NOTE: Hey there lovelies 3 I appreciate all of you so much, and I just want to say that I'm sorry I left this story for so long. To offer you all some explanation, shortly after my last update my mama was diagnosed with breast cancer. She went through surgery, and radiation, and now is her badass cancer-free self again! Her journey isn't over yet, but happily my life has calmed down enough to where I can hopefully make time for small things such as writing again :)

Stiles

He came to in a slow haze, like an easy transition in a PowerPoint presentation, with the surroundings trickling into his brain sluggishly. The first thing that made itself known was the pounding right behind his eyes, because of course it wasn't a day in the life of Stiles Stilinski if he wasn't suffering from head trauma of some sor-wait. His memories slipped into place next, vague recollections of shadowy forms…and his mouth was painfully dry from the chloroform. He was lying on his side, and his hands were bound behind him, so if the chloroform hadn't made it clear that he was in trouble, it certainly was now. He kept his eyes closed, trying to concentrate on his surroundings, and doing his best to stay still.

"I know you're awake, so there's really no point in playing games Stiles-at least right now. I'm sure you and I will have plenty of time to play games in the future, but I think we better get the formalities out of the way first."

Stiles opened his eyes a little, squinting into a dimly lit room and trying to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. He couldn't make out much in the room, though he saw the vague shapes of a bed, and a table, and shelves full of objects he couldn't quite make out.

"Looking for me, Stiles?"

The voice was coming from behind him somewhere, and it sounded younger than he had thought originally. It had a slippery smooth quality that he didn't like, (though that could be in part that he was bound on the floor) and it reminded him of the crime shows he filled his free time with. It sounded nice, in an empty way, like the sociopaths that committed cold blooded atrocities.

He had to get out of there.

"Sti-lessss I left you ungagged for a reason. I know you like to talk, so why aren't you saying anything?"

He stayed silent.

"You don't want to hurt my feelings do you? Because I can't see how that would end well for you, or for anyone really."

He bit his tongue, refusing to play his kidnapper's game. His eyes darted around the room, looking for the way out, and he cursed silently because the door must be behind him.

"Alright then, if you want to go this route. When I come back I'll give you more than a few reasons to play with me."

He heard fabric rustling as the man stood up, and retreating footsteps before a door opened and closed heavily. Then he heard the sound of a dead bolt slamming into place, and then another dead bolt, and another…really dude? Three dead bolts? THREE? I can't even pick a lock!

Bad guys and their overkill.

Derek

He was really hoping Stiles would listen for once and just stay put. He couldn't be everywhere at once, and as much as he was trying to keep everything under control, it didn't come easily to him. He should have called somebody to be with Stiles. He should have said more than one word to try to convince him. He should have done more, but he stupidly let the fact that it was Stiles who was being followed slip his mind. The fact that he was rushing to an SOS from Erica who was at Stiles' house, was not ringing the bells in his head that should be telling him that this could be a set up.

His pulse was pounding in his ears as he bounded through the forest, following his senses and instincts without making the full shift into alpha form. It would give him the added benefit of some speed and strength, but he still didn't have it down all the way. He was always exhausted when he shifted back, and he didn't know what he might be up against for the rest of the night.

He made it to the Stilinski house, and slowed to a halt, taking in the scents and sounds that were around him. He smelled something faintly unfamiliar, but his attention was immediately drawn to the faint groaning and heavy breathing that he knew were being made by Erica. She was in pain. He leapt to the roof, and slipped in through Stiles' bedroom window, a practiced maneuver that he now did with such ease it was embarrassing. Erica was lying on the floor, moaning and drenched in sweat, her breaths were labored and shallow. He knelt beside her and noticed a small needle sticking out of the back of her hand, and his nose twitched when he gently turned her hand over and saw a sprig of wolfsbane clenched in her grip.

Her veins were turning inky on her forearm, and it was clear to see that she had been poisoned with wolfsbane, maybe even the same strain that she was holding. Which didn't make any sense, because why would they leave the antidote there?

What the fuck kind of game was somebody playing?