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Jul. 30th, 2013 12:04 amPeter knew the pack was attempting to save someone's life, but someone else's life had been in jeopardy who he cared about a lot more than some random teacher. He'd been hanging out in the corner of Cora's room, watching her and Derek, waiting for her to wake up. When he noted Derek's eyes drooping, he said he was going to get them coffee and would be right back.
Moving through the halls, he avoided the nurses's station, not wanting a run in with Melissa McCall. He did the same on the way back and was almost back to the room when he heard a scream that ricocheted through him, plucking hard at his eardrums, though not close enough to drop him to the ground.
He did drop the coffee, though, because he knew that scream. He'd heard it in his dreams, elicited it from her more than once last year.
Lydia.
Ignoring the splash of the hot coffee on the floor and not bothering to return to Derek and Cora, Peter took off at a run. He heard his name distantly shouted, but he didn't stop for it. He didn't stop for anything.
When he hit the school, he closed his eyes and felt for her, feeling the edges of her mind, seeing what she saw. He'd gone to school here; he knew it well, and the images he got from her helped him pinpoint her location. Students, parents and teachers were spilling out of the auditorium doors, though, screaming in a way that made him grateful he even could feel her--that she was still alive.
The crowd made going in problematic, so he went around, twisting toward the hall of classrooms where she was. Scanning rooms as he went by, he caught sight of something that about made his heart stop: Lydia, tied to a chair, a garrotte around her neck, and some woman moving toward the fallen sheriff. He couldn't see Lydia moving, didn't know if she was all right, but there was blood in the air--hers, Scott's, Sheriff Stilinski's.
Peter's eyes glowed blue and his claws and fangs extended as he growled. With a running leap he threw himself through the windows, knocking into the woman and sending her farther away from Lydia. He snarled, almost fully wolfed out, noting the others at the door. He wanted the woman, wanted her blood, but how much and how hard depending on how hurt Lydia was, so he spun to her, moving to kneel in front of her chair, senses trained on the woman for any sudden moves.
By the time he reached Lydia, his features were normal again, though his eyes were still glowing bright blue and the claws of his right hand were still extended. He slashed through the bindings holding her, careful not to nick her skin, then reached to pluck the garrotte away, eyeing the marks on her throat with a fury that had him growling again.
Another crash from behind him startled him enough to look and see the girl and the sheriff disappear. Whatever. He had her scent. He could hunt her down. His attention focused back on Lydia.
"Are you badly hurt?" She obviously wasn't all right, but he needed the physical damage report first.
Moving through the halls, he avoided the nurses's station, not wanting a run in with Melissa McCall. He did the same on the way back and was almost back to the room when he heard a scream that ricocheted through him, plucking hard at his eardrums, though not close enough to drop him to the ground.
He did drop the coffee, though, because he knew that scream. He'd heard it in his dreams, elicited it from her more than once last year.
Lydia.
Ignoring the splash of the hot coffee on the floor and not bothering to return to Derek and Cora, Peter took off at a run. He heard his name distantly shouted, but he didn't stop for it. He didn't stop for anything.
When he hit the school, he closed his eyes and felt for her, feeling the edges of her mind, seeing what she saw. He'd gone to school here; he knew it well, and the images he got from her helped him pinpoint her location. Students, parents and teachers were spilling out of the auditorium doors, though, screaming in a way that made him grateful he even could feel her--that she was still alive.
The crowd made going in problematic, so he went around, twisting toward the hall of classrooms where she was. Scanning rooms as he went by, he caught sight of something that about made his heart stop: Lydia, tied to a chair, a garrotte around her neck, and some woman moving toward the fallen sheriff. He couldn't see Lydia moving, didn't know if she was all right, but there was blood in the air--hers, Scott's, Sheriff Stilinski's.
Peter's eyes glowed blue and his claws and fangs extended as he growled. With a running leap he threw himself through the windows, knocking into the woman and sending her farther away from Lydia. He snarled, almost fully wolfed out, noting the others at the door. He wanted the woman, wanted her blood, but how much and how hard depending on how hurt Lydia was, so he spun to her, moving to kneel in front of her chair, senses trained on the woman for any sudden moves.
By the time he reached Lydia, his features were normal again, though his eyes were still glowing bright blue and the claws of his right hand were still extended. He slashed through the bindings holding her, careful not to nick her skin, then reached to pluck the garrotte away, eyeing the marks on her throat with a fury that had him growling again.
Another crash from behind him startled him enough to look and see the girl and the sheriff disappear. Whatever. He had her scent. He could hunt her down. His attention focused back on Lydia.
"Are you badly hurt?" She obviously wasn't all right, but he needed the physical damage report first.
