Chapter 30: The Hunter's Offer
[Beacon Hills High School — Wednesday, October 26, 2011, 3:15 PM]
The black SUV was parked in the visitor's lot.
Jackson recognized the vehicle before he read the plate — the Argent family Suburban, the same one that Chris had loaded Kate into at the Hale house eleven days ago. It was positioned with the nose facing the exit, the tactical parking of a man who always planned his departure before his arrival. The engine was off. The tinted windows gave nothing away.
The passenger window rolled down as Jackson crossed the lot.
"Get in." Chris Argent's voice was level. Professional. The voice of a man who'd spent two weeks processing the revelation that the supernatural existed and had arrived at the other side with his composure intact and his objectives recalibrated.
Jackson got in. The interior was immaculate — the leather seats conditioned, the dashboard clean, the air carrying the faint scent of gun oil and a specific cologne that Jackson's enhanced nose categorized instantly. Chris wore a field jacket over a button-down. No visible weapon, but the jacket's cut suggested a shoulder holster.
"Not here," Chris said. He pulled out of the lot and drove east — away from the school, away from residential streets, toward the industrial corridor that ran along the railroad tracks. The route was deliberate. No pedestrians, no traffic cameras, no witnesses. A hunter's instinct for operational security.
They parked behind a closed machine shop. Chris killed the engine and sat for five seconds — the same processing interval Jackson had observed at the gas station three weeks ago, the internal calculation that preceded every significant action.
"I'll start," Chris said. "You can correct me."
Callback: the gas station. Three weeks ago — a carefully constructed sentence delivered to a hunter who didn't know the supernatural existed. "Your sister's been asking about the Hale fire. A lot of questions. Interested in local history." The seed that cracked Chris Argent's certainty and pushed Kate into the field. The gas station play. And now the harvest.
"Peter Hale was a werewolf," Chris said. The word came out cleanly — no hesitation, no discomfort. He'd been practicing saying it. "Alpha classification. He killed Laura Hale for the power, then systematically murdered every person connected to the fire that killed his family. My sister—" His jaw tightened. The professional composure held, but the family underneath it buckled for a fraction of a second. "Kate started the fire. I've verified it. Multiple sources, including Kate herself."
"Where is Kate now?"
"Private facility. Argent family operation, not law enforcement. She's contained." Chris's grip on the steering wheel was controlled — the knuckles weren't white, but the tendons were visible. "The family council convened last week. Kate's actions violated the Code — we don't kill humans, we don't burn houses, we don't target children. She's under family jurisdiction."
Not prison. Family jurisdiction. The Argent family handles its own — their own criminals, their own monsters, their own justice. Kate is locked up, but she's locked up by people who share her last name. And Argent family custody is only as secure as the Argent family's commitment to keeping her there.
"What do you want from me?" Jackson kept his voice neutral. The question was direct — Chris Argent hadn't driven to a high school, picked up a teenager, and parked behind an abandoned machine shop for casual conversation.
"Information." Chris turned to face him. His eyes were clear — no deception, no manipulation. The eyes of a man who'd decided to be honest because dishonesty was what had destroyed his family. "You knew about Peter before anyone else. You tipped me at the gas station. You were at the Hale house during the confrontation. You're connected to Derek Hale's operation. I want to know how much you know and how long you've known it."
The request was reasonable. The danger was in the details — every piece of information Jackson shared would be filed, analyzed, cross-referenced. Chris Argent was a hunter by training and an investigator by nature. He wouldn't accept inconsistencies.
"Peter killed Laura Hale for the Alpha power. He spent six years in the hospital planning revenge against everyone connected to the fire." Jackson chose his words like someone sorting through a pile of identical objects for the ones that were slightly different — truth, truth, truth, with the dangerous truths held back. "I found out about the attacks through research. Cross-referencing police reports, hospital records, the Hale fire investigation files that were public record. Once I identified the pattern, I contacted Derek."
"A sixteen-year-old identified a supernatural serial killer through public records." Chris's tone was flat. Not skeptical — assessing. "That's unusual."
"I'm thorough."
"You're more than thorough." Chris studied him. The hunter's gaze was different from Danny's analytical warmth or Lydia's cognitive precision. Chris assessed threats. He measured the distance between what a person said and what a person could do, and the gap told him whether they were dangerous. "You orchestrated the confrontation. Derek alone couldn't have planned what happened at the Hale house. The flanking positions, the wolfsbane weapons, my arrival — that was coordinated. By you."
"By the alliance. Not just me."
"But you're the one who called my phone. Blocked number. One sentence. You gave me Peter Hale's location and a reason to bring a weapon."
Jackson said nothing. The silence was an answer and Chris read it correctly.
"I'm not here to threaten you." Chris reached into the center console and withdrew a white business card — plain, no logo. A phone number in black ink. "I'm here because the situation in Beacon Hills has changed. Derek Hale is an Alpha with no experience leading a pack. My sister is in custody but her crimes have drawn attention from people I'd rather not deal with. The supernatural community knows Beacon Hills has an active Alpha again, and that means this town is going to attract interest."
"What kind of interest?"
"The kind that has a family council." Chris handed him the card. "My father. Gerard Argent. He's the family patriarch. He's been asking questions about Beacon Hills since Kate's arrest. If he decides to come here personally—"
The name landed in Jackson's chest like a physical blow. Gerard. The grandfather from hell — the man who manipulated everyone around him, who used his own family as weapons, who wanted the bite so desperately he'd sacrifice anyone to get it. In the show, Gerard's arrival turned Season 2 into a warzone. And now Chris was sitting three feet away telling Jackson that the same man was circling Beacon Hills like a shark scenting blood.
"Is he coming?" Jackson's voice was controlled. The question was casual. His heart rate, which Chris couldn't hear but a werewolf could, spiked for two beats before the chimera's competing physiologies dampened the stress response.
"I don't know. He's cautious. He investigates before he acts." Chris's hands were on the wheel again. Gripping. The posture of a man discussing a parent he feared. "If he comes, you need to understand — Gerard doesn't follow the Code the way I do. He'll use whatever tools are available. Including his own family."
Including Allison. The show was explicit — Gerard manipulated Allison into hunting Scott, into turning against the pack, into becoming a weapon aimed at her own boyfriend. He uses family love as a lever and he doesn't care what breaks.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're the person who knew about Peter before anyone else." Chris met his eyes. "And I need to know if you know anything else that I should be aware of."
The question was a door. Walk through it and Jackson could share meta-knowledge — Gerard's plans, his methods, his weaknesses. The information would protect people. It would also expose the impossible depth of Jackson's knowledge, raise questions that couldn't be answered, and put a hunter on the trail of a secret that made the chimera look simple by comparison.
"I know that Kate's arrest will draw attention," Jackson said. Careful. Each word measured. "I know that the Argent family takes its reputation seriously, and a public exposure of the fire would be worse than anything supernatural. I know that whoever comes to clean this up will prioritize control over justice."
Chris stared at him for five seconds. The assessment was running — how does a sixteen-year-old understand family power dynamics this clearly? The question was visible in his expression. He filed it without asking.
"You're not wrong." Chris started the engine. "If Gerard comes, stay away from him. He's not me. He won't ask questions before acting."
"And if I can't stay away?"
"Then call the number." Chris pulled out of the machine shop lot and drove back toward the school. The ride was silent — not uncomfortable, the silence of two people who'd established terms and were processing the implications.
He dropped Jackson at the school parking lot. The Porsche was alone under the halogen lights, the lot emptied of students and faculty. Chris's window rolled down one last time.
"The Derek Hale situation." Chris's voice carried across the gap between vehicles. "He needs to control his territory. If he can't, someone else will. Make sure he understands that."
The window rolled up. The SUV pulled away. Jackson stood in the parking lot with a white card in his hand and the name Gerard echoing in the space between his two heartbeats — the human one and the Nemeton's pulse underneath it.
Gerard Argent is coming to Beacon Hills. Not today, not this week, maybe not this month — but he's coming. And when he arrives, everything changes. The Peter hunt was chess against a wounded opponent. Gerard is chess against a grandmaster who's been playing the game since before his opponent was born.
I need the chimera under control. I need Derek's pack built and functional. I need Scott ready for what's coming. I need Stiles' brain, Lydia's intelligence, Chris's weapons, and Danny back at my side. I need all of it, and I have weeks to assemble it before the most dangerous human in the Argent bloodline walks into a town that's already bleeding.
He pocketed the card, started the Porsche — the starter coughed, caught, held — and drove toward Derek's loft with the sunset behind him and the Nemeton's heartbeat in his chest.
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