Peter forced his eyes to focus as he watched Lydia from inside the gym. Right now, there were threatening to be two Lydias. Sometimes three. The world was not ready for that. So he closed one eye. That helped.

She was currently using a towel to soak up some of the sweat from her rather intense-looking workout as she turned her phone back on. Apparently, she was a smart gym patron. She turned off her phone, or put it in airplane mode or something, and concentrated only on her workout. But it would seem turning her phone back on wasn't a good thing because her forehead was all scrunched up. She was confused. Nervous. Peter couldn't really tell. He was drunk. And he didn't know Lydia Martin all that well. Honestly, he had no idea what he was doing outside her gym in the first place.

But now was not the time to try and uncover the answers to those questions. Or really any. He wasn't going to bother with thinking things through. He was only acting. Pure instincts. Werewolf instincts. Fuck everything else. No. Fuck everybody else. They didn't trust him anyway. Which was fine. But he felt it was only fair to do something to actually warrant that reaction from them.

It wasn't his problem if they would all soon regret the day they turned against him. They wanted a villain, after all. And that's exactly what they were about to get with one Peter Hale.

Lydia made her way out of the gym after another few minutes, face pointed down at her phone as it beeped incessantly in her hand. And she didn't seem to be able to get it to stop. Which was likely why she huffed quietly to herself and looked up at him about the time she reached her car.

"Fuck, Peter." She clutched her chest in surprise. "You scared me," she admitted.

Good. Exactly what he wanted.

"What's going on? Do you know why everyone is texting and calling me?"

He shrugged. "I have no idea, Red. Kinda out of the loop myself at the moment."

"Red? Really?" she scoffed. "Best you could come up with?" He shrugged, sauntering forward. "Very clever."

"I'm drunk," he revealed. "I don't have to be clever."

She rolled her eyes. "Awesome," she said, pocketing her still beeping phone. "Well, what's going on with you, then? Why are you waiting in the shadows of my gym like some kind of creep?"

Peter sighed. That was such a loaded fucking question.

"You know, it's always those closest to you that cut you the deepest."

Lydia watched him inching closer with his favorite expression of hers. Totally deadpan. He'd seen it a few times during their talk over the weekend with Jackson and Allison. After the shock had worn off, and she'd stopped freaking out about the word werewolf, her true personality had been able to shine through.

And to say Peter was enamored with her because of it was an understatement. Not in the romantic sense, of course. She was a high school student. But in the way that he was with anyone who genuinely did not give a flying fuck what other people thought about them. About anything, really. It was refreshing. At one time, that had been him. Then life had thrown him about a dozen curveballs, so that no longer applied, but it was nice to see it existed somewhere in the world still.

"Great, so not only does alcohol deprive you of all your usual witty remarks, it's also causing you to spout clichés. Lovely, Peter."

"They think I'm the villain," he began again. "They think I'm the reason our pack is dead." He considered her for a moment, now only a few feet away. "Well, not all of them, I guess. Derek is still alive. And Stiles stuck up for me after I left. That was nice. I like Stiles."

"Me... too."

Lydia started to back away from him as he came closer. And Peter knew he was making her uncomfortable, but he couldn't make himself stop moving either. It was like he wasn't in control of his body anymore. And not like when he sometimes gave over to his werewolf side on a full moon. No, this was just normal, drunk guy stuff. Somehow, it felt scarier, though. And he was pretty damn sure it was supposed to be the other way around. Werewolves were more dangerous than drunk guys.

Right?

"Peter, I think you need to go home," she offered. "Do you want me to call Derek?"

"Nope. No way," he said, shaking his head. "He's the one that thinks I killed all those people." He paused, hiccuping loudly. "He's a butthead."

"Oh, okay. Well, I can call Stiles. You like Stiles."

He had her pinned to her car now. She had nowhere to run. A fact she had realized a moment too late. "I think it might be better if I just give into my dark, depraved nature, you know?"

Lydia's shoulders relaxed slightly, laughing to herself and rolling her eyes. "You're Peter Hale. You raised your nephew. You're a volunteer firefighter in your spare time." She pushed back against him, her hand on his chest. "You do not have a dark and depraved nature. Seriously, let's get you home. I can give you a ride. I don't mind."

She turned around in his arms, unlocking her door. He could tell she meant it, which was incredibly sweet of her. A man she had met all of one other time was drunk in the parking lot of her gym after dark and her first reaction was to make sure he made it home safely. This new group of kids really was too good for this world.

But they weren't actually kids, he remembered. They were very nearly adults by anyone's standards. Less than a school year away from graduation. And Stiles, for one, would be eighteen before that even happened.

"All werewolves have a dark and depraved nature, Lydia," he whispered in her ear as he bent forward. "It's just a matter of how long we can keep it at bay."

And then, without another thought in his boozy, alcohol-riddled brain, he leaned forward even more, allowing his mouth to fill with saliva, feeling his fangs extend in anticipation, and he bit her. Right on the neck. Not entirely unlike Scott's bite.

As soon as the rusty, tangy liquid coated his tongue, he found himself snapping out of the haze as quickly as he'd let himself fall into it. He bit someone. He. Bit. Someone. A girl. A young girl who didn't deserve this.

She reached up to staunch the flow of blood, but it was too much. It was pouring out between her fingers. Peter looked all around for someone to help them, but there was no one else in sight. It was just them. Thankfully, the hospital was right up the street. If he called now, they might make it to her in time.

He pulled out his phone, dialing the number with shaky hands, and waited for someone to pick up. "Hi, yes," he said. "I'm at the gym at 1103 Woodbine. I, uh, just watched an animal run out of the woods and bite someone. A girl. She's got, uh, red hair. She's bleeding. It's... it's bad. Please hurry."

And then he hung up. A reply wasn't necessary. Someone would come and save her. Right now, his only concern could be getting himself to the police station. Also not that far away. He could walk, probably. He should walk. It would give him time to think about how exactly he was going to explain the severity of the situation, guaranteeing he would be locked up forever with no chance of parole, without accidentally exposing Derek or Scott or Isaac too.

Shit. Derek. He had been right. Peter was the villain. He didn't have any memory of biting anyone besides Lydia, but maybe he had. Maybe he'd blacked out or something. Maybe his psyche had been too fragile after the death of his sisters and nieces. Maybe he'd lost his fucking mind and hadn't noticed.

He sent up a silent prayer that Lydia survived, realizing next that even if she survived the wound, she might not survive the bite. And if she didn't survive that, Stiles might not either. That was one of his very best friends. And from Peter's understanding, he also harbored a bit of a crush on her. So many people would be affected if she didn't pull through. Oh, how he hoped she pulled through.

Of course, even if she did, she might not want what came with the bite. He had done the exact thing he had promised Talia he would never do. He had forced it on someone. He had made it their burden without giving them an opportunity to accept it as a gift.

Peter really was the fucking worst.

After a few more excruciatingly long minutes ticked by, all while he made his way as slowly as he dared toward justice for Lydia in the form of the police station up ahead, a car stopped next to him. No one else was out at this time of night, it seemed. Well, no one except this car and the ambulance rushing toward the gym on the other side of the road.

Thank God, he thought.

"Can I give you a ride?"

"Gerard?"

"Get in, kid. It's too dark out here. Someone might hit you."

Peter scoffed, knowing that Gerard would have no way of understanding the true irony of that comment.

"Come on," he insisted. "I'll take you home."

Peter relented after another second, falling into the front seat. "I'm not going home, though," he explained as he shut the door and buckled up. "Can you take me to the police station?"

The car inched forward, like Gerard was merging back into the nonexistent traffic. "The police station?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm."

Peter could feel the old man's eyes on him, but he didn't turn to meet his gaze. He wasn't strong enough. He'd break down. One look and he would be begging for forgiveness from a man who could not offer it.

"Is that your blood, Peter?"

He sighed, forcing himself not to cry as the gravity of his actions hit him. "No, sir."

"Yeah, I didn't think so, kid."

And without another word, Peter felt something puncture his skin right about the spot he had bitten Lydia. Right on the goddamn neck. A needle, if he was a betting man. A needle whose contents were making him rather sleepy.

As Peter drifted off, all he could see was Gerard's smug fucking face. Smug about what, he didn't know. And as he lay there paralyzed in the seat next to him, he had no idea if he'd ever find out. All he had now was one final thought to keep him company and no way to warn anybody.

He might be a villain, but there was a new Big Bad in town. 

this story continues with high infidelity [midnights #2]