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The air was cold, blowing across Lydia’s face with a sharp bite. It was her first night of hunting where Allison wasn’t glued to her side, making sure nothing went wrong. Today, she was on her own, no one to save her should something go wrong. A nervous twang of pain bubbled in her chest as she lay down her traps, brain checking off the steps, making sure she didn’t do anything wrong.
To be perfectly honest, Lydia wasn’t quite sure she was ready for this. She had only been in training for a month or so, and Allison and her father were throwing her into the deep end. Mrs Argent hadn’t been anymore help, the lady was scary as all hell and when she smiled at Lydia, there were no reassuring words that followed, just “Don’t screw up.”
Chills went up Lydia’s spine at the memory. I’ll do my best, is what Lydia wanted to tell her, but she somehow figured that her best just wasn’t going to be good enough for Mrs Argent. Instead, she had kept her mouth shut and nodded, forcing her best smile. Now, Lydia stood back, admiring her work. Knots had never been her forte, Stiles was a lot better at it than she was, but this one didn’t look too bad. Her first success of the night made her chest swell with pride instead of nerves. All that was left for Lydia to do was wait for the call from Allison, and then she would know that they were starting to corral the wolves. The red head leant against a tree, trying not to think of the cold wind that blew her loose strands of hair wildly. She then thought of Stiles, Stiles whose best friend was a werewolf, yet here he was, learning to be a hunter.
When she had asked him why he wanted to, he had given her a small smile. “I’m just a human Lydia, my dad’s a human, and you’re a human…” He paused, wringing his hands together once, twice, then spoke again. “I don’t want to be useless. I’m not going to hurt Scott if it comes to it, I’d rather die but… If Derek, or any of the little shits in his pack… if they ever hurt the people I cared about, people that, you know, can’t really do anything to defend themselves from the great hulking beasts of lore, well, I’d have to kill them.” He had looked at her, fear in his big, brown eyes. She pursed her lips and took his hand, nodding slightly.
“I’d kill them too, Stiles.”
What felt like hours of checking her traps and equipment over and over and over again, waiting for Allison’s call finally came to an end as the phone in her pocket buzzed against her leg, and Lydia very quickly, very hastily pulled it out. Her eyes narrowed at the screen, not accustomed to the brightness of it, the way it illuminated her face was a dead giveaway to where she was, but it couldn’t be helped. A photo of her and Jackson smiled back at her, distorted only by the small pop up letting her know of a text message.
Allison: There have been some issues, fixing it now. Don’t panic.
“Issues…?” Lydia muttered to herself, sliding the phone back into her pocket. Issues were never good in her opinion. As she rested her back against the tree again, she heard the crack of a branch and the rustle of dead leaves on the floor. Her heart jumped, breath catching in her throat as she pushed off the tree as soon as her back made contact with it. Turning her head, hand hovering over the knife on her belt, she scanned the area, looking for the person (or wolf) that was approaching, body ready to strike. Green eyes fell on glowing yellow ones, as the hulking body moved out from behind a tree, teeth barred, and a low growl breaking the eerie silence of the air. Lydia’s hand ripped the knife from her belt, holding it out before her, just like she had been taught.
Its eyes crinkled, breath coming out in short huffs. Was it… laughing at her? It raised its hand, showing off its claws and fully moving into the light of the moon. She knew this wolf, had seen its face around school before. He was one of Derek’s little pups, a new hunter of his own kind just like she was. In fact, he was a pup that was ballsy enough to ask her out in freshman year. Back then he had looked at her like she was the pinnacle of perfection, which no girl could compare (until she had broken his heart without even batting her eyes). Now his eyes were filled with animalistic hunger, now he looked at her like he wanted to paint her with her own blood.
Lydia could feel her fight or flight responses kicking in as the wolf leant forward, reading to come hurtling at her. She wanted to hold her ground and fight, take out the gun on her holster and aim and fire, but her hands were shaking, her feet moving of their own accord. Her body was choosing flight, her fear possessing her mind.
“Fuck” she hissed, turning on her heels and running, sprinting, hoping he’d be dumb enough to stumble into her trap while his mind was focused on her, on the pounding of her pulse and the panicked breaths she took. She could just hear him behind her over the sound of the leaves and branches breaking beneath her, above the sound of the wind blowing past her ears and the air leaving and re-entering her lungs. She stumbled and almost tripped, brain barely registering that he was playing with her. This was a game to him. If he wanted to, he could have caught up to her, slammed her against a tree and torn her to bits. He could snap her in half, or torture her, or… or… Lydia’s mind failed to come up with any other things that the boy could do to her, really her imagination could wait until she was safe (get your priorities straight, Lydia, she scolded herself).
The more she ran, the slower she got, fatigue taking over. She hadn’t been at this for long; she didn’t have the same stamina that Allison did. Lydia was a grand total of 5’3, weak muscles and bones, she rarely took part in gym before becoming a hunter, and she was a spectator, a thinker. But she had to try, Lydia Martin refused to lie down and die. The wolf had other plans, however, as he sped up, the game ending, and propelled her into a tree, clutching her throat and holding her against it.
His eyes twinkled and his mouth curved up in a lopsided smirk, fangs jutting out from his jaws. His claws dug menacingly into her throat and she choked, coughing and desperately trying to breathe in whenever he let up.
Lydia managed to get out her own little breathy chuckle of a laugh. “What are you waiting for?” She asked, earning a confused look from him. She smirked back, at what she assumed to be him, blackness blotting out her sight. “Are you going to kill me or what, Lahey?” She spat the last word out, like it had a bad taste in her mouth.
She expected to die then and there, for his claws to puncture her neck before he twisted it until there was a sickly snap. Instead, she just fell, feet finding the ground, before tumbling and falling onto her side. She breathed in deeply, oxygen returning to her, sight coming back long enough to see the boy running off into the trees.
Lying there, beneath the full moon on the damp, cold ground, Lydia shook from the cold wind and the fear that went up and down her spine. Isaac Lahey had spared her tonight, had found control under the full moon. That would be a story to tell Stiles.