Hello! Here it is! School's started again, online I'm afraid, but hey. Enjoy!


"Get her on the table! Now, quickly!" Deaton commanded, clearing glass jars and bits and pieces from the metal slate.

Jordan and Mallisa did their best, dragging the unconscious nurse on top of it. Mallisa glanced at Parrish over her mask, her own worry reflected in his eyes. Deaton snapped on a pair of latex gloves, identical to the one Mallisa and the Deputy wore. He leaned over the sleeping figure of the young nurse, bringing his flashlight to her face as he lifted her eyelids. He brought the instrument repeatedly over the eyeball from different angels.

"And someone tell me where on Earth Scott McCall is," he said over his shoulder with concern. No one had an answer.


Lizzy stared at her arm, her eyes wide with alarm and confusion. The Winchesters kept their distance but Sam spoke up, his voice soothing and calm as he pocketed his gun.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. Why don't you just tell us your name."

Her gaze darted up to him. "What? What does that matter? I have to get inside… This thing, it's…."

Dean lifted his gun again. "You don't want to do that. That black mark, it's infectious."

"But then, how… how did I get it?"

"Someone in the hospital has it. Timmothy Jones. We need to know whether you came in contact with him."

"Yes, yes I did. It was an accident, I swear. I didn't… I didn't…"

"Hey," Dean said, his voice more forceful than Sam would have chosen. "Just tell us your name and who else you came in contact with."

"Lizzy Wendale. Just my regular patients and a few nurses, or maybe… I.. I… don't know!." Dean closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head. "I was wearing gloves, I swear."

But it didn't matter. "Sam, go and tell…"

Dean was cut off as the nurse lunged forward, throwing her arms out. Both men jumped back, eyes wide.

"No please! You have to help me! There has to be a cure, something you can do!"

She reached for Sam's arm. In the short time they had been standing together, the dark spot had grown to consume almost most of her hand, leaving only her fingertips bare. He flinched back as Dean yelled at her.

"Stop! Stand back or I'll have to shoot!"

But she didn't listen. She reached for him again. She froze. Her back arched back as her jaw loosened in a silent scream. She fell to the ground and didn't move again. Sam and Dean stared, their gazes rising up to the doorway where a woman now stood. She lifted a syringe up beside her head like a gun, her shoulder-length hair dark and curly.

"I know where we can take her," she said. Sam and Dean shared a wide-eyed look. They both thought the same thing. How many more surprises could this place throw at them?


"C'mon, Scott. C'mon."

Stiles pressed the phone icon one last time on his best friend's contact. He held the phone to his ear, listening to its exasperating drone. Nothing. Nothing.

"Please pick up. I can't save you if you don't pick up."

He gave up, pocketing his phone. He grabbed his jeep keys and leaned out of his father's office. Lydia was still sitting outside, her leg bouncing nervously. Her gaze flickered up to meet his.

"If you're going, I'm coming."

He opened his mouth to protest, but knew it would be futile.


"Scott?"

No response.

"Scott?"

Scott blinked, his mother's voice dragging him from his foggy thoughts. He turned towards her. Her head peeked out from behind the side exit where he had been left to guard from the inside of the hospital, making sure no one else went out and could come in contact with the nurse.

"Yeah?"

"We have to go."

"What?"

"The FBI, they called the Sheriff. The whole hospital's going to go into lockdown. We have to get Lizzy away now."

Scott nodded, moving towards her as she retreated back outside. His hand grasped the edge of the door. Something made him pause. He looked over his shoulder. Down the white hall where occasional figures walked, calm and organised. Where there would be chaos and panic within minutes. He squinted. His eyes scanned the doors of hospital rooms, trays of equipment, looking for something. He didn't know what, but there was something he was missing.

"Scott?" Mallisa's head reappeared. "Scott, what are you doing?" He didn't say anything, his body turned away from her. "Do you hear something?"

"Just a second… Go without me, I just need to check something out."

Mallisa blinked at her son, but she trusted him. She nodded.

"Alright, just, be careful?"

But Scott wasn't listening anymore, his hand falling away from the door as he strode further back into the hall. Mallisa pulled back with a last worried glance. He couldn't explain what came over him. A sort of cool dread settled in his stomach. A feeling like something was here that shouldn't be. Slowly, his gaze lifted. Higher and higher, until he was staring up at the ceiling. At the source of his unease.

A hand landed on his shoulder. He whirled, alarmed. His eyes shone red and the figure stumbled back. Stiles.

"Wow, dude. Easy on the eyes." Scott blinked, his best friend recovering. Stiles clapped him on the back. "Why weren't you picking up your phone, we've been looking for you." Scott still hadn't responded. He just kept staring at Stiles with disbelief. "Scott? Scott, what are you staring at?"

"I didn't hear you coming," Scott said slowly. Stiles looked at him expectantly, not getting it. Scott rolled his eyes. "I mean, I didn't sense you, didn't smell you or hear you."

Stiles face pulled back in disgust. "You smell me?"

"Stiles! This is serious."

"Right, right." He nodded thoughtfully and then shook his head. "Still not getting it, sorry."

Scott sighed. "Stiles, I didn't know you were there until you put your hand on my shoulder."

Stiles pursed his lips, nodding along. His eyes widened. He looked back at his friend with alarm. "That's bad, right? That's like really bad."

Scott sighed again. "Yeah, Stiles, it is."

"What?" Stiles asked, worried. "You've got that expression. Like that's not the worst of it. Like there's more. Is there more?"

"I didn't sense you coming and I'm pretty sure the Manticore is in the building." He looked up, Stiles following his gaze regretfully. "Like, right above us."


Lydia paused, her hand hovering just above the door handle. She knew she shouldn't. That she should be helping Stiles find Scott like they had planned, but she had long since learned not to ignore her instincts. She hadn't even meant to be on this side of the hospital, but her feet had brought her here anyway. She swallowed hard and pushed down, her hand biting into the cold metal. The lock clicked out of place and the door opened, creaking as the light split through the crack. She pushed it open further and peered inside.

She knew who she would find before she saw him.

The room was like any other hospital room she had ever seen. A large bed taking its centre. Timmothy's chest rose and fell lightly as the heart monitor beeped steadily beside him. The drawn curtains casted the warm orange glow of the setting sun over his figure as the gentle huff of his breathing filling the room. An oxygen tube ran to his nose, stuck down with thick white plastic plasters covered his face. His eyelids fluttering as his eyes rolled in their induced sleep. A coma had been the only way the doctors had deemed effective to stop the spread of the black ink that had been rapidly consuming him. The whole hospital had been able to hear his screams. Every single person, a limited one doctor and one nurse, had been wearing gloves and a mask, isolating themselves as they had waited anxiously to see if they too were infected. They hadn't.

Lydia gulped and closed the door behind her, slipping audibly back into place in the almost silent room. She stepped inside cautiously, her boots dark against the white floor. Part of her wanted to believe she had no idea why she was here. But she did. She knew exactly what she was going to do.

She walked towards the bed, her steps slow. Behind her, she could hear the growing sounds of the hospital closing down. Nurses rushing backwards and forwards, screeching wheels and barked commands. Someone would come in here eventually. She had to hurry.

"Mr. Jones?" she asked, pushing force behind his name. A calling. No response came. "Timmothy Jones?" she tried again, stepping further forward.

She tried not to stare at his arms. At the place just above his elbow, carefully laid beside him above the covers, where the black goo stopped. His entire forearms was black.

Lydia's leg bumped against the edge of the bed. She closed her eyes briefly, recovering her nerves. She could hear her heartbeat pound in her head. Her blood rush past her ears. She took in a last deep breath and reached out. She slowly moved her uncovered hand towards his. Something told her this wouldn't work if she was wearing gloves. Whatever this was. She followed her own movements with wide eyes as her hand moved closer and closer to his limp, black one.

She closed the last remaining space between them.

Her fingertips brushed against the back of his hand. She was not afraid. She was not certain she was immune, but she knew she had to do this.

She brushed her fingers along his hand, turning it enough to cup his palm with hers. His limp hand was cold against hers but she didn't let go.

Nothing happened.

She let out her held breath unevenly and closed her eyes. She had to make it happen. She was a banshee. She could do this. Darkness stared back at her. Cold and empty. Black like the goo that had already consumed two people. She wouldn't let it take a third. She scrunched her brow, concentrating. Reaching blindly for something. Something to hold onto. To pull her forward. To trigger something. There were no strings, no drawings and no tapes now. Nothing but the darkness. And the trembling desperation of the goo to spread, echoing in her bones. She felt the tug and she didn't let go. She grasped it with her mind, lashing out. She wouldn't let go. She focused on its course. Where it had been, where it came from. She honed in on that.

A spark lit the dark. All sound around her evaporated. The buzz of the machinery, the flurry of her own heartbeat, distant footsteps and the hum of the air-conditioner. It all disappeared, swallowed up. A supernatural silence settled in her head. Fear thrummed through her, jittering and demanding. Lydia looked around desperately in the darkness, searching for the danger. For the source. Confusion and panic pounded into her, blown out and raw. She whirled, but there was nothing there. She clenched her eyes shut, trying to see more.

Nothing…

She stopped. She froze, realisation breaking through some of the chaos. She was the source. The panic roaring in her head wasn't hers. Whatever she was running from wasn't really there. Not for her anyway.

"I'm in someone else's mind."

Lydia breathed in deeply three long times and opened her eyes. Her tunnel vision focused and she was in the woods. She was running, dashing desperately between the trees. The forest flashed around her, foreign and terrifying, barely lit by the dull haze of the high moon. She panted as she ran harder and faster, not on two legs but on four. Her body was supple and quick, her ears twitching towards every sound. She was the creature. The panic grew to a roaring crescendo in her chest. She was afraid. She didn't know where she was. How to get away. She didn't recognise the cold air brushing her thick coat of fur. Didn't know what the dense wetness hanging heavily in the air was. Time threw her forward again, lurching her through the century, dragging Lydia with her.

A small girl, her face alive with terror, clawing over the ground to get away from her. The creature's confusion turned to violence. The girl kept kicking and screeching when she had to be quite. Had to give the creature the chance to know where she was. To calm down. But she was so hungry. The sweet smell of the girl's blood flurried through her nostrils. She ducked her head away, trying to stop herself. But she was hungry. So hungry and she had to… She needed more if she wanted to get home… She needed…

Temporarily relief flooded through her. Warm, sugar filled blood broke over her fangs, its heat filling her mouth. She clammed down harder, taking more and more. Nothing in her mind but the utter bliss of a feed after so long. She felt the black goo of her own blood spill over her teeth, mixing with the human's. Infecting her. She drew back from the small girl, still beneath her. Her claws slid out and scratched in one sweep over the girl's neck, severing the head. It took what she really needed. Time. She took it greedily, sucking down on the power blooming in her.

But when she opened her eyes, she wasn't home. It wasn't the bright sun baring down on her or the soft meadows with her puppies greeting her eagerly she stood upon. Loud sirens wailed, piercing her ears. The ground thrummed as wheels squealed over concrete, creating such a loud thundering noise. She gritted her teeth, ducking her head. Trying to get away from the horrible noise. A loud honk made her look up, startled. Two white blinding lights bore into her. Frightened, she leapt away. Back into the strange forest, the leaves cracking beneath her paws.

She howled, but no one answered. No one heard.

She roamed aimlessly through the woods, eventually finding a place to rest as exhaustion tugged at her. A split between two rocks, revealing a cave within. She dragged herself towards it, collapsing inside. She curled up the best she could, trying to keep warm. She tried to be as quite as she could. She didn't know what kind of predators these woods held.

Lydia gasped, stumbling back from the bed. Timmothy's hand fell from her grip, hanging limply beside him. Lydia stared out ahead of her, the stolen memories flooding through her on repeat. Her eyes searched through them desperately, sure she had misunderstood. But the truth was undeniable. She crashed back against the wall behind her. She slid down, her legs giving up. Her eyes were wide and searching as she stared at the sinking sun, disappearing further and further from sight. She landed softly, her mind racing. Her mouth hung agape, the words caught on her tongue.

"She doesn't want to kill anyone," Lydia said incredulously. "She just wants to go home."

Her eyes rolled back in her head, the world tilting as she collapsed on her side. Her eyes wide she stared out unseeing, her words hanging unheard in the air.


Lizzy gasped, her back arching off the table.

"Hold her down," Deaton barked. Mallisa's knuckles whitened with the strain of her grip, clutching the young nurse's thrashing shoulder. Lizzy threw her head back and screamed as the black goo pumped forcefully through her, the veins in her neck bulging black. Parrish growled low in his throat, the noise reverberating with a thousand unseen voices in a way that belonged only to the supernatural. The nurse turned her wide-eyed gaze to him, his eyes a living flame.

"Calm," he ordered, his voice rumbling. She whimpered but did as she was told, lying limp on the worktable, wincing through the pain.

"Good," Deaton said as he turned back around to face the three. Mallisa watched as he pressed the needle of a syringe into a small glass bottle, the liquid inside a murky purple.

"What's that, an antidote?"

Deaton tilted his head in a 'somewhat' motion.

"Not quite," he said as he pulled up the end of the syringe, the liquid filling it rapidly in his steady hands. "I studied the black goo and it's not as much a poison as a sort bacteria. In a manner of speaking, it, without having a consciousness, believes it is healing the victim. Replacing the blood with what it believes to be a better alternative."

"Better for what?" Mallisa asked, fear trembling her voice. Jordan's human eyes flickered to Deaton's with worry. The vetenarian looked between both adults with unease.

"That's just was concerns me."

He plunged the needle into the nurse's throat. She screamed again, her eyes clenched shut as he pushed down, the liquid disappearing into her. She moaned quietly once it was over. Deaton removed the needle and dabbed down the red droplet it had left in its wake. "You're alright," he told her kindly. She nodded, mumbling something under her breath. She still hadn't opened his eyes.

Mallisa let go of her and stepped back, her shoulder's slumping with exhaustion.

"That should stop the spread," Deaton addressed all of them as he wiped down the long needle. "It will immobilise the black stuff for long enough to let her own blood cells recover and reproduce."

"She'll heal?" Parrish pushed to know, already reaching for his communicator. Deaton didn't look so sure.

"Possibly. It's hard to tell right now." All three looked to the young woman, her chest rising steadily as her eyelids shuddered and her neck lulled. Deaton looked up again. "We can only hope."


"Maybe it's because of his blood."

"What?"

"Well, the black stuff the Manticore creates, maybe it's make out of it. And it's not cold or hot blooded, but differently blooded. Hence, you can't sense it the way you normally would." Stiles offered. Scott shook his head. "Doesn't matter now. I now it's here."

The lifts doors opened and Scott and Stiles stepped out into the abandoned hall. They could hear the dull throb of the commotion downstairs where every patient was being led to the same area. They were all going to be locked in with the creature. Nerves clutched Scott tightly as they slowly walked along the white-halled hall. Someone had made the wrong call, but he wasn't sure where his or anyone else's mistakes started and where they ended.

A heavy thud made him startle. His eyes fluttered over the room hurriedly. Another sounded. Not a thud, he realised. Four soft rhythmic thuds. A creature on four legs, their nails clicking dully over the plastic floor. It was close.

"Stiles, behind me," he said without a thought, holding up an arm. Stiles stepped back slowly, but never put more than a foot between himself and his best friend. The sound grew as Scott stared straight ahead. Again and again it came, growing nearer and nearer. Scott's eyes glowed just as the creature appeared unhurriedly from around the corner. It turned and stared straight back at Scott. The Manticore. Scott didn't stare it down, didn't growl, didn't charge. He turned to his friend, looking over his shoulder. His eyes met Stiles, already looking at him expectantly, licking his lips nervously. He shook his head ever so slightly. Scott understood. Stiles wouldn't leave. Scott nodded and a look passed between them. A look only they ever shared. A look that said a thousand words that did not need to be spoken. It was almost indescribable. They each knew exactly what it meant.

I would die for you.


Lydia opened her eyes slowly, white light bursting through her vision. She squinted, wincing. Her arm ached beneath her, cold and hard against the floor. Gradually, she lifted her head, peering around her. She was still in the room. Alertness made her eyes widen. She jumped up, her head throbbing with the sudden movement. She ignored it. How much time had she lost? Her mind still riled with the images from another's memories. They played like a broken tape, cracking and jumping, shuffling out of order. She shook her head, trying to bring her mind to herself. She couldn't be distracted. She had to go.

She hurriedly walked around the door and made to go for the door when a sound stopped her. Her breath caught in her throat. The door creaked open. It was open, she realised. She was sure she had closed it behind her. But now, it opened further, ever so slowly. She pulled her hands to her chest, staring with wide eyes. Would she be caught? Would someone grab the body when they were not supposed to? She couldn't let that happen. She glanced at the unconscious man on the bed, the heart monitor still beeping steadily. She would have to protect him. She gulped. She didn't want to think what she might do if she had to use her voice against an innocent human.

She didn't move as the door stopped opening further. No voices followed. No loud footsteps. She frowned. Something was wrong. Very wrong. She tilted her head. Her mouth fell open in horror as a single golden-brown paw landed almost soundlessly inside, the rest of the body hidden behind the door. She gasped and stubbled back, falling to her knees painfully. She grabbled at the bed in her haste to get around it, breathing rapidly. She retreated, not turning her back to the door, her chest rising and falling at an alarming speed.

Here. It was here.

The memories flooded back to her. The creature that had killed the girl with almost no effort at all. That hadn't wanted to but had been so hungry, so desperate, it hadn't been able to stop itself. Her eyes searched desperately around the room. Had it eaten since then? The question thrummed through her mind on repeat as she searched for anything in the room she could use to defend herself. The machinery perhaps, but that was on the other side of the bed. She considered the window, glancing at the last slider of the sun visible. But they were on the fourth floor. She wouldn't stand a chance. She'd already known the unavoidable truth of the situation the second she had seen that paws. She was trapped. There was nowhere she could go. Pressing herself against the wall behind her, she looked back to the Manticore.

A second paw had landed beside the first one, its body slowly revealing itself as it moved further inside. She slammed her hand to her mouth, cupping it to keep in her scream. To keep in any noise at all. Maybe it didn't know she was there. Maybe it would just go away. Lydia knew it wasn't true.

The front half of a lion appeared, its snout poking into the room. Lydia watched, paralysed with fear as more and more of its face revealed itself. When Stiles had said the Manticore would have the head of a human, this was not what Lydia had imagined. Its face was a morphing of human and lion-like features just as Scott's were when he was a wolf. Its snout struck far out of its face but something about the two arches up the centre of its face looked like a human nose, turning each way into wide human sockets. Large round, pitch black eyes rested deep within. Its ears were cat like too, twitching as it walked further into the room but its forehead was like humans. The Manticore was covered all over in that golden coat Deaton had described. Lydia scanned every inch of it, her horror replaced with a sort of awe. An awe of something dangerous but beautiful. And she was beautiful. She, Lydia reminded herself. The Manticore was a she. Where the illustrations had painted Manticores with giant manes, hers was clipped short. Two more paws appeared, revealing to Lydia the full length of the creature. She was far larger than any lioness, but her body curved the same way, her belly dipping with patches of matted fur and enormous shoulder blades and bones in her legs. She moved with stealth and uneven grace, each shoulder rising and falling one after the other with every step.

Lydia's eyes trailed slowly upwards, her terror returning tenfold. As the creature entered the room almost entirely, her tail came into view. A flash of red high a metre above her peeking into the room. Lydia watches as a scaled curved tail curled, its top separated into two enormous curved sharp blades. A scorpion's tail, gleaming in the bright light.

Lydia stopped breathing all together. Fully entered, the Manticore's head slowly turned.

One thought echoed through Lydia's mind frantically, screaming in her head. Why hadn't she attacked yet? She knew Lydia was here- she had to- what was she waiting for? But she only moved its head slowly, as if she had all the time in the world. The Manticore's eyes slid towards the bed. Lydia's stomach dropped as she followed the creature's gaze. She was here for Timmothy.

The Manticore resumed its slow pace, walking straight for the bed, the man still unconscious upon it. With a graceful movement Lydia would never have expected from a creature that clearly held so much stretch, the Manticore leapt onto the bed. Her paws landed softly into the duvet, sinking the bed. Her tail arched high above her, but not poised to attack. It just swayed calmly through the air the way a cat's tail might. The cat moved its paws to either side of the sleeping man, not appearing to disturb him in any way. Her body moved above him, her front paws resting just beside his head. Lydia watches as the Manticore dipped her head down. She butted her head under the man's chin and let her snout trail over his cheek. Lydia recognised the action immediately.

Seemingly satisfied, the lioness-like creature pulled back. She raised her right leg and with human-like practice brought her paw underneath the man's shoulder. She pulled him towards her, his body tilting to the side. She moved down and did the same with his back legs until he was laying entirely on his left side. Lydia wanted to call out, but she had no idea if it would do any good. She knew at that angel, the man was lying on his oxygen tube, but the machines showed no indication of any sort of disturbance. The Manticore pranced back down from the bed, landing with a soft thud on its four legs. She faced the turned man and tugged him towards her with her front paws. He toppled slowly, leaning dangerously far. With a last gentle prod from the Manticore's tail, he tumbled from the bed. Not to hit the ground though. At the last moment, The Manticore turned and the man fell limply onto her back. She was big enough he only just covered her. She took his weight with no sign of any physically strain. His oxygen tube fell away from his nose but before the heart monitor could start beeping, the Manticore's tail rose and struck the machine so quickly Lydia barley followed the movement. A violent clash of red and then the shattering of glass.

The Manticore turned her head towards the far wall. The same slow and unhurried movement as before. Lydia's heart thudded in her ears as she watched her neck stretch. And eventually, Black eyes bore into green. Lydia could see her own terrified form, shivering and shaking against the wall, reflected in them. She bit down on the scream rising in her throat. She could, she knew. She could just yell and perhaps it would hurt the Manticore, but Lydia wouldn't. Not if she might risk Timmothy's chance to survive. Not until she understood. What was she waiting for? This whole time, why hadn't the Manticore attacked her yet?


Dean peered over the top of his gun, his eyes flickering to each corner.

"You sure you made the right call?" Sam asked, stepping in time with his brother, glancing over his shoulder with his gun ready.

"Yes." Dean said, not missing a beat. "I can feel it."

Sam glanced to his brother briefly but didn't say anything. He trusted Dean more than anyone, but they'd both made their fair share of mistakes. Had Dean not said anything, Sam would have followed Mallisa and the Deputy back to their vet. He'd had a feeling there had been a lot more to learn from Dr. Deaton. But Dean had pulled him away and insisted they search the hospital instead. 'That kid, Scott, do you see him with them? Or his friend? They're the ones who seem to find the action. We stay.' Regretfully, Sam had agreed, casting a last look at the unconscious woman being lifted into the Sheriff Station car. But he'd followed, closing the backdoor behind him. So far, they'd managed to avoid the lockdown entirely.

Sam turned left and Dean focused his eyes down the barrel of his gun as they entered another hallway. They all looked the same to Sam, but Dean seemed to have a method. Nerves twitched in Sam's gut and he wasn't sure why. They'd done this a million times before with more dangerous creatures, but something felt different. Off. Like they were missing a large piece of information. Sam pushed down the thought and kept going, his eyes sharp.

Dean froze. Sam saw his stop and followed his example but didn't ask. Dean just tilted his head, listening for something. Sam did that too, eyeing his brother. Dean's eyes widened and his head snapped to the side. Sam's mouth opened to ask, but he heard it to.

The soft thud of footfalls. Not human. The sound of four paws striding down the hall. He guessed it might be coming from maybe ten feet away. They didn't hesitate. As one, they rushed down the hall, nearing the sound. Neither one had any idea what would be waiting for them around the corner.


The creature's empty eyes slid away from Lydia. Her gaze turned back to the door. Lydia slumped in relief, her chest heaving. The creature took no notice of her. She began to walk, each paw landing calmly one after another. The man didn't fall as he was jostled on her back, moving with the sway of her shoulders. Without having ever made a sound, the Manticore left the room, the door swaying behind her, creaking once more. Just like that, she was gone.

Lydia gasped for air, collapsing against the wall entirely, her legs giving out. She slid to the ground, striking it hard. She didn't care. She was alive. For some reason, she was alive. The Manticore had let her live. Knowing what Lydia would witness, she had let her live. Lydia clutched her hand to her chest, her heart thumping underneath her hand. She forced herself to think as her legs scrambled uselessly out in front of her. The Manticore hadn't killed Timmothy. She hadn't bitten him again to make the black ink spread, or maybe she had by taking him away. But she hadn't killed him outright. Why not? She needed him maybe, but what for? Lydia's mind raced through endless questions and possibilities, not coming up with anything. Why? Why? Why? Every question came back to that. And the way the Manticore had acted. It had been clever. Resourceful even. No creature was clever like that, not unless they were partially human anyway.

She had to get to Scott. Had to tell him the truth. Nothing was like it seemed. She had to get up. She clawed her fingers against the wall as she dragged herself to her feet. Her legs shook, but she forced herself to take a step forward. She swayed to the right, the world spinning in blurred coloured around her, but she didn't fall. She lifted her foot to take another step when her head snapped up. Her eyes went wide.

A growl came from behind the door. No, Lydia realised. From further. From somewhere in the building on this floor. It echoed through her head, tugging her forward. The call of an Alpha.

"Scott." The name brushed past her lips, fear gripping her heart in a cold fist. Something was going to go terribly wrong. She could feel it. And she knew she would be too late to stop it.