For Carson Bradley, Stiles Stilinski, and Scott McCall, they were used to having a Plan B. This time, however, they were merely pawns in a far more deadly game.
(season 3, book 3)
(no longer updating)
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FIVE RECOVERY PROCESS
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Hours had passed since Stiles left.
It was now Sunday morning and Carson was left tossing and turning on the mattress that was now her new bed. She didn't understand why the hell she actually needed to stay here, but if Derek could keep her from ripping random stranger's larynx's out, she guessed it was for the better.
She had no idea how Scott had managed to adjust to this. Sounds were louder, like they were hooked up to an amp. Smells were wafting through her nose from far distances, mainly because she had a strong feeling Derek wasn't baking chocolate chip muffins. Unless he had taken up a new hobby. There was also the feeling of hyper vigilance, like she had to be constantly on her watch. She was paranoid that she would snap within seconds and try to hurt someone.
So far Carson had done pretty well, her claws not coming out at all. She didn't feel puffs of fur trying to come through her face and as far as she knew, her eyes weren't shifting gold. She looked like she did three days ago, perfectly and utterly human.
But on the inside, she wasn't. She was becoming a creature of the night, a monster that could kill people without a moment's notice. And it was terrifying. This wasn't what she wanted out of life. There was a necessity in this world for her to be strong and independent, but this wasn't the answer. She didn't want supernatural strength or glowing eyes.
But Carson didn't get a choice in the matter. That was ripped away from her. The alphas took her humanity. She couldn't understand what they wanted with her. Why her? Out of everyone they could have chosen in Beacon Hills, why did the pick her? She wasn't special. She wasn't some sort of prophetic person who could change the planet. How was she supposed to be the game changer? What would her being a werewolf do for Derek? Carson being a werewolf only created so much more of a problem.
She clutched her head, groaning. There were so many questions and sure as hell not enough answers. Her eyes darted over to the window, seeing the pitch black sky looming right outside. She furrowed her brow. Was it nighttime already? Stiles hadn't left that long ago . . .
She tried to ignore the aching feeling his name caused her and grabbed her phone off the floor beside her. She had seven messages, all from Allison and Lydia. Scott had no doubt told them about what was happening to her. Unlocking the phone, she ignored the messages, knowing she wouldn't be able to stomach the pity they were going to give her. She didn't need people feeling sorry for her. Carson was already giving herself enough of that.
The clock at the top of the screen read three fourteen a.m. It was still morning, still Sunday. Meaning that she had gotten absolutely no sleep whatsoever. She didn't even feel tired and she wondered if that was some kind of side effect for being out for most of Saturday. Sleep was evading her and a part of her was thinking that was a good thing. Who knows what kind of nightmares she'd have if she let herself drift off.
