Stiles was hiding something.
She didn’t have to be a detective to know when Stiles was acting stranger than usual. He was jumpy. He wouldn’t let her come over. Their nightly sleepovers? Suddenly cancelled. She even tried to sneak in through his window and found it locked. Stiles never locked his window because he knew she’d come over.
So, Stiles didn’t want to hang out? Fine. He was her anchor but she didn’t need to be attached to his hip. She had other people to hang out with. At least, that’s what she tried to convince herself. But whenever she’d hang out with anyone else, her mind drifted back to Stiles and what the hell he was up to. She kept checking her phone thinking that he’d text her back (he didn’t).
The whole thing made her antsy. Anxious. But more than that, it pissed her off, especially due to the fact that there was a new scent lingering around Stiles’ house. She had Stiles and his dad’s scents down pat, so she knew this was a stranger. More than that, it was a stranger that snaked itself around Stiles. He smelled like this new person intruder, why the hell did he smell like them? His clothes, his Jeep, his freaking backpack.
Malia suspected that’s why he started distancing himself from her. It started the second that she questioned him about it, which led her to one conclusion.
He was cheating on her.
And she didn’t need a banshee’s intuition to know that someone was going to die tonight.
Luckily she caught Sheriff Stilinski as he was leaving for the night, and he trusted her enough to let her come inside and wait for Stiles to get home. The walk up the stairs felt like forever, though she had walked them many times before. Her palms burns, sharp claws digging into her skin. Her heart beat erratic. The stranger’s scent swirls around her, taunting her. Her vision pulsates. She knew she was getting angry but she tried to keep a cap on it.
She pauses outside of Stiles’ door which is cracked just the slightest bit. It’s too small to see inside, but she can hear the squeaking of his bed springs. Just the sound alone is enough to trigger all kinds of horrible scenarios to play in her head and send her over the edge.
She pushes Stiles’ door open with enough force to probably dent the wall behind it. Her eyes land on the boy sitting on Stiles’ bed and if she was pissed before, she’s livid now.
She moves like a bullet towards him. There’s no words, no time for explanations—she grabs the stranger by the shirt, pulling him off of her boyfriend’s bed. They go tumbling onto Stiles’ floor, Malia ending up on top of him.
She lifts him off of the floor by the shirt as she growls in his face, unable to stop her eyes from flashing blue.
“Who the hell are you?”
@deadbrcther
