Bonnie Bennett pulled at the door once, twice, thrice before giving up with a frustrated cry. I'm going to murder Stiles.And Scott too. She would skin Scott's werewolf hide for a nice winter coat right after she reduced Stiles' computer to a pile of ash.

"I'd say it's locked." Derek's drily amused observation rankled her further. Of all people to get locked in a classroom with. What the hell did Stiles mean "You guys need to talk"? She had plenty of people to talk to, thank you, and asshole alphas with egos big enough for their own zipcode were not on her list.

"We'll have to find another way out," Derek continued, checking the windows. The moonlight silhouetted his tall form, the broad shoulders and aquiline profile.

"Do you have any idea why Scott brought you here?"

"No," his response was quick and clipped. Too quick.

"So," she leaned against one of the desks, absently playing with her small locket. "He didn't say anything about 'talking'?"

He shrugged, folding his arms, "No."

Her eyes narrowed. Derek would rather nosedive into a field of wolfsbane than admit it, but she knew Scott was the closest he had to a friend. If Scott and Stiles were co-conspirators in their predicament, did that mean Scott knew something was bothering Derek?

She raised an eyebrow, sizing up the tall alpha, "Really?"

He shoved off the wall, deliberately ignoring her question, "Let's figure a way out. Those vents might work," he pointed at the ceiling, then glanced at her, "You look like you'll fit."

"Why don't you just break that window? Or better yet, break through the door. Isn't that how you take care of things?" she shot back.

"Yea sure Bonnie, let's just tear up more property so the police can be all over it. Now quit being a princess and get over here."

There it was again. Princess. The last time he'd called her that they were both bleeding, panting and shouting, "Look, you wanna be a dead little princess? Fine. Just do it on someone else's time."

Princess.How dare he.

Derek had already pushed two desks together and climbed them, his movements balanced and precise. She'd been around plenty of werewolves in her time, but none quite like Derek. He had a rougher edge to him than Klaus and Tyler's urbane charm. He was a born wolf, sleek and strong and effortlessly powerful. It was probably why he felt justified strutting around like the the world was his Beta, she mused irritably.

"I didn't think you needed help from princesses," she retorted icily, walking over.

He used his claws to pry the screen, "Stop stalling and get up here." The screen came off easily, releasing a vapour of dust. Bonnie frowned. She would've liked to see him struggle a bit.

"Tell me Derek, were you born an asshole or did you just spend years learning how?"

Ignoring his extended hand she climbed on the desk, coming level with his broad chest before turning around.

The vent-shaft was a good couple feet above her, she waited for him to help her up.

"Well go ahead," he mocked.

Her jaw clenched.

"Are you going to help or do you just really want an aneurysm?"

"I thought you'd never ask," she could hear the grin in his voice

Strong hands circled her waist and lifted her easily, "How are you so tiny and so much trouble?" he muttered.

"Shut up, Derek."

She grasped the vent-edge and started to hoist herself up, feeling Derek's hands loosen. Almost there.Her arms shook with the effort, but just when she'd hoisted one knee into the space her hand, inexplicably, slipped. Her stomach hollowed in panic, fingernails scraping uselessly against smooth metal as Bonnie started falling with a small cry of alarm.

One heel landed on the desk, the other dangling while Derek's arm wrapped around her midsection and steadied her against him. She clutched at his arm without thinking.

"You ok?" he grunted.

Princess.

"I'm fine," she bit out, wriggling against his firm grip. "Let's do this."

He lifted her again, "Try not to fall this time, and be quiet."

Resisting the urge to kick him in the face, Bonnie hauled herself into the small tunnel, her hands finding purchase at last.

Kicking her way out of the second vent, Bonnie dropped soundlessly to the ground. Her brief time in the high-school cheer team came in handy sometimes.

Scott and Stiles had used lacrosse sticks to barricade the door shut. She rolled her eyes.

She briefly considered leaving Derek to fume all night. The image of him having to explain himself to school officials made her snicker.

With a resigned sigh Bonnie dislodged the sticks.

Something Damon Salvatore said came back, "Put this in your cauldron, witchy, and stir well: if you're too afraid to hurt people, they'll never be afraid enough to love you."

Alphas and vampires and hybrids. Boys pretending to be gods. She shook her head and pushed the door open.

Derek was lounging against a wall, hands in his leather jacket. "I was beginning to think you'd left."

"I almost did."

He snorted, then his face grew serious, "Do you need a ride home?"

Bonnie bit her lip. She was staying at the McCalls' house a few miles away; it was a chilly night with rain expected, and Derek's Camaro was warm, fast and comfortable. But in the end her pride won out.

"I'll walk," she said, then added pointedly, "Need some air."

He frowned, "You shouldn't walk by yourself. It's late."

"I'm not sixteen, Derek," she rolled her eyes.

"Doesn't matter," he took a step closer, his eyes dark-green and serious, "I'm driving you home."

Bonnie stood her ground, wishing her five-inch impulse-buy stilettoes were on her feet instead of gathering dust in the back of her closet. Their height difference and the fact that he could lift her easier than picking up a thimble probably encouraged Derek's bossy attitude.

"Well I'm not one of your betas either, and I'm walking home."

She turned on her heel without waiting for a reply.

Half an hour later, she was still several miles from the house and the rain showing no sign of relenting. Bonnie found a tree and huddled under it, trying to text while shielding her phone from the water. Rain dribbled down the back of her shirt, and her fingertips were stiff and awkward from the cold. Maybe Stiles could come get her, he owedher.

She looked up as the Camaro appeared, dark and glistening like a jaguar pelt.

Derek rolled the window down, "Trying to get hit by lightning?"

She scowled, running a hand through her damp hair. If only her witch powers extended to lightning manipulation. Then shecould drive the Camaro home.

Derek leaned across the seat to open the door. "Get in, Bonnie."

"I'd rather get hit by lightning," she wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

"You're shivering."

"And you're still an ass," she retorted automatically. Defense sprang naturally to her tongue these days, like a blade always half-drawn.

"Tell me Bonnie," he mimicked her earlier comment at him, "were you born this stubborn or did you learn how?" she saw his teeth flash in a grin. She'd had to cultivate stubbornness, oh yes, and learn the hard way to put a high price on trust.

Another tart reply rose to her throat, but the thought of dry clothes and a warm bed stifled it.

Biting back a curse, Bonnie climbed in huffily, barely concealing her sigh of relief as the warmth enveloped her wet clothes.

"Glad you decided to be reasonable," Derek remarked.

She leaned into the seat, suddenly tired and recalling she hadn't eaten anything except a tuna salad since lunch.

"I haven't decided not to give you an aneurysm yet."

He snorted, keeping his eyes on the road, but she saw him adjust the temperature control so heat mercifully blanketed her feet. She waited for a snide comment from Derek but it never came. The swoosh of windshield wipers on rain was strangely soothing.
Growing snug and drowsy from exhaustion, Bonnie felt her eyes drifting shut luxuriously. For a moment she was back in Mystic Falls, dozing by the windowsill with that sweet Virginia breeze lifting her hair, stirring the leaves of the mulberry tree outside her window, and Grams, smiling, a glass of homemade lemonade in her hands Wake up, sweetheart.

The sunshine faded, melting into glassy rain around her. She was pillowed on something dark and soft, and the scents of her childhood home receded into wild pine, damp earth and, inexplicably, ashes.

Sleepily she dabbed at the wet strand of hair tickling her mouth and she felt it moved, pushed gently behind her ear. Someone was speaking. Not her Grams: the voice was deeper, gravelly even.

Her eyes eased open and found herself slumped quite comfortably against Derek's shoulder.

"Wake up princess," he said with a strange softness. She took another breath of his pine-and-smoke scent and her senses shot awake.

Bonnie sat up with a jolt, blinking, just as his hand withdrew from her hair.

"Had a good nap?"

"Don't touch me."

"You were using me as a pillow."

"Go eat some wolfsbane."

"You're welcome," Derek retorted as she slammed the door hard.

She was too irritable, wet and tired to notice until later: but lying in bed she reached for the familiar pendant at her throat, and realized with dismay that it was gone.