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.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jackson looked down at the blur in his vision that was Cassie. She wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon, and the fire from the van was creeping through the grass toward her. He didn’t know what to do. He could try to bend backward and grab an arm or a leg, but he didn’t think he could do it. He was seeing double, triple, and he could barely stand up.
If I could somehow yank off these cuffs, he thought.
He lurched away from the van, woozy and sick, forcing one leg in front of the other.
Then he heard her call softly, “Help.”
Maybe a hero could do it. Maybe a hero would do it.
But as for Jackson, he staggered away as far as he could get, and then he collapsed onto the ground.
• • •
Scott put his arms around Allison, who was beginning to droop. He was coughing, too, and remembering what it felt like to be an asthmatic. Horrible. Life-ending. If she couldn’t get some air, she would die.
It crossed his mind once to give her the Bite, but he didn’t know if it would work. He was just a Beta.
Maybe that was what the Alpha had wanted him to do. He didn’t know.
But he did know it wasn’t the answer. Not here. Not now.
He let his vision go to red and saw that the section of bushes in front of them had been burned down until they were only chest high, if that tall. Allison had told him that she’d done gymnastics, and that gave him an idea.
“Allison,” he said. “Listen. I’ll get you on my shoulders and walk you over. Can you jump over the bushes then, and get out of here?”
“What about your ankle?” she asked.
“I can do it. I’ll do it,” he insisted.
“I can’t leave you here,” she said. Her voice sounded weak. Could she do it? Was this too crazy?
“We’ll both die if you don’t,” he said.
Tears and sweat rolled down her face as she nodded. He got down on one knee. Clumsy from lack of oxygen, Allison struggled to climb up him like a circus performer.
He walked her over. The fire behind him was superhot. His body responded to the threat: his heartbeat shot up and he continued wolfing, quickly, and he realized that this was Allison’s only chance. The fire wasn’t high, or intense, where he walked her. But if she didn’t get away from him, get away . . . away . . .
Up she went, and over, crashing into untouched vegetation. But smoke was pouring over it, and she emerged from a river of billowing gray just as he turned around, hunching his shoulders so that she wouldn’t see.
“Scott! Maybe I can drag you out!” she cried.
“Go!” he ground out. “Please, Allison, go!”
Then more of the bushes burst into uncontrollable flame, and Scott was nearly surrounded.
And as Allison raced for help, he threw back his head and howled.
• • •
Stiles heard the howl.
Was that Scott? That was Scott! Is Scott in trouble? Is he eating someone up? Is someone eating him up? Is it the Alpha? Am I going to die now?
He followed his phone, shouting, “Derek! Scott! Derek! Scott!” as he zigzagged through the trees. He loved his phone. His good phone. He wanted it to keep working. It showed Scott’s battery at 3 percent, but it showed it.
“Derek!” he bellowed.
“Yeah,” Derek said, bursting from the trees. He was wolfed out, and Stiles let fly with a high-pitched, girly scream.
“Was that you?” Stiles yelled.
“No, that was you,” Derek said in disgust.
“I mean the howl.”
“It was Scott,” Derek said. “In trouble. And I think I’ve caught the Alpha’s scent.”
“Oh, God,” Stiles cried. They were running into what appeared to be a fog bank, but it was smoke. Stiles began to cough.
“The Alpha doesn’t want to hurt Scott,” Derek reminded him. “He needs him.”
“But he doesn’t need Allison,” Stiles said, coughing, “and they’re together.”
“I don’t need Allison, either,” Derek muttered.
“I heard that,” Stiles informed him in a choking voice.
“I don’t care,” Derek said.
There was smoke everywhere, but Stiles held out the phone so Derek could superwolf it with his special X-ray vision. “Look at those pictures,” he said. “Cliff. Bushes.”
“That looks like Cascade mountain ash,” Derek said.
“And . . . we . . . care . . . why?” Stiles said as he began to cough harder and tire. He was a lacrosse player, which meant he had some endurance, but Derek was a freakin’ machine.
“It’s a kind of wood. It forms a barrier,” Derek said.
Stiles didn’t understand, but at the moment, he didn’t care. He just wanted to get the two of them to Scott.
“Over there,” Derek said, pointing.
Stiles and Derek clambered down from the path to a large group of boulders. Thick smoke was rising into the sky. Surely someone had seen it. Scrambling over the rocks, Stiles stared down the cliff.
Flames crackled from row upon row of bushes, rushing up their center branches and igniting the drooping canopies overhead. A tree had fallen to the base of the cliff. Scott had completely wolfed, and he was throwing himself frantically against a tiny piece of the sheer cliff not blocked by the blazing tree.
“Find handholds!” Stiles shouted.
“He can’t hear you,” Derek said grimly.
“Of course he can. He’s a werewolf,” Stiles insisted. “He can hear great!”
“No, I mean, he can’t make sense of what you’re saying. When a young werewolf is panicked like this, he’s in pure survival mode. His instinct is to run. But there’s nowhere for him to go.”
“He doesn’t know that,” Stiles said. “Look.”
Scott was mindlessly throwing himself against the wall over and over. Bits of rock were breaking free. Scott batted at them in rage as if they were intentionally attacking him. Then he flung himself backward against the cliff and howled at the flames.
“He’s going to burn to death!” Stiles cried.
“He might,” Derek said. “Do you have any rope in your Jeep?”
“In my Jeep?” Stiles said, doing a double take. “Derek, my Jeep’s too far away, even for you.”
Derek sniffed at the air. “Those bushes are definitely mountain ash,” he said. “It’s impenetrable to our kind. That’s what trapped Scott there in the first place.”
Stiles called up a map of the preserve and jabbed at the faceplate of his phone. “Look. There’s a service road just beyond the mountain ash. They could get a fire engine in there. They could put it out and Scott goes home.”
“No. No one can see him like this. Not when he’s shifted,” Derek said, clenching his jaw as he studied Scott and his surroundings.
“And you’re willing to let him burn to death instead?” Stiles said, covering his mouth against the smoke.
Derek was silent. Then he said through clenched teeth, “I’ll ask again. Do you have any rope?”
“The rope will burn up,” Stiles managed to say.
Derek turned glowing eyes his way. “Do. You. Have. Any. Rope?”
“What about the Alpha?” Stiles said. “Didn’t you say he’s nearby?”
Derek hesitated. “He won’t hurt me, either,” he said.
Stiles shook his head. “You don’t sound sure enough. I don’t care what you say,” Stiles said, although of course he did. He way did. “I’m calling 911.”
“No!” Derek yelled, swinging at Stiles.
And to Stiles’s amazement, he ducked in time. And then he pushed Derek, hard. Derek staggered backward against a couple of the boulders. They gave way, and they and Derek fell over the cliff.
“Oh, my God!”
Stiles shouted.
Derek landed hard on his back and went limp. The boulders just missed hitting him, and he was so winded he didn’t even move out of their way. He was still in human form, and his head was dangerously close to an outcropping of blazing tree branches. So many times, Stiles had wished for Derek to up and die. But he hadn’t meant for him to really die.
Except that he had meant for him to really die. Just maybe not in pain, and not in front of Stiles.
Then Scott howled and flung himself on top of Derek like a rabid dog.
Stiles cupped his hands and yelled down to Scott. “Scott, Scott!” he shouted. “No! Bad wolf!”
Scott didn’t even look up at him. Crouching on Derek’s chest like some nightmare, he threw his head back, howled, and dove toward Derek’s throat—
—just as Derek snapped out of it and wolfed.
“Yes!” Stiles shouted, then realized what he was doing—cheering that Derek had just turned into something that could rip out Scott’s guts and barbecue them. Derek howled at Scott and grabbed him around the throat as he leaped to his feet. He tossed Scott backward against the cliff as if Scott were a rag doll. Stunned, Scott slid down, his legs splayed.
Then after a second, Scott sprang at Derek and Stiles yelled, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” and coughed up his lungs as Derek stood his ground. If Derek had moved so much as six inches left or right, Scott would have soared into the fire. But Scott wasn’t reasoning. He didn’t know that.
Derek punched Scott backward against the cliff again. Stiles wondered if Derek could just throw him up to the top of the cliff.
“Werewolf toss,” he shouted down to Derek. “I’ll try to catch him.”
But Derek had fallen to one knee, obviously winded, maybe hurt. Scott lay on his side, panting.
A wind washed through the tops of the bushes and showered Derek with fiery debris, setting his jacket on fire. Still in wolf face, Derek flung himself to the dirt, rolling around, then ripped off the jacket in shreds, bringing his shirt with it. Like Scott, he was naked from the waist up.
Then Scott staggered back up to his feet. He, too, was still wolfed out.
“Think about Allison!” Stiles yelled down to him. Sometimes that brought him out of his wolf berserkness. “Allison, Allison, Allison!”
There was no sign in Scott’s glowing golden eyes that he knew what Stiles was saying. Stiles groaned and blew the air out of his cheeks.
“Screw it,” he said. He dialed 911.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” said a familiar voice. Stiles knew all the dispatchers.
“Hey, it’s me, Stiles, there’s a fire,” Stiles said.
“Stiles, no!” Derek shouted up to him.
Stiles ignored him. He wasn’t going to stand there and watch his best friend burn to death. He could only hope and pray that Scott would be able to transform back before the firefighters came. Maybe the pain would snap him out of it. That was what Derek said would keep him human. Pain.
Down in a fire pit? Plenty of that.
“Beacon Hills Preserve,” Stiles said when the dispatcher asked him for his location. “The south side. There’s a service road in, and once the trucks—and I mean trucks, plural—get here you’ll see exactly what I mean.”
He hung up. All the calls were recorded. Somehow his father might hear that call and know he’d made it, but that was the least of his concerns at the moment. Scott was not coming out of it. He launched himself at Derek, again, who was obviously feeling the burn.
• • •
Allison charged through the woods, calling for help. Which way to the road? There was smoke everywhere, and her eyes were watering; but she was also crying because she wouldn’t be able to get help for Scott in time and he would die.
She stumbled over a root and went down, hard. Panting, she pushed herself up to her hands and knees.
And felt something looming over her. Something breathing on her. An animal.
An evil animal.
Death.
She hitched gasps and coughs as she shut her eyes tightly. She was terrified. Hot breath condensed on the back of her neck. The thing was coming closer, closer . . .
“Scott,” she whispered.
The thing seemed to stop.
And then the feeling left, as if the animal had moved away. Exhaling a sob, she lifted her head.
The wolf that she and Scott had seen that morning was standing about ten feet away from her, watching her. She froze, staring at it.
Then it turned around and disappeared into the trees. Stunned, she stood up painfully. Her ankle seized. Now it was her turn to have a sprain. Just when they didn’t need any more problems.
Still, she could put weight on it . . . and she hobbled forward, then stopped, reaching out and snapping off a branch from a tree. Which way to go?
“I need help,” she murmured aloud, planting the stick beside herself for support.
The wolf reappeared. Gazing at her, it half turned and looked over its shoulder at her. She stayed motionless, breathless.
It turned and faced her, and stared at her.
“What?” she asked. “What do you want?”
It kept looking at her. Then it backed up, turned around, and looked at her over its shoulder again.
“Do you want me to follow you?” she said.
It started walking. Allison squared her shoulders and wrapped her hand tightly around the stick. The wolf glided forward. Keeping her distance, she followed behind, bracing herself in case it turned on her, or led her into an ambush of hungry wolves waiting for prey. All she had was a stick, but at least she had that.
They hadn’t gone very far before she saw that they were on a hill overlooking a wide road—another way into the preserve. Her heart soared and she let out a sob of joy.
The wolf looked at her, turned tail, and trotted away. Allison half slid, half crawled down to the road, everything in her praying for someone to come by. The smoke was so thick—surely someone had called in the fire. Fire trucks must be on their way.
She waved her arms at an approaching car, but it just swerved around her and continued on. Allison had to stagger out of the way or it might have hit her. Swallowing down a strangled sob of frustration, she staggered back to the side of the road and waited for another car to drive by. Then she heard sirens, and she caught her breath and held onto the stick with both hands for support, whispering, “Thank you thank you thank you.”
A few minutes later, a red Beacon Hills fire truck roared by, followed by an ambulance. Then, to her surprise, her aunt’s car trailed after the emergency vehicles.
“Aunt Kate!” she shouted, though of course her aunt couldn’t hear her.
She dashed back into the road and waved her arms. Her aunt honked her horn once and angled over toward her, screeching to a stop and unrolling her window.
“Allison, what the hell are you doing here?” she yelled.
“Please, let’s go, please,” Allison said, jerking open the passenger door behind her aunt. She fell in and her aunt put on the turbo almost before Allison had a chance to shut the door.
Fearfully she glanced out the window at the clouds of smoke. Then she saw the wolf keeping pace with the car as it darted through the trees, its gaze steadily on her.
“What are you doing out here?” Aunt Kate said again. “You’re supposed to be with Lydia.”
“I heard about the fire and I came to see,” she said, hearing her voice crack. Her aunt would probably know she was lying, but right now she didn’t care. “Please, have you heard if Scott’s okay?”
“How did the fire get started?”
“I don’t know,” Allison said desperately.
“Why didn’t you drive out of it? Why are you on foot?”
Why so many questions? Allison wanted to shout. But she knew her aunt was asking because she cared about her. “I dropped my keys,” she said. “I got a call from Scott and I ran to the fire and then I panicked and I—I couldn’t find them.” Sh
e started crying. “Oh, God, he’s stuck down there. He hurt his ankle and he couldn’t get out.”
“It’ll be okay,” her aunt said calmly. “The fire department’s on its way.”
Allison nodded and stared out the window at the wolf, which could no longer keep up with the car. It stopped, and Allison watched it grow smaller and smaller as Kate drove on down the road.
• • •
The van exploded, and Jackson stagger-walked. He didn’t turn to look. He didn’t want to see. How hard had he tried to save Cassie?
What could I have done? he asked himself. I had to get out of there.
Then the scream of sirens filled the smoke-choked air and Jackson lurched toward them. A sharp wind thinned the clouds of gray for a moment and he let out a harsh, sharp laugh when he caught sight of the preserve parking lot. Police cars were roaring into it, and was that Danny’s Lexus?
Jackson collapsed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Derek could hear the fire trucks coming, but Scott hadn’t shifted back to human form. He was still fighting Derek, howling and grunting, in full werewolf form. The fire was raging around them, and there was too much mountain ash to cross anywhere. The cliff was too high.
Then he saw the boulders that he’d knocked down when he’d fallen. If he and Scott could push them into the bushes and crush them, they might be able to cross over on top of the rocks.
“Scott,” he said, “listen to me. Listen.”
Scott grunted and howled. Derek wondered if the time had come, if finally he would have to sacrifice Scott to maintain their secret. He’d thought about it many times, and used the threat to try to talk Scott out of behaving rashly. Once or twice it had actually worked. But not usually.
“Scott,” he tried again. He slapped Scott hard across the face. “If you don’t shift, Allison will never see you alive again.”
Scott showed his sharp fangs in utter rage.
“Allison,” Derek said to him.
Scott cocked his head. Staggered backward. Nearly fell into the funeral pyre that was the tree, and then, miraculously, shifted.
“Derek?” he said, running his hands through his hair, slicking it back. “What happened?” He dropped his arms to his sides and looked around. “Did Allison make it out?”