It doesn’t take very many students; it’s much faster than when Matt was using him.
A cheerleader, a football player and a member of the science club die, and then Gerard takes Jackson’s place as the Kanima.
Derek makes sure he’s there when it happens so that, after Derek captures Gerard, Jackson can decide whether he wants to be the one to kill Gerard or if he’d rather let Derek do it. It’s a pretty nice thing, Derek thinks, considering Gerard was probably the one who taught Kate how to manipulate people.
Jackson shakes his head, resolute. “I don’t want to kill anyone else. I’ve killed enough people this year.”
“Fair enough,” Derek replies, patting Jackson on the back. Jackson flinches. “I’m on your side, don’t worry.”
“Since when?” Jackson quips, covering his face when he sees Derek’s hand go up.
Derek rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t going to-” Jackson steps away. “Since now. Okay?”
Jackson gulps, staying at a distance. “What are you going to do to him?”
“I haven’t decided yet. But first things first: I believe I owe you something.” Derek puts his hands on his hips, raising a brow. “You still want it after all this.”
Jackson swallows, looking away. He sees Stiles sitting in the bleachers, keeping watch. Scott is next to Stiles, his face changing each time Gerard tries to escape. Jackson doesn’t have a werewolf best friend, and Danny will need protection from all the things in this messed up town.
“Yeah,” Jackson says, taking a step back toward Derek. “I do.” He sees Stiles scratching Scott’s ear from the corner of his eye, and Scott is leaning in to it, wanting more. If Scott can control his wolf-side, it should be a piece of cake for Jackson. “Will it work this time?”
“The Kanima isn’t part of you anymore. You’ve fulfilled your duty. And since your blood is…different, you should be able to handle the bite much better than other people.”
Jackson takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Derek drags Jackson in close, and his teeth break the skin of Jackson’s neck easily. Jackson sinks to the grass as his blood oozes out, and Derek doesn’t let him fall like last time. He eases Jackson down slowly, fangs still deep in the skin. Scott and Stiles gape from the bleachers when they realize what’s happening.
Stiles is up and running first, flailing his arms. “Wait! Derek, what are you doing?”
Derek ignores Stiles, concentrating on the taste and smell of Jackson’s blood, on the smooth expanse of skin his teeth are latched on to. It’s not the same as the first time; it’s better. Jackson isn’t doing this to be stronger than Scott or to be better at lacrosse. He’s doing it to help people; the right reason.
When the right person is turned – someone like Scott or Stiles, and now Jackson – the ritual of turning becomes almost erotic. Derek pulls away before he sinks his teeth in deeper, searching for more of that flavour rolling off of Jackson’s skin. It’s almost harder to look Jackson in the eye afterwards to see if he’s okay than to pull his teeth out. Jackson’s eyes are half-lidded, unfocused, dark blue and hazy with lust.
“I’m guessing you felt that,” Derek murmurs, stroking small circles unconsciously into Jackson’s arm.
“Oh, gross. Don’t go there, Stiles,” Scott warns, grabbing Stiles’s shirt.
“Why? Derek is totally trying to kill Jackson. Isn’t he?” Stiles stops when he sees the bulge at the front of Jackson’s pants. “Eww. Dude!”
Jackson covers his erection with both hands, and Derek laughs.
“I’ll take you home now,” Derek says, wiping the remnants of blood from his mouth.
“No, I don’t think so Derek. You’re going to take advantage of him in the car or something. I can smell it all over you,” Scott says, narrowing his eyes.
Scott’s a much better werewolf than he used to be, Derek thinks. “Fine, then you do it.”
“Because you probably won’t try to rape him, right?” Derek grins, his fangs pressing into his bottom lip.
Scott clears his throat.
Oh, so the smell is getting to him now, too. Took long enough. Derek chuckles, stalking away toward Gerard. It’s not his problem if Scott wants to bite off more than he can chew.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’ll do it. Can you stand, Jackson?”
“Of course I—” Jackson falls face-first in the grass.
“I guess that’s a no,” Stiles says, punching Scott in the arm. “You couldn’t catch him?”
“I wanted to see if he could stand. I couldn’t.” Scott smiles when Jackson glares at him. “That would work better if you didn’t smell like sex, Jackson.” Scott’s eyes go dark for a second, but he forces his arousal back down.
Stiles helps Jackson get to his feet, and wraps his arm around Jackson’s shoulders. “Jump in any time, Scott.”
Scott shakes his head, crossing his arms. “Derek wasn’t joking when he said I would rape him. Sorry, dude, you’re on your own.”
Stiles scoffs. “Fine. See if I help you with your pack next time you need a hand. And don’t ask-””
Jackson sighs, cutting in. “Can you just get me home before I ruin my Armani sweater with the blood from the bite?”
Stiles inspects the sweater. It’s nice. “I’d be doing you a favour, trust me.”
It’s easier to lie than to pay the douche a compliment. His head’s big enough – and Stiles isn’t referring to the one in Jackson’s pants.
Scott laughs as they leave the field; he could smell the lie on Stiles. Just as much as he can smell the piqued interest of Stiles’s body now that he’s in direct contact with Jackson’s pheromones. Stiles is human, though, so that should make it easier for Stiles to ignore it.
Before they’re gone, Scott shouts, “Welcome to the pack, Jackson.”
He turns toward Derek and they both nod before heading in Gerard’s direction. Time for some payback.