The hospital had become a second home, though it was a home she hated. The bright white walls seemed too cold, the hum of the lights too harsh, and the sharp smell of disinfectant made her feel sick every time she walked in.

          Ivy would sit beside her mom's bed, talking about the little things in her day ━ how her teachers were boring, something funny her friends said, or how proud she was to get an A on a test.

           She tried to keep her voice light and happy, but it felt fake. She didn't feel happy at all. Deep down, she just wanted to tell her mom how much she missed the old days. She missed the times her mom's laughter filled the house, the long conversations that made Ivy feel understood, and the way her mom made everything seem right in the world. She needed her mom to recover, to come back to her.

          But we all know how this story goes . . .  or how it ends. Of course, it didn't happen. Her mom didn't get better. And if there was one thing Ivy Claudia Stilinski was known for, it was never getting what she wished for.

       The 15-year-old stood in the middle of the cemetery, watching a family huddled together in grief. Around them, people dressed in dark clothing gathered in silence, their soft voices blending into the heavy air.

       Ivy held back her tears until they burned in her eyes, pinching as if her own emotions were punishing her for keeping them bottled up. She knew that if she let even one tear escape, it would unlock a flood she couldn't control.

          The 8-year-old Stiles squeezed her hand tighter, tears rolling down his face as he stared at the coffin. Ivy sniffed and squeezed his hand back.

          The girl could feel someone watching her. She turned her head, searching, until her brown eyes locked with green ones. Derek Hale hid behind a grave, keeping his distance and watching her.

       His attention stayed on her, not wavering even for a moment. He couldn't take his eyes off her, not now or ever. He just wanted to be there for her.

       Ivy glanced his way, her glossy eyes shimmering as a faint, barely noticeable smile crossed her lips. It lasted only a second before she turned her head again.

✹

          In the middle of central California, there was a small town called Beacon Hills. But small towns are simple, right? They are pretty much the same.

          Nothing happens, everyone knows everyone, and it's impossible to keep anything private. It's charming for about five minutes, then it gets really old, really fast.

          But there was something about Beacon Hills that didn't fit the mold. The town had this weird, unexplainable aura, like it was keeping secrets just below the surface.

           Over the last few weeks, even thinking about going outside after sunset was enough to send a shiver down your spine. People were dying . . . no, not dying. Dying sounded passive, almost peaceful, and there was nothing peaceful about this. People were being killed, their lives cut short by something cruel, something waiting in the dark.

           People talked about a mountain lion, repeating it like a mantra to keep themselves from freaking out. But Ivy wasn't stupid. She knew it wasn't true. 

          "I said I'd pick you up after school." Stiles said, surprised to see his older sister standing outside the school building, arms crossed like she'd been waiting for a while.

          "I know." Ivy replied, her hands slipping from her shoulders, brushing lightly against her arms before falling still. "I still had some errands to do, but I got through them pretty quick, so I had some time to kill."

          Stiles nodded and they started walking toward his Jeep, his key fob spinning lazily in his hand. 

           Ivy climbed into the front seat, her bag sliding off her shoulder and dropping into her lap with a gentle thump. She sighed, almost absentmindedly, as she unzipped it and dug around for the bag of doughnuts she had picked up earlier for a quick snack.

           Stiles reached for the bag of food Ivy had brought along, but she quickly swatted his hand before he could touch it.

          "Ouch!" Stiles yanked his hand back and shot her a look of pure disbelief. "You wanna walk back on foot or what?"

          "Oh, I'm sorry," Ivy asked, her tone so sarcastic it practically rolled its eyes for her. "Remind me again . . .  when did you pay for it?"

          "Well . . . I didn't, but it might as well be your payment for me playing taxi today." Stiles dropped a not-so-subtle hint, earning an immediate eye roll from Ivy. "Just so you know, this Jeep doesn't run on hopes and dreams."

          "If you don't zip it, I'll never get there." Ivy spoke quickly, her words edged with impatience as her eyes moved away from the watch on her wrist.

          "Ungrateful." Stiles clicked his tongue and let out a small sigh. "I mean, seriously, you're lucky I even━" Stiles' words were cut short as Ivy's hand smacked the back of his head. "Okay, okay, I get it!"

           He started the engine and shifted into reverse. Slowly, he backed out of the space, his eyes darting between the mirrors and the crowd of students weaving between vehicles.

          Just as he started to pick up speed, a figure stepped directly in front of his car.

          "Stiles, watch out!" Ivy alarmed.

           His foot slammed on the brake, the car jolting to a stop. Ivy leaned back against the seat, her eyes wide with disbelief, her chest rising and falling as she tried to calm down. Behind them, the loud screech of tires filled the parking lot as the cars skidded to a stop.

          "You've gotta be kidding me." Stiles let out a scoff, his mouth slightly open in disbelief as he saw the familiar silhouette crumple to the ground right in front of his Jeep. "This guy's everywhere!"

          Ivy shot him a blank, unimpressed look before pushing the door open and jumping out of the car. Without hesitation, she ran toward the injured passer-by lying on the pavement.

           The sharp blare of horns pulled Stiles' attention to the rearview mirror. Behind his Jeep, a long line of cars stretched down the lot, their drivers leaning on their horns in frustration, some even waving their hands out the windows.

          "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Nothing's broken, right? I mean, you're not, like, bleeding or anything? Do you need me to call someone? An ambulance? Or, I don't know, a chiropractor?" Ivy knelt beside him, words tumbling out of her mouth faster than she could think. This was her default reaction. When she panicked, she couldn't stop herself from rambling, her brain moving too fast for her to filter anything.

           "What the hell?" Scott McCall sprinted over in an instant as soon as he saw what was happening. He joined them next to the Jeep. "What are you doing here?"

         The man winced in pain, holding his shoulder as he slowly lifted his head. That's when Ivy saw his face clearly, and her whole body froze. She knew him, no doubt about it. Her expression? Pure shock. But how could she not react like that? The last time she saw him was six years ago, on the night of the fire that changed everything.

          The brunette frowned. "Wait . . . Derek?"

          This was, by far, the most uncomfortable moment they'd experienced. Derek lay on the asphalt, holding his shoulder, his face tight with pain. He looked like he could barely think straight. Stiles and Scott were completely caught off guard, looking at each other.

          Ivy knew him, that much was obvious. And when Derek looked at her, just for a second, it became clear he knew her, too. Not in a casual way either ━ there was something deeper there. Stiles and Scott stood awkwardly nearby, both wondering the same thing. 

          How much did she know?

          "I was shot." Derek said through gritted teeth, his voice strained and low.

          "Okay," Ivy took a deep, shaky breath, her hand flying to her hair as her fingers tangled nervously. The look in her eyes betrayed her panic, which was bubbling up faster than she could control. "Uh, yeah, so . . . we're definitely gonna need that ambulance."

          "He's not looking so good." Stiles muttered.

          "Why aren't you healing?" Scott asked.

         "Oh, I don't know, maybe it's got something to do with the fact that he was shot? Just a hunch." Ivy scolded him, acting like it couldn't have been more clear. "We have to take him to the hospital."

        "I can't . . . " Derek protested, acting like he hadn't heard a single word Ivy had said. He seemed completely focused on what he wanted to say, ignoring her completely. "It was a different kind of bullet . . . "

          A spark of excitement lit up in Stiles' eyes at the thought. "A silver bullet?"

         "No, you idiot." Derek said, glaring at him.

          "Wait a second," As Scott thought about the events of last night, he felt like a light bulb had gone off in his head. He could still hear the woman's words as if she had just spoken them. Everything came together in his mind, and he realized she was to blame for Derek's condition. "That's what she meant when she said 48 hours."

          "What?" Derek's eyes locked onto him, his interest growing as the realization crept in. It couldn't be possible that they were both thinking of the same person. "Who said 48 hours?"

          "The one who shot you."

          Ivy rolled her eyes and groaned, feeling totally left out. She had no idea what they were discussing, and it was clear they weren't planning to fill her in anytime soon. The thought made her irritation grow. "What the hell are you talking about?"

          Derek sucked in a deep, sharp breath, his whole body shaking as pain spread through him like a wave. His green eyes dimmed and flickered, shifting to a cold, icy blue that made Ivy's stomach drop.

          Her scream came out as a sharp, screeching noise. She scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping in her panic. "Nope, nope, nope ━ what was that?!"

         "What are you doing?" Scott snapped at Derek. "Stop that!"

         "That's what I'm trying to tell you. I can't!" Derek snapped back, his voice sharp as his eyes flickered between green and blue, shifting rapidly like they couldn't settle on one color.

          "Derek, get up!" Scott said, his frustration clear in his voice. He clearly couldn't move on his own, and the sound of honking cars was growing louder. A few people were even starting to get out of their vehicles, craning their necks to see what was going on. Without wasting another second, Scott grabbed Derek under his arms and hauled him to his feet. "Help me put him in your car."

          "Him? My Jeep?" Stiles questioned, his eyes narrowing as he stared at his best friend like he had completely lost it. "No way."

           "What about you and you," Ivy started, her finger pointing accusingly at the two boys. "Explain to me what the hell is going on here."

          Stiles and Scott exchanged a glance, their faces mirroring the same appalled and meaningful expression. It was clear there was no way they could come up with a lie Ivy would believe, especially now that she had seen Derek's eyes change color with her own eyes.

          Scott tried to think of a lie, something simple that would buy them more time. But lying to Ivy wasn't easy. It wasn't just because she was like family to him ━ he had known her his whole life, and she felt more like an older sister than just a friend. It was because lying to Ivy came with serious consequences.

          Ivy wasn't the kind of person to just accept a quick answer and move on. If she even suspected that she wasn't being told the truth, she wouldn't let it go. She'd press, ask questions, dig deeper, and make sure no stone was left unturned.

           Scott knew that if he lied to her, Ivy wouldn't rest until she knew everything. She had this way of getting to the truth no matter what, and Scott also knew she wouldn't let him off the hook. Once Ivy Stilinski wanted answers, she'd get them, no matter how long it took.

          Ivy's intense stare made Scott crumble. He blurted out without even thinking, "Stiles will explain everything to you, I promise."

          Stiles turned to Scott, his jaw practically hitting the floor. "What the hell, man?" he said, his voice full of disbelief.

          "Stiles!" Scott raised his voice at him.

         Ivy let out an annoyed sigh and swung open the rear door of the Jeep. Without wasting any time, Scott and Stiles each grabbed Derek and pushed him inside, grunting with the effort as they tried to fit him into the cramped space.

           Derek sank heavily into the back seat, his body clearly weak. Without warning, he grabbed Scott's arm. "I need you to find what kind of bullet they used.

          "How the hell am I supposed to do that?" Scott asked him.

          "Cause she's an Argent. She's with them."

          "Why should I help you?"

         "Because you need me."

          "Fine. I'll try." Scott sighed and gave in, unable to handle the rising pressure from the yelling drivers behind them. People were shouting for them to get out of the way and unblock the route, and he realized they had no other choice. "Get him out of here."

          Stiles' eyes darted between the injured Derek and Ivy, whose frustration was practically oozing off her.

          He let out a long sigh, already bracing himself for what was to come. The next few hours were shaping up to be nothing short of miserable. "I hate you for this so much." he muttered before speeding away.

✹

          Ivy's head spun like someone had stuck her brain in a blender and turned it up full blast. She was unable to process what her brother was telling her. Insane wasn't the right word . . . it didn't even come close to describing how ridiculous it all sounded.

          "Are you fucking cray cray?" Stiles winced, his grip tightening on the steering wheel like his life depended on it as Ivy scolded him. "Be honest."

         "Oh, look at you, all calm and collected." Stiles mumbled sarcastically under his breath, just loud enough to catch Ivy's attention and annoy her. Her head snapped around, and she shot him a glare. 

         She was clearly already freaking out, and he realized too late that adding fuel to the fire wasn't his best idea.

           She paused, took a deep breath, and tried to sort through everything in her mind. The confusion was almost too much. "So let me get this straight. Scott's a werewolf, Derek's a werewolf, and some psychotic furball out there bit Scott, killed Laura Hale, and went after a bus driver too?" 

          "Yeah . . ." Stiles drawled out the last letter, letting it hang in the air for a little too long. He nodded awkwardly. 

         "Is there more?" Ivy asked, her voice laced with frustration as she looked at her brother. He didn't answer, his attention locked on the road ahead, leaving nothing but silence in his wake. "Seriously, is there more? Because I'm about two seconds away from totally losing my mind!"

          "Oh, right, forgot to mention . . ." Stiles chuckled to himself awkwardly, trying to mask his misery. Honestly, he'd rather sit through hours of Scott yapping about Allison than go through this. "Scott's dating a girl whose family, you know, hunts werewolves. No big deal, right?"

         Ivy wouldn't be shocked if her eyes started aching tomorrow from how many times she'd widened them in the past few minutes. It felt like every new thing she heard just made her eyes pop open even more.

         "What . . ." Ivy's hand went to the bridge of her nose. She paused, breathing in deeply as if trying to settle herself. Her hand slid away from her nose and dropped to her lap. "What kind of brain malfunction was he having? And you just let him go through with it?"

         "Look, I tried, alright?" Stiles pointed at Ivy as he spoke, his tone sharp. His eyes jumped between her and the road, and after a moment of hesitation, he slapped his other hand onto the steering wheel. "He just flat-out didn't listen to a word I said." 

          Ivy shot her brother a look, her narrowed eyes saying what words didn't need to ━ she thought he was an absolute idiot.

         "Hey, try not to bleed out on my seats, okay?" Stiles caught a glimpse of Derek in the mirror, twisting uncomfortably as he tried to yank off his jacket. "We're almost there. 

          "Almost where?" Derek mumbled, his head hanging low. 

         "Your house."

          "What?" Derek asked, sounding more alarmed than he meant to. "No, you can't take me there."

          "I can't take you to your own house?" Stiles asked, his voice full of disbelief, as if he couldn't quite process what he'd just heard.

          "Not when I can't protect myself." Derek told him. 

         "Of course," Ivy grumbled in frustration, resting her head against the cool glass of the car window. "Makes so much sense."

          Derek shot her a sharp glare as Stiles abruptly swerved the Jeep to the side of the road, tires kicking up a bit of gravel.

          "All right. What happens if Scott doesn't find your little magic bullet? Hmm? Are you dying?" Stiles asked, raising his voice.  

          "Not yet. I have a last resort."

          "What do you mean?" Stiles asked, barely able to contain his disbelieving laughter. Everything Derek said sounded so ridiculous, he couldn't help but laugh. "What last resort?" 

           Derek pulled up the sleeve of his left arm, revealing a deep bullet hole. Blood and pus were oozing out of it, making the wound look raw and infected. Around the wound, dark veins were crawling up his arm, almost like they were alive.

           Disgust wasn't the right word for how Ivy felt when she saw the wound. Her stomach twisted so badly it felt like everything inside her was flipping upside down. The sight made her feel sick, and for a moment, she thought she might actually throw up.

          "Oh, my God. What is that?" Stiles asked, his tone frantic as he practically recoiled from the sight. He was clearly freaking out. "Oh, is that contagious? You know what, you should probably just get out." 

          "I swear, if he's just gonna sit there with that thing out, I'm outta here!" Ivy panicked, her chest tightening as she tried everything she could to avoid looking at it. She stared at the window, the dashboard, even her own hands, just to keep her eyes away from the horrible sight. 

          "That's right. You hear that, Wolfie? Hit the road." 

          "Start the car," He tried to sound firm, but Derek's voice came out weak and tired. It was clear he didn't have much energy left. "Now." 

          "I don't think you should be barking orders with the way you look, okay? In fact, I think if I wanted to, I could probably drag your little werewolf ass out into the middle of the road and leave you for dead." Stiles threatened. 

          "Start the car, or I'm gonna rip your throat out ━ with my teeth." His threat worked instantly, almost like hypnosis. Ivy immediately turned to Stiles, who didn't need any more encouragement. He quickly twisted the keys in the ignition and slammed his foot on the gas pedal.

          "Doughnut?" Ivy suggested, waving the bag of food in front of his face like a bribe. All she got was a sour look and silence. "No?" She pulled her hand back, along with the bag of food, resting it in her lap. "Okay . . ." 

✹

           "What am I supposed to do with him?"

           They had been driving around Beacon Hills for hours, not really going anywhere. The car kept moving through the same streets, passing the same places again and again like they were stuck in a loop.

          By now, the sun was long gone, and the entire town was covered in darkness. The streetlights shone faintly, their soft glow reflecting on the car windows.

          "Take him somewhere, anywhere." Scott's voice filled the car as soon as Stiles put him on speaker. 

          "And, by the way, he's starting to smell." Stiles complained. 

          "Like . . .  like what?" Scott asked, clearly puzzled, as Derek turned his attention to Stiles with a pointed glare. 

           "Like death!" 

          "Okay, take him to the animal clinic." Scott decided. 

         Ivy leaned in closer to the phone, her brows drawing together, "Wait, what about your boss?"

          "He's gone by now. There's a spare key in the box behind the dumpster." Scott explained. 

          "You're not gonna believe where he's telling me to take you." Stiles mumbled, his eyes on Derek, and then handed him the phone. He rubbed his forehead afterward. 

          It was funny to Ivy, at least for a second. A random thought popped into her head . . . if Derek ever got sick, who would he see? A regular doctor or a vet?

          "Did you find it?" Derek asked, and his voice grounded Ivy, pulling her back to the seriousness of the situation. 

           "How am I supposed to find one bullet? They have a million. This house is like the fricken' Walmart of guns." Scott vented. 

          "Look, if you don't find it, then I'm dead, all right?" Derek reminded him. 

          "I'm starting to think that wouldn't be such a bad thing." 

          "Then think about this," Derek started, his voice oddly calm. "The Alpha called you out against your will. He's gonna do it again. Next time you either kill with him or you get killed. So if you wanna stay alive, then you need me. Find the bullet."

✹

          Derek flicked on the light, and the room filled with brightness. He slowly removed his shirt, exposing the gunshot wound. The wound had worsened, with dark veins spreading out from it like tangled roots. His arm was now a pale, unhealthy yellow, making the whole thing look much more serious.

          "Okay. You know, that really doesn't look like anything some echinacea and a good night of sleep couldn't take care of." Stiles pointed out. 

          "What?" Ivy glanced up, asking her question as she paused her search through the supplies. She wasn't sure what she was looking for ━ anything that might help ━ but she couldn't just sit there and wait. If Scott showed up too late, she would never forgive herself. She couldn't let Derek die, not when there was still something she could try. "Oh, no . . .  Oh, my God! That does not look okay! Like, not even close to okay!"

          "When the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me." Derek told them.

          "Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?" Stiles asked sarcastically. 

         "Try staying positive when you look like that." Ivy pointed straight at Derek's arm as she spoke. 

          "If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time . . .  last resort."

          "Which is?" The question slipped out before Ivy could stop herself, and she regretted it instantly. She had no idea why she'd even bothered to ask when the answer terrified her. But what happened afterward was nothing she could have prepared for.

          Derek pulled out an electric bone saw and then looked at Stiles. "You're going to cut off my arm."

          "Um . . . no?" Ivy said, confused. That's what she thought, at least, until Derek slid the bone saw across the table toward Stiles. 

          Her brother picked it up, flipped the switch, and let it buzz for a moment. 

          Ivy whipped her head around, glaring at her brother with a warning look. "Put that away." she said quietly, her voice low and tight, like she was forcing the words through gritted teeth.

          "Oh, my God," Stiles said as he quickly set the saw back down. "What if you bleed to death?" 

          "It'll heal if it works." Derek said as he used his teeth to tighten a blue tourniquet around his arm. 

          "I thought you were a werewolf, not some kind of starfish. No one's chopping your arm off, okay?" Ivy shot back at him. 

         "Thank God!" A relieved breath escaped Stiles as the heaviness he'd been carrying seemed to disappear all at once. "I don't know if I could do this."

          "Why not?" Derek asked. 

          "Your brain is not connected to your mouth, is it?" Ivy asked, staring at him in disbelief. How could anyone in their right mind think it was okay to tell a 16-year-old to cut off an infected arm? 

          "Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!" 

         "You faint at the sight of blood?" Derek asked in disbelief. 

          "No, but I might at the sight of a chopped off arm!" Stiles shouted. 

          "All right, fine. How about this? Either you cut off my arm, or I'm gonna cut off your head." Derek threatened. 

          Ivy reached for the bone saw and held it firmly. She didn't even pause to think. Stiles' face went pale as he watched her. "Keep stressing him out, and I swear that thing is going up your ass." 

         "Yeah, bitch!" Stiles hyped up his sister as she pressed the button, stopping the saw's whirring. "I am so not buying your threats anymore." 

          Derek's hand shot out, clutching his shirt with enough force to crumple the fabric, and he yanked hard, almost pulling him all the way over the countertop.

          Ivy lifted her arms and threw them up, letting out a loud huff, "What'd I just tell you?" 

          "Oh, my God. Okay. All right, bought, sold. Totally. I'll do it. I'll do it!" 

          Derek let go of Stiles and leaned over. A thick black liquid poured out of his mouth, hitting the floor with a sickening splash. Ivy screamed so loudly it was almost a shriek, and in one swift motion, she climbed onto the metal countertop, pulling her knees close to her chest.

          "Holy God, what the hell is that?" Stiles asked, his face twisted in disgust as he stared at the black blood pooling on the floor.

          "It's my body . . . trying to heal itself." Derek replied, his voice strained as he took deep, steadying breaths between words. 

          "Well, your body's barely holding it together. Like, literally!" Ivy panicked. 

           "Now," Derek told Stiles. "You gotta do it now." 

          "Fine by me!" Ivy practically yelled, not needing much convincing. She shoved the bone saw into Stiles' hands and jumped off the countertop, making sure to steer clear of the black puddle on the floor. Without a second thought, she bolted to the other side of the room. 

          Stiles gaped, his jaw dropping as shock spread across his face. "What the hell happened to nobody's cutting off his arm?!"

          "That was before he started puking up his own guts!" Ivy yelled back at him. "Don't worry, bro, I've got your back . . . " She said, retreating toward the door, her body tense as she glanced back at them. "From right here!"

          Derek pushed himself up and placed his infected arm on the examination table with a heavy thud. Stiles winced, his face scrunching up. "Look, honestly, I don't think I can . . ." 

          "Just do it!" Derek shouted. 

         "Oh, my God. Okay, okay. Oh, my God," Stiles was still freaking out as he grabbed the saw. He pressed the button, and the loud whir of the device filled the clinic. Ivy winced at the noise and quickly turned her head away, not wanting to watch. "All right, here we go!" 

         "Stiles!" 

         Just as things seemed to be spiraling out of control, Scott McCall rushed into the clinic, carrying what could be Derek's only chance at survival. 

         "Scott?" Stiles asked, his surprise quickly turning to relief at the sound of his best friend's voice.

          Scott ran into the room, and the sight that greeted him was more than he could have imagined. Ivy stood at the doorway, her face pale, her eyes looking like they were on the verge of tears. Stiles, gripping a bone saw tightly, hovered over Derek's shredded arm, his face full of panic. 

         "What the hell are you doing?!" 

          Ivy let out the breath she didn't know she was holding when Stiles, clearly relieved, dropped the saw onto the table with a loud thunk. "Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares." 

          "You got it?" Ivy asked, her voice full of impatience. Oh, how she wanted it to be over. 

          Scott reached into his pocket and pulled out the bullet, handing it to Derek. Derek took it and held it up to the light, examining it closely.

          "What are you gonna do with it?" Stiles asked him. 

          "I'm gonna . . . I'm gonna . . ." 

           Derek suddenly slumped over, his body giving out as he passed out. The bullet slipped from his hand, rolling under the table as he hit the ground.

           Scott lunged forward, scrambling to grab the bullet, "No, no, no!"  

          The bullet slipped through the metal grate and disappeared into the drain below. Scott dropped to his knees, his fingers clawing at the grate in frustration, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reach it.

          "Wake up!" Ivy knelt down beside Derek, shouting at him. She smacked him across the face, but he didn't wake up. His head just flopped to the side. Refusing to give up, she slapped him again. "Wake up!' 

          "Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?" Stiles blurted out, his words rushed and frantic.

          "I don't know! I can't reach it!" 

          "He's not waking up! I think he's dying. I think he's dead!" Stiles declared, his voice shaky but loud.

          Ivy immediately leaned over, pressing two fingers to Derek's neck to check for a pulse. It was faint, barely there, but it was something.

          "Just hold on!" Scott yelled, trying to reach the bullet.

          "Ives, what are you . . ." Stiles stared in shock, his eyes widening as Ivy pulled back her fist. A moment later, she punched Derek square in the face. The impact jolted him awake, his eyes snapping open. 

          Ivy stumbled backward, shaking her hand as if to wave away the sharp pain shooting through it.

          Stiles grabbed Derek and helped him stand. After a few tries, Scott finally managed to grab the bullet, pulling it out. 

          Still shaking her sore hand, Ivy groaned as she moved closer to the counter with the others. Derek leaned in, gripping the shell casing in his teeth to pull it open. Once it cracked, he grabbed a lighter from his pocket and sparked a flame. The contents of the casing caught fire almost immediately, sparks flying as the pile burned. He scooped the burning material into his hand, ignoring the heat, and slammed it against his wound.

           Derek let out a blood-curdling scream, collapsing to the ground in agony as blue smoke rose from the wound. Everyone froze, watching in stunned silence as he writhed helplessly on the floor. Slowly but surely, the black veins that had spread across his arm began to vanish, retreating like they'd never existed. The bullet hole sealed itself up, leaving his skin smooth and unblemished, as though nothing had ever happened.

          "That. Was. Awesome. Yes!" Stiles exclaimed excitedly. 

          "Yeah, awesome, but definitely not a repeat-worthy kind of thing." Ivy mumbled.

          "Are you okay?" Scott asked Derek. 

          "Well, except for the agonizing pain." Derek grumbled as he stood up, brushing himself off with a scowl on his face.

          "I'm guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health." Stiles added, and Derek's glare was quick to follow.

          "Okay, we saved your life, which means you're gonna leave us alone, you got that? And yeah, that includes Ivy now." Scott told him. "And if you don't, I'm gonna go back to Allison's dad, and I'm gonna tell him everything . . ."

          "You're gonna trust them?" Derek cut in sharply. "You think they can help you?"

          "Well, why not? They're a lot freaking nicer than you are." 

         Derek scoffed quietly, barely loud enough to be heard. "I can show you exactly how nice they are."

          Scott frowned, his confusion growing as he noticed the serious, almost angry look on Derek's face. "What do you mean?"

Julia Yapping 

I fear I'm doomed to always start my books with someone's tragic death. And if I ever stop, please call a therapist . . .  or maybe an exorcist.

I'm so happy to have my precious girl back! Welcome home, Ivy Claudia Stilinski. You bullying Derek and Peter (but mostly Derek) made every day a little brighter