11

The air was cooler than usual when I stepped out of the house, like the universe had decided to match the temperature to my mood. Or maybe Beacon Hills just liked to be dramatic. Either way, I was grateful. Cold kept me alert, and I didn't want to think about Scott anymore.

The bookstore was only a ten-minute walk, and I took my time getting there.

When I unlocked the back door and stepped into the bookstore, it was quiet. My kind of quiet. Familiar, dusty, filled with that comforting smell of old paper and ink. I flicked on the lights, tossed my bag behind the counter, and checked the register. Everything looked the same as always.

Until the little bell above the door jingled.

I looked up.

And there he was.

Max.

Leaning against the door frame like he belonged there. Like he always belonged there. Same dark coat, same messy curls, same look on his face amused, smug, and a little too knowing for someone who claimed to just be curious.

"Hey, stranger," he said, stepping inside. "You looked like you needed rescuing."

"I didn't," I replied automatically. "What are you doing here?"

"I missed you," he said, like it was nothing. "Also I'm bored. Eternity has a lot of downtime. You're more interesting than rearranging the crypt alphabetically."

I raised a brow. "Do you even have a crypt?"

He smiled. "Do you want to find out?"

I ignored the flutter that caused in my chest. "You always show up when I'm working."

"That's because you always smell the best when you're pretending to be okay."

I froze for half a second. "That's creepy."

Max shrugged, unapologetic. "And yet, you didn't ask me to leave."

I didn't have a comeback to that. Mostly because he was right. I didn't want him to leave. I probably should've. But I didn't.

Instead, I looked at him and said, "Did you know I almost told Scott about you today?"

"Did you?" Max's eyes sparkled, like that amused him more than it scared him.

"Yeah. I wanted to. I should've. You're... you've been killing people."

Max tilted his head, like he was genuinely trying to understand. "Do you want me to apologize?"

"I want to know why I didn't do it," I muttered, half to myself. "Why I didn't say anything. Why I can't."

Max stepped closer, hands in his pockets, gaze sharp but calm. "Because part of you likes this. Me. The not knowing. The edge. The way I look at you like you're not just some kid who got left behind."

"I'm not."

"No, you're not," he said. "You're dangerous. Even if you don't know it yet."

He stood right in front of me now, close enough that I could smell blood and leather and something sharp underneath.

"You felt it, didn't you?" he said. "The darkness. The thing inside you."

I swallowed. "Yeah."

"Still think you're just human?"

I didn't answer. Because I didn't know anymore.

"Let me help you find out what you are," Max said, his voice lower, steadier, a little less teasing than usual. "I won't hurt you. Unless you ask nicely."

I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth betrayed me with the smallest twitch. He saw it. Of course he did.

"You always show up when I don't know what I need," I said, quietly.

"That's because I know what you need before you do," he whispered. "And if it turns out you want more from me... just ask."

I stepped back from him just enough to fold my arms and really look at him. "Okay, then. You say you want to help? Answer some questions."

Max grinned. "Stiles Stilinski, finally taking charge. I'm into it."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

I hesitated. Then: "How old are you?"

He leaned against the counter like we were just gossiping. "I was turned in 1871."

I blinked. "What the hell, wait, like Reconstruction era 1871?"

"Right after the Great Chicago Fire, actually. Good year for chaos."

"You don't look a day over twenty-two."

He winked. "Thank you."

"Where were you from? Before you were turned."

He paused, the grin slipping into something smaller. "Beacon Hills."

That stopped me cold. "You were born here?"

"Grew up just outside town. Back when it was mostly logging and superstition."

"So... this is like, a homecoming?"

Max tilted his head. "I came back because I heard a rumor about a scrawny teen surviving demonic possession and not losing his mind. Didn't realize I'd find someone who could make me laugh."

My face flushed before I could stop it. "Do you... do you have a coven or nest or whatever vampires call it?"

"Had one," he said, voice soft. "Most of them are dead now. Some by hunters. Some by each other. It's not as glamorous as the movies make it sound."

"And the sun thing? That's not real, right? Because you walked in here at noon yesterday and didn't burst into flames."

He held up his hand, showing a silver ring set with a black stone. "Witch-made. Enchanted. Daylight rings are rare, but not impossible."

"Witch-made," I repeated. "Okay, good, witches. Awesome. Love that for me."

He laughed under his breath. "You're doing better than most would."

"Okay, next question." I leaned forward. "How do I kill you?"

Max raised a brow, amused but not offended. "Planning ahead?"

"I like to be prepared."

He studied me, then said, "Rip my heart out. Decapitate me. Or burn me alive. That one works best. But if it makes you feel better..." He stepped forward again, slowly. "You could probably kill me without trying. Whatever's inside you it's not normal."

I didn't respond. I couldn't. Not to that.

Instead, I asked, "Do you sleep in a coffin?"

He laughed. "No. I have a very nice bed and high-thread-count sheets. Want to see?"

I rolled my eyes, but it was hard to hide the smile tugging at my mouth.

"Do you drink animal blood or just... murder people?" I asked, more serious now.

His expression sobered. "I used to try the 'vegetarian' thing. Didn't work. It made me... wrong. Angry. Foggy. I don't kill everyone. But I kill enough."

"And you think that's okay?"

"I don't think I'm supposed to be okay," Max said quietly. "But I'm still here."

I didn't know what to say to that.

He stepped back, giving me space, his tone softening. "Any more questions?"

I looked down at my hands. "What do you think is in me?"

"I don't know," he said. "Yet. But it's strong. And old. And I don't think it's gone."

"Great," I muttered. "Love that."

He smiled again. "You could've asked me all of this over text, you know."

"Yeah," I said. "But then I wouldn't get to see your stupid face."

Max grinned like I'd handed him a compliment. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Stilinski."

I shook my head, laughing despite myself.

But deep down, I was still wondering what he saw in me that even I didn't understand yet.

And if he was right, if whatever was inside me wasn't gone, then I needed to know what that meant.

Even if it scared the hell out of me.