┏━━━━⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆━━━━┓

THE BAD MAN

THE DIRT PATH TOWARD THE OLD HALE HOUSE MADE HER CAR JOSTLE AROUND, THE SMALL TIRES NOT SUITED FOR SUCH TERRAIN.

Emerson couldn't count the many times Isaac's head bumped against the roof of the vehicle, though he stayed silent.

The car was blanketed in it —in silence— and the tension was practically rolling off of Emerson in waves. Even on the main roads she'd been going way over the speed limit, desperate to get some answers as to what Isaac meant by what he had said.

It was bad enough that Emerson caught the attention of the bad man and his cronies once again, but for Derek to fall under the same microscope too? She couldn't even try to convince herself that it was all a coincidence.

Hastily putting the car in park, she was out of the vehicle at the same time the two Hale men emerge from the side of the home, no doubt having heard the car pull up to the destroyed home.

"Let me see it," she demanded, rather frantically. She knew how she must've looked; eyes bloodshot, nerves frayed, and her dress still very much on. "Let me see the door, Derek."

Derek didn't say anything, only guiding Emerson and now Isaac toward the front door. It was left open, and when he went to gently close it, that's when she saw the same markings that were left in her room.

"When did you see this?" she asked.

"This morning."

"They were all over Emerson's room." That was Isaac, filling in the other two on what carnage they'd encountered at the Prescott residence.

She inhaled sharply, tugging on her lip as her arm itched to touch the paint that had been used to draw out the three-legged symbol. Derek's gaze remained focused on her tightly wound stature. "You know what it means, don't you."

It was phrased like a question, but they all knew what her answer would be. Yes, she knew what it meant— if she hadn't, she wouldn't have been standing there among them.

She would've left by now, in pursuit of the same being that was already lurking in the town she stood in.

"This symbol has hunted me down for years," she whispered out, acutely aware of how Derek's eyes widened by a fraction. He connected the dots from the conversation they'd had just last night. "And now it's hunting you. He's coming to—"

"I know."

Emerson snapped her head towards him— he already knew what the symbol meant. "You know?" she snarled back, her face twisted in disbelief. "How much do you know?"

Derek sighed. "Enough to know there's a leader, even when they're all alphas."

Like he'd noticed her internal battle, another voice chimed into the discussion.

"When there's a new Alpha, people tend to take notice," Peter piped up from his place resting against a wooden beam, just on the porch. "And when there are two, you might as well have handed out flyers to announce it."

Isaac rolled his eyes on her behalf. "Not helping, Peter."

She tugged on her bottom lip angrily. Everything, including her plan to lure the bad man away so she could put an end to her eternal sufferance, had all just blown up in her face. He would never follow her trail anywhere else if he had Derek in his sights now, too.

Emerson's resolve crumpled, sitting in a heap on the porch step with her hand anxiously running through her hand. "This isn't how it was supposed to go," she began mumbling to herself.

Everyone in this town was in danger now. Hannah was already a target, the man having no doubt picked up her scent at the home, and maybe he'd seen the picture of her and Elizabeth that she kept on her nightstand.

And don't even get her started on the targets caused because of Derek, and really, the only one she gave a shit about was the dirty blond glued to her side.

"We can fight them off," Derek assured her, "but we can't run. They're already here."

That felt like a personal dig at Emerson, at the trip she was meant to be embarking on later that evening. Only, if anything, it felt like she was now trapped in the town.

She scoffed bitterly. "We can't fight off a pack of alphas, Derek," she snapped. "You may know what that symbol means, but you have no idea just who we're up against."

Footsteps rounded her, and when she lifted her head up, she found the Hale man crouching right in front of her. "But you do."

"Tell us, dear Emerson," Peter drawled, crossing his arms over his chest. "What do you know about their leader?"

That question felt like someone wrapped a cord around her neck and pulled, made her flinch. Derek caught the motion, a firm hand going to her calf. Grounding— grounding enough for her to take a deep breath.

"My grandma always called him the bad man. That's what he always was in her stories."

ೃ࿔*:⋆

Emerson was barely four when her grandmother started reading bedtime stories to her, but they weren't normal in any sense of the matter.

It was always the same story, day in and day out. As the years would go on, more detail would be added— but Emerson would always remember hearing it for the first time.

It was the night before her fourth birthday, and all she could babble on about was how good her grandmother's baking had smelt. The kid was obsessed with shortbread, and rather than a cake, she'd all but demanded a dozen cookies to eat the following morning.

Her grandmother was a giver, always had been, so she'd spent the day fulfilling the request. They were cooling, she'd dust them in icing sugar in the morning, but the night would end with a story. With little Emerson lying in her bed, the woman beside her began to speak.

"Once upon a time, a baby girl was born with the power to rule a magnificent kingdom," she started, tone making the story seem more whimsical than it truly was. "But there were others in the world that had the same power she did. One of them was a man who, despite having a kingdom of his own, wanted everyone else's. He wanted it all."

Emerson grumbled to herself. "He sounds like a bad guy, grandma."

"He is. That's why they called him 'the bad man'," she explained, watching the way her granddaughter nodded like it made complete sense. "The bad man wasn't just a thief who took kingdoms away from people; he was also a collector, and he only collected the rarest of people."

Little Emerson giggled. "You can't collect people, grandma! Only things!" she emphasized, rolling her eyes at the silly thought.

"Oh, but the bad man did," she continued on. "He collected rare people, forced people to join them. And if they didn't, he would hurt them."

Emerson whined petulantly. "I don't like this story."

"I know, but you have to hear it," her grandmother responded, albeit a little solemnly. "You're such a rare find. What if the bad man came after you, hm? Wouldn't you want to be prepared?"

Back then, she didn't know what her grandmother meant by her being a supposed rare find. She huffed, balled up hands rubbing at her eyes. "I'm not tha' special, grandma."

"Oh, but you are, my love."

Yet, after two years of hearing the story, and after the bad man with the red eyes showed up looking like he wanted to kill her, not recruit her, she knew what her grandmother had meant. The bad man never stopped until he collected life's rarities, until he built a big enough army to take kingdom by kingdom.

She knew it now, better than ever.

"He's a collector, and they call him Deucalion."

⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆

[ wyn's note ]

flashback unlocked!! and girl if i was told stories like that as a kid and they came true? i'd have shit my pants a longgggg time ago LMAO

em's gonna be a key player in season three! but summer's in session for the next few chappys ;))

all my love x