She looks up at the person at the sound of his voice. It’s a nice voice, coupled to a kind, if sharp, face. She shakes her head sharply and dodges behind him hastily, putting hm between herself and the hunter. If she’s lucky, if she’s oh-so-lucky, the hunter won’t have noticed her yet, and she can just hide here behind this tall and friendly stranger until he goes away.
She’s not lucky.
The hunter pauses at her abandoned sign, one eyebrow ticking up, and then he looks in exactly the direction she fled, exactly where she is, and comes over to the stranger. “You want to be careful, there,” he says, to the stranger she’s hiding behind, “that girl’s dangerous. I’m here to take care of her.”
When she shakes her head quickly like that, he wonders what he’s getting himself involved in. If it’s werewolf trouble, though he doubts it, Stiles doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Scott is miles away and there’s no way in hell Stiles can take on a werewolf. Even his terrible bat could do more damage than his own fragile body. So when she hides behind him like that, the other male doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to do.
The hunter approaches and Stiles is stupid as always, thinking about mouthing off to the stranger. It’s really not smart, it never is, but it’s always impulse for Stiles. It comes out of his mouth before a thought can come into his mind, possibly warning him of what a terrible idea this is. The only temporary warning he gets is the biting of his bottom lip as he stares at the other stranger.
“Dangerous? And yet she’s hiding from you. That tells me something right off the damn bat.”
“Look, son,” the hunter says, calm, in control of the situation, “I know her, and you don’t. So you’re gonna have to take my word for it — she’s dangerous, and I’m trying to get her off the streets. Just don’t let her touch you, and you should be fine. Now step out of the way, and hand her over.”
She shivers. She’s never been this close before, that she can remember. Of course, her memories only go back about a month right now, so there’s no telling what happened before. Maybe the hunter is telling the truth — but she cannot bring herself to trust someone she can’t read, someone so empty of emotion. This boy, though, in front of her, him she thinks she could trust. He has a good heart.
The hunter snatches around the stranger for her, trying to catch the edge of her cloak, and she sidles around, peering around the lanky body. He tries again, from the other direction, and catches the edge. She gives up the cloak, and the hunter rips it off her body. A mass of red hair tumbles out of the hood, half hiding a pale, too-thin young woman. Her green eyes look even larger than normal in her gaunt face.