Her red (no – strawberry-blonde) hair fell over her face, mixing with the crimson blood now streaming from her chest and face. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and her eyelids fluttered closed.

"Lydia!" I yelled, straining futilely against my bonds. "Leave her alone!" I shrieked at Peter.

"Your turn will come," he advised me. "I intend to take my time with her – but don't worry, I'll let you watch. And I'll even make it quick for you, provided you continue to entertain me as much as you're doing right now." His grin was vicious, wolflike, and entirely merciless. "We can't wait for her to wake up, though," he said. "I don't really have all night." He bent to pick up a bucket on the floor, lowering his knife.

It was then that the door behind us crashed open in a hail of splinters and dust. A tall, slim figure stepped inside, brandishing a truly wicked gun. Another form followed, this one with a heavy revolver.

Peter squinted in disbelief. "Who on earth are you?"

"Hi, you must be Peter," the one with the revolver said. "I'm Scott McCall."

"Allison Argent," the brunette identified herself, training her Tommy gun on Peter's midsection. "I wouldn't make any sudden moves if I were you. Scott, help them," she said with a jerk of her head.

"Are you two all right?" Scott asked, holstering his revolver and pulling a penknife out of his pocket.

"Thanks for coming," I said. "Would you help me out? Ly – Miss Martin's hurt."

Scott strode over to us and cut my bonds with a few quick saws. I flex my fingers to wake them up as I kneel in front of Lydia, touching her face gently and wincing at the size of the welt on her cheek.

"She's out cold," I mutter. "What took you so long?"

"A simple thank-you would suffice," Allison replied. "Is she ok?"

"I think she needs to get to a hospital," I said, bending to pick up Lydia. "You guys have wonderful timing. Right in the nick of time, amazing. My dad's on his way, too, but it'll take him longer to get here. He had another stop to make first."

She was heavier than she looked, and Scott could only watch me stumbling around for a few moments before he gently but firmly took her away from me. Allison prodded Peter forward with the barrel of the gun, a little more roughly than strictly necessary.

"How did you find this place?" Peter asked quietly, walking where directed without fuss, his hands raised.

"It wasn't us that found it," Scott said, ducking his head to get under the low doorframe. Outside, the moonlight was blazing down on the restless woods, and glinting off a shiny car parked nearby. Leaning on the hood of the car was Derek, his face as stern and implacable as always.

Allison nodded at him. "He's been avoiding the old home for all these years, but he agreed to help when Scott and I asked."

Peter's face soured when he saw Derek. "Ah, yes. My loving nephew. I should have known."

"Can I just shoot him?" Allison wanted to know. The thought was tempting, but Scott met my eyes and shook his head firmly. Lydia's head lolled by his elbow, her face pale in the moonlight.

"Where is dad?" I muttered into the cold night air.

At that moment, we heard sirens wailing through the trees, and red-and-blue lights flash. Derek nodded at us and climbed into his car, starting the engine and driving away past us. I saw B looking at me through the windshield from the passenger seat, her hand resting gently on Derek's shoulder. Then they were gone into the dark woods, and as I turned to follow their progress, I saw the dark skeleton outline of the burned-out remains of the old Hale house standing starkly out against the brilliant moon.

A few minutes later, we were all surrounded by cop cars and busy deputies. My dad jumped out of his seat, yelling orders, and strode over to me, his lips pressing together as he took in my bruised cheek and slumped posture.

"Are you all right?" he demanded.

"Yes, Dad," I rolled my eyes. "I'm not three anymore. Lydia – I mean, Miss Martin – is badly cut up, would you have her sent to the hospital?"

Dad's eyes wander over the odd assortment of people who are with me, halting briefly at Allison and her Tommy gun, and I read the thought cross his mind – I really want to ask, but I think I'd rather not know.

Allison reads his confusion and salutes sardonically, hefting the gun. "My dad likes to hunt," she says by way of explanation. "He taught me a long time ago."