Chapter 19: The Broody Gang.
"What are you even looking for?" Hope groaned, watching Derek pace the room and sift through every book like his life depended on it.
"Stop talking if you're not going to help," Derek muttered, not sparing her a glance.
"I thought we agreed to drown ourselves in a pity party," she said, flopping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. "You know-moaning about how Erica and Boyd ran off. She still owes me a pizza, that ungrateful brat." Hope took another sip from the wine bottle she'd mysteriously acquired.
Derek finally turned around. "Why are you avoiding your friends?" he asked, eyeing the bottle suspiciously. "Also-where the hell did you find that? You're like some kind of alcoholic bloodhound."
He strode over and snatched it from her hands.
"Noooo! I worked so hard to find that!" she whined, jumping up to grab it back. Derek easily held it above her head, unmoved by her swats at the air.
"You're already drunk," he said flatly. "No underage drinking on my watch." He pressed a finger to her forehead, holding her back with infuriating ease. In that moment, she looked less like a powerful tribrid and more like a tantrum-throwing gremlin. Derek almost pulled out his phone to record the scene-almost.
"You're so mean! I don't even like you. That's why everyone leaves you!" she snapped, glaring at him.
"That really shattered my cold, dead heart," he said dryly, before pouring the remaining wine down the sink.
"You monster!" she gasped dramatically.
"Go sober up. Maybe take some therapy. And talk to your friends," he said, guiding her toward the door.
"You don't want me anymore. I thought we were besties... THE BROODY GANG," she said, lowering her voice into a deep, exaggerated growl.
Derek rolled his eyes. "Go away, Hope. Stop smothering me. I'm sure Stiles would appreciate your company a lot more than I do."
She stilled. "I can't face Stiles," she said quietly. "He saw my wolf form. He knows I'm... a dog. Like not that he didn't know already but it's embarrassing" She chuckled bitterly.
"He even wanted to pet me. Do I look like someone who wants to be petted on the head? Do I?" She looked at him for answers.
"You do." He got hit by the nearest book, ignoring his words she continued rambling "Scott's caught up in his own mess, Lydia avoids me because she feels guilty, and I'm still pissed at Allison. You're the only one I have left."
There was a beat of silence.
"I'm scared too."
Derek looked at her, his expression softening slightly. "Scared of what?"
"Myself." Her voice dropped, sincere and raw. "I could've saved Matt. But I didn't. And I don't even regret it. I feel nothing for him. I want to kill Gerard. No-I will kill him. And I'm terrified that the people I care about will see me as a monster. Am I a monster, Derek?"
He studied her for a moment before shrugging.
"No one likes the people you just named. If they're dead, they probably deserved it. You're not a monster-you're a troubled teenager who's a giant pain in my ass."
She blinked. "Wow. That's how you repay my undying love? You absolute nincompoop."
"You're being dramatic again."
"You're one lonely-"
Suddenly, a piece of glass flew past her head and embedded into the wall behind. Hope flinched, eyes wide.
"Was that really necessary?" said a smooth, familiar voice from the doorway.
Standing there, completely unbothered, was none other than Peter Hale, holding the very shard of glass that had almost taken out his eye.
"I expected a slightly warmer welcome," he added, letting the glass drop with a clink to the floor. "Don't let me interrupt. Please-continue your group therapy."
Hope tilted her head, eyeing him from top to bottom. "Your uncle's kind of hot." She muttered under her breath-just loud enough for Derek to hear.
Before either of them could react, the tension in the room snapped like a rubber band as Derek lunged and Peter smirked in response, clearly ready for a fight.
Hope watched them square off and took a step back. "And on that note... I'll just leave you two to your family bonding time."
She slipped out with a lazy wave as the brawl began behind her.
After sobering up and taking a long, hot shower, Hope decided to go to the lacrosse game. She took a seat beside Lydia, who forced a smile in her direction. Hope smiled back and nodded a greeting to Noah and Melissa, who were sitting just to Lydia's right.
Out on the field, Stiles was struggling-being shoved to the ground by three players as he desperately tried to catch the ball. It smacked against his helmet instead. Hope winced. She wanted to help him, but... she wasn't sure if he wanted that anymore.
Melissa hid her face with her hands, unable to watch another second of Stiles getting pummeled. Noah had his head buried in his palms. Hope fidgeted in her seat, growing more and more anxious as the game continued.
Scott, sitting on the bench, caught sight of her. He got up and walked straight over.
"Where have you been?" he asked, his voice tight.
"Somewhere," she said casually. "Why? What happened?"
"Gerard's controlling the Kanima. He's threatening my mom," he whispered, his face pale with worry.
Hope leaned in slightly and whispered back, "I've got a plan. Don't worry-it's going to be okay. Just go back out there."
"Is this because of Allison?" Scott asked, frustration flickering in his eyes. "You're not helping because of her?"
Hope blinked at him, then smirked faintly. "Do I seem like the kind of person who doesn't hold grudges? Because I absolutely do. But this isn't about that. I said I have a plan-and I mean it."
Before Scott could respond, Isaac was knocked flat on the field by Jackson, who ran past like a freight train.
Gerard stood on the sidelines, watching with a predator's patience. But to Hope, he just looked like a dying old man begging to be put out of his misery-and she wasn't one to deny a dying man his final wish.
Melissa, keeping a close eye on the field and the teens, approached.
"McCall! Either you're in or we forfeit!" Coach Finstock shouted from the field.
Melissa glanced between Scott and Hope as the coach walked off. "Hey... something's going on, isn't it? Something more than just a lacrosse game?"
Scott nodded.
"You should go," he said.
Melissa shook her head. "Oh, I'm not going anywhere. And forget everything I said before, alright? If you can help-then help. You have to."
Scott nodded with new resolve. "I will."
Hope gave him a look, full of silent promise. "I've got your back."
Scott smiled at her and ran onto the field.
The game resumed. Scott was immediately slammed to the ground. The ball rolled free-right toward the last person anyone expected to make a difference.
Stiles.
He scooped up the ball, only to be knocked down again. Hope bit her lip, eyes darting toward the scoreboard. Five minutes left.
Then she noticed something: Scott was gone from the field. Coach Finstock was the next to notice.
"McCall? Where's McCall?!"
The players stumbled around, searching for the ball in chaos.
Hope scanned the field, eyes sharp. And then-there. It was lying near Stiles' left foot.
"Come on," she whispered, gripping the edge of the bleachers.
Stiles picked up the ball, hesitating for a moment as the crowd roared and the opposing players charged toward him.
"Shoot it, Stiles!" Hope shouted, standing tall on the bleachers, waving to catch his attention.
Stiles saw her, nodded, and launched the ball. It sailed through the air-and landed in the goal.
The crowd erupted.
Hope clapped hard, beaming. Stiles turned to look at her. She gave him the biggest, proudest smile she could manage.
And then-he was on fire. One goal. Then another. He tied the game. Then another. They were winning.
The final countdown started. Ten... nine... eight...
Hope stood, tense. Something felt off. Too quiet. Too easy.
And then the whistle blew-Beacon Hills High had won.
Everyone screamed, leapt to their feet in celebration. But Hope's stomach twisted. She and Scott exchanged a look. Why was nothing happening?
Then-the field lights began to flicker off, one by one.
And a scream tore through the night.
It was so sharp, so wrong, Hope had to cover her ears and hunch over. She ran down the bleachers, shoving through the celebrating crowd.
She skidded to a stop just in time to see Lydia scream.
And in front of them-was Jackson's lifeless body.
Melissa dropped to her knees, pressing her ear to his chest. "He's not breathing. No pulse."
She pulled back his jersey. His shirt was soaked with blood.
Hope's eyes widened.
He was dead.
Stiles had gone missing.
Hope didn't need anyone to tell her where he might be-she knew. She felt it in her gut. Her feet carried her before her mind could catch up, sprinting through the dark streets of Beacon Hills until she reached the Argent house.
She didn't bother knocking.
She broke in through the back, moving through the house like a shadow. Silent. Sharp. The faint sound of muffled pain guided her like a bloodhound to the basement.
The door was locked. It didn't matter.
With a sharp twist of her wrist and a surge of power she didn't bother to suppress, the lock snapped. The door flew open and she was down the stairs in seconds.
What she saw nearly blacked out her vision.
Stiles was on the ground, his lip split, bruises darkening across his face and neck. Gerard stood over him, breathing heavy, fist clenched, about to strike again. Erica and Boyd were tied up in the corner-barely conscious, but alive.
Hope snapped.
She didn't speak. Her body moved on instinct, a silent storm. She threw Gerard across the basement with a force that cracked the stone wall behind him. Before he could recover, she was on him-punching, slamming, breaking.
He tried to crawl away.
She dragged him back.
"You want to hurt people who can't fight back?" Her voice was cold, dark, and almost inhuman. "Try that with me."
She gripped him by the throat and lifted him effortlessly off the ground, his feet dangling, his hands clawing at her arm.
"I should kill you," she whispered. Her eyes glowed, her power rising like a tidal wave, choking the air around them. "I should end you right here and now. You've wanted death for so long, haven't you?"
"Hope-" Stiles' voice came from behind her, weak but urgent.
"Don't," she warned, not even turning.
"Hope," he said again, stronger this time. "Let him go. Please."
Her grip didn't loosen. She stared up at Gerard's panicked eyes, her jaw clenched so hard it hurt. "He doesn't deserve mercy."
"I know," Stiles said quietly. "But you do."
That made her pause.
"You don't need his blood on your hands. Not for me."
Her hand trembled. She looked back at Stiles. There was no fear in his eyes-only worry. But in her heart, it twisted into something else. She thought he was afraid of her.
She dropped Gerard's limp body to the ground with a sickening thud. He was out cold, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.
"I wasn't going to kill him," she said stiffly, brushing her hair back as she stood. "You just... looked scared."
"I wasn't scared of you," he said softly.
Before she could respond, Chris Argent stormed into the basement, weapon raised, his face hard-until he saw Gerard unconscious on the ground and the state of the teens.
"What the hell-?" he muttered, lowering his gun and taking in the scene.
Hope didn't bother explaining. "Your father had them tied up and was using Stiles as a punching bag," she said flatly. "You're welcome."
Chris clenched his jaw, but nodded once, moving to cut Erica and Boyd free. "Let's get them out of here."
Hope stepped over Gerard's body, crouched next to Erica and slipped a silver ring onto her finger, then did the same for Boyd.
"What is this?" Erica asked, her voice hoarse.
"Protection," Hope said. "It'll keep you both grounded during the full moon-help you stay in control."
Erica looked down at the ring in awe. "You made these?"
"Yeah." Hope smiled faintly. "Consider it a goodbye gift. And please, get your driver's licence"
Erica laughed weakly. "I'm working on it."
Hope stood and watched Chris help the two betas out of the basement, then turned back to Stiles.
"You alright?" she asked.
He nodded, though he looked like he could barely stand.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get out of here."
Chris Argent had always trusted his instincts.
It was how he'd survived this long in a world full of monsters. But lately, those instincts had been screaming-and he'd ignored them for too long.
His wife was the first crack.
She wouldn't have left without a word. Not her. Not Victoria. She was strong, proud, stubborn-but never heartless. She would've looked him in the eye. She would've told him goodbye. But instead, she was gone. Just like that.
Chris knew grief. He had buried comrades. Friends. Family. But this? This didn't feel like grief-it felt like betrayal. Like someone had stolen her from him and handed him a convenient lie.
He had asked questions. Gerard had shut them down.
And Allison...
His daughter-the light of his life-had started to darken.
Little by little.
Chris saw the way she flinched when Gerard praised her for hurting others. Saw the look in her eyes after she hunted something that looked a little too human. She was becoming colder. Sharper. He knew the difference between strength and cruelty-and Allison was crossing a line.
And it was Gerard holding her hand as she stepped over it.
That was what broke him.
When he'd heard the crash from the basement-when he'd heard shouting, the thud of bodies, and something wrong in the air-he hadn't hesitated.
And when he stepped down and saw his father crumpled on the ground, Hope standing over him like a storm barely held back, Stiles bleeding, and Erica and Boyd half-conscious-something in Chris snapped into place.
He finally saw it.
The truth.
Hope didn't look like a monster. She looked like someone who had been forced to become one just to survive the Argents.
Chris looked down at his father's limp body.
And he felt nothing.
No guilt. No fear.
Just clarity.
His father had tainted this family long enough. And if he didn't do something now, he'd lose more than just the wife he'd already buried-he'd lose his daughter too.
So Chris Argent helped them.
He cut the betas free. He steadied Stiles. He said nothing when Hope glared at him like he was one wrong move away from being next.
Because he understood.
And he deserved the look.
But maybe-just maybe-he could fix some of what had been broken.
He watched as Hope slipped rings onto Erica and Boyd's fingers. He watched her say goodbye to Erica like she wasn't sure if she'd ever see her again.
And in that moment, Chris Argent made a quiet promise to himself.
He'd fight for his daughter's soul.
He'd stop blindly following a man who had already taken too much.
And maybe... just maybe... he'd stand with the people trying to protect instead of destroy.
Even if they weren't the kind of people the Argents had been raised to protect.
Stiles brought her home with him. She stopped at the gate. "You won't go in?" She shook her head.
"You really weren't scared of me?" she asked suddenly, her voice quiet.
Stiles looked at her, something gentle in his bruised eyes. "No. I was scared for you."
She swallowed hard.
"I didn't want to lose you to someone like him," he added. "You're not like that."
Hope looked down, her hands tangled in the hem of the lacrosse uniform. "You don't know everything about me."
"I know enough."
She looked at him then. He was beaten, exhausted, and still trying to comfort her. She didn't deserve him.
"Does it hurt?" she asked softly, her fingers brushing gently against his cheek.
Her blue eyes locked with his warm brown ones, and there was so much tenderness in them-it hurt.
"No," he whispered, voice low and full of something unspoken as she leaned in just a little closer.
He hissed when her touch pressed a little firmer on a bruise.
"Okay, that hurts," he muttered with a wry smile, and they both laughed, foreheads pressing together. Their breath mingled in the small space between them, the moment suspended like it could stretch into forever.
She whispered a healing spell under her breath and kissed his cheek softly, her lips lingering just long enough to steal the pain away.
His wounds vanished like they were never there.
But the feel of her lips on his skin-that stayed. Burned. Branded.
Without thinking, he turned and caught her mouth in a kiss-soft and fleeting.
Too fleeting.
He pulled away too fast, and her brows drew together in a faint frown. For a split second, he panicked, thinking he'd crossed a line.
But then her hand curled around the back of his neck and pulled him back in.
This time, the kiss wasn't soft. It wasn't fleeting. It was hungry.
She kissed him like she wanted to memorize the taste of him, and he kissed her like he was drowning and she was the air. Their mouths moved in sync, lips parting, deepening, hands tangling in hair and gripping shirts like they were holding on for dear life.
Her fingers slid into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, making him groan into her mouth. He grabbed her waist, pulling her closer, eliminating every inch of space between them. Her breath hitched when he kissed her jaw, then her neck, lips trailing fire down her skin before he came back to claim her mouth again.
They broke apart only when air became a necessity.
Foreheads pressed together, breaths ragged, hearts racing like they'd just survived a storm.
Neither of them spoke.
They didn't need to.
The silence between them said it all.
"I have to leave," she said, breaking the peaceful silence between them.
"Hmm," he hummed, still in a daze, eyes lingering on her like he hadn't quite returned to reality.
"You should go see your dad. He must be worried."
"Hmm."
"Stiles." Her voice turned firmer.
"Ah! Yes-my dad! Right." He blinked and straightened up, reluctantly stepping back, eyes still locked on her. "You need to leave, and I... should definitely go find my dad. I would've asked what this is-what we are-but yeah, Dad comes first. Definitely."
She tilted her head and smiled, her lips still tingling from the kiss. "I thought it was obvious."
That teasing smile hit him like a truck. He stumbled mid-step and landed flat on his butt.
She winced dramatically. "I would love it if, just once, you could walk in a straight line without breaking your head-or your butt. That would be tragic."
Face red, he jumped to his feet, brushing at his pants as if he could dust away the embarrassment. "I'm fine. That didn't happen. You saw nothing."
Hope chuckled softly, shaking her head as she decided to let him have his dignity... just this once.
He stood there watching her walk away, a goofy grin spreading across his face.
Until-
"Stiles?" came the familiar voice of his father.
His smile vanished in a blink.
Hope arrived at the spot Scott had texted her just as they were climbing out of Chris Argent's car.
Without a word, she jumped into the air and did a front flip over the fence, landing smoothly beside them.
"You made it," Scott said with a relieved smile. Just having her here made him feel a bit more in control-she was the strongest and the smartest of them all.
"Where's Derek?" Chris asked, brows raised.
Right on cue, Derek came racing toward them on all fours. He leapt into the air, flipped, and landed in front of them, his eyes glowing a fierce crimson.
Hope burst out laughing. "You-on all fours like that-sorry, but that was hilarious."
Everyone chuckled except Derek, who glared at her.
"Shut up," he growled, turning his attention to Chris.
"I'm here for Jackson," Chris clarified when Derek didn't stop glaring. "Not you."
"Somehow, that's not as comforting as you think it is," Derek replied dryly. He nodded toward the building. "Get him inside."
Once inside, they pulled Jackson's limp body from the car and laid him on the ground. The group huddled around him.
"Where are they?" Scott asked, eyes scanning the shadows.
"Who?"
"Peter and Lydia," he replied, frowning.
Derek ignored him. He bent down beside the bag, starting to unzip it.
"Whoa-what are you doing?" Scott asked, alarmed. "I thought you had a plan to save him."
"We're past that," Derek said, revealing Jackson's hybrid form.
"What about-?"
"Think, Scott," Derek interrupted, voice low and tense. "Gerard controls him now. He turned Jackson into his own personal guard dog. And this-this was all part of his plan. He made Jackson stronger. More dangerous."
"No," Chris said firmly. "He wouldn't. If Jackson's a dog, and he's gone rabid, my father wouldn't let him live."
"Of course not," came a voice from the shadows.
All five of them turned as Gerard stepped into view.
"Anything that dangerous, that out of control," he said, "is better off dead."
Derek's claws extended as he lunged forward, aiming for Jackson's throat-but Jackson's eyes flew open and his claws stabbed deep into Derek's chest.
Jackson rose, lifting Derek off the ground effortlessly, then hurled him across the room.
"Well done, Scott," Gerard praised, ignoring their horror. "Like the concerned friend you are, you brought Jackson to Derek, thinking you were saving him. You just didn't realize you were delivering Derek to me."
His face was still bruised from Hope's earlier beating-a fact that brought her immense satisfaction.
Suddenly, an arrow sliced through the air. Scott ducked. The arrow was aimed at Hope, but she caught it inches from her eye without flinching, then casually flung it aside.
A second arrow hit Isaac in the shoulder. He cried out and crumpled to the floor.
"Isaac!" Hope shouted, rushing to his side and ripping the arrow free.
They all turned as Allison stepped into view from around the corner.
Scott ran over to help Hope pull Isaac out of the crossfire.
Meanwhile, Jackson began to transform. Chris, reacting quickly, raised his gun and fired. Jackson hissed and disappeared into the shadows, not yet fully transformed.
Hope let go of Isaac and gave Scott a look before bolting into the chaos. She vaulted over crates and lunged at the Kanima, claws out. She slashed deep into his back, leaving long, bloody trails from shoulders to hips. Blood sprayed from her nails as she kicked him forward.
Then, seeing Allison attacking Isaac with her daggers, Hope's eyes flashed. She charged her, grabbing Allison by the hair and hurling her into a pile of crates.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Allison?!"
"What's wrong with me?!" Allison yelled, getting to her feet. "What's wrong with you? You're siding with the guy who tried to kill Lydia! The guy who killed my mother! And you're asking what's wrong with me?"
Hope blinked, thrown off. "What the hell are you talking about? Who killed your mother?"
Before Allison could answer, Gerard cut in smoothly.
"Not yet, sweetheart," he said.
"What are you doing?" Hope snapped.
"He's doing what he came here to do," Scott muttered, already figuring it out.
Gerard looked pleased. "Then you know," he said, glancing between them.
"What is he talking about?" Allison asked, confused.
"It was the night outside the hospital," Gerard explained. "When I threatened your mother. I saw something in your eyes, Scott. You could smell it, couldn't you?"
Isaac winced from his wounds. "He's dying," he muttered as Hope helped him sit up.
"I am," Gerard confirmed. "Cancer. But science can't cure me. The supernatural can."
Allison gasped, the truth hitting her like a freight train. He had used her all along.
"You monster," Chris snarled.
Then Jackson appeared again, grabbing Allison by the throat.
"Not yet," Gerard said calmly, watching her struggle.
Hope's fingers twitched. She could end this with a blast of magic, but Scott caught her eye and shook his head. He had a plan-and she did, too.
"You'd kill her, too?" Chris shouted, breaking apart as he watched his daughter gasp for air.
"For survival?" Gerard said with a smirk. "I'd kill my own son. Just like I killed your wife."
Silence. Shock rippled through the room. Even Hope's expression faltered.
Scott took a deep breath and stepped toward Derek, who was bleeding heavily on the floor. He grabbed the weak Alpha by the neck and hauled him up.
"Scott, don't," Derek gasped. "He just wants the bite."
Gerard smiled. "That's true. But I think he already knows that's not enough. The real prize is Allison. Do this for me, and they can be together. You're the only piece that doesn't fit, Derek. And young love? It always wins."
"Don't!" Derek begged, but Scott forced his head back. Gerard rolled up his sleeve and jammed his arm into Derek's mouth.
Derek's fangs sank in. He collapsed the moment Scott let him go.
Gerard looked down at his arm, beaming-until the blood began turning black.
His smile vanished.
"What?" he whispered, staring at the black liquid running down his arm.
Scott looked down at Derek, then back at Gerard. "Everyone always said Gerard had a plan. Well, I had one, too."
Gerard panicked, fumbling for his pills. He poured them into his hand, then froze-crushing them, black powder spilling through his fingers.
"Mountain ash," he whispered in horror.
Black blood poured from his eyes, ears, and mouth. He convulsed violently before collapsing.
Silence.
Hope let out a slow breath, lips curling into a proud smirk. "Damn, Scott. That was actually badass."
Derek looked up at him, dazed. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you might be an Alpha," Scott said, "but you're not mine."
A sickening gagging sound brought their attention back to Gerard, who was propped up on one elbow, still alive-barely.
"Kill them!" he screamed at the Kanima. "Kill them all!"
But the creature didn't move.
Gerard's fury exploded. "I said KILL THEM ALL!"
Hope tilted her head, eyes gleaming. Then she let out a laugh so chilling it echoed across the warehouse.
"Oh, this is better than I imagined," she said, grinning. "Everyone had a plan, sure. But mine? Mine was the most diabolical. And clearly the most entertaining." She said as the kanima wrapped its tail around her protectively.
Right on cue Stiles crashes his Jeep on a pillar, Lydia jumps down the passenger seat and Stiles comes out from the driver's seat. "Did I miss the show?" He asked as everyone present except Derek looked at Hope in disbelief.
"You are right on time, Love." She smiled.
FLASHBACK - DEREK'S LOFT, A FEW NIGHTS AGO
The loft was cold, shadows stretching long across the floor as Hope traced a slow circle in the dust with the tip of her boot. Stiles stood nearby, bouncing slightly on his feet, holding a small vial tightly in his hand.
"Here," he said, carefully offering it to her. "Jackson's blood. Collected it when you were... you know, doing that creepy Imitator spell. Still not over that, by the way."
Hope smirked, taking the vial. "You did good Stiles."
Derek leaned against a support beam, arms crossed, watching them both with narrowed eyes. "You gonna tell us what this is for now?"
Hope didn't answer immediately. Instead, she took another vial from her coat-this one darker, thicker. Stiles stiffened when he saw it.
"Matt's blood," she said, almost casually.
Stiles' eyes widened. "Is that from the-? Wait... the rave party?"
"When he cornered me, forced a kiss, tried to act like he had power," Hope said coolly. "He bled. I took what I needed."
"HE DID WHAT?! Both the male shouted in disbelief. "Not now guys."
Hope knelt and began drawing symbols on the floor. Her voice remained calm, but there was fire under it now.
"Matt thinks he's the villain in his own tragedy. That he's in control of Jackson, that fear makes him powerful. But he's just a pebble in the road.
A distraction. A convenient little puppet for something worse."
"Worse than the teenage psycho controlling a were-lizard?" he snapped still not over the words he just heard.
She nodded. "Gerard."
Silence settled over the room like a cold fog.
Derek narrowed his eyes. "You're saying Gerard's behind this?"
Hope held up the vial. "I'm saying I have a theory. If Matt and Jackson are linked-there's magic in that bond. Magic can be undone."
The air grew heavier as she uncorked both vials and let a few drops mix in the center of the circle. Then, without flinching, she sliced a shallow cut into her own palm, letting her blood join the mix.
"I don't know if this'll work," she admitted, voice low, "but I'm done playing defense."
She whispered words older than any spell book, her voice laced with power. The candles flickered violently, and the circle glowed with a deep, pulsing red.
Suddenly, her eyes snapped open-sharp intake of breath, a spark of pain-and something unseen shifted in the room.
Derek moved forward. "Hope?"
She stood slowly, chest rising and falling in steady, controlled breaths.
"I didn't just unlink them," she said, eyes shining with magic. "I rerouted the bond."
"To you?" Stiles asked, jaw slack.
Hope smiled faintly. "The Kanima is mine now."
Silence.
"You're controlling Jackson?" Derek asked.
"No," she said, stepping back from the circle. "I'm connected to him. I feel what he feels. And that... gives me more control than fear ever could."
Stiles swallowed. "So what now?"
Hope's smile widened-cold and brilliant.
"Now? I let Matt believe he's the puppet master. Let Gerard think he's playing us all. They'll move their pieces, make their threats, think they're winning..."
Her eyes gleamed with fire.
"...but this game? This board? It belongs to me."