Stiles's Arc

Chapter 18 of 20

Stiles moved the second Scott's voice hit the air. He dropped down two rows, grabbed Isaac under the arms, and dragged him back up the bleachers. Isaac was heavy and slack, but Stiles didn't stop until they reached the top bench beside Lydia and the flame. Below, Scott planted himself behind the basketball hoop at the gym's far end, using the metal post as a shield. His red eyes burned. He roared, and the Acheron's head snapped toward him. Derek hit the creature from the left, blue eyes flashing, claws raking through dark water. Malik came from the right, fully shifted now — jackal head, black fur, gold markings glowing like fire across his chest. "Keep it on us!" Scott shouted. The three of them circled, striking and falling back, never letting the Acheron settle. Water sprayed. The hoop rang like a bell where the creature slammed against it. On the top bench, Lydia hunched over the burner. The silver arrowhead glowed white-hot. She pushed the flame higher. The glass groaned. Then the beaker shattered in her hands, pieces scattering across the bench. But the arrowhead didn't melt. It hovered above the broken glass, the silver now sheathed in shimmering gold, markings spiraling along its edge like the ones on Malik's skin. Lydia stared. Stiles stared. The heat rolled off it in waves. "That's it," Stiles breathed. "Lydia. That's how we kill it." He reached for the gilded blade, and below them, the Acheron turned its head, finally, toward the light.