the hunt. Tracking through the dense woods, he allowed himself to shift, then fell down onto all fours to close the distance between him and the Alpha. His hackles rose and he let himself howl. Adrenaline and testosterone washed through his wolfish body and ignited his aggressive instincts. He was so close he could nearly taste the Alpha’s blood.

I’ve got you now, he thought.

The Alpha.

Through the hazy smoke above them, Scott sensed the werewolf that had bitten him. The monster that had changed his life and was trying to force him into even more extreme changes.

His waking, walking nightmare.

Scott felt as if he had been plunged into ice, and he shivered, hard. The wolf inside Scott howled crisis, menace, threat; but it also cried pack, belonging, Alpha.

He tilted his head and allowed his eyesight to shift, keeping his face hidden from Allison as she cuddled in his arms for warmth. At the top of the cliff, a black shape moved like liquid among the boulders and trees. Then, in a heart-stopping moment, the Alpha’s red eyes gazed down on Scott.

Scott almost threw up. Flashes of the terrible night when the Alpha had tried to make him kill Mr. Meyers shot through his mind like a strobe light. In his nightmarish memories, he had seen himself mauling Allison, hobbling her, dragging her down the length of the bus. It was what the Alpha wanted him to do, was willing him to do this very moment.

I didn’t kill for you, Scott silently told the Alpha. And I never will.

But the memory of last night’s dream was even fresher, and more real.

A wolf had appeared to him in his dream, and in real life.

“There’s so much smoke,” Allison said, waving her hand in front of her face. “I wonder if someone’s campfire got out of control.”

And there was fire.

In his dream.

And in real life.

Scott didn’t answer. He was on the verge of shifting. He could feel the wolf inside him straining to come out for the Alpha. Or was it at the Alpha?

I hate you, Scott thought, but part of him quailed.

He hated the Alpha with all his heart.

And feared him with all his soul.

Then suddenly, an entire tree engulfed in flames rolled off the top of the cliff and crashed into the tiny horseshoe shape where Scott and Allison were huddled. Allison’s scream was eclipsed by the massive crash and splintering as chunks of burning wood and sparks cascaded into the air, then showered down on them.

“Allison!” Scott shouted, throwing himself over her. Little fiery bombs smacked against him, and his clothes began to smolder.

“Scott, Scott!” Allison cried.

She pounded on his back and arms to put him out, then began pulling his jacket off of him. He helped her, checking his hair and hers. His shirt came next, and he whirled around, naked from the waist up, glaring at the spot where he had seen the Alpha. He sensed that it was still there, still watching. Waiting.

It wanted him to shift. But if he did, he would hurt Allison.

“Scott, Scott!” Allison cried as the tree blazed, flames taking up nearly all the room the two of them had been sharing. He fought the shift, squinting at the impenetrable thicket of bushes. It was the only way out—but he couldn’t make himself go.

Allison’s face was getting shiny and red; sweat was pouring across his biceps and pecs. He wished he could carry her out of there—

—and then he had a thought. If he could get the fire to ignite the bushes and burn some of them away, maybe she could escape. Maybe he could, too.

It’s my dream, my horrible dream, he thought, as his nails began to lengthen and his teeth to sharpen. But he reminded himself that at the end of the dream, he had survived. And the real wolf had come. The real wolf had meant safety.

He didn’t have time to figure out symbols and portents. He had to save Allison . . . and himself. Darting to the massive tree, he broke off one of the as-yet unburned limbs, dipped its leafy end into the fire, and tossed it at the bushes.

“What are you doing?” Allison cried.

“Trying to making a clearing,” he said. “Then you can get out.”

She watched him for a second. Then she reached forward to grab a branch, but more of the tree ignited with a loud fwum. She jumped away, colliding with Scott, who grabbed her and held her. In the scarlet firelight, he saw that his fingernails were growing longer.

This is what you want, he accused the Alpha silently. But you can’t have it. Ever.

He eased her aside, grabbed another burning branch, and lobbed it in the same direction as the first one. All his hours of lacrosse drills paid off, as he hit the same section of bushes.

Allison burst into a fit of coughing. Doubling over, she hacked and choked, and she sounded like she was dying.

“I can’t breathe, Scott,” she said hoarsely. “There’s too much smoke.”