Unsteady | Sterek

Twenty Three: Living like we're renegades

Isaac scents the witches first, eyes flaring and teeth bared in a snarl. The other werewolves follow suit, naturally forming a curve around Stiles. He hates that he feels protected by it.

There are three witches, and when they emerge from the trees, Stiles think that they breathe darkness. Their cloaks whisper on the ground, leaves scurrying to flee, creating a clear path for them. The air hums with magic, but the trees are distressed, rustling in warning and fear. The sharp prickle of something electric is in the air and Stiles can feel his nose itch. He almost laughs at sneezing in front of the witches.

The youngest, and most beautiful, steps forward. Derek growls low in his throat. The woman lifts a petite hand and he is silent. "Spark," she welcomes. "We never formally met. I am Kilane, and these are my sister Magana and Ryndra."

"I'm sorry I couldn't fit in an introduction between horrifying visions, losing control of my own body, ending up in jail, and being kidnapped. Let me know next time so I can clear my schedule." Stiles is too angry to be afraid. He is too hurt to notice that Kilane's face has dropped to a dangerous calm that surrounds her.

Magana barks out a sharp laugh and the tension in Kilane dissipates. Magana is slender, and the oldest of the three, her raven hair curled with a single streak of grey. "You have spirit," she says, almost fondly. Stiles fights back a grimace. He really doesn't want some psycho witch getting attached. "Clearly, that is why the Nogitsune chose you."

Stiles closes his eyes and shudders his way through an avalanche of screams and crying and death. "Shut up," he hisses. "Why are you here?"

Magana blinks owlishly. "Surely you are smarter than that. The access pint for the leu lines. It is here. We need your magic to open it."

"Then you're fresh outta luck, lady, cause I'm just a human. Nothing magic here."

The third sister, silent u til now, steps forward. She is the middle child and her hair is a soft red that reminds Stiles of Lydia. "Maybe," she says airily. "My sisters and I should explain."

A bird shrieks in the distance and the sky rumbles a warning but Stiles sits down, crosses his legs, and waits. Ryndra sits in front of him almost instantly.

"We were drawn here by the lasting magical imprint of the Nogitsune. Someone here woke the Nemeton and there were satins of dark magic. We came to draw power from the healing wounds of the supernatural world. Then we heard of the boy who survived the demon fox, who had given all he had and still lost but he lived.

See, Stiles, being a Spark isn't something one achieves easily. The Nogitsune left that magical residue, let it seep into your body until your blood sang with it. You do not know it, but it is waiting for you.

Magana manipulated your mind. She used your vulnerabilities, used your fears, and let you think that the Nogitsune was back. She sent Allison, the girl that you lost, to weaken your mind and your resolve. It worked."

Stiles chokes on air when he draws in a deep breath. He wants to laugh, to cry, to scream and shout and hurl accusations but he can only inhale and exhale until words tumble out. "Why the murder?" He croaks, and there's a vulnerability to his voice that he hadn't heard since his Mother had died. "Why take control? Why save me from jail just to put me through mental torture? What happened when I was unconscious? Why is this all on me?!"

Someone tries to touch his shoulder but he jerks away, knowing that he is a raging fire right now and he doesn't want anyone to get burned. Scott makes an injured noise but Stiles doesn't look at his best friend.

Ryndra starts talking again, her voice low and soft. Stiles thinks it blends perfectly with the creek bubbling somewhere beside them. "You weren't deteriorating quickly enough," she tells him. "We needed to give you that last little push, just to get you to give up. Then we took you from your cell. But you fought us in your mind. Your mental barriers are strong, Spark, and we could not get through. So we needed you to break.
Our ritual was interrupted by your...pets, and we weren't able to finish-"

Stiles frowns. "What would the ritual have done? It seemed random."

Magana answers this time. "It would have amplified our powers for a short time, allowing us to access the ley lines without having to use you."

"We needed a way to get you here after you were rescued," Kilane explains and while her voice is kind, her words are not. "We sent Markus to get you out, get you cleared so that you would be free to lead us here."

There's a collective snarl from the werewolves around them. The sound battles the magic in the air and Stiles can almost feel it like a dance on his skin. It is strange and familiar and startling. "You can't have him," Scott snaps. "Leave, or we will make you leave."

The three sisters laugh.

"Little Alpha," Magana croons. "You have no power over us."

"I do," Stiles says. "I have power over you. You need me for this to work. I could kill myself right now and be of no use to you." He ignores the rumble of anger and shock from the pack behind him. "So what if we can make a deal?"

Kilane considers him for a moment that stretches into years and Stiles can feel himself age under her eyes. He is tired, he thinks, and he really just wants to curl up and wish away the world. "We are listening," she says.

Stiles lets out a breath through his nose. "I will willingly give you access to the key lines-" Cue more growls and snarls and flashing eyes. "-But I control how much power you get. Some is better than none. You won't get enough to give you unlimited power but you will be significantly stronger. I only request that you leave Beacon Hills and never return, never threaten the safety of this pack and its members and never send others here in your name."

Magana' eyes flint with something steely. "Or," she breathes. "You grant us access and we bring back your mother."