[1x12; Code Breaker]

"Let's go," Peter ordered, getting to his feet. "both of you."

Olivia shook her head and kept her wet eyes on Lydia. Her cousin was still unconscious, which couldn't be a good thing, and her pink dress was turning dark red from the blood she was losing.

"Olivia."

"No," she snapped, glaring up at her father. "I'm not just letting you leave her here."

Peter rolled his eyes and pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket, dapping Lydia's blood off his lips. "You don't have a choice, darling," he stated flatly. "You and Stiles are coming with me."

"I don't care," Olivia protested, raising her voice. "She's bleeding out, she needs help. I'm not leaving her to die."

Peter, running out of patience, reached forward and roughly grabbed Olivia's arm, pulling her to her feet. Stiles jumped up as Olivia struggled against her father, ready to intervene.

"Call your friend," Peter said as Olivia looked at her father, afraid. "Tell Jackson where she is. That's all you get."

Peter dragged Olivia away with him as he walked off the lacrosse field, leaving Stiles to make a panicked phone call.

-

The atmosphere inside the Jeep as Stiles drove them to the parking structure at the mall was suffocating. No one spoke and it was quiet save from the sniffles Oliva let out here and there. Stiles kept trying to make eye contact with her through the rear-view mirror, but she kept her gaze to the window.

Olivia tried to absorb everything that happened since she and Stiles left the gym; she had tried so hard to keep Lydia out of everything supernatural but now she was bitten. She would either die or become a werewolf and Peter was to blame. Olivia's father, who she had loved so deeply, had hurt one of the people she loved most in the world.

It blew her mind to know that the man who used to read her bedtimes stories and made chocolate chip cookies with her had turned into such a monster.

"You don't have to feel bad," Peter eventually spoke up, looking between Stiles and Olivia. "If she lives, she'll become a werewolf. She'll be incredibly powerful."

"Yeah," Stiles scoffed. "and once a month, she'll go out of her fucking mind and try to tear everything apart."

"Well, actually, considering that she's a woman—twice a month," Peter shrugged.

Olivia turned from the window and narrowed her eyes at Peter. "Shut up."

"I can see that this is a touchy subject," Peter clicked his tongue and chuckled. "Fine. Stiles," he turned to the spastic teen. "What are your intentions with my daughter?"

Stiles, who was pulling into the parking garage, spluttered in shock. He gave Peter a wide-eyed look and didn't answer. Olivia scoffed from the backseat and leaned forward so she could look her father in the eyes.

"His intentions are for you to leave us alone," she spat.

Peter glared at her. "Watch your tone, Olivia," he said sternly before facing forward and pointing to a silver car. "Park next to that car."

Stiles pulled into the closest space, a few cars over, and shut off the Jeep. Peter was out of his seat within seconds and grabbed Olivia's arm, practically dragging her out of the vehicle.

Olivia grunted from his painful grip of her as Stiles jumped out of his seat and protested loudly. "Hey, let her go—ah!" Stiles groaned as Peter grabbed his ear with his free hand and started dragging both of them to the silver car. "Ow, ow."

Peter let them go and started digging in his pockets for a set of keys.

"Whose car is this?" Olivia asked, rubbing her arm.

"It belonged to my nurse," Peter said, finding the keys and unlocking the trunk.

"What happened to your nur—" Stiles gasped in shock when Peter opened the trunk to reveal a dead body. "Oh, my God!"

Olivia wrinkled her nose at the horrible smell coming off Jennifer's body. "You killed Jennifer?"

Peter grabbed the briefcase that was leaning against the body and slammed the trunk closed. "I got better," he shrugged. "Besides, she was a bitch."

Olivia agreed that the nurse was a bitch but that didn't mean she deserved to die. She deserved to rot in jail for helping Peter kill people, not rot in a locked trunk.

Peter set the briefcase on the trunk and pulled out a laptop.

"Good luck getting a signal down here," Olivia spoke up bitterly and Peter pulled out a personal hotspot. "Great, MiFi."

"And you're a Mac guy," Stiles observed as Peter turned the MiFi on and opened the laptop. "Does that go for all werewolves or is it just a personal preference?"

Peter gave him an annoyed look and turned the laptop toward him. "Turn it on and get connected."

Stiles grimaced and flipped the MiFi over, connecting it to the MacBook. "You know, you're really killing the whole werewolf mystique thing here," once he loaded up Google Chrome, he went to the Sprint webpage so he could locate Scott's phone. "Look, you still need Scott's username and password and, I'm sorry, but I don't know them."

"You know both of them."

"No," Stiles insisted. "I don't."

"Even if I couldn't hear your heartbeat, I would still be able to tell that you're lying," Peter said matter-of-factly.

"Dude, I swear to God—"

As soon as Stiles lost his temper, Olivia felt herself being spun around, her back pressed to her dad's chest. She could feel the sharp edges of his claws against her neck and she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing that this was all just a nightmare and that her dad wasn't threatening to kill her to get what he wanted.

"I can be very persuasive, Stiles," Peter said, his voice too casual for what he was threatening. Stiles gaped fearfully at him and froze, not wanting to do anything that could get Olivia killed. "Don't make me persuade you."

"Okay, let her go," Stiles quickly turned back to the computer. "I'll do it, just let her go."

Peter chuckled, amused by the fact that Olivia was Stiles' greatest weakness—he used to be the same. He let Olivia go and she flinched away from his blinking back tears.

"What happens after you find Derek?" Stiles asked Peter as he clicked on the log-in button.

"Don't think, Stiles," Peter advised. "Just type."

Stiles pressed his lips together. "You're gonna kill people, aren't you?"

"Only the responsible ones."

Stiles swallowed heavily, guilty at the thought that he was actually helping Peter kill people. "Look, if I do this, you have to promise to leave Scott and Olivia out of it."

Peter sighed heavily. "Do you know why wolves hunt in packs?" he asked, turning to Stiles and Olivia. "It's because their favorite prey are too large to be brought down by one wolf alone. I need Derek and Scott—and Olivia, once she takes the bite. I need all of them."

Stiles glared at the computer. "Scott's not going to help you."

"Oh, he will," Peter disagreed. "because it'll save Allison. And you will because it will save Scott, your best friend whom you know so well, you even have his username and password."

Stiles pressed his lips together and sighed before typing in Scott's username.

"His username is Allison?" Peter asked in disbelief; Stiles nodded and typed in Scott's password. "His password is also Allison?"

"Still want him in your pack?" Stiles snarked, giving Peter a pointed look.

Peter rolled his eyes heavily, privately thinking that he did have a point.

Olivia watched the laptop impatiently and gasped when the GPS finally loaded, recognizing the location. She couldn't believe Derek had been right under their nose the whole time.

"Wait, what the—?" Stiles fumbled.

"That's where they're keeping him?" Olivia looked at her father. "At the house?"

"Not at it," Peter shut the laptop and put it back in the trunk. "Under it. I know exactly where that is."

The faint sound of a wolf howling echoed through the air, catching their attention. Peter's head whipped toward its direction while Olivia shivered, goosebumps rising on her arms.

"And I'm not the only one," Peter smirked; he turned to Stiles and demanded, "Give me your keys."

Stiles sighed and pulled his keys out of his pocket, handing them to the alpha. "Careful," he warned, thinking that Peter was going to use his Jeep. "she grinds in second."

Peter squeezed the keys in his fist, bending the metal easily. He handed them back to Stiles, who gaped at him.

Peter went to leave but he hesitated. "One more thing."

He reached out to grab Olivia once more, lifting her arm higher. His eyes flashed crimson-red and his fangs descended, causing Olivia to realize what was happening. She began struggling against his hold and Stiles reacted, jumping toward them. He was easily pushed down to the ground by Peter.

"No, Dad, don't!" Olivia pleaded, panicked tears falling down her cheeks. "Please don't!"

Peter wasn't persuaded by her pleads; he bit down on her forearm, his fangs digging deep into her skin. Olivia screamed from the white-hot ache that soared through her body: it was the worst pain she had ever felt by far.

Pulling away from his daughter, Peter threw her on the ground next to Stiles. Stiles scrambled to help her, leaning her up against the car next to them. Once she was settled, holding her heavily bleeding arm against her chest, Stiles jumped to his feet and glowered at Peter.

It felt like Olivia was underwater and it was the pain from the bite holding her beneath the surface. She tilted her head against the car and closed her eyes, trying not to faint. Though their voices were warbled, she could still hear Stiles and Peter speaking.

"I'm trying to avenge my family," Peter told Stiles. "I'm not the bad guy."

Stiles scoffed angrily. "You're not the bad guy?" he raised his voice. "You turn into a giant monster with red eyes and fangs, you're killing people—you just bit your daughter!"

"The bite is a gift," Peter said firmly, casting a brief look at Olivia. He turned back to Stiles and stepped toward him. "You know, I like you, Stiles. Since you've helped me, I'm going to give you something in return...Do you want the bite?"

Stiles' eyes widened at Peter's offer. "What?"

"Do you want the bite?" Peter repeated. "If it doesn't kill you—and it could—you'll become like us," he gestured toward Olivia and Stiles' eyes shot to her.

"Like you?"

"Yes, a werewolf," Peter took another step toward him. "Would you like me to draw you a picture? That first night in the woods, I took Scott because I needed a new pack. It could have easily been you. You'd be every bit as powerful as him. No more standing by his side, watching him become stronger and quicker, more popular—watching him get the girl..." her smirked, seeing that Stiles was still staring at Olivia. "You'd be equals, maybe more."

Stiles could see the blood from Olivia's bite dripping down her arm and staining her white dress red. Her face was almost so pale that it seemed translucent and her eyes were shut, as though she was asleep. The only things that told him she was actually awake were the tremors wracking her body and the whimpers of pain escaping her lips.

"Yes or no?" Peter grabbed Stiles' arm, bringing it up to his face.

Stiles' eyes flickered back to him, hardening. Even if he did want to be stronger, to be Scott's equal, he didn't want to be a werewolf like Peter. He didn't want to turn into something he didn't recognize—he didn't want to be like a person who would use his daughter's life for his own gain.

As Peter's fangs slipped out, Stiles ripped his arm out of his grasp.

"I don't wanna be like you," he spat.

Peter chuckled, shaking his head. "Do you know what I heard just then?" he asked, thinking of the blip in Stiles' heartbeat. "Your heart beating slightly faster over the words 'I don't want'. You may believe that you're telling me the truth but you are lying to yourself. Goodbye, Stiles."

As Peter got into his nurse's car and drove away, not giving Olivia a second glance, Stiles rushed over to her, kneeling down in front of her.

"Hey, Livvy," Stiles cupped her pale, wet cheek and rubbed his thumb across it. "Wake up, okay?"

"'Mm awake," Olivia slurred tiredly.

Stiles smiled sadly as she opened her eyes. "There's those blue eyes," he looked around, trying not to panic. "I need you to stay awake until we get to the hospital, okay?"

"Mmkay."

"Where's your phone?" he asked quickly, worried about how shallow her breathing was. "Do you have your phone?"

"...Jeep..."

"Okay, stay awake," Stiles breathed before rushing over to his Jeep. He opened the door and grabbed Olivia's purse, digging her phone out of it. He didn't know her passcode but he used the emergency button to call for an ambulance.

He walked back over to Olivia as he spoke to the dispatcher, explaining that there had been an animal attack and that they needed an ambulance at the mall. The dispatcher told him to stay calm while they sent an ambulance his way and stay on the phone with them until they arrived.

It took fifteen minutes for the ambulance to get there, Stiles talking on the phone the whole time to give them updates on Olivia's status and trying to keep her awake. When the paramedics finally arrived, it was all a blur.

He remembered a paramedic asking him questions and then suddenly he was at the hospital.

While Olivia was rushed to the emergency room, he stayed back to give a nurse some of her details, including her driver's permit and the name of her aunt. By the time he was done, he was being questioned by a deputy.

Almost an hour had passed before he went up to the trauma floor, intending to see how Olivia was doing. He ran up the stairs, not having enough patience to wait for a slow elevator ride, and burst onto the floor, seeing more police officers mulling about.

Noah rushed up to him before he could run to Olivia's room.

"You know what," he snapped. "it's a good thing we're in a hospital because I'm gonna kill you."

Stiles clenched his jaw and looked over his dad's shoulder, spotting Olivia in one of the trauma rooms. There were two nurses there with her, including Melissa—which made Stiles feel better—a doctor in surgical scrubs, and Natalie. A bag of blood and saline hung from an IV pole next to her, but Olivia was unconscious.

"Stiles!"

"I'm sorry," he breathed, looking back at his dad. "I, uh, I lost the keys to my Jeep and Olivia—she was attacked. I was—I was with the ambulance—"

"Stiles, I don't care!" Noah raised his voice.

"Is she gonna be okay?"

Noah softened when he saw how devastated his son was. He clapped a hand on Stiles' shoulder and held it in support. "They said she lost a lot of blood," he told him. "She's getting a transfusion and they're stitching her up."

Stiles nodded, relieved that Olivia was recovering. "What about Lydia?"

"She had surgery," Noah informed him and Stiles looked into the window of Lydia's room, seeing that she had a breathing mask attached to her face. "They fixed her up but something else is going on with her."

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"The doctors say it's like she's having an allergic reaction. Her body keeps going into shock," Noah recalled the doctor's report. "Did you see anything? I mean, do you have any idea who or what attacked her?"

"No, I have no idea," Stiles shook his head and told his dad the same thing he told the deputy downstairs. "but Olivia was attacked by an animal. I didn't see what kind, it was fast."

Noah nodded understandably. "What about Scott?"

"What do you mean?" Stiles gave him a confused look. "What about him?"

"Did he see anything?"

"What do you—is he not here?" If Scott wasn't here, that meant that he was one of the wolves that they heard howling earlier.

"What are you talking about?" Noah crossed his arms over his chest. "I've been calling him on his cell phone. I've gotten no response."

Stiles looked around his dad again, locking eyes with Jackson, who was waiting by Lydia's room. Jackson shook his head, silently telling Stiles that he hadn't heard from the werewolf.

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his buzzcut. "Yeah, you're not gonna get one."

-

Once Natalie left Olivia's room to check on Lydia, Stiles snuck in to see her. She was awake now but happened to be a little groggy and high from the pain medicine they were pumping into her. He sat down in the chair next to her bed, gaining her attention.

"Stiles."

"I'm glad you're awake," Stiles smiled weakly. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay, a little tired and woozy but the doctor said that's from the blood loss," Olivia's voice was kind of dazed but Stiles could tell that she was trying to focus. "Listen, I need you to find Scott and Derek."

"Livvy—"

"Please, Stiles," Olivia pleaded, grabbing his hand to squeeze tightly. "I need you guys to stop my dad before he kills anyone else."

"I-I can try," Stiles nodded, though he didn't know exactly what he was supposed to do against an alpha werewolf. "I'll go see what's going on."

"Thank you, Stiles," Olivia smiled gratefully, squeezing his hand again.

Stiles smiled weakly and squeezed back before releasing her hand. He left Olivia's room in search of his dad, hoping that he'd be given some information. He knew that Derek was being kept at the Hale house but he didn't know much more than that.

"Dad!" he called, spotting his dad down the hall. "Dad, can I—"

"Stiles, just go wait with your friends, all right?" Noah ordered, patting his arm and turning to walk away.

"Dad tell me what's going on," Stiles demanded, catching up to him. "Look, you know it has something to do with Derek."

"What?" Noah gave him a strange look and stopped in his tracks. "I thought you two said you barely knew him."

"All right, we might know him a little better than that," Stiles admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean, he's Olivia's cousin."

Noah looked at him in disbelief and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him along the hallway away from the other police officers. "You do realize that I'm elected to this job, right?"

"And if I help you figure this out, you'll be re-elected," Stiles snarked. "Am I right? Dad, come on."

Noah let go of Stiles and stopped walking, sighing heavily. "You know what, Lydia Martin has got nothing to do with a six-year-old arson case."

Stiles froze; the last he heard from his dad, the case was still unsolved. He knew from getting his dad drunk that all the victims were connected by the Hale house fire, but he hadn't known there was anything else they found out.

"When did you decide it was definitely arson?" he asked.

"When we got a key witness," before Stiles could ask, Noah shook a finger at him. "And, no, I'm not telling you who it is...but yeah, we know it's arson. And it was probably organized by a young woman."

Didn't Olivia say that Kate Argent was the one who killed her family? Stiles thought to himself.

"What young woman?"

Noah scoffed. "If I knew that, she'd be in jail."

"Was she young then or is she young now?" Stiles asked; he had to make sure that Kate was actually the one who organized the fire.

"She's probably in her late twenties," Noah's phone rang and he looked at the caller ID. "Oh, I gotta grab this call."

"You don't know her name?" Stiles grabbed his arm to stop him from walking away.

"No, I don't—what is this, twenty questions?" Noah pulled away from Stiles' grip. "All we know is that she had a very distinctive—what do you call it—a pendant."

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows. "What the hell's a pendant?"

"Stiles, do you go to school?" Noah snapped. "A pendant! It's a necklace. Now, can I answer the phone."

That was all the confirmation Stiles needed; if Derek was right about Laura Hale searching for a necklace that looked exactly like the one Allison wore—Allison, who got her necklace from Kate—then it all fell into place. Peter, who had killed everyone involved with the fire that killed his family and left him comatose for six years, was going after Kate. He was going to kill her—and Olivia wanted Stiles to stop him.

He gained more respect for Olivia than he already had; he wouldn't be able to say that he'd stop someone from killing a person who had hypothetically killed his family. He would have wanted revenge just like Peter.

Stiles waved Noah off and went back to Olivia's room. Natalie was still with Lydia but Jackson was sitting at her bedside, both of them speaking quietly. They looked up at him when he entered.

"I'm heading out," he told Olivia, giving her a pointed look.

Olivia nodded, pursing her lips into a small frown. "Be careful, Stiles."

Stiles nodded, his heart skipping, and left the room. He was halfway down the hall when Jackson caught up with him.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"To find Scott," Stiles snapped, having no patience to deal with the selfish jackass.

"You don't have a car," Jackson pointed out unhelpfully.

"I'm aware of that, thank you."

"Here, I'll drive," Jackson grabbed Stiles' arm, pulling him to a stop. "Come on."

Stiles ripped his arm out of his hand and glowered at him. "Look, just because you feel guilty all of a sudden doesn't make it okay, all right?" he spat. "Half of this is still your fault."

Jackson clenched his jaw but didn't deny Stiles' claims. "Look, I have a car," he stated. "You don't. Do you want my help or not?"

Stiles pursed his lips and conceded, "All right, did you bring the Porsche?"

Jackson nodded and pulled out his keys. "Yeah."

"Good," Stiles grabbed the keys from him. "I'll drive."

They weren't able to take another step to leave the hospital as they came face-to-face with Mr. Argent and two other guys, all dressed in black. Stiles and Jackson stepped away from him, staring with wide eyes.

Mr. Argent smiled pleasantly. "Boys," he greeted politely. "I was wondering if you can tell me where Scott McCall is."

"Scott McCall," Stiles hummed nervously. "Um, I haven't seen him since the dance. Jackson, you?"

Jackson gulped loudly when Stiles looked at him for support. "Uh..." he drawled blankly. "I—"

Stiles rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Oh, for the love of God."

The two men behind Mr. Argent lunged forward, each of them grabbing Stiles and Jackson. They shoved them down the hall, despite their protests, and pushed them into an empty room.

Mr. Argent locked the doors behind them. "Let's try this again," he said sternly. "Where is Scott McCall?"

Stiles, who been thrown into a gurney next to Jackson, stood up straight and glared at the hunter defiantly. "You can fuck off," he cursed loudly. "because I'm not telling you a thing—"

Mr. Argent grabbed the front of Stiles' shirt and pulled him across the room, slamming his back into a cabinet.

"Let me ask you a question, Stiles," Mr. Argent's voice was angry and harsh as he looked into Stiles' equally furious eyes. "Have you ever seen a rabid dog?"

"No, but I could put it on my to-do list if you just let me go," Stiles glanced down at Argent's hands, still gripping the collar of his shirt.

"Well, I have," Mr. Argent said firmly. "And the only thing I've ever been able to compare it to is seeing a friend of mine turn on a full moon. Do you wanna know what happened?"

"Not really," Stiles quipped lowly. "No offense to your story-telling skills."

"He tried to kill me and I was forced to put a bullet in his head," Mr. Argent emphasized his statement by poking Stiles in the forehead, forcefully pushing his head back against the cabinet. "The whole while that he lay there dying, he was still trying to claw his way back toward me, still trying to kill me like it was the most important thing he could do with his last breath. Can you imagine that?"

"No, and it sounds like you need to be a little more select—"

Mr. Argent cut him off by slamming his hand into the cabinet right next to his head. "Did Scott try to kill you on the full moon?" he shouted. "Did you have to lock him up?"

"Yeah, I did. I had to handcuff him to a radiator," Stiles seethed, glowering at the hunter. His voice shook with rage and his jaw clenched tightly. "Why? Would you prefer I locked him in the basement and burned the whole house down around him?"

Mr. Argent reared back like he had been slapped and held up his index finger. "I hate to dispel a popular rumor, Stiles, but we never did that."

"Oh, right," Stiles scoffed. "Olivia said you guys had a code. I guess no one ever breaks it."

Mr. Argent exchanged glances with the two other hunters. "Never."

"What if someone does?"

"Someone like who?" Mr. Argent looked back to Stiles.

Stiles scowled. "Your sister."

Mr. Argent clenched his jaw and abruptly let go of Stiles. He backed away from him and crossed his arms over his chest. "Where are they?" when Stiles didn't answer, Mr. Argent sighed heavily. "I'm not going to hurt Scott if he's innocent. Where. Are. They?"

"The Hale house."

Mr. Argent nodded and nodded at his men; they unlocked the door and left the room.

It was silent for a whole minute while Stiles tried to calm his anger.

And then Jackson spoke, "What now?"

"Now we're gonna learn how to make self-igniting Molotov cocktails."

-

Stiles sped down the mile-long driveway that led to the Hale house, the Porsche bouncing from the bumps and potholes in the dirt path. Jackson sat in the passenger seat, a scowl on his face, and two freshly made Molotov cocktails in his lap. Stiles pressed on the gas pedal, speeding up.

"Hey, hey, hey," Jackson objected as they flew over a small hill. "This isn't exactly an all-terrain vehicle!"

"Yeah, did you pay for it?" Stiles snarked.

"No."

"Then shut up," he snapped and sped up once more.

They pulled up to the old Hale house within minutes; the alpha—in all his red-eyed, ugly glory—was standing in front of the house, snarling at Scott, who laid a few feet in front of him. Stiles slammed on the breaks and grabbed one of the Molotov cocktails, honking the horn to get the alpha's attention.

He ran out of the Porsche and whipped the Molotov cocktail at the alpha. Unfortunately, the alpha simply caught it and roared in Stiles' direction.

"Fuck," Stiles cursed, flinching back.

Scott looked around quickly, spotting Allison's crossbow. "Allison!" he called for her, grabbing the bow and tossing it to her.

Allison caught the bow and aimed it at the alpha, letting an arrow soar into the cocktail. The beaker broke and exploded, engulfing the alpha's arm in flames. Jackson took the opportunity to throw the other Molotov cocktail; it hit the alpha and caught the rest of his body on fire.

The alpha roared loudly and stumbled around, his gaze landing on Allison. Before he could take a step toward her, Scott shouted and sprang up, jumping into the air. He kicked the alpha away from Allison, where he landed on the ground, changing back into Peter.

Stiles sighed in relief, glad that it was finally over.

While Allison and Scott made up, kissing and exchanging their love, Derek slowly walked out of the house. Stiles watched curiously as he made his way to Peter, glaring down at him.

Scott saw Derek ready to kill Peter and jumped to his feet, running over to him.

"Wait!" he called, catching the older werewolf's attention as he kneeled next to his uncle's burnt body. "You said the cure comes from the one who bit you. Derek, if you do this, I'm dead."

Derek pressed his lips together and it wasn't hard for Stiles to guess that he had lied to Scott about the cure. Derek just wanted Scott's help to take down Peter.

"Her father, her family," Scott continued begging. "what am I supposed to do?"

"You've...already...decided..." Peter breathed painfully. His eyes glowed red as he snarled, "I can smell it on you!"

Derek raised his hand, his claws growing from his nail beds, and Scott lunged, "Wait, no, don't!"

Derek thrust his arm forward, slashing his claws along Peter's neck. Peter made a gurgling sound as he choked on his blood and took his last breath. Derek stood up and turned toward Scott, his eyes glowing the red of an alpha.

"I'm the alpha now," he declared.

-

-

Olivia stared at Derek, studying him to see if there was anything else that was different about him. She knew his eyes had changed from their usual icy-blue to the alpha-red but there had to be something else that had changed, too.

Derek stared back at her, resting his arms on the side of her hospital bed. She could see the curious look in his eyes, along with shame, but she didn't fault him for killing Peter. The man she knew as her father died long ago when Kate planned that fire. The alpha hadn't been her dad that she loved. She lost him a long time ago.

Olivia was just glad that it was all over. Kate was dead—curtesy of Peter—and Peter had been stopped. Derek was now an alpha and he could start building his own pack, which now included her.

"Well?" she broke the silence.

Derek glanced out of the window in her room, glad that he was officially cleared of all the murders he was accused of, and then looked back at her.

"Her bite wasn't healed," Derek told Olivia, looking back at her.

"Not at all?"

"Not at all," Derek confirmed.

"But Aunt Natalie said she'd be fine," Olivia was confused—you either turned or died. "Do you think she's rejecting it?"

Derek frowned, remembering his first love. "I don't know," he said quietly. "But she's not a werewolf, which means—"

"She's something else."

Derek nodded. "What about you?" he asked. "How's your bite?"

Olivia grimaced and held up her injured arm, the gauze wrapped around it stained slightly from excess blood. "See for yourself."

Derek reached forward and carefully unwrapped the bandage. He removed the bloody gauze and sucked in a deep breath at the sight of her wound. It was stitched up but completely fresh—no healing had been done.

He furrowed his eyebrows. "It's not healed."

"Yeah, I could tell by how much it hurts," Olivia grumbled, frowning at her wound which was bound to scar. "So, I'm not a werewolf, either...how am I supposed to know what I am?"

Derek squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I don't know, but I'm going to find out."