Free On Fire by Nancy Holder

California,” Derek muttered.
    “There are no wild wolves in California,” Stiles repeated. He covered the phone again. “So, are there you-know-whats that look like wolves?” he whispered to Derek. Of course, he and Scott knew the answer to that—a big fat yes—but Derek didn’t need to know that when they had dug up his sister’s body—okay, the top half of her body—she had been a wolf. Not a semi-wolf, like the werewolf looks they’d seen thus far. A full-on Call of the Wild wolf.
    Derek didn’t answer, only glowered at him. Maybe if he gave Derek a sugar cube—or threw him a piece of raw meat—Derek might cheer up. Stiles would have to try that someday. But today wasn’t looking good for that.
    Then, whipsaw fast, Derek grabbed the phone out of Stiles’s hand. It happened so quickly that it took Stiles a moment to process that he was no longer holding the phone.
    “Where are you?” Derek growled in an undervoice.
    Stiles strained to hear Scott’s answer, but Derek had turned his back. Stiles didn’t have superenhanced werewolf hearing. He tried to read Derek’s body language, but Derek’s shoulders were hunched like always, and his free hand was in the pocket of his jacket, like always, pressing the clipboard against his side as if he might crack it in two. So no help there.
    “Then get out of there,” Derek said between clenched teeth. “Now.”
    He gave the phone back to Stiles and started to go down the stairs. Aware that he was about to speak to dead air, Stiles followed after Derek.
    “Where are we going?” he asked.
    “ We aren’t going anywhere,” Derek replied.
    •  •  •
    “Hey, you have to take me with you,” Scott’s annoying little sidekick insisted as Derek stalked out of the hospital. Derek took a tiny bit of satisfaction in the way the human had to trot along to stay abreast. He was sick to death of taking the weaknesses of humans into account while formulating his plans. He respected power, and few humans had any.
    The Argents did.
    But what he felt for them was not respect.
    He wasn’t about to tell Stiles about his dream, or thereal fear he felt when Allison and Scott had told Stiles about their encounter with a wolf. There shouldn’t have been a wolf. Things were happening that Derek couldn’t explain.
    “You have to take me with you because I know how to find Scott in the forest,” Stiles said.
    “So do I,” Derek shot back. “I’ll scent him out.”
    “Well, I have an app for that.” Stiles waggled his phone. “On this.” Derek ignored him. “Which we should at least use to explain why we’re there. What are you going to do, jog up to Scott and Allison and say, ‘Oh, hi. I was just on my way to grandmother’s house with this basket of goodies and I smelled you?’”
    Derek kept walking, but he had to admit that the kid had a point. He slid a glance at him. “Show me how to use the app.”
    Stiles made a point of hugging the phone to his chest. “No way are you taking my phone without me,” he said.
    “Tell me or I’ll rip your throat out,” Derek snarled at him. Threats like that had produced perfect results in the past—at Derek’s command, Stiles had almost cut off his poisoned arm rather than suffer his wrath. Luckily Scott had arrived with the antidote—a bullet he had stolen from Kate Argent. She had a box of ammo filled with Northern Blue Monkshood—wolfsbane. Derek had used the wolfsbane to cure himself.
    Just another reason to hate Kate with all his soul.
    “No,” Stiles said. “Scott’s my best friend, and you’re not telling me everything.”
    I had a nightmare, Derek thought, and huffed to himself. There was no way he was telling Stiles that. Werewolves didn’t share information with humans, ever.
    Except for him, Derek Hale. He had shared information with a human. He hadn’t meant to.
    And the results had been disastrous.
    “All right,” he said. “We’ll take your Jeep.”
    Stiles huffed. “Why can’t we