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Maybe it was inevitable.
Maybe she's just broken.
She loved Jackson, loved him enough to bring him back to life, and he abandoned her.
She loved Aiden--or thought she did--and he turned out to be one of the assholes trying to kill everyone.
She loved Stiles--or tried to--but she was too late. He tried, too, but by the time she opened her heart to him, his heart belonged to another.
So, here on Valentine's Day of her junior year, while her few friends and way too many barely acquaintances were at the high school dance, Lydia sits at her dressing table and methodically runs a brush through her hair. It's only nine at night and, dressed in a pink floral silk babydoll nightgown, face scrubbed clean of make-up, she's ready for bed.
But, she's not ready to sleep.
Over the last month she's come to the conclusion that she's simply not lovable. She's too broken inside and too tired to maintain the facade she's shown to the world since the savage bite that tore her life apart.
In the mirror she watches her free hand go to the scars on her shoulder that trail down beneath the top of her gown. She knows just how far the mark goes on her breast, how half an inch more and it would bisect her nipple. Her fingers trace the lines, her nails digging in lightly.
The claws were so much thicker.
On her side the scars from the bite are even worse, twisted and red, and she tries not to look at them if she can avoid it. A mouth, no a muzzle, had her there, destroying her tender skin, and leaving an emotional wound that will never completely heal.
The scars made Jackson uncomfortable and in the months before he left town they made love less and less each week. She thinks he couldn't stand to look at how imperfect she was, how she reflected his inner monster.
With Aiden, not knowing the truth of his nature, she only made love to him in the dark or partially clothed.
And, Stiles...well, they never got that far, but she believes he might have been one of the few to accept the scars and to see her as whole.
But, she's not whole.
There's something missing inside her and it was taken from her.
Tonight, she takes the first step to get it back.
Setting down the brush, Lydia turns to the open window, the curtains drawn, the shade pulled up.
They've been dancing around this since the beginning of the new year when she stopped trying with other men. Or, maybe he's been waiting since the night he claimed her and she's finally ready to accept it.
Earlier she sent the text to bring him to her and now she waits.
He destroyed her. He broke her. He ruined her.
But, more than half a year later she still dreams of him and, in those dreams, he loves her so fiercely, that she awakens wet, with her fingers between her legs, on the cusp of orgasm.
Maybe he's still inside her or maybe it's her own subconscious need, but she's tired of resisting.
Lydia doesn't want to be alone. She doesn't want to be unlovable.
If Peter Hale is all she can have now, she'll take him and she'll take back the part of her soul he stole when he crawled out of her. Or, at least, she'll share it with him.
The scars on her side pull and ache, a signal, and she takes a deep breath and rises to her feet as he climbs through the window, all grace and hunger. Now that she's open to it, she can feel him through the bond that never went away.
No longer denying it is freeing.
Peter gives her a curious look and holds out a single pink rose which she takes and brings to her nose. "Happy Valentine's Day?" He's...hesitant. It's interesting.
Smiling slightly, Lydia sets the rose down and takes the few steps to bridge the space between them. "Why did you bite me, Peter?"
"I was...not myself." He looks puzzled and his blue eyes flare in the dim light of her room. "I needed three for my pack."
"And a random girl on a sports field was your choice?"
"I knew you. I wanted your intelligence." He seeks to flatter her and Lydia finds that amusing, going so far as to laugh low and hard. His eyes glow brighter blue and he bares his teeth slightly.
She lifts her chin, not about to submit to him, and stares into those confused eyes. "What does an Alpha seek besides a pack?"
Awareness flickers on his face, and a small smile creases his lips. "A mate. Is that what you think you are, Lydia?"
"I think you bound us more deeply than Alpha to Beta, Peter, and we both feel it."
"But, you're not a wolf and I'm not the Alpha anymore."
"And yet the bond remains." Firmly she places one hand over his heart and feels it thump against her palm. "I've tried to love others. I've tried to be my old self. I can't, Peter, because you're in the way. You're always there. You never really left me." Her other hand cups his cheek and she rises on her toes. "And I never left you either."
Lydia initiates the first kiss.
Peter takes her to her bed.
And in the middle of making love, joined so completely they can feel the others emotions, Lydia opens her eyes and Peter smiles down into their golden depths.
End