《Teen Wolf Fanfiction - The Witch Vol. 1 - Werewolves》


 1.0 The Witch

    2010 - some day in December


    The manor in New Orleans was an imposing structure, its Victorian elegance shrouded in a melancholy atmosphere. Shadows draped across the rooms, and the weight of history seemed to press down on the very walls. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old books and forgotten memories.


    Charlotte Benoit lay on her bed, her lithe form barely visible beneath the tangled sheets. Her once vibrant red hair now spread out in a disheveled halo, a stark contrast to the dim room. The last case had drained her, body and soul, leaving her in a state of perpetual exhaustion. She had spent days in this cocoon of darkness, wrestling with the ghosts of her past and the ever-present threat of The Lurker within her.


    Around her, her loyal companions and familiars never left her side. Isle, her marbled border collie, lay at the foot of the bed, its doe eyes following every move with quiet concern. On either side of her, two Maine Coon cats, a black one named Behemoth and a white one named Astra, nestled close, their soft purring the only sound in the room.


    Her cousin, Luise, entered the room with the kind of brisk determination only family could muster. She flung open the heavy curtains, letting a sliver of the harsh midday light pierce through the gloom. Luise was a tall, rather squat woman with dark gray hair streaked with the passage of time. She looked to be in her sixties; her face holding that unflappable, distinguished quality that made her appear timelessly beautiful. Her presence was commanding, an aura of no-nonsense practicality wrapped around her like a cloak.


    "Charlie! Get up right now! You have an important phone call!" Luise''s voice was a mix of concern and urgency, slicing through the lethargy that clung to Charlotte.


    Charlotte stirred, her green eyes barely open, glaring at Luise with the look of someone who had been pulled from the depths of an uneasy slumber. Despite the protest in her bones, she sat up, the blanket slipping off to reveal her freckled arms and cleavage covered in intricate tattoos that told stories of battles fought and scars earned.


    "Who the hell is it?" she muttered, her voice gravelly from disuse.


    "It''s Laura Hale," Luise replied, thrusting the phone into Charlotte''s hand before she could argue.


    Charlotte blinked, the name cutting through the fog in her mind. She took a deep breath, grounding herself before bringing the phone to her ear. "This is Charlotte," she said, her tone weary but firm.


    "Witch?" Laura Hale''s voice was hesitant, carrying an edge of desperation that Charlotte immediately recognized.


    "Yes, it''s me. What''s going on, Laura?"


    "I need your help. Something''s happening in Beacon Hills. There''s... something out there, leaving signs, and I think it''s another werewolf. I need you to come and help me figure this out."


    In the background, Charlotte could hear a male voice arguing with Laura, insisting she shouldn''t seek help from someone unknown. Though she didn''t mention it, Charlotte knew the voice belonged to Laura''s brother.


    Charlotte''s heart sank. The last thing she wanted was to be dragged into another supernatural crisis, but Laura''s plea struck a chord. Despite her weariness, the protector in her stirred.


    "Alright, Laura. I''ll be there. But you need to prepare yourself. Do nothing rash. I''ll be there when new year starts."


    "Thank you, Charlotte. I''ll be waiting at my old house."


    The call ended, leaving Charlotte with a sense of impending dread. She looked at Luise, who was already gathering a set of clothes for her.


    "I guess I''m going to Beacon Hills," Charlotte said, forcing herself out of bed.


    Luise nodded, her expression a mix of relief and worry. "Just promise me you''ll be careful."


    Charlotte offered a tired smile. "Always."


    Luise crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing with concern. "Charlie, you can''t keep doing this to yourself. You''re overworked, and it''s clear you''re not taking care of yourself. When was the last time you ate properly or slept without being haunted by nightmares?"


    Charlotte sighed, rubbing her temples. "Luise, I appreciate your concern, but this is what I do. People need me."


    "At what cost, Charlie? Look at you! You''re exhausted, barely functioning. This isn''t just about helping others anymore. I think you''re dealing with depression, and you need to address it. You can''t keep burying yourself in work."


    Charlotte''s expression hardened, a flicker of anger mingling with the fatigue in her eyes. "I don''t have time for this, Luise. People are in danger. I can''t just ignore that."


    "And what about you?" Luise shot back, her voice rising. "Who''s going to help you when you collapse? Who''s going to be there when you''ve pushed yourself too far?"


    The room fell silent, the tension between them palpable. Isle lifted her head, sensing the emotional storm brewing. Behemoth and Astra both stopped purring, their eyes fixed on their mistress.


    Charlotte''s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. "I don''t know, Luise. I don''t know how to stop."


    Luise stepped closer, her expression softening. "I''m not asking you to stop helping people, Charlie. I''m asking you to take care of yourself, too. Please, for once, think about your own well-being."


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Charlotte nodded slowly, the weight of her cousin''s words settling heavily on her. "I''ll try, Luise. I promise I''ll try."


    As she got dressed, the weight of her duty settled on her shoulders once more. The Lurker inside her stirred, but she pushed it back, focusing on the task ahead. Beacon Hills needed her, and despite everything, she wouldn''t let them down.


    "Why don''t you come with me, Luise? I could use the help," Charlotte suggested, a note of hope in her voice.


    Luise shook her head, a sad smile playing on her lips. "I''m too old for this now, Charlie. These bones can''t handle the travel and the stress anymore. Besides, someone needs to stay here and look after things."


    Charlotte looked at her cousin, the years etched on Luise''s face a stark reminder of the passage of time¡ªsomething that Charlotte herself seemed immune to. While the years came and went, leaving their mark on everyone around her, she remained unchanged, perpetually stuck in the body of a twenty-four-year-old.


    "Yeah, I know," Charlotte replied, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "It''s hard to convince anyone I''m not a college dropout as it is."


    Luise chuckled softly, shaking her head. "If only they knew, huh? Just be careful out there and remember to take care of yourself, too."


    The room, now illuminated by the invading sunlight, revealed its character. Antique furniture filled the space, a testament to the manor''s history. Ornate bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes on magic and history. A large, intricate rug covered the wooden floor, its patterns worn but still beautiful. The scent of aged wood, faint incense, and the comforting presence of her familiars filled the air, as they sensed the shift in their mistress''s mood and stayed close, providing silent support.


    ??


    January 1st 2011 - Saturday


    Charlie felt a bittersweet pang as she pulled the cover off her beloved 1970 Chevelle SS. The dark blue paint gleamed even in the dim light of the garage, a testament to the hours she had spent meticulously caring for it. The chrome accents sparkled, and the black racing stripes that ran the length of the car added an aura of restrained power. This car was more than just a vehicle to her; it was a piece of her soul, a constant companion through the decades of her unchanging life.


    Sliding into the driver''s seat, she took a moment to appreciate the supple feel of the leather beneath her. The interior, restored to its original glory, enveloped her in a cocoon of nostalgia. The steering wheel, worn smooth by years of use, felt like an old friend in her hands. She turned the key, and the engine roared to life with a deep, throaty growl that sent a thrill through her. This was her sanctuary, her escape, and it was as much a part of her as the magic that pulsed through her veins.


    The journey to Beacon Hills was long, but the Chevelle made it a pleasure rather than a chore. The miles rolled by under the car''s powerful tires; the landscape changing from the flat, swampy expanses of Louisiana to the rolling hills and dense forests of northern California. Charlotte felt a sense of freedom as she sped down the highways, the wind in her hair and the open road ahead. The rhythmic thrum of the engine was a comforting constant, a reminder of the strength and reliability of the car that had seen her through so many adventures.


    As she crossed into California, the scenery shifted dramatically. Towering redwoods lined the roads, their ancient trunks creating a tunnel of green overhead. As the air grew cooler, fresher, she could detect the distant tang of the ocean blended with the earthy scent of the forest. The path became more serpentine as she approached Beacon Hills; the Chevelle handling the curves with a grace that belied its age.


    Beacon Hills itself was a picturesque town nestled in the heart of a forested valley. Quaint houses with well-tended gardens lined the streets, and small businesses with charming facades dotted the town center. There was a timeless quality to the place, a sense of history that resonated with Charlotte. As she drove through the main street, she noticed a mix of old and new, historic buildings housing modern cafes and boutiques, teenagers on skateboards zipping past retirees enjoying their morning coffee.


    The townsfolk seemed friendly enough, many of them waving as she drove by. She noted the local high school, a large, well-maintained building surrounded by sports fields. Her new place of work. She took a deep breath, feeling a mix of anxiety and determination. This was a new beginning, a new challenge, and she was ready to face it head-on.


    Charlotte''s new home was a charming two-story cottage on the outskirts of town, surrounded by a small, overgrown garden that promised privacy and a touch of wild beauty. She parked the Chevelle in the driveway and stepped out to take in her surroundings. From a distance, the cottage appeared charming, but upon closer inspection, its wear became evident. Beneath the chipped and peeling paint on the wooden exterior of the cottage, layers of history became clear. The porch creaked under her weight, and the rusty hinges of the front door groaned in protest as she opened it.


    Despite the exterior''s rough edges, Charlotte saw potential. The inside of the cottage was cozy and welcoming, though it, too, showed signs of age and neglect. The living room featured a stone fireplace, its hearth filled with ashes from long-forgotten fires. A worn but comfortable-looking couch faced the fireplace, flanked by two mismatched armchairs that added to the eclectic charm. Wooden beams crossed the ceiling, giving the room a rustic, homey feel.


    The kitchen was small but functional, with old-fashioned cabinetry and a quaint breakfast nook by a window that looked out onto the garden. Charlotte made a mental note to clear out the countertops cluttered with remnants of the previous occupant''s life. She could already picture herself baking there, using the space to unwind after long days.


    She climbed the creaky wooden stairs to the upper floor, where two bedrooms and a bathroom awaited. The main bedroom, her new sanctuary, was furnished simply with a large bed, a wooden dresser, and a nightstand. A patchwork quilt, which had seen better days but added a touch of warmth to the room, covered the bed. The second bedroom would serve as a guest room or perhaps a study, its bare walls and empty shelves offering a blank canvas for her to personalize.


    The bathroom, though small, had an old clawfoot tub that she could already imagine soaking in after a particularly grueling day. The white tiles were cracked and yellowing, but the space held a charm that modern fixtures often lacked. To her surprise, alongside the tub was a shower cabin, a modern addition that contrasted with the bathroom''s vintage aesthetic. The cabin''s glass doors were a bit foggy with age, but it was functional and would be a convenient option for quicker showers.


    Isle, Behemoth, and Astra quickly made themselves at home, exploring the unfamiliar territory with curiosity. Isle trotted around the living room, sniffing every corner, while Behemoth and Astra leapt onto the couch, their purring filling the space with a sense of comfort and normalcy. Charlotte felt a sense of peace settle over her as she unpacked her belongings and arranged her new space. The drive had been long, but it had given her time to prepare mentally for the challenges ahead...


    As the sun set over Beacon Hills, casting a warm golden glow over the town, Charlotte felt a glimmer of hope. This place held secrets, and she was here to uncover them. With a last glance at her Chevelle, parked proudly in the driveway, she headed inside, ready to start the next chapter of her life.

 1.1. Wolf Moon

    January 9th 2011 - Sunday


    The last light of day filtered through the dense canopy of trees, casting a soft glow on the forest floor as dusk settled over Beacon Hills. Charlotte laced up her running shoes, her mind already clearing with the promise of an evening jog. Isle, her marbled border collie, danced around her feet, eager to begin their routine.


    "Ready, girl?" Charlotte asked, scratching Isle behind the ears. The dog responded with an enthusiastic bark, her tail wagging furiously.


    The air was cool and fresh as they set off down the narrow, winding trails that snaked through the woods surrounding Beacon Hills. This was Charlotte''s sanctuary, a time when she could let her mind wander and her body find a rhythm. Isle trotted ahead, her nose close to the ground, occasionally glancing back to make sure her mistress was following.


    The forest was alive with the sounds of nature settling in for the night. Birds chirped their evening songs, and the rustle of small animals scurrying through the underbrush provided a soothing backdrop to Charlotte''s thoughts. She loved these moments of solitude, where the only thing that mattered was the steady beat of her footsteps and the cool air filling her lungs.


    They had been jogging for about twenty minutes when Isle suddenly stopped. Her ears pricked and her body tense. Charlotte slowed to a walk, scanning the surroundings for any sign of trouble.


    "What is it, girl?" she asked, approaching Isle, who was now sniffing intently at a spot just off the trail.


    Before she could investigate further, a voice called out from behind her. "Excuse me, miss! Do you need some help?"


    She turned to see a man jogging up the path towards her. He was tall and lean, with a shock of graying hair and a no-nonsense demeanor. His expression softened as he approached, seeing Charlotte and Isle.


    "Sorry to startle you," he said, slightly out of breath. "I''m Adrian Harris, chemistry teacher at Beacon Hills High. I haven''t seen you around here before."


    "Charlotte Benoit," she replied, extending a hand. "I''m new to town. History teacher. Nice to meet you."


    Adrian shook her hand, a curious look crossing his face. "A pleasure. What''s your dog found there?"


    Charlotte looked back at her dog, who was now whining softly and pawing at the ground. "I''m not sure, but she''s definitely found something."


    Together, they approached the spot where Isle was fixated. As they got closer, a foul smell hit them, making both of them recoil.


    "Oh God," Adrian muttered, covering his nose with his sleeve.


    Charlotte''s heart sank as she pushed through the underbrush, revealing a grisly sight. Half-buried under leaves and dirt was the lower half of a human body, severed cleanly at the waist. The Lurker within her stirred, its dark presence whispering in her mind, reminding her of its ever-watchful gaze.


    "Call 911," Charlotte said, her voice steady despite the horror in front of her. "We need to report this immediately."


    Adrian fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking. "Do you think it''s someone from town?"


    "I don''t know," Charlotte replied, her mind racing. She could feel the Lurker''s dark energy simmering beneath her calm exterior, pushing her to investigate, to unleash its power. But she pushed it back down, focusing on the task at hand. "But we need to make sure the authorities get here quickly. Isle, stay back."


    Isle obediently sat down, her eyes still locked on the gruesome discovery. As Adrian made the call, Charlotte surveyed the scene, looking for any clues that might indicate who the victim was or what had happened. The forest, so peaceful moments ago, now felt menacing, the shadows deeper and the sounds more sinister.


    Adrian finished the call and joined Charlotte, his face pale. "They''re on their way. What do you think happened here?"


    "I''m not sure yet," she admitted, "but it doesn''t look like an animal attack. The cut is too clean."


    As they waited for the police to arrive, Charlotte couldn''t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much darker. She glanced at Isle, who was still on high alert, and then back at Adrian.


    "So, chemistry, huh?" she asked, trying to distract them both from the gruesome scene. "I guess we''ll be colleagues."


    Adrian managed a weak smile. "Yeah, it looks like it. Welcome to Beacon Hills, where the weird never takes a day off."


    The minutes stretched into what felt like hours before the distant sound of sirens pierced the evening air. Charlotte took a deep breath, steeling herself for the questions and the investigation that would follow. She had come to Beacon Hills for a fresh case, but the darkness she found here was worse than she expected.


    As the first police officers arrived and secured the scene, Charlotte couldn''t help but wonder what other secrets these woods held¡ªand how many more bodies might be hidden beneath the surface. The Lurker''s presence was a constant reminder of her own dark past, and she knew that whatever had happened here, she would need to stay vigilant.


    ??


    Nestled at the edge of the dense forest, the two-storey house of the McCall family stood like a sentinel, watching over the woods with its weathered wooden facade and ivy-clad walls. The thumping beat of youthful music reverberated through an upstairs window, where a determined teenager meticulously braided a new net onto his lacrosse stick. The room was a chaotic blend of sports gear and school books, posters of lacrosse players, and rock bands covering the walls. Every so often, Scott glanced at a set of instructions, ensuring his work was flawless. Satisfied with the strength of the weave, he tested it with a firm punch of his fist. Rising from his chair, he stretched before the mirror, critically observing his reflection. His hard work over the semester break had paid off, and while he knew more exercise wouldn''t hurt, he was pleased with his progress. His naturally tanned skin, a testament to his mother''s Hispanic heritage, glowed softly under the light, accentuating the muscles that had begun to take shape.


    Reaching for his lacrosse stick, he swung it experimentally, but his aim was off, and the nightlight on his table went crashing to the floor, shattering with a loud clatter. The room''s dim light flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. From downstairs, his mother''s voice carried up, tinged with a mix of amusement and concern.


    "Glue''s in the cabinet!" she called. Moments later, she appeared in the doorway, her petite frame outlined against the hallway light. Her storm of black curls, now neatly braided, framed her face, and her warm brown eyes¡ªmirrored in her son''s¡ªreflected her worry. She wore a bright green nurse''s uniform, which stood out against the dim surroundings.


    "I thought you quit lacrosse," she remarked, eyeing the broken lamp with a hint of a smile.


    "I didn''t quit, I just never played," Scott sighed, the frustration of the previous semester where he hadn''t made the team weighing heavily on him. But this time would be different.


    "Have you thought about quitting?" Melissa asked, her voice gentle yet serious. She stepped into the room, the scent of her floral perfume mingling with the musty smell of old sports equipment.


    "Mom..." Scott began, but she interrupted.


    "I just want you to be happy. High school should be fun. You should be out chasing girls..." she hesitated, then added, "But not catching them. Just chasing."


    "Well, I''m not having much luck with that either," he muttered, looking down at the shattered lamp.


    Melissa smiled softly. "Okay... I should go before I completely destroy your self-esteem. Don''t worry, sophomore year is always better, I promise." She kissed his forehead, her touch warm and comforting, and left for the hospital.


    Left alone, Scott gathered the broken lamp pieces, tossing them into the bin with a resigned sigh. He headed for the bathroom but was stopped by a strange noise¡ªa faint rustling that seemed out of place. Grabbing his mom''s baseball bat for protection, he quietly opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. The air was crisp, and the moon cast a silvery glow over the yard. His knuckles turned white with tension around the handle.


    Suddenly, a figure dropped from the roof, causing Scott to jump back in fright, almost swinging the bat in defense. Both boys screamed in terror before recognizing each other.


    "Stiles, what the hell are you doing?" Scott demanded, his heart still racing. The night was filled with the sounds of crickets and distant traffic, but Stiles'' sudden appearance had shattered the peace.


    "You weren''t answering your phone," Stiles replied, struggling to free himself from the porch''s overgrown vines. He was thinner than Scott, with a buzz cut contrasting Scott''s longer, curly hair. "Why do you need that stick?"


    "I thought it was some kind of predator!" Scott retorted, lowering the bat.


    "Pre...?" Stiles echoed, catching his breath. "I know it''s late, but you gotta hear this. My dad got called in. They''re bringing in every officer from Beacon Hills and even the State Police."


    "For what?" Scott asked, his initial fear giving way to curiosity. The moonlight highlighted his worried expression.


    "Two joggers found a body in the woods," Stiles said, finally freeing himself and jumping down.


    "A dead body?"


    "No, a body of water. Yes, dumbass, a dead body."


    "You mean like murdered?" Scott asked, disbelief etched on his face. The thought of a murder in their quiet town seemed surreal.


    "Nobody knows yet. Just that it was a girl, probably in her twenties."


    "Hold on. If they found a body, what are they looking for now?"


    "That''s the best part. They only found half!" Stiles'' eyes sparkled with excitement. "Let''s go!"


    In no time, they arrived at the reserve''s entrance in Stiles'' blue jeep, its old engine sputtering to a stop. The forest, enveloping Beacon Hills, loomed ominously as they plunged into the darkness. The towering trees cast long shadows, and the air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. Stiles led with a flashlight, its beam cutting through the blackness, while Scott stumbled behind, trying to match his friend''s pace.


    "Are we seriously doing this?" Scott grumbled, his breath visible in the cool night air.


    "You''re the one always complaining that nothing ever happens in this town..."


    "I was trying to get a good night''s sleep for practice tomorrow."


    "Right, because sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort."


    "No, because I''m playing this year. I''m making first line," Scott declared, determination in his voice.


    "That''s the spirit. Everyone should have a dream. Even a pathetically unrealistic one," Stiles teased, smirking.


    "Just out of curiosity, which half of the body are we looking for?" Scott changed the subject, irritated.


    "Huh... I didn''t even think about that."


    "And what if whoever killed the girl is still out here?"


    "Also something I didn''t think about," Stiles admitted, without a hint of embarrassment.


    "Comforting to know you''ve planned this out with your usual attention to detail," Scott muttered, his breath growing short. "Maybe the severe asthmatic should hold the flashlight?" he suggested, pausing to use his inhaler. The cold metal felt reassuring in his hand as he took a deep breath of the medication.


    As they crested a hill, Stiles switched off his torch. Below, the forest was alive with the flashing lights of the police search. The distant murmur of voices and the occasional bark of search dogs reached them. Impatient, Stiles ran ahead, his silhouette darting between the trees, leaving Scott struggling to keep up. By the time he realized Scott was not with him, it was too late. The search dogs found him, and flashlights pinned him in place. The dog barked, and Stiles, startled, fell.


    "Stop where you are!" an officer shouted, struggling to control the dog.


    "Hold on, hold on, this little delinquent belongs to me," Sheriff Stilinski called out, recognizing his son.


    ??


    Several police cars quickly arrived on the scene, their lights flashing ominously in the encroaching darkness. Sheriff Stilinski stepped out of his car, his expression a mixture of concern and determination. He approached Charlotte and Adrian, offering them warm blankets to stave off the chill of the unusually cold California evening. The shock of their discovery and the dropping temperatures had left them both on the verge of hypothermia.


    As they gave their statements, a tall female deputy with a triangular face and eyes hidden behind large glasses handed them cups of steaming tea. They watched as more units arrived, including those with tracking dogs, to scour the area for the other half of the body.


    Charlotte and Adrian were recounting their story for what felt like the third time when a commotion broke out nearby.


    "Hold on, hold on, this little delinquent belongs to me," Sheriff Stilinski called out, striding towards the disturbance. A teenage boy was squirming under his stern gaze. "Do you listen in on all my phone calls?"


    "No... not the boring ones," the boy replied, a cheeky grin playing on his lips.


    The female deputy giggled into her sleeve, shaking her head in amusement.


    "And where is your usual partner in crime?" the sheriff asked, scanning the woods with a look that suggested he expected another troublemaker to emerge at any moment.


    "Who? Scott? He''s home. Said he wanted to get a good night''s sleep for the first day back at school," the boy answered, a bit too nonchalantly.


    The sheriff clearly didn''t believe him, shining his flashlight into the nearby bushes. "Scott?! Are you there?!"


    When no one responded, he turned back to his son, suspicion still clouding his features. "Alright, young man, I''m taking you back to your car and we''re going to discuss a little something called invasion of privacy."


    Grabbing the boy by the collar, Sheriff Stilinski led him away, leaving Charlotte and Adrian to exchange bemused glances.


    "He''s the sheriff''s son, Stiles," Adrian explained, sighing. "He''s always getting involved in some scheme. Smart, but tragically hyperactive. He could definitely use more discipline."


    "Adrian, you''re exaggerating," the female deputy interjected. She looked younger than Adrian, with a faint resemblance that suggested they might be siblings. "Stiles has always been like that. He gets good grades, so don''t be too hard on him."


    Charlotte didn''t know whether to admire the boy for his courage or pity him for his recklessness as she listened to his banter with his father, his tone void of any real animosity.


    The deputy, who introduced herself as Diana Harris, confirming Charlotte''s suspicions about her relation to Adrian, offered her a ride home. Just then, a wolf''s howl echoed through the woods. It was a sound only Charlotte seemed to hear, but it sent a shiver down her spine. She knew it wasn''t just a wolf. It was a werewolf, announcing that it had expanded its pack. Someone had been bitten tonight, not far from where they stood.


    She glanced at the teenager, hoping he hadn''t lied about his friend being safe at home.


    For a fleeting moment, Charlotte hoped it was Laura making her presence known. But logic reminded her that there were more werewolves in the area, and the state of the corpse suggested something much darker. She suspected hunters might be in Beacon Hills; the clean cut of the body was a telltale sign of their methods. They often adhered to a code, performing such acts to prevent regeneration.


    She had to investigate further to understand what had triggered the hunters, who didn''t kill without reason. At least, most of them didn''t.


    Beacon Hills had given her a truly unexpected welcome.


    ??


    Scott sighed, exasperated, as he concealed himself behind the trees, hoping to avoid the sharp gaze of his friend''s father. The sheriff''s calls echoed through the dense woods, but Scott remained hidden, resolute in his decision to walk back rather than endure a lecture.


    His eyes strained against the encroaching darkness, a formidable challenge without the guiding beam of Stiles'' flashlight. As he reached a fork in the path, he paused, deliberating his options. The night air grew colder, prompting him to pull the zipper of his sweatshirt up to his chin. A rustling among the trees made him freeze. His breath quickened, more from fear than his asthma. He reached for his inhaler, only to hear a noise growing nearer.


    Suddenly, half a dozen deer burst through the trees, fleeing in blind panic and ignoring Scott entirely. He dropped his inhaler, shielding his head. As the deer vanished into the night, he began searching the forest floor for his inhaler, using his phone''s dim screen for light. His search halted abruptly when his eyes met another''s¡ªglassy, brown, lifeless eyes staring from the face of a young, half-naked woman lying before him. The initial shock gave way to horror as he realized this was what he and Stiles had been searching for¡ªthe upper half of the body the police were desperately trying to locate.


    Terrified, Scott scrambled back but tripped over a protruding root, tumbling down a forested incline. Before he could rise, a low, throaty growl immobilized him. Something large was approaching, emerging slowly from the shadows. In a flash, he saw razor-sharp teeth, felt a searing pain in his side, and jumped back, screaming. He managed to separate himself from the attacking beast and fled, branches tearing at his clothes and skin. Suddenly, the dense forest ended, and he stumbled out onto a road.


    A horn blared. Scott spun around as a red SUV sped towards him. The driver swerved, narrowly avoiding him but did not stop. Slowly recovering from the shock, Scott felt the sharp pain in his side once more. Lifting his sweatshirt, he discovered a bite mark just above his hip. His attention was abruptly diverted by a chilling sound¡ªa wolf''s howl piercing the silent night.


    ??


    January 10th 2011 - Monday


    Scott rode into the school parking lot on his bike, a lacrosse stick strapped to his backpack, the net meticulously woven and ready for the first practice of the year. As he locked his bike to the stand, his eyes roved the sea of students, searching in vain for a familiar face.


    Next to him gleamed a brand-new, silver Porsche, its custom registration plate making the owner unmistakably clear. The car door swung open, striking Scott''s back as he bent down. Emerging from the vehicle was a handsome, square-jawed teenager with a meticulously styled haircut, his face marred by an expression of smug superiority.


    "Dude. Watch the paint job," he barked, his voice dripping with condescension, not bothering to acknowledge that it was he who had struck Scott. He retrieved his belongings from the car, which included the gear for Scott''s cherished lacrosse game.


    "Jackson!" A shout interrupted them, drawing Jackson''s attention. A feigned smile spread across his face as he turned and walked towards his friends, who were gathered around even more expensive cars, all dressed in designer clothes. The group, composed of well-built boys and heavily made-up girls, radiating an aura of exclusivity.


    Left alone, Scott cast a wistful glance at the group, painfully aware that he was miles away from being part of their elite circle.


    Just as he was about to enter the school, Stiles caught up with him, breathless and animated, diving straight into the topic of their late-night phone conversation from when Scott had finally made it home after his adventure in the woods.


    "All right, let''s see this thing..."


    Scott set his backpack aside, waiting until the last group of students hurried past as the first bell of the year had already rung. Carefully, he lifted his T-shirt to reveal a sizable bandage, soaked in blood, just above his right hip. Stiles recoiled at the sight, almost reflexively reaching out, but Scott quickly lowered his shirt to stop him.


    "It was too dark to see much, but I''m pretty sure it was a wolf."


    "A wolf bit you?" Stiles raised his eyebrows as they joined the throng of students heading inside. "No way," he scoffed, a mocking smile playing on his lips.


    "I heard a wolf howling."


    "No, you didn''t."


    "What do you mean, ''No, I didn''t''?" Scott snapped, certain of what he heard.


    "California doesn''t have wolves. Not for the last sixty years."


    "Really?" Scott quipped, "Well, if you don''t believe me about the wolf, then you''re definitely not going to believe me when I tell you I saw the body."


    "You what? Are you kidding me?" Stiles nearly jumped, his face lighting up with excitement.


    "I wish. I''m going to have nightmares about it for a month."


    "That''s freaking awesome. This is seriously the best thing that''s happened to this town..." Stiles fell silent, his eyes widening as he spotted the girl walking towards them. "...since the birth of Lydia Martin who''s walking toward us right now... Hey, Lydia, how are you? You look..." Lydia, dressed in the latest designer fashion and towering on high heels, breezed past them without a glance, her confidence reminiscent of a Milan runway model. Stiles''s face fell, and Scott couldn''t help but smile at his friend''s frustration. "...like you''re going to ignore me. You''re the cause of this, you know?" Stiles turned to Scott. "Dragging me down to your nerd''s depths. I''m a nerd by association. I''ve been Scarlet-nerded by you."


    Scott laughed, knowing full well that Stiles was joking. Despite their differences, Stiles was the one obsessed with computer games, comic books, and maintaining better grades, despite his notorious lack of focus.


    ??


    Charlotte Benoit''s first day at Beacon Hills High could have been considerably less stressful, if not for the previous day''s escapades. As she navigated the bustling corridors, she reveled in the anonymity that came with being a teacher rather than a student. However, the warm welcome in the staff room took her by surprise. Headmaster Thomas, a relatively young man with a mane of blonde hair, ensured her arrival was celebrated with a cake baked by a colleague and a special, aromatic coffee prepared by another. Adrian Harris, ever the raconteur, took it upon himself to regale everyone with tales of their shared adventure from the previous day.


    Charlotte, with her intricately braided hair adorned with beads and feathers, immediately drew attention. Her biker chic attire¡ªcomplete with a Harley-style black leather jacket, simple t-shirt, skinny black jeans, and combat boots¡ªcontrasted sharply with the typical teacher ensemble. Her commanding presence and youthful appearance, which belied her true age, intrigued the other teachers. Consequently, she found herself at the center of attention for more than one reason.


    Charlotte quickly developed a fondness for Sharon Ramsey, a dark-skinned, slightly squat English teacher with a perpetually smiling face. Sharon''s perceptiveness and wholehearted dedication to her work, coupled with her detached approach to life, made her an instant favorite. Sharon pointed out a few students who warranted special attention.


    Another person who endeared himself to Charlotte was Bobby Finstock, the economics teacher and coach of the school''s athletics and lacrosse teams. Despite his scatterbrained demeanor, Bobby was extremely likable and passionate about his work. He spent most of the morning trying to explain the rules of lacrosse to Charlotte, and although he didn''t succeed, his efforts lightened her mood and dispelled some of her stress as if by magic.


    One individual who piqued Charlotte''s curiosity was Marin Morrell, a young, dark-skinned woman who taught French and served as the school psychologist. Also new this term, Marin seemed not yet thirty, and despite the gentle smile on her lips, she avoided contact with other staff members. Charlotte sensed Marin''s gaze on her several times, but each time she turned around, Marin was either looking the other way or had her nose buried in a book.


    Charlotte''s wave of nervousness returned when the bell rang, summoning the students to their first lesson. The teenagers took their seats, their expectant gazes fixed on her. Among the youthful faces, she recognized the freckled one of the sheriff''s son she had encountered in the woods the previous evening. He smiled reassuringly, sensing her nervousness, which bolstered her spirits and propelled her into action.


    "Welcome to your first history lesson of the year. My name is Charlotte Benoit, and I am your new teacher. To begin with, I ask for your patience and understanding as I''m sure I won''t remember all your names straight away," she began, feeling their curious, respectful, and appraising gazes upon her. She knew she didn''t look like a typical teacher¡ªabove all, she appeared too young, and she didn''t try to hide it under stiff clothing.


    The students exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and skepticism. They were likely wondering how someone who looked barely older than themselves could be a teacher. Her unique appearance captivated some of them, while others seemed to assess her potential as a teacher. Charlotte could sense the underlying challenge in their eyes, a test of her authority and capability.


    "This is not a joke. From today, I will be your teacher. I won''t lie. I''m not nearly the same age as most of your teachers," she added, eliciting laughter. "However, this does not mean I will demand less from you, nor that you can treat me as your equal. If you show me respect, I will reciprocate. If not... you find that I can easily become your least favorite teacher."


    "Fat chance, no one beats Harris," muttered the sheriff''s son under his breath, but Charlotte pretended not to hear it.


    "When I read out your name, please stand. I want to know your faces and be able to tell who you are. The rest of you, familiarize yourselves with the syllabuses on your desks."


    As the students set about their assigned tasks, Charlotte began calling the attendance. She eventually reached the sheriff''s son but stumbled over his unusually written, foreign-sounding name.


    "Stilinski," she opted to use his surname. The boy perked up, smiling broadly, aware of the difficulty his name caused. "I don''t believe either your friends or my colleagues call you by your first name. How should I address you?"


    "Stiles, ma''am."


    "All right, Stiles, thank you. Now, back to the syllabus."


    At that moment, Charlotte noticed Scott McCall, seated next to Stiles, acting strangely. He seemed to listen to something inaudible to others, his eyes eventually fixing on the window overlooking the school driveway. Following his gaze, Charlotte saw the deputy headmaster accompanied by a pretty, dark-haired girl.


    A moment later, the deputy headmaster entered the classroom with the girl. She was slim and tall, with a heart-shaped face and large brown eyes that reminded Charlotte of her cousin, Luise. However, unlike Luise''s eyes, which were tired from witnessing too much cruelty, this girl''s eyes were still innocent and full of trust.


    "Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent. Please do your best to make her feel welcome," the deputy headmaster announced, drawing the students'' attention. A delicate blush bloomed on Allison''s cheeks as she smiled shyly. Though she seemed accustomed to such introductions, she was nonetheless uncomfortable. She headed for the nearest vacant seat, which happened to be behind Scott, who was staring at her.


    As Allison was about to sit, Scott handed her one of his pens with a look of determination. She furrowed her brow in surprise, but then smiled warmly, accepting the pen and thanking him.


    Charlotte froze when she heard Allison''s name. It was familiar and foreboding, explaining Allison''s resemblance to Luise. As the teenager sat down, Charlotte shook off her numbness and turned to the class.


    "So, let''s begin..."


    By the end of the class, Charlotte felt a mix of relief and satisfaction. She had held the students'' attention and establish a semblance of authority, all while staying true to herself. The day had begun with nerves and uncertainty, but as she walked out of the classroom, she felt a growing confidence in her new role.


    ??


    Scott was just retrieving books from his locker for his next class when he noticed Allison across the corridor. Their eyes met, and she smiled, recognizing the cute boy who had lent her a pen. However, her attention was soon diverted by the books that tumbled out of her locker. She bent down to gather them, and when she finished, she attempted to look at the black-haired teenager again. However, a girl with reddish-blonde hair blocked her view.


    "That jacket is absolutely killer! Where did you get it?" Lydia Martin asked, determined to take her new friend under her wing.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    "My mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco."


    "You''re my new best mate," Lydia declared with a flirtatious smile, causing her taller colleague to laugh. At that moment, Jackson Whittemore joined them, wrapping his arm around Lydia and kissing her.


    At the other end of the corridor, Harley, a dark-skinned girl and their classmate, approached Stiles and Scott, observing the scene.


    "Can someone tell me how New Girl is here all of five minutes and she''s already hanging with Lydia''s crowd?" Harley asked, eyeing Allison with jealousy.


    "Because she''s hot. Beautiful people herd together," Stiles replied thoughtlessly, not noticing Harley''s disbelieving gaze as he carefully observed Lydia, with whom he was hopelessly in love.


    "Is that why Lydia isn''t herding with you?" Harley asked, tilting her head with an ironic smile.


    "Lydia''s a long-term project, okay? And trust me, I''ve got all the patience in the world for a high-yield investment like her."


    "Well, I don''t think New Girl''s that pretty," Harley wrinkled her nose at Allison before shifting her attention to her colleagues. "Scott, you think she''s pretty? Scott?"


    The boy didn''t respond, didn''t even blink, as his entire attention was focused on Allison.


    "I''d take that as a yes..." concluded Stiles, baring his teeth at his friend, who didn''t even notice.


    "There''s a party this weekend," Lydia announced to her new friend.


    "A party?"


    "Friday night, you should come," Jackson said, eyeing Allison and smiling broadly, signaling his approval.


    "I can''t. It''s Family Night this Friday," Allison stammered, feeling uncomfortable with the couple standing too close and invading her personal space. "But thanks for asking."


    "You sure? Everyone''s going after the scrimmage."


    "You mean like football?" Allison asked, clearly interested.


    "Football is a joke at Beacon," Jackson announced with a condescending smile, then explained, proudly puffing out his chest. "The sport here is Lacrosse. We won the state championship the last three years..."


    "Because of a certain team captain," Lydia interjected, annoyed by Jackson''s attention to another girl but masking it with a sweet smile.


    "Every season starts with a scrimmage to decide the new first line. You ever watch Lacrosse?" Jackson continued, unconcerned with his girlfriend, who caressed his hair with her fingers.


    "I''m actually not sure how it''s played other than... well, violently."


    "Maybe you should just come see for yourself. We have practice in a few minutes. You don''t have to be anywhere, do you?"


    "Well, no, I was just going..."


    "Perfect. You''re coming," Lydia interrupted, pulling on Allison''s arm and leading her towards the pitch. Allison cast a quick, slightly askance glance towards Scott, who was still watching her, but let herself be swept along by her bossy friend without objection.


    The school team, along with those hoping to join them this term, had already started to assemble on the pitch, and the stands were slowly filling with students ready to support their friends at their first training session.


    "But if you play, I''ll have no one to talk to on the bench. You really gonna'' do that to your best friend?" Stiles asked in disbelief. Both friends were already dressed in their playing clothes and heading towards the rest of the team.


    "I can''t sit out again! My whole life is sitting on the sidelines. This season, I make first line." Scott was determined; he had been practicing all break for just this one reason. At one point, he spotted Lydia and Allison taking a seat in the stands and exchanged a smile with the latter, losing all sense of reality.


    "McCall! You''re in the goal!" Coach Finstock shouted in his face, throwing a special stick for catching goals into his hands and measuring the teenager with slightly arched eyes. His face expressed a complete lack of interest in anything but the game.


    "But I''ve never played goal..." Scott was confused.


    "I know. Scoring some shots will give the boys a confidence boost. It''s a first-day-back thing. Get them energized, jazzed up."


    "What about me?"


    "Try not to take any in the face," the trainer concluded, patting Scott on the cheek before moving away, completely losing interest in him. "Come on! Here we go!" he shouted to the rest of the team as Scott lined up in goal.


    The teenager was stressed. He was very keen to get on the team, but he hadn''t expected this turn of events. He was losing hope, and the fact that the girl he liked was watching him closely only made it worse.


    "Who is it?" Allison asked Lydia, pointing with her chin towards the gate.


    "Him? I''m not sure, why?" Lydia measured the boy with a look in which there was a spark of recognition for a moment, but it disappeared right away, replaced by a bored expression.


    "He''s in my English class," the taller girl shrugged, trying to feign nonchalance.


    A whistle sounded, announcing the start of training. The sound drilled deep into Scott''s ears, its intensity causing excruciating pain. Never before had he realized that the tone could be so high and loud. He clutched his head, trying to stop the echo reverberating inside his skull, causing him to miss the fact that the first of his teammates had started an attack on goal, running towards him.


    The coach handed the player the ball, which he caught in the net at the end of the stick he was holding, and then raced into Scott''s position. However, Scott was too late to realize the situation, and as he raised his eyes, the ball bounced off his helmet. Without it, the ball would have landed in the middle of his face, most likely breaking his nose. The helmet, however, did not stop it from falling straight into the goal Scott was supposed to be defending. The players laughed mischievously, and even a not-so-pleasant smile blossomed on the coach''s lips. Scott''s cheeks were covered in a scarlet blush, his lips tightened in determination as he picked himself up and repositioned himself in goal. When the whistle sounded again, he was ready. The coach passed the ball to the next attacker, who redirected it towards the goal. Scott moved his net almost immediately. The first thing he noticed was the disbelief and disappointment on his opponent''s face. When he turned his gaze to the net of his stick, his eyes widened in surprise. He had caught the ball, defending the goal. He hadn''t expected it.


    With the next attacker, the situation repeated itself. And again, each time the next person charged at him, he managed to defend the goal and catch the ball. It was completely effortless, as if he had been doing it since birth.


    "He seems like he''s pretty good," Allison commented on the actions of the boy who had lent her the pen.


    "Very good indeed..." confirmed Lydia, intrigued as she followed every movement of Scott, whose figure now radiated confidence.


    Meanwhile, on the pitch, Scott was enjoying himself more and more. All nervousness had slipped away somewhere, and he was beginning to get genuine enjoyment out of the game until he saw it was Jackson''s turn. The team captain looked seriously upset, and despite the distance that separated them, Scott could sense the anger radiating from his opponent''s silhouette.


    "Oh god..." Scott had something to fear. Jackson was unquestionably the best player on their team, plus he was extremely aggressive.


    Jackson amplified his shot, swinging his racket all the way from the jump. When it landed on the turf, he couldn''t shake the shock, as the defender seemed to put no effort into stopping his attack. However, the ball landed straight in Scott''s net, who beamed at at the sight, twirled his stick, and sent the ball towards the coach. It fell straight into his grasp, although Finstock made no move to catch it. Meanwhile, at the substitutes'' bench, Stiles did a wild victory dance, shouting to all the spectators:


    "That''s my mate!"


    Even Lydia, always cool and composed, jumped to her feet and squealed exultantly, then threw a defiant glance at her boyfriend, who measured her with surprised, angry eyes.


    ??


    After school, the boys ventured into the woods, retracing their steps to where Scott had found the body and lost his inhaler. The overcast sky draped everything in a somber gray, but the forest had shed its eerie menace from the night before, the shadows softer, the silence less oppressive.


    "I don''t know what it was," the black-haired man began, his voice electric with excitement. "I felt like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball. And that''s not the only weird thing. I can hear stuff I shouldn''t be able to hear. And I can smell things."


    "Smell things? Like what?" Stiles, trying to keep up with his friend''s brisk pace, prodded for more details.


    "Like the mint mojito gum in your pocket..."


    "I don''t have any..." Stiles slowed down, digging into his jacket pocket. His hand brushed against something, and he pulled out half a packet of mint mojito gum, giving Scott a look of disbelief, then a mocking smirk. "All this started with the bite?"


    "What if it''s an infection?" Scott frowned, a worried crease forming on his forehead. "What if my body is flooding with adrenaline before I go into shock? I knew I should have gone to the ER."


    "I''ve actually heard of this," mused Stiles, adopting a serious expression and scrunching up his nose. "It''s a specific kind of infection... All the symptoms add up. I think it''s called... Lycanthropy."


    "Really? What''s that? Is it bad? It sounds bad..." Scott''s concern was palpable.


    "It is, but only once a month, on the night when it''s full." Scott looked at his friend with uncomprehending eyes, but when Stiles started pretending to howl at the moon, Scott punched him in the arm.


    "You''re an ass," he muttered, moving ahead.


    "Hey, you''re the one who heard that wolf howling," laughed Stiles, trailing behind.


    "There could be something seriously wrong with me!"


    "I know, you''re a werewolf!" Stiles teased, his amusement clear as Scott shot him a questioning look. "Okay, obviously, I''m kidding. But if you see me melting all the silver I can find, it''s because Friday''s a full moon."


    Scott paused, scanning the woodland undergrowth with a furrowed brow. He felt an inexplicable certainty that he was in the right place, even though he couldn''t distinguish these particular trees from any others in the forest. "I swear this was it. The body was here. The deer came running, I dropped my inhaler..." He bent down, sifting through the mulch with his hand in search of his lost medicine.


    "Maybe the killer moved the body," Stiles suggested, kicking at the leaves absentmindedly.


    "If he did, I hope he left my inhaler. Those things are like eighty bucks," sighed Scott, discouraged, turning his gaze back to the ground.


    After a moment, Scott felt Stiles nervously patting his shoulder, trying to get his attention. He looked up to see Stiles adjusting his sweatshirt awkwardly, his eyes fixed on a silhouette standing nearby. The man, several years older than them, dressed in black with a leather jacket and light stubble on his square jaw, watched them in silence, exuding a strange tension. Scott stood up abruptly, feeling a rush of adrenaline. Stiles stuffed his hands deep in his pockets, licking his lips nervously and avoiding the stranger''s gaze as he approached with quick, determined steps, his face a mask of impassivity but his movements radiating anger.


    "What are you doing here?" The man''s low voice cut through the tension. The boys were too stunned to reply immediately. Stiles nervously ran a hand over his head, staring at his shoes. "This is private property."


    "Sorry, we didn''t know," Stiles replied, swallowing nervously.


    "We were just looking for something." Scott hesitated under the stranger''s intense scrutiny. "Forget it. Sorry to bother you."


    As they were about to leave, the man pulled an inhaler from his jacket pocket and tossed it to Scott, who caught it effortlessly. When Scott looked up in surprise, the man had already walked away.


    "Come on, I have to get to work," Stiles urged, still looking shocked.


    "Dude, that was Derek Hale. You remember him, right? He''s only a few years older than us."


    "Remember what?"


    "His family. They all burned to death in a fire about ten years ago."


    "I wonder why he''s back," pondered Scott, staring into the woods where Derek had disappeared, clenching the inhaler tightly in his fist.


    ??


    She didn''t get home until late afternoon, her head buzzing with thoughts so many she feared they might start pouring out of her ears. In need of fresh air to calm her racing mind, she decided to take Isle for a walk in the woods, which began just beyond the back gate of her garden. She didn''t plan on going far, though a quiet part of her hoped she might stumble upon the other half of the corpse before the police did. On reflection, she realized how incredibly suspicious that would look. She should avoid the forest for a few days; discovering a dead body should come as a shock to any mundane person.


    Despite her intentions, her legs carried her farther than she expected. Before she knew it, the remnants of the burnt-out house where she was supposed to meet Laura days ago came into view between the trees. It was only then she realized her canine companion had disappeared. She called out to Isle, her voice echoing through the trees, but there was no sign of the spirited collie. Instead, a tall, well-built man in a leather jacket emerged from the shadows, blocking her path. Charlie swallowed hard at the sight of him; he was strikingly handsome, with a broad, chiseled jaw adorned with a trace of stubble, dark hair, and piercing grey-green eyes that stared at her intently from beneath furrowed brows. The top of her head barely reached his mouth, and for a fleeting moment, she considered bopping his nose and dashing off to hide in some rabbit hole. He definitely made her uneasy.


    Within her, the Lurker, her inner demon, stirred. It sensed Derek''s powerful aura, an intoxicating blend of danger and magnetism, and subtly nudged her towards him, amplifying his attractiveness in her eyes. The Lurker always reveled in pushing her towards danger, delighting in the thrill it brought.


    "This is private property..." Derek announced in a low, surprisingly warm voice, trailing off as if giving her a chance to explain herself.


    "Sorry, I didn''t know... My dog got lost somewhere. Have you seen her? A marbled border collie with a red collar."


    "No, but I can help look for her. It''s not safe to walk alone in the woods," he said, and she sensed a hidden meaning in his words. Did he know about yesterday''s incident, or could he even be the killer? He extended his hand towards her. "Derek Hale."


    "Charlotte Benoit," she replied, shaking his hand and feeling a pleasant shiver run down her spine. His skin was warm, almost hot, against her icy fingers. "I wasn''t alone, as I mentioned. Isle was with me, but she must have found something more interesting."


    His lips curved slightly in an imitation of a smile, though his face remained a stony mask. They walked together towards her house in silence. She tried to watch him out of the corner of her eye, wondering if her suspicions were correct. Was he Laura''s brother? Laura had mentioned no one else going to show in Beacon Hills alongside her. She decided not to ask; she was never particularly trusting, and he could have easily given her a false name. Trying to sense his aura became challenging for her because of her own accelerated heartbeat.


    They searched for the dog for about half an hour. Derek hadn''t spoken the entire time, giving the impression of a silent recluse, which only heightened her surprise that he had offered his help.


    "I don''t think there''s anything to it..." she broke the silence. "Maybe she just went home."


    "If you don''t find her by tomorrow, I''d suggest checking with the nearest vets. Someone might have found her and taken her there," he replied, turning on his heel and heading back towards the burnt house.


    "Yes... Thank you for your help!" she shouted after him, then trudged back to her cottage.


    Unfortunately, Isle didn''t make it home, and as lashing rain poured from the sky, Charlie decided she would visit the nearest vet the following day before work.


    ??


    January 11th 2011 - Tuesday


    This morning, when Scott opened his eyes, he was astonished to find himself not in the familiar confines of his bed but sprawled on the forest floor, covered in a blanket of fallen leaves. Panic surged through him as he bolted upright, only to bash his head against something solid. Blinking through the pain, he realized a large rock loomed above him. A quick survey of his surroundings revealed he was clad only in the boxers he had worn to bed the previous evening.


    His mind raced to make sense of the situation. Sleepwalking, he concluded. He must have wandered into the forest in his sleep. Clambering up the small escarpment he had been sheltering under, a dense fog that shrouded the trees in a ghostly veil greeted him. His pulse quickened as he took stock of his surroundings, trying to figure out how to get home. Suddenly, he froze, holding his breath as a strange rustling reached his ears.


    Taking a few cautious steps back, he felt the edge of a precipice beneath his bare feet and stopped. His eyes darted towards a disturbance among the trees just meters away. Unease gnawed at him, and he ran. First at a steady pace, then faster and faster. Glancing sideways, he saw a shadow moving in tandem with him, matching his speed. The shadow''s eyes, glowing blood-red, locked onto his.


    Scott''s heart pounded in his chest as the shadow flitted from one side to the other, effortlessly keeping pace. He pushed himself to run faster, an inhuman speed he didn''t know he possessed, but the shadow remained a constant, terrifying presence. Just as he felt the shadow''s breath on his neck, a fence appeared before him, seemingly out of nowhere. Acting on pure instinct, he leaped over it, landing in a crouch on the other side.


    The moment he touched down, the oppressive presence vanished, leaving him alone in an overgrown, neglected garden behind a small house with a sloping roof. Movement on the porch caught his attention¡ªa short, slim woman in a baggy tracksuit approached, her dark red hair styled in a picturesque, disheveled bun.


    "Scott? What happened?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. "What were you doing in the woods at this hour? Are you all right?"


    "Mrs. Benoit..." he stammered, recognizing the young teacher. He looked bewildered, clearly struggling to process what had happened. "I... I''m fine, I think... I... I seem to have been sleepwalking..."


    Charlotte''s worry deepened, but she quickly invited him into her kitchen and offered him hot tea to help him calm down. Rummaging through one of her half-unpacked moving boxes, she found an old t-shirt belonging to her ex and handed it to Scott so he could cover up. Her cats, sensing the unusual tension, kept their distance from the unexpected visitor.


    Once Scott had finished his tea, Charlotte drove him home. Although she was eager to meet his mother, Scott convinced her to postpone the introduction. Understanding his discomfort, she nodded, told him to take care, and then headed to the nearest veterinary clinic to look for her dog, Isle.


    Dr. Alan Deaton, the veterinarian, was a warm, sympathetic man with a familiar glint in his eyes. He explained Isle had indeed been brought to his clinic with a broken paw, which had been treated by his assistant¡ªScott McCall, the same teenager she had just driven home.


    ??


    January 14th 2011 - Friday - Full Moon


    Stiles'' fingers danced frenetically across the keyboard, his eyes glued to the monitor, which was beginning to pinch from staring too long. Article after article flashed by, each filled with words like "toadstool," "silver bullets," "Lycaon," and "Aconite," accompanied by illustrations of ferocious, man-wolf beasts. As he delved deeper into the abyss of the internet, he occasionally reached for books¡ªsome new and paperbound, others old and leatherbound, practically disintegrating.


    If he had bothered to glance out the window, he would have noticed the sun sinking behind the horizon, giving way to the rising full moon. But his attention was elsewhere. The printer on his desk whirred to life, spitting out page after page. The last one depicted an engraving of a man with a crossbow standing over a half-transformed werewolf. A look of sheer terror etched itself onto Stiles'' face, deepening when a knock echoed through the room. He nearly toppled off his chair but steadied himself before opening the door.


    "Get in," he said urgently, recognizing Scott standing there. "You have to see this. I''ve been reading¡ªwebsites, books, all this information..." Words tumbled out of him like a machine gun.


    "How much Adderall have you had?" Scott asked, stepping inside.


    "A lot. Doesn''t matter. Just listen."


    "Is this about the body?" Scott laughed, his black hair falling into his eyes. "Did they find who did it?"


    "No, they''re still questioning people. Even Derek Hale..."


    "The guy from the woods?"


    "Yeah, but that''s not it," Stiles waved his arms, trying to capture Scott''s attention. "Remember the joke the other day? Not a joke anymore." His voice dropped, his face suddenly serious. "The wolf. The bite in the woods." He paused, watching for Scott''s reaction, but only saw confusion. "I started reading... Do you even know why wolves howl?" Bursting with energy, he got up and paced around the room.


    "Should I?"


    "It''s a signal. When a wolf is alone, it howls to signal its location to the rest of the pack. So if you heard it howling, that means there are others. Maybe a whole pack of them," he said, clutching the rustling pages in his clammy hands.


    "A pack of wolves," Scott replied, incredulous.


    "No. Werewolves." The two boys locked eyes.


    "You''re seriously wasting my time with this?" Scott stood, frustration etched on his face. "You know, I''m picking Allison up in an hour."


    "I saw you on the field, Scott," Stiles grabbed his friend''s arm, stopping him. "What you did wasn''t just amazing. It was impossible."


    "So I made a good shot," Scott shrugged.


    "No, you made an incredible shot. The way you moved... the speed, your reflexes," Stiles snatched Scott''s bag, scattering printed pages around them. "People can''t suddenly do that."


    "I can''t think about this now," Scott lost his patience. "We''ll talk tomorrow, okay?"


    "Tomorrow?! Don''t you get it? The full moon is tonight!" Stiles'' voice was filled with horror.


    "What are you trying to do? I just made first line on the team. I have a date with a girl I can''t believe wants to go out with me. Everything in my life is finally perfect. Why are you trying to ruin it?"


    "I''m trying to help," Stiles insisted, pulling out a note from the stack of papers on his desk. "With the full moon, it''s going to be too hard to resist, and there''s no going back. You''re cursed, Scott. And it''s not just the moon that causes you to change; it''s also when your bloodlust will be at its peak."


    "Bloodlust?"


    "Your urge to kill..."


    "I''m already starting to have an urge to kill," Scott''s voice dropped dangerously, eyes cold as he glared at Stiles.


    "You need to hear this," Stiles grabbed a book, flipping to a specific paragraph. "The change can be triggered by anger or anything that raises your pulse," he quoted, then met Scott''s eyes. "And I''ve never seen anyone raise your pulse like Allison does. You have to call her and cancel the date," he said, reaching for Scott''s phone in his backpack.


    "What are you doing?" Scott''s voice was dangerously low.


    "Just finding her number..." Stiles didn''t lift his gaze from the phone.


    "Give it to me!" Scott shouted, grabbing Stiles by the shirt and pinning him against the wall.


    Stiles'' eyes widened in fear as Scott''s dark brown eyes flashed iridescent gold. Scott''s voice turned into a growl, and he prepared to strike, but at the last moment, he stopped, breathing heavily. He let go and punched an office chair, sending it flying across the room. Shaking all over like a damp dog, he looked at Stiles with regret.


    "I didn''t mean to do that," he said, confused and apologetic. "I''m sorry. Really, I didn''t mean it. I have to go. I have to get ready for the party. I''m sorry."


    Left alone, Stiles slowly got up, adjusting his clothes and putting the chair back. He froze, running his hand over the backrest. Three parallel claw marks, cutting through the upholstery and the sponge underneath, confirmed his worst fears. The evidence was undeniable. Scott was becoming something far more dangerous than they had ever imagined.


    ??


    As Charlotte wandered through the echoing corridors of the school, she overheard whispers about an upcoming "party for everyone" hosted by one of the school''s elite, Lydia Martin, scheduled for Friday evening. The prospect unsettled her, especially given her growing suspicions of a werewolf lurking nearby. If the hero of Tuesday''s incident had indeed been bitten, the potential for disaster loomed large, exacerbated by the number of students likely to attend Lydia''s soiree. Even before the final bell tolled, she had scoured the school records to pinpoint Lydia''s address, resolving to take a precautionary evening stroll in that direction.


    Finding Lydia''s house proved straightforward. Nestled in one of the city''s more affluent neighborhoods, a cacophony of deafening music and a swarm of teenagers marked the residence. Charlotte observed the scene with a mix of irritation and wariness, her keen senses attuned to any sign of trouble. Determined to cover all angles, she circled the house. As she rounded the corner, she collided with a solid figure.


    She didn''t tumble, thanks to a firm hand that steadied her elbow. When she looked up, her eyes locked onto the familiar grey-green irises of Derek Hale. The scenario mirrored their first encounter almost to the letter.


    "Are you following me?" They chorused, eyebrows arching in unison. Charlotte burst into laughter, and Derek''s lips curved into a slight smile, his attempt to maintain a brooding, handsome fa?ade still intact. The thought amused her, and she chuckled again.


    "I''m just the over-zealous teacher making sure my students do nothing too reckless," she explained, nodding toward Lydia''s house. "Also, I''m grabbing some fresh air. What''s your excuse?"


    "I was running an errand for a friend, but it seems he''s just left... abandoning his girlfriend," he replied, glancing over her shoulder.


    Turning, Charlotte spotted Allison Argent standing alone, her gaze fixed on the receding taillights of a car. Charlotte knew Allison had likely come with Scott, the boy who might have been bitten. If that were true, he was in deep trouble, especially considering Allison''s heritage. The Argents were renowned in supernatural circles as Hunters, a modern-day inquisition dedicated to eradicating the supernatural. The odds of her surname being mere coincidence were slim, especially given the Argents'' notorious history in Beacon Hills¡ªa history Charlotte knew all too well.


    Before she could contemplate further, Derek grabbed her arm and steered her toward Allison. "Allison, do you need a lift? I''m a friend of Scott''s. My name''s Derek," he introduced himself, gently nudging Charlotte forward to reassure the girl.


    Charlotte hoped Allison wouldn''t go off with a stranger so easily, even though Charlie''s presence seemed to comfort her. Despite the possibility that Allison was trained in self-defense, it would still be reckless.


    Allison agreed without hesitation, and the trio headed to a sleek, black Camaro parked nearby. As they drove, Allison directed Derek to her home, chatting lightly. Charlotte, meanwhile, marveled at the beautiful car and Derek''s confident driving. When they reached Allison''s house, she thanked them and stepped out, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.


    Charlotte drummed her fingers on her knee, admiring Derek''s vehicle, when he was driving to her home. She felt a pang of embarrassment over her own unkempt garden and the house''s peeling fa?ade. However, when she noticed Derek''s gaze lingering on her own car¡ªa 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle¡ªher heart swelled with pride. She could talk about that car for hours.


    Suddenly, she realized she was lost in thought, and a blush crept up her cheeks. "Uh, yes... thank you... for the lift," she stammered.


    "Have you found your dog?" Derek asked, his eyes studying her intently. The redhead intrigued him; she seemed to meddle in affairs that concerned him too and appeared too harmless to be genuine. Derek, scarred by his past, trusted no one easily, yet this woman stirred his curiosity. He inhaled deeply, detecting the scents of coffee, citrus, and a faint trace of woods and blood. This mix of scents only heightened his suspicion.


    "Ah, yes, Isle was at the vet, just as you said. Thank you. I need to go now. Good night," she replied, fumbling with the door handle. She slipped out and hurried toward her front door.


    "See you later," Derek called after her, prompting a wave and a smile before he drove off.


    Every time Derek was near, Charlotte felt a subtle, insidious stirring within her. It was as if her inner demon, usually a dormant, whispering presence, responded to his proximity. The sensation wasn''t overpowering, but enough to make her wary. It gnawed at the edges of her consciousness, reminding her of its existence¡ªa persistent, dark shadow that flickered with malevolent curiosity whenever Derek was around.


    The rest of the evening, Charlotte paced her home, her mind racing. The Argents were back in town. A rogue Alpha was on the loose. Laura Hale had been murdered, and Derek Hale remained an enigma. Was he an Alpha seeking revenge for his sister''s death, or was he just as lost as she was?


    Charlotte spent over an hour at her desk, jotting down notes and planning. Quitting her job might free up time for her investigation, but her position at the school provided valuable access. Teenagers, with their resilience, were prime targets for werewolf bites. If the Alpha had any strategic sense, he would target the high school, where she would be ready.


    The full moon troubled her, though not as severe as it did werewolves. Her blood felt like it was boiling, and her thoughts swirled like angry hornets. Sleep seemed elusive, but she resolved to try wrapping herself in a blanket and summoning her pets for comfort.


    ??


    Scott burst into his room, slamming the door behind him with a resounding thud. His head pounded with excruciating pain, and his blood felt as if it were boiling beneath his skin. He staggered to the dresser, his reflection in the mirror above it showing not his familiar dark brown eyes, but two glowing yellow orbs that seemed to burn with an otherworldly intensity.


    With a groan, he squeezed his eyes shut and collapsed to his knees, his breath coming in ragged, uncontrollable gasps. Another wave of agony surged through him, as if something were tearing his muscles apart from the inside. He opened his eyes briefly and saw that his fingernails had transformed into sharp claws, which he dug into the carpet in a desperate attempt to steady himself. The insistent knocking on his door sounded like thunderclaps to his heightened senses.


    "Go away!" he roared, his voice raw and feral.


    "Scott, it''s me," came Stiles'' voice, trembling with fear.


    Scott rose to his feet and cracked the door open just a few inches, blocking his friend''s view.


    "Let me in, Scott. I can help..."


    "No!" Scott growled, feeling the monstrous eyes still dominating his vision. He pressed against the door to prevent Stiles from entering. "Listen, you have to find Allison..."


    "She''s fine. I saw her get a ride. She''s totally fine," Stiles reassured him with a nervous chuckle.


    "Stiles, I think I know who it is."


    "Just let me in and we can talk."


    "It''s Derek. Derek Hale''s the werewolf. He''s the one who bit me. He''s the one who killed the girl in the woods." A heavy silence followed his words.


    "Scott... Derek''s the one who drove Allison from the party!"


    The door slammed shut with a force that sent Stiles stumbling into the corridor. He threw his weight against it, shouting for his friend, but was met with only silence. When he finally shoved the door open and burst into the room, he found the window wide open, curtains billowing in the night breeze. Scott was gone.


    Rushing to the windowsill, Stiles looked out just in time to see Scott, fully transformed, sprinting on all fours toward the woods where the burnt remains of the Hale house stood. Without a moment''s hesitation, Stiles bolted downstairs, jumped into his blue Jeep, and sped off in pursuit.


    ??


    An agile silhouette, bathed in the silvery glow of the moon, flitted through the dense forest. Gleaming golden eyes pierced the darkness, scanning the underbrush with the keen precision of a hunting wolf. Every so often, he paused, ears twitching to catch the slightest rustle, nostrils flaring to discern the myriad scents on the breeze. Eventually, he arrived at a tree where a familiar black jacket, unmistakably belonging to Allison Argent, hung like a beacon in the night.


    "Where is she?" The question was uttered softly, yet it carried an edge of urgency, fully aware that the one lurking in the shadows would hear it clearly.


    "She''s safe, from you," came the calm, unyielding reply, followed by the soft crunch of footsteps behind him.


    Scott spun around, but Derek was faster. The older werewolf tackled him, and they tumbled through the forest litter, rolling over roots and fallen branches until they crashed into a clearing.


    Derek pinned Scott against a sturdy tree, his intense gaze scrutinizing the boy''s transformed features. The teenager''s face, covered in an unnaturally thick beard for his age, sported impressive sideburns. His upper lip curled slightly, revealing sharpened, wolfish fangs. Eyebrows knitted tightly over his nose, creating a series of furrows that gave him a distinctly lupine appearance. His eyes, glowing a fierce golden hue, reflected a wild, primal fury.


    "What did you do... ?" Scott''s voice was a mixture of concern and accusation, the fate of the girl weighing heavily on his mind.


    "Quiet," Derek hissed, his senses on high alert. He took a deep, steadying breath, frustration etched on his features. "It''s too late. They''re already here. Run!" He commanded, disappearing as swiftly as he had appeared.


    Scott''s eyes darted around in confusion before he sprang to his feet. His escape was short-lived as something struck the nearest tree with a blinding flash, lighting up the darkened forest like an explosive firework. Blinded, Scott staggered, blinking furiously to regain his sight. Pain seared through his arm; an arrow had pinned it to the tree behind him.


    From the shadows emerged three men, one with a loaded crossbow and the other two brandishing machine guns. Terror gripped Scott''s heart as he sensed the palpable hatred radiating from the men. The one with the crossbow stepped into the light, and for a fleeting moment, Scott thought he recognized him, but the moment passed when the man spoke.


    "Take him."


    Before they could move, a rustling sound heralded the swift, unseen retribution as one man was yanked into the darkness, followed swiftly by another. The leader dropped his crossbow, drawing his pistol as he scanned the shadows for the lurking danger.


    Derek materialized beside Scott, snapping the arrow and freeing him in one fluid motion. Without a word, he pulled the boy behind him, and they bolted through the forest, leaving their assailants behind.


    They finally halted miles away, Scott collapsing against a tree, gasping for breath.


    "Who were they?" he panted, his voice trembling with residual fear.


    "Hunters," Derek replied grimly, his eyes scanning the forest. "The kind who''ve been hunting us for centuries."


    "Us?" Scott retorted, his voice rising in disbelief and anger. "You mean you. You did this to me!" he accused, pushing himself off the ground.


    "Is it that bad, Scott?" Derek countered, incredulity and irritation mingling in his tone. He stepped closer, his presence imposing and unyielding. "That you can see better, hear more clearly, move faster than any human ever could? You''ve been given something most people would kill for," he declared passionately, his eyes burning with intensity. "The bite is a gift."


    "I don''t want it!" Scott''s voice cracked with emotion, bordering on tears.


    "You will," Derek said, his tone softening slightly. "And you''re going to need me if you want to learn to control it. You and me, Scott," he placed a firm hand on the boy''s shoulder. "We''re brothers now."


    With that, Derek straightened, leaving Scott leaning against the tree, and vanished into the enveloping darkness of the night.


    ??


    January 15th 2011 - Saturday


    As dawn approached, Charlotte stirred, sensing Isle''s departure from the bed. It was a routine occurrence, yet the absence of the comforting presence of her dog and the cats, who had slipped out for a nocturnal hunt, left her feeling inexplicably alone. She sat up, flicked on the lamp, and froze. There, silhouetted against the window, stood Derek Hale, his face clouded with fury. Dressed in the same jeans and plain T-shirt he had worn earlier, a leather jacket casually slung over his shoulders, he exuded a menacing aura.


    Before she could even react, he swiftly grabbed her arm, forcefully dragging her off the bed and pressing her against the wall. His voice, a low, accusing growl, sent chills down her spine. "Are you one of them?"


    "W... Who?" Charlotte stammered, striving for calm despite her heart pounding like a war drum. Goosebumps prickled her skin, a mix of fear and the chilly night air contrasting with her sleep-warmed body.


    "A hunter! Do you work with the Argents? You showed up in town just as they did!" His warm breath washed over her face, his eyes glowing an eerie blue, the shade of a killer''s rage.


    Anger flared within her. How dare he accuse her of collaborating with murderers when his own eyes, glowing blue instead of a golden hue, revealed his own guilt. Adrenaline surged, mixing with the indefinable darkness that lurked within her. The room filled with the scent of the forest, damp earth, and musk.


    Her grip tightened on his forearm, nails digging into his skin. A growl escaped her lips, startling Derek enough to step back, scrutinizing her from head to toe. The glow faded from his eyes, replaced by something she couldn''t decipher in her current state.


    "I have never been and never will be a hunter, even if they ask," she growled, stepping forward and invading his space. "And you, boy, should think three times before you attack me!"


    Though petite, her fiery hair and flashing green eyes, framed by the dim light of the night lamp, made her appear like an avenging goddess. Her tattoos¡ªa raven, a Celtic tree, Egyptian symbols, a witch''s hat on a broomstick, and a long, snakelike scar¡ªtold stories of her battles and resilience.


    She could almost taste Derek''s anger, now mingling with excitement at their proximity. He shoved her against the wall again, their bodies flush, his blood stirred by the full moon and her intoxicating scent. His eyes bore into hers, a strange connection and primal lust flickering between them.


    "I can easily prove that I stopped being a boy a long time ago," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, sending shivers down her neck.


    "Is that so?" she challenged, her defiant gaze locked on his, a wry smile playing on her lips as she teetered on the edge of control.


    Derek''s hands found her waist, lifting her effortlessly. Suddenly, she was caught between him and the wall, their faces mere centimeters apart. His control slipped, and the electricity of their mutual attraction intensified.


    Almost involuntarily, Charlotte''s hands gripped his shoulders, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him closer. His hands braced against the wall beside her head. A low growl emanated from her throat, her eyes briefly glowing phosphorescent green.


    His hands roamed over her thighs, fingers tightening as his lips crashed onto hers, his body pressing harder against her. His kiss was possessive and demanding, taking what he wanted. Her nails dug into his arms, piercing his skin.


    She arched her back, pushing them away from the wall with surprising strength. They momentarily broke apart, Derek shedding his leather jacket. Then his hands tore at her silk shirt, hesitation flickering in his eyes before he reclaimed the control. The lamp fell, plunging the room into darkness.


    Charlotte grasped his T-shirt, tearing it apart. The surge of power thrilled her. Derek responded in kind, ripping away her shirt. They pressed back against the wall, his hands roaming her body. He kissed a trail down her collarbone, his stubble grazing her skin.


    Her nails traced his back, reaching for his belt. Their lips met again in a fevered kiss, his hands exploring her breasts, drawing a moan from her lips. He lifted her again, their bodies aligned, skin against skin, before he pulled back.


    He kissed between her breasts, a moan escaping her lips, her frustration mounting. He sat on the bed, pulling her onto his lap. She pushed him onto his back, her hands framing his head, their eyes glowing with supernatural hues.


    He groaned, their connection deepening as he filled her. She bit his shoulder, his hands gripping her hips. His teeth grazed her neck, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her.


    They shifted, Derek now over her, his rhythm quickening. She wrapped her legs around him, their bodies moving in unison. His growl vibrated through his chest, her fingers tangled in his hair. He pinned her wrists above her head, the primal tension building until they both found release.


    As they lay entwined, their breaths heavy and hearts racing, Charlotte felt a familiar, dark presence stirring within her. The Lurker, the demon within, reveled in the raw energy and passion, feeding on the tumultuous emotions. For a fleeting moment, she feared losing herself to its influence, but Derek''s touch anchored her, pulling her back from the brink.


    In the darkness, their hearts thundered. The room filled with the echo of their passion and the ever-looming shadow of the Lurker, a reminder of the dark power that resided within her, always waiting to seize control.

 1.2 Secnd Chance at First LIne

    January 15th 2011 - Saturday


    The next morning, Charlie awoke slowly, relishing the cocoon of blissful unconsciousness where nothing in the world mattered. Unfortunately, a chilly gust of wind streamed through the open window, shattering her peace and reminding her she was alone in bed. She exhaled a sigh of relief. Rarely did she have the luxury of waking up after such an adventure, especially with a complete stranger. If she turned around now and found him still there, the embarrassment might just consume her. The Lurker had seized control of her a few times before, but never under such circumstances. She suspected it had something to do with her longstanding avoidance of predators of that ilk. Particularly after that one time nearly a decade ago when her old friend Deuc invited her to a rally as his Emissary. That adventure had ended in a bloody massacre, reinforcing her desire to steer clear of werewolves.


    Charlie spent the weekend pondering her potential future encounter with Derek. If he was indeed who he claimed to be, avoiding the meeting would be nearly impossible. A chance encounter with Sharon interrupted her musings only as they both shopped at a market near the school.


    "Charlotte," the dark-skinned woman greeted her, eyeing her with a curious glance.


    Sharon was an embodiment of effortless elegance, her dark skin glowing with an inner radiance. Though not tall and a little overweight, she carried herself with a grace that commanded attention. Her almond-shaped eyes, sharp with intelligence, sparkled with mischief as she assessed her new friend.


    Her curly hair, often tamed into intricate styles, was today left free in a wild, yet controlled halo that framed her face perfectly. Dressed in a flowy, colorful blouse and well-fitted jeans, she exuded confidence and warmth, a stark contrast to Charlie''s more subdued appearance.


    Charlie, on the other hand, exuded a captivating bohemian vibe intertwined with a fierce biker chic aesthetic. Her fiery red locks were meticulously braided and adorned with vibrant beads and delicate feathers, creating a mesmerizing visual feast. Clad in a sleek, black leather motorcycle jacket reminiscent of the rebellious Harley style, she paired it effortlessly with a simple, yet alluring t-shirt.


    Her figure-hugging black skinny jeans stressed her slender frame, adding a touch of allure to her overall appearance. An array of necklaces, a combination of enchanting crystals and mystical symbols, along with contemporary jewelry, gracefully hung around her neck, emanating an aura of mystique. Completing her ensemble were stylish biker boots, exuding an air of confidence with every step. Her emerald green eyes, framed by delicate freckles, seemed to hold a universe of untold secrets, captivating all those fortunate enough to gaze into their depths.


    "Did you have a good date yesterday?" Sharon''s voice was smooth and teasing, her words dripping with playful curiosity.


    "I..." Charlie stammered, wondering if the English teacher was clairvoyant. "Yes, something like that..."


    "Girl, why did you let him out of bed? You still have soft knees... Ah, youth..." Sharon trailed off, seeing the redhead''s embarrassment and not caring. She had taken a liking to her almost at first sight and wanted her to loosen up a bit, as she seemed perpetually tense.


    "Handsome? Intelligent? I don''t have to ask about other qualities, because I can see that from you perfectly..." She smiled mischievously.


    "Handsome... and probably not stupid... But it''s more of a one-night thing..." Charlie tried to keep her cool, but conversations like this were completely alien to her. She had been rise differently, and while she was aware, some might see her as rigid or prudish, the rules were too deeply and strongly instilled for her to overcome them quickly.


    "If he doesn''t call you, it means he''s stupid after all," Sharon commented. "But if he brings you breakfast in bed next time, you''d better chain him to the radiator and not let him out," she winked and walked away towards the tills.


    Charlie stood for a moment by the dairy fridges, looking after the departing woman, shocked. Unpretentiousness had always been a trait Charlie admired. That''s exactly what Luise was, but Sharon''s level was definitely beyond her. Despite this, she knew Sharon wanted to be friends with her. The redhead had a feeling she was going to become the English teacher''s private project in the coming days, but she just wasn''t sure what its purpose would be.


    ??


    January 17th 2011 - Monday


    Scott stumbled into the locker room, every movement a lifeless echo of his despair. His eyes, hollow and vacant, betrayed a soul crushed under the weight of revelation. How could everything unravel so swiftly? Just moments ago, he was basking in a fragile sense of hope, reconciled with Allison, ready for a fresh start. But that glimmer of optimism was obliterated the instant he recognized her father''s face ¨C the very Hunter who had aimed a crossbow at him just days before.


    The reality hit like a freight train. Not only was he grappling with typical teenage dilemmas, but he was also entangled in a deadly game of survival. Any father is thrilled about their daughter dating, but this was far beyond overprotective dad''s territory. This was life-threatening. And while none of his friends faced mortal danger for their romantic choices, Scott''s situation was a horrifying exception. After the chaos of the full moon, the transformations, and Derek''s cryptic warnings, there was no denying the catastrophe his life had become.


    Scott slumped against his locker, each breath a laborious effort. It was in this sorry state that Stiles found him.


    Stiles, with his buzzed hair and wide, expressive eyes, which were now filled with concern, looked at his friend. His lean frame tensed up as he approached Scott, always the eager investigator, ready to dive into whatever mess Scott had gotten into.


    "You apologize to Allison?" Stiles asked, eyes narrowing with concern as he assessed his friend''s obvious distress.


    Scott, his usually warm brown eyes now shadowed with worry, nodded. His dark hair was disheveled, and his normally tanned skin looked pale under the fluorescent lights.


    "Yeah..." Scott''s voice was a mere whisper, still numb from shock.


    "So, she''s giving you a second chance?"


    "Yeah."


    "Then everything''s good?" Stiles smiled, his relief palpable, but Scott''s next words halted him.


    "No."


    "No?" Stiles echoed, his confusion deepening.


    "Remember the Hunters? Her dad is one of them," Scott muttered, struggling to process the words himself.


    "Her dad?"


    "He shot me..."


    "Allison''s father?" Stiles repeated, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, barely believing the twist of fate.


    "...With a crossbow."


    "Allison''s father..." Stiles''s brain churned, trying to wrap around the improbability of it all.


    "Yes, her father!" Scott''s voice cracked, the enormity of it all crushing him. "Oh, my God... What am I going to do?"


    "Scott, don''t freak out!" Stiles grabbed Scott''s face, trying to anchor him back to reality.


    "Okay... Did he recognize you?"


    "No, I don''t think so..." Scott finally strung together a coherent thought.


    "Does she know about him?" Stiles pressed.


    "I... I don''t know." Scott''s eyes darted fearfully.


    "And if she does? It''s over..."


    A whistle blew from the pitch, momentarily diverting Stiles''s attention.


    "All right, okay, we''ll figure it out. Just... Just concentrate on practice. On lacrosse," Stiles said, handing Scott his gear with forced nonchalance.


    As they jogged onto the field where Coach Finstock was bellowing instructions, they noticed Ms. Benoit, the history teacher, begrudgingly fulfilling her promise to assist with the team. Ms. Benoit, with her fiery red hair intricately braided and adorned with beads and feathers, exuded an air of confident eccentricity, contrasting with the typical teacher ensemble.


    The day''s disaster escalated when Scott, overwhelmed by a surge of aggression, injured a teammate. Ms. Benoit sprang into action, directing Stiles to get Scott off the field and calm him down. She barely spared the injured player a glance before her focus snapped to Derek, who was lurking near the stands, his intent gaze fixed on her.


    Realizing the gravity of the situation, she pursued Stiles, who was fleeing the locker room clutching a fire extinguisher like a lifeline. His terror was clear, and he attempted to block her entry. She brushed past him, finding Scott, who looked as scared and confused as a cornered animal.


    "Stiles... What happened?" he asked. Stiles hesitated, uncertain how much he could divulge with her present. Setting the extinguisher aside, he took a deep breath, fighting off his anger and fear.


    "You tried to kill him..." Ms. Benoit stated flatly. "It''s because of the anger. The blood circulates faster and triggers change."


    "But that''s lacrosse. It''s a pretty violent game if you hadn''t noticed." Scott''s voice wavered, tears threatening to spill. He even didn''t realize that she should know nothing about him.


    "It will be even more so if you kill someone on the field."


    "You can''t play Saturday, you have to get out of the game," Stiles insisted, siding with Ms. Benoit.


    "But I''m first line," Scott protested weakly.


    "Not anymore..."


    "Can you talk to me about it?" Ms. Benoit interjected, reminding them of her presence.


    The boys straightened, their fear palpable. Stiles quickly recovered, calculating his next move.


    "Charlotte Benoit... Have you graduated in cultural anthropology at Princeton, perhaps?" he asked, revealing his impressive detective skills.


    "Exactly, just like my mother and grandmother. It''s kind of like the family business," she smiled warmly at him, then turned her concerned gaze back to Scott. "You can''t handle this alone, Scott. Wolves are social animals; they live in packs, and two of you are definitely not enough... How about some tea and a chat after you get changed?"


    Scott shot her a skeptical look, silently pleading with Stiles for an explanation.


    "Turns out Ms. Benoit, certainly a completely coincidental coincidence," Stiles noted sarcastically, "is one of our country''s most respected specialists in creatures from fairy tales and myths... like werewolves."


    "A coincidence, indeed, but not by chance. I''m here to solve a problem that you guys, by coincidence, have stumbled upon and can''t escape without my help."


    They reluctantly followed her to her classroom, where she patiently explained what Scott could expect from his newly altered body. Stiles, of course, interjected constantly, proving they, or rather he, was already fairly informed. After about an hour, she dismissed them, ensuring they had time for homework. She then packed up and left the school, the weight of the day''s revelations heavy on her mind.


    ??


    Scott trudged home, a dark cloud of despair hanging over him. The day had been a complete disaster, conspiring against him at every turn. Derek had tried to convince him that the bite came with benefits, but to Scott, it felt more like a curse. His girlfriend''s father was hell-bent on killing him, he was benched for the next game, and nothing seemed to go right. The thought that his improved fitness, which earned him a spot on the first line, was just because of the bite gnawed at him. Like any typical teenager, he preferred to sink into the depths of despair and see only the dark side of things.


    He flung himself onto his bed and buried his head under a pillow, hoping to shut out the world. His mother''s voice abruptly interrupted his self-pity party as she entered his room.


    "Late shift again for me," she announced. Scott noticed she was already dressed in her nurse''s uniform, ready to head out. "But I''m taking a night off to see your first game."


    "Mom, you can''t."


    "I can and I will," she declared with a smile, walking up to him. She put on a serious face, staring at him. "One shift won''t break us. Not completely." She leaned over him, running her fingers through his tousled hair. "What''s wrong with your eyes?" she asked, concern clear in her voice. "You look like you haven''t slept in days."


    "It''s nothing. Just kind of stressed," Scott replied, sitting up on the bed and pulling away from her.


    "Kind of? Nothing else? You''re not on drugs or anything?" Melissa''s worry deepened.


    "Right now?" Scott looked away, unsure of what to say.


    "Right now?" she repeated, emphasizing the word. "What do you mean right now? Have you ever taken drugs?" Her disbelief was palpable.


    "Have you?" Scott shot back, his voice unnervingly calm, as if this were a routine conversation.


    Melissa froze, her mouth half-open in shock.


    She glanced helplessly around the room before standing up. "Get some sleep," she said softly, stroking his hair one last time before leaving, her car keys jingling in her hand.


    Scott lay back down, intending to take her advice, but the sound of his computer thwarted his plans signaling an incoming video call. Reluctantly, he moved to his desk and opened his laptop, greeted by the sight of Stiles, who was brandishing a toy gun with flashing lights.


    "What''d you find out?" Scott cut straight to the point, his friend''s antics pulling him back to reality.


    "It''s bad. Jackson''s got a separated shoulder," Stiles announced, showing no sympathy for their disliked classmate.


    "Because of me?"


    "Because he''s a tool. It''s not your fault," Stiles corrected him.


    "Is he going to play?" Scott asked, guilt creeping back in.


    "They don''t know yet. But now they''re all counting on you for Saturday," Stiles replied. His face blurred on the screen momentarily, the internet connection faltering.


    Scott fell silent, lost in his thoughts as Stiles'' face zoomed in, blocking out the rest of the room. The teenage werewolf focused on his friend''s mole-speckled face, trying to decipher what was going on.


    "What?"


    Stiles seemed frightened, his fingers tapping frantically on the keyboard. The camera image continued to blur intermittently. Suddenly, a dialogue box appeared on the screen: "Looks like..." The cursor changed to a spinning circle, indicating the connection had crashed. The screen froze.


    Impatiently, Scott read the message aloud, moving the mouse as if it would help. The image jerked back to life, and another message popped up next to Stiles'' face: "...someone''s behind you." Scott''s breath caught in his throat as he leaned closer to the screen. In the shadowy background, near the bathroom door, a human silhouette loomed.


    Scott spun around in his chair but was grabbed by two strong hands and slammed against the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of him. His laptop crashed to the floor as he struggled against his attacker. His arm was twisted painfully behind his back.


    "I saw you on the field," Derek''s hushed voice growled in his ear.


    "What? What are you talking about?" Scott gasped, trying to catch his breath.


    "You shifted in front of them!" Derek shouted. "If they find out what you are, they''ll find out about me. About all of us. And it''s not just the Hunters who will come after us; it''s everyone," he explained, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper.


    "But they didn''t see. No one did..."


    "The redheaded teacher saw," Derek growled.


    "She won''t say anything. She knew about us beforehand. I think she''s also..." Scott tried to explain, still struggling to breathe.


    "No one else is supposed to know! If you try to play that game on Saturday..." Derek''s voice dropped to a deadly whisper, "...I''ll kill you myself."


    Suddenly, Scott felt the grip on him loosen. He turned around, but the room was empty.


    Derek had vanished as quickly as he had appeared.


    ??


    As Charlotte stepped into her house later that evening, an unsettling feeling gnawing at her. She placed her keys on the console by the door. Isle, despite her mobility issues from a broken paw, always came out to greet her, but tonight there was no sign of her. Instead, a visibly stressed Behemoth and Astra awaited her in the hallway, their anxious energy palpable. She quickly discovered the reason for their strange behavior upon entering the kitchen.


    There, leaning casually against the cupboards with a mug of coffee in hand, stood Derek Hale. Her little traitor of a dog was busily wagging its tail, happily nuzzling Derek''s legs. The unannounced visitor met her gaze with a defiant lift of his eyebrow and slid a second cup of coffee across the counter towards her, evidently feeling right at home.


    All the scenarios she had meticulously envisioned for their next meeting crumbled in an instant. Frozen in the doorway, she crossed her arms and returned his gaze with equal defiance. She realized that without the raging Darkness she usually wielded, she probably looked more amusing than threatening. Nevertheless, she hoped he understood her displeasure.


    "Derek... if that is indeed your name... to what do I owe this very unexpected visit?" she asked, trying to keep her eyes on his face, though the temptation to glance at his form-fitting T-shirt and jeans was strong.


    "I am who I said I was. It''s you I have my doubts about. And it is to this that you owe my visit today," he replied, his eyes betraying a mix of curiosity and suspicion.


    Even with her long black jeans, leather jacket, and tactical boots, he found himself irresistibly drawn to her. Her hair, cascading in loose waves around her shoulders, was adorned with beads and feathers¡ªa touch he found peculiar. He considers it to be too alternative or hippie-like, an unusual contradiction to his direct and practical mindset. But he had to maintain control; he needed to find out who this mysterious woman truly was. He struggled to believe she wasn''t a threat, yet it was also possible she wasn''t an enemy. After all, the previous morning, he had woken up alive and well in her bed, her petite figure snuggled trustingly against his side. That moment had almost completely dispelled his fears, which returned only hours after he quietly left her house at dawn.


    "The last one too..." she muttered involuntarily, feeling a flush of heat creep up her neck and spread across her cheeks.


    He looked away, clearly embarrassed but quickly recovering. "You''re not a Hunter, I believe you, but you''re no mundane human either. You hang around my house too often. I have a right to be suspicious. Besides, you know about the kid."


    "I, at least, don''t enter your house without an invitation," she shot back, her fury rising. How was it he could so easily stir the Lurker within her? She felt its tentacles slowly unfurling from the dark space wrapped tightly around her heart. She took a few deep breaths, struggling to suppress the urge to lash out. If she gave in, the results could be tragic. She could feel his gaze on her, watching her intently, sensing something strange was happening to her. Without a word, his eyes followed her movements as she walked to the counter and reached for the mug of coffee he had made.


    "You''re right. I''m sorry," he said softly when he saw she had calmed down. "Our acquaintance began... unusually." He hesitated, collecting his thoughts. "But we both know that neither you nor I are standard members of society. You are here for a reason, and your actions indicate that this reason is similar to mine. You are also looking for Laura, aren''t you?"


    "Yes," she replied, sipping her coffee and leaning against the cabinets on the opposite side of the kitchen. Keeping as much distance as possible was now her biggest priority. With the Lurker awakened, two things could happen: she could either kill him or end up in bed with him, again. For now, she planned on neither. "I''ve been trying to contact her since I arrived. In fact, I came here at her request."


    He straightened up at her last words, measuring her with a surprised gaze before relaxing again. "You don''t look like I imagined you. And I know Laura only asked one person for help... the Witch, the Old Witch..." He hesitated at the last words, feeling they were too fairytale-like, even for his supernatural background.


    "Well, maybe I''m holding up well for my age... or maybe I''m younger than the rumors say," she smiled crookedly, gripping her cup tightly. It was amusing to her that both statements were true, even though she didn''t like it when anyone but Louise brought up her age. She was sure they both heard the quiet crackle of the mug breaking. She barely felt it when pieces of porcelain slammed into her palm and the hot liquid spilled over her skin.


    Derek jumped forward before the porcelain hit the floor and before the first drops of blood appeared on her hand, mixing with the coffee. Only then did she feel the pain and look at her palm, now held in his much larger hand. A piece of the cup was lodged in her flesh, looking almost like bone. Derek dragged her hand under the cold water, rinsing off the remnants of the drink. He wanted to clean the wound, but she stopped him.


    "No, it will bleed harder. I can''t heal like you." she looked at him, feeling the blood drain from her face too quickly for her liking. "I have to go to the hospital to get it stitched up."


    "I''ll drive you," he announced, his expression leaving no room for objection. She could sense waves of guilt emanating from him, even though she knew it was the Darkness responsible for the accident. However, since the Lurker had awakened because of Derek''s presence, she accepted his help.


    The hospital wasn''t particularly crowded at this hour, and a warmly smiling woman in her early forties with long black hair and clearly Hispanic roots greeted them at the reception desk. Her smile vanished when her gaze fell on the patient''s arm, still held up by Derek, but she remained professionally calm. She led them both to a treatment room, where she gently but firmly persuaded Derek to let go of Charlotte''s hand and examined the wound. She summoned a doctor to stitch up the cut while she busied herself cleaning the wound.


    Charlotte felt her head spinning; the Lurker had raised her blood pressure, causing her to bleed more profusely than she should have.


    She could see Derek''s grey-green eyes staring back at her and the nurse''s dark brown eyes full of calm. As her head drooped, she noticed the nurse''s badge read: Melissa McCall.


    "You are Scott''s mum..." she murmured, catching Derek''s attention.


    Melissa was taken aback but quickly confirmed, her face lighting up with pride. She asked how they knew her son, but Charlotte could no longer respond, slipping into blissful unconsciousness. Derek explained on her behalf, mentioning that she was a history teacher at Scott''s school. He had done a thorough background check on her, and now he could learn more about the teenager as well.


    When Charlotte woke, she noticed Derek still by her bedside, alert and attentive. He heard her change in breathing, rose from his chair, and ran his fingers over her forehead to check her temperature.


    "You''ve been out for a while. The doctor said I can take you home, but he needs to check on you first. You''ve lost a lot of blood."


    She sighed and nodded. Melissa appeared almost immediately, smiling warmly again.


    Charlotte liked her, feeling a strange, longing sensation fill her heart. Together, they completed the paperwork, and the nurse escorted them to the hospital exit, bidding them goodbye.


    There was an awkward silence in the car that Derek finally broke when he followed Charlotte into her house.


    "You know Laura''s dead," he quietly announced, returning to the subject interrupted by the accident.


    "I hoped I was wrong..." she lowered her head, feeling crushed by the thought that she might have been too late to save Laura.


    "I have to find the culprits. It''s the Hunters, the Argents. Their presence is no coincidence, and they have hunted our family before," he said, anger simmering in his voice, but underneath it lay another feeling she couldn''t quite identify.


    "I can help you, but we both know this isn''t our only problem. There''s an Alpha prowling around who bit my student. We have to deal with him too because I have a feeling this is only the beginning..."


    They sat in the kitchen for a long time, discussing recent incidents and twists of fate, trying to devise a plan. Despite their efforts, they still had too little data. They decided, for now, to focus on the teenager who had gained the furry problem, believing his situation was closely linked to at least one issue they needed to address. Charlotte explained that while she was aware of beings like Derek, she wouldn''t be able to help the boy master the necessary skills. She had too much trouble controlling her own anger. She saw questions lurking in Derek''s eyes, questions he didn''t voice, for which she was eternally grateful.


    They talked until dawn, and when he finally left, Charlotte felt a little less alone and slightly less terrified of the impending threats.


    ??


    January 20th 2011 - Thursday


    The beginning of the week had been uneventful, a calm that was almost unsettling, leaving Charlotte in a state of anxious anticipation. To pass the time, she immersed herself in the archives of the Beacon Hills Chronicle at the city library, scanning both old and new editions with a growing sense of determination. Her instincts told her that the recent events were only the tip of an iceberg, their roots buried deep in the past.


    Her focus sharpened on articles from six years ago, recounting the tragic Hale house fire. She remembered how she had dispatched Louise to Beacon Hills to manage the aftermath, to support the two orphaned werewolves¡ªthe sole survivors of the blaze who were away from the house at the time. Her cousin had organized the funerals and arranged for the siblings to move to New York, hoping to distance them from their haunting memories. Despite these efforts, both had returned, and Laura had been brutally murdered.


    Charlotte had called Louise, seeking any forgotten details about the incident. Luise''s response was brief but pointed: Peter Hale. Derek''s uncle had survived the fire, but was left in a state that could hardly be called living. Intrigued and concerned, Charlie visited the Long Term Care Unit to verify the facts.


    Despite being denied entry to his room, she could glimpse him through the glass¡ªa figure, emaciated and slumped in a wheelchair, staring blankly out the window. Peter Hale, once a strikingly handsome and confident man, was now reduced to a lifeless shell. The sight of him, juxtaposed with her memories of his sarcastic wit, filled her with a profound sadness. No one deserved such a fate.


    A stern nurse with dyed-red hair shattered her reverie at the door and brusquely escorted her out, reminding her that only family members were permitted in that section. Charlotte had half a mind to fabricate a story, but the nurse''s no-nonsense demeanor left her no room for argument.


    Back in the library, she continued her research, seeking any clue that might explain Laura''s return to Beacon Hills. The girl on the phone had hinted that another survivor might exist, but Charlotte doubted it was Peter. In his condition, he was incapable of orchestrating anything. Yet, she found no recent news that could lure werewolves or hint at their presence. Similarly, the Hunters seemed to have arrived concurrently with her, providing no leads.


    The week passed in relative quiet until Thursday''s class brought an unexpected crisis. As Charlotte recounted the exploits of General Carter, one of her favorite students¡ªa tall, pale, and quiet blonde named Erica¡ªcollapsed in a violent seizure. Thankfully, Sharon had forewarned her about Erica''s epilepsy, so the witch immediately recognized the symptoms.


    Her students, however, were unprepared, crowding around Erica with panicked suggestions to put something between her teeth. Charlotte''s voice cut through the chaos with commanding authority. "Stand back! Greenberg, call an ambulance. Stilinski, run to the office and tell them what happened." She knelt by Erica, turning her on her side and supporting her head to prevent injury. "Erica, you''re safe. Everything''s fine. Just relax," she murmured, more to comfort herself than the unconscious girl.


    The paramedics arrived and whisked Erica away, leaving Charlotte to realize her mistake¡ªhalf the class had recorded the incident on their phones. She hadn''t even thought to instruct them to delete the footage before one of them uploaded it online.


    Furious, she stormed into the staff room, demanding an immediate meeting about bullying with the educators and principal. An epileptic seizure was already traumatic enough without becoming fodder for ridicule. She couldn''t let Erica, who was already burdened by her condition, be laughed at.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    After classes, she visited the hospital to speak with Erica''s parents. Mr. and Mrs. Reyes were grateful for her quick action, but seemed oblivious to the social media storm brewing. They didn''t grasp how devastating such footage could be to a teenager''s reputation.


    Charlotte spent some time at Erica''s bedside, trying to lift the girl''s spirits, but Erica was inconsolable, tears streaming down her cheeks. She already knew what the online world had seen, and the weight of that knowledge was crushing her.


    ??


    January 21st 2011 - Friday


    Charlotte sauntered into the staff room, craving that first jolt of caffeine before her day officially started. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee was her beacon, but a human obstacle halted her. She collided with Scott McCall''s backpack, a lacrosse stick swaying precariously from it. Scott was deep in conversation with Coach Finstock.


    "What do you mean, you can''t play the game tomorrow night?" Coach Finstock''s voice was filled with a mix of confusion and playful suspicion.


    "I mean, I can''t play the game tomorrow night," Scott repeated, oblivious to Charlotte''s collision as he emphasized the ''can''t'' with a tone that suggested he was explaining it to a particularly slow child.


    "You can''t wait to play the game tomorrow night?" Coach Finstock corrected, crossing his arms and leaning against the table. Charlotte had just settled into a chair, hoping to enjoy a quiet moment before her first lesson. She had taken out a book, trying to look engrossed in its pages. Too late, she realized it was upside down and hastily flipped through it.


    "No, I can''t play the game tomorrow night," Scott enunciated each word with exaggerated clarity.


    "I''m not following," Coach squinted, a look of deep suspicion settling over his features.


    Scott sighed, clearly exasperated. "I''m having some personal issues."


    Coach Finstock leaned in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Like what? Is it a girl?"


    Charlotte could barely contain her laughter. Coach Finstock''s knack for digging into his students'' personal lives was legendary, if not entirely appropriate.


    "No," Scott''s frustration was palpable.


    "Is it a guy? You know our goalie Danny is gay," Coach stated matter-of-factly, as if that solved everything.


    "I know, Coach. But that''s not it." Scott was looking thoroughly confused.


    "You don''t think Danny''s a good-looking guy?" Coach pressed on, relentless.


    "No, Danny''s good-looking. But I like girls. And that''s not it anyway..." Scott stammered, his face reddening with the effort to keep his cool.


    "Is it drugs? Are you doing meth?" Coach asked, his face serious. "My brother was hooked on meth. You should''ve seen what it did to his teeth. All rotten and cracked." He mimed a ghastly smile, his fingers drawing jagged lines around his mouth. "It was disgusting. He was a mess."


    Scott, looking alarmed, asked, "What happened to him?"


    "He got veneers. They look perfect now," Coach replied nonchalantly, as if that was the obvious outcome. "Is that it? You''re worried about getting hurt?"


    "No, I''m just having some issues with... aggression," Scott admitted, the weight of the word hanging in the air.


    "Well, that''s exactly why you play lacrosse," Coach tapped a finger on Scott''s chest. "Problem solved."


    Charlotte wanted to back Scott up, but Coach bulldozed over any attempts at intervention.


    "Listen, McCall. Part of playing first line is taking on the responsibility of being the first line in the game. If you can''t shoulder that responsibility, then you''re back on the bench until you''re ready."


    Scott looked stunned. "If I don''t play the game, you''re going to take me off the first line?"


    "Play the game, McCall," the coach cut off all objections, shooing the student out of the staff room.


    "Don''t talk back. He''s one of my best players, and aggression is a big part of the sport," he announced, turning to Charlotte as she opened her mouth to speak. His eyes, slightly arched with intensity, fixed on her as he poured himself a coffee, effectively silencing any comment she might have had.


    Charlotte shrugged, hearing the bell ring. She needed to get to her classroom before the students. As she walked down the corridor, a chill ran down her spine, the hair on her neck standing up. She felt eyes on her, but a quick glance revealed only Allison Argent at a distant locker. Allison nodded a greeting and darted towards her French class.


    Charlotte took another wary look around, shook off the feeling, and continued to her classroom, her thoughts circling back to Scott. What would he do if he couldn''t convince the coach to let him sit out the game? The uncertainty gnawed at her as she headed to face her first lesson of the day.


    ??


    The classroom buzzed with the quiet tension of concentration. They had just been discussing Civil War issues, with the teacher quizzing Lydia Martin and Scott under the table. Both were assigned the task of writing down the names of commanders and the strengths of both sides of the conflict. Lydia was efficiently completing the Confederate section of the chart, her chalk gliding smoothly across the blackboard, while Scott fumbled through the Union details, his brow furrowed in frustration.


    Then Lydia broke the academic silence with a pointed question. "Why is there a rumor going around that you''re not playing tomorrow?" she asked, her voice steady and clear, unaffected by her multitasking. In stark contrast, Scott gnashed his teeth and rolled his eyes at the interruption.


    "Because I''m sort of... not," Scott replied, the defeat clear in his tone.


    Lydia wasn''t having any of it. "I think you sort of ARE," she emphasized, her eyes narrowing at him with an angry stare. "Especially when you brutally injure my boyfriend by ramming into him."


    "He brutally injured himself ramming into me," Scott retorted, incredulity coloring his voice as he met Lydia''s glare.


    "Jackson''s going to play Saturday," Lydia declared, her tone defiant. "But he won''t be at peak. I prefer my boyfriend at peak performance." She gave Scott a withering glance, her eyebrow arching significantly. The teacher nearly choked on her coffee, the youth''s audacity far beyond her competence.


    "Okay..." the teacher began, attempting to regain control.


    "See, I date the captain of a winning lacrosse team," Lydia continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "If they start off the season losing, I date the captain of a losing lacrosse team. I don''t date losers. You understand how that works?"


    "Losing one game isn''t going to kill anyone," Scott''s voice rose, a menacing edge to his words. At this, the teacher, Charlie, scraped her chair loudly, attempting to drown out his words and capture the class''s attention."In fact, it might save someone," Scott added ominously.


    "Fine. Don''t play. We''ll probably win anyway. We''ll go out after, like we''re planning. I''ll introduce Allison to all the other hot players on the team. And while she gets the attention she deserves, Scott McCall can stay home surfing the net for porn," Lydia shot back, her words sharp as a blade. She put down her chalk and took her seat, leaving Scott and the teacher stunned into silence.


    Charlotte scanned the blackboard, her gaze stern as it landed on Scott. "You''re not even close to solving this task, Scott... Sit down." She couldn''t grant him any more time; his mind was clearly elsewhere.


    "Tell me about it," Scott muttered under his breath as he slunk back to his seat.


    The lesson ended, and Charlotte made her way to the staff room for yet another coffee. However, she paused mid-step at the sight of police officers conversing with the headmaster. Eavesdropping, she learned they planned to impose a curfew for underage civilians. She smiled at the sensible decision, though she believed it should be a year-round policy given the town''s nocturnal dangers.


    Her smile vanished when she noticed two particular students also eavesdropping¡ªStiles and Scott. Their expressions were anything but reassuring. As she moved to confront them, Stiles vanished, leaving Scott talking to Allison. Hoping her instincts were wrong, she decided not to disturb them.


    "So Lydia''s introducing you to everyone?" Scott asked Allison, his eyes trailing after the departing teenagers.


    "Yeah, she''s been unbelievably nice. Usually, the popular girls are totally evil when I move to a new place. But she''s making it really easy for me," Allison replied, blissfully unaware of Lydia''s ulterior motives.


    "I wonder why..." Scott mused.


    "Maybe she gets how much being the New Girl can suck," Allison speculated.


    Scott''s gaze fell on the jacket in Allison''s hands¡ªthe same one Derek had used to lure him into the woods. "Where did you get that?" he asked, suspicion lacing his voice.


    "My jacket? It was in my locker. I think Lydia brought it back from the party. She has my combination," Allison explained.


    "Did she say she brought it back? Did someone give her the jacket?" Scott''s questions came rapidly.


    "Like who?" Allison asked, confused by his intensity.


    "Like Derek."


    "Your friend?" Allison clarified.


    "He''s not my friend. How much did you talk to him when he drove you home?"


    "Not much at all," she replied, feeling increasingly uncertain.


    "What did you say?" Scott pressed.


    "Mrs. Benoit..." she began, but then changed her mind. "Sorry, but I have to get to my next class. Can we talk later?" she said, turning to leave, leaving Scott standing there, his mind racing with unanswered questions.


    ??


    When he arrived at his destination, an old burnt-out house on the reserve''s border, he dismounted his bike with a fury that sent it crashing to the ground. His eyes darted around, scanning the desolate area, but it was a strange, metallic scent that grabbed his attention. Following his nose, he found a patch of freshly dug earth¡ªsuspiciously like a fresh grave. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound almost deafening in the eerie silence.


    Derek emerged from the crumbling porch, moving with a calm and unhurried demeanor that was a stark contrast to his usual intense presence. Clad only in a grey long-sleeved v-neck and jeans, he seemed almost casual.


    "Stay away from her! She doesn''t know anything!" the teenager shouted, his voice cracking with the strain of trying to project confidence.


    "What if she does?" Derek''s tone was cool, cutting. He knew exactly who the boy was referring to¡ªthe daughter of the Hunters. Derek had once been just like him, consumed by his own concerns, oblivious to the larger picture. "You think your buddy Stiles can Google werewolves and now you''ve got all the answers? Or has the Witch''s good advice fortified your convictions?" he added sarcastically, walking over to Scott and bending to pick up his rucksack lying beside the bike. "You don''t get it yet, but I''m looking out for you. Think about what could happen. You''re on the field. The aggression takes over. And you shift in front of everyone." Derek''s gaze bore into the stick he was holding. "Allison, your mother, your friend..." he pushed Scott with the stick, inflaming his anger further. "And when they see you, everything falls apart," he declared, dramatically breaking the stick with his claws. He tossed it up, knowing Scott would catch it effortlessly.


    When Scott lifted his gaze from the stick, now bearing the marks of Derek''s claws, Derek had vanished as silently and suddenly as ever.


    Seething, Scott stormed home and impatiently waited for Stiles, whom he had called. As soon as Stiles burst through the door, Scott launched into his questions without so much as a greeting.


    "What did you find? How did you find it? Where did you find it?" he demanded breathlessly, his eyes wide, hands gesturing wildly. "And yeah, I''ve had a lot of Adderall," he added, trying to calm down under Stiles'' bemused gaze.


    "I found something at Derek Hale''s," Scott announced, suddenly composed.


    "Are you kidding? What?"


    "Something''s buried there. I smelled blood."


    "That''s awesome! I mean, that''s terrible. Whose blood?"


    "That''s what I need you to help me find out. And when we do, we''re going to help your dad nail Derek for murder." Scott was resolute.


    "Then you and Mrs. Benoit are going to help me figure out how to play lacrosse without shifting. Because there''s no way I''m missing that game," he stressed, tying the last string in the lacrosse stick net he was repairing.


    He set the stick down and followed Stiles out, both climbing into Stiles'' blue Jeep. They drove to the hospital to compare the scent Scott had detected in the woods with that of the half-corpse found by the police.


    In the hospital morgue, Scott confirmed his suspicion¡ªthe scent matched the girl''s blood he had detected under the Hale house. This revelation only solidified his belief that Derek was the murderer. They grabbed shovels and headed back into the woods.


    Night had fallen, and they waited outside Derek''s house, their nerves on edge. Just half an hour later, Derek left in his black Camaro, giving them the opportunity they needed.


    "Something''s different," Scott murmured, halting mid-step.


    "Different how?" Stiles whispered, fear creeping into his voice.


    "I don''t know..." Scott shrugged. "Let''s get this over with," he said, thrusting his shovel into the fresh earth.


    They dug, sweat beading on their foreheads. The hole was waist-deep, and Scott was growing increasingly anxious.


    "This is taking too long," he muttered.


    "Just keep going."


    "What if he comes back?"


    "Then we''ll run."


    "What if he catches us?"


    "I have a plan for that. You run one way, I run the other. Whoever he catches first? Too bad."


    "I hate that plan," Scott groaned, digging faster, casting nervous glances toward the road.


    "Stop! Stop!" Stiles shouted suddenly, his shovel striking something solid. He crouched, raking away the remaining soil with his hands to reveal a black sack tied with rope. His fingers, slick with cold sweat, fumbled with the knots.


    Scott crouched to help, their combined nervousness making the task difficult. Eventually, they untied the last knot and unraveled the bag.


    Stiles yelped and jumped back, followed quickly by Scott. Inside the bag, instead of a human body, lay the head of a wolf, its glassy eyes staring lifelessly at them.


    "What the hell is that?"


    "It''s a wolf," Scott said, disbelief in his voice.


    "I can see that! I thought you smelled human blood?"


    "I told you something was different."


    "This doesn''t make sense," Stiles said, scanning their surroundings for clues.


    "We gotta get out of here."


    "Help me cover this up," Scott replied, but froze as his gaze fell on a lone purple flower near the hole. He plucked it, the stem easily giving way. It was Wolfsbane, tied with a string.


    "What''s wrong?" Scott asked, busy covering the wolf''s body.


    "Do you see this flower? I think it''s Wolfsbane."


    "How do you know that?"


    "Haven''t you ever seen The Wolf Man? Lon Chaney Jr.? Claude Rains?" Stiles asked, exasperated. "The original classic werewolf movie! You are so unprepared for this."


    Stiles pulled at the plant, revealing more rope buried in the mulch. He followed it, unwrapping it to reveal a spiral around the grave. When Scott looked down, he recoiled in horror. Instead of the wolf''s head, he saw the glassy eyes of a girl staring back at him¡ªthe same girl he had seen the night he was bitten. Stiles, seeing Scott''s expression, looked down as well.


    "Shit!" The coil of rope fell from his hands.


    ??


    January 22nd 2011 - Saturday


    The police arrived promptly, yet as dawn broke, they found themselves still at the charred remains of the house. The search dragged on far longer than expected. When a sleek black Camaro pulled up, Derek Hale stepped out, confusion painting his features at the sight of the flashing lights and bustling officers. No sooner had he set foot on the property than police surrounded him, handcuffed without a struggle, and led towards a waiting van. As the officers dispersed to continue their meticulous search, Stiles, ever the opportunist, slipped into the front passenger seat of the police car, while Scott leaned nonchalantly against his friend''s vehicle, eyes vigilant.


    Derek''s gaze, dark and intense, settled on the jittery teenager.


    "Just so you know, I''m not afraid of you," Stiles declared, his voice wavering slightly as he met the werewolf''s piercing eyes. Derek''s lips twitched, almost forming a smile, a reaction that sent a chill down Stiles'' spine despite the bars separating them. "Okay, maybe I am. Doesn''t matter. I just need to know something." His eyes darted to the window, ensuring their conversation remained private. "The girl you killed... She was a werewolf, but different, wasn''t she?"


    Silence was Derek''s only response, his eyes a storm of unreadable emotions.


    "She could turn into an actual wolf. I know Scott can''t do that. And I think you can''t either. Is that why¡ª"


    Derek interrupted with a weary sigh, "Why are you so worried about me? Your friend''s the problem. When he shifts on the field, what do you think they''ll do? Cheer him on? I can''t stop him from playing. But you can." His face inched closer to the partition, and Stiles instinctively recoiled, swallowing hard, his throat bobbing visibly. "And trust me, you want to."


    The car door swung open. Stiles was yanked out by his father, the sheriff, and was dragged back to Scott, who had been watching from a safe distance.


    "What the hell do you think you''re doing?" the sheriff demanded, exasperation lacing his tone, though his expression suggested his son''s antics did not entirely shock him.


    "Just trying to help," Stiles replied, his tone defiant.


    "Help me understand exactly how you came across this?" the sheriff pressed, his patience wearing thin.


    "We were looking for Scott''s inhaler," Stiles explained, sighing dramatically as if the answer were obvious.


    "Which he dropped when?" With narrowed eyes, the sheriff scrutinized the scene.


    "The other night..."


    "The other night when you were out looking for the first half of the body?" The sheriff''s knowing look froze his son in place.


    "Yes!" Stiles said, hands diving into his pockets in a show of casual indifference.


    "The night when you told me you were out alone and Scott was home?" Stilinski''s voice dropped an octave.


    "Yes! No! Crap..." Stiles realized his blunder too late.


    "So you lied to me?"


    "That depends on how you define lying."


    "I define it as not telling the truth. How do you define it?"


    "Reclining your body in a horizontal position?" Stiles muttered under his breath.


    "Get the hell out of here," the sheriff snapped, finally losing his temper.


    ??


    Charlotte finally managed to get out of bed and make her first cup of coffee that morning. Suddenly, there was an unexpected knock on her front door. She furrowed her brow in confusion. So far, the only people who had visited her were the courier she was expecting and Derek, who never bothered with knocking and simply appeared in random rooms at random times. The knocking came again, more urgent and nervous this time.


    Clutching a steaming mug in one hand and cradling a book under her arm, she swung open the front door to face a gangly, taller-than-her boy with cropped dark hair and wide, apprehensive brown eyes.


    "Stiles," she greeted him, arching an eyebrow and leaning casually against the doorframe. Her cats wove between her legs, clearly plotting to claim her visitor as their new pet.


    "Mrs. Benoit..." he panted, looking thoroughly flustered. It was clear he''d run the short distance from his blue Jeep, parked haphazardly at the curb, to her porch steps. "Scott ran away..."


    "What do you mean, he ran away?" she shot back, not budging from her spot. The full moon had passed, rendering the boy harmless, or so she assumed.


    "We found that girl''s body last night, and I had that wolfsbane with me. Scott started feeling sick because of it, and when I threw it away, he just vanished..." His words tumbled out in a frantic rush, leaving Charlotte scrambling to piece together his meaning halfway through his breathless tirade.


    She ushered him inside, brewed a calming herbal tea that she practically forced into his hand, and seated him at the kitchen table. Astra, her white cat, leaped into his lap, demanding pets and offering her unique brand of feline therapy. Stiles''s fingers sank into her soft fur, and he took a deep, steadying breath, holding it for a moment. Charlotte was relieved to see the teenager regaining control, sparing her from using her magical and empathic abilities, which she loathed to wield over others.


    "So there''s this guy, Derek Hale, living in a burnt-out house in the woods. Scott figured out he was the one who killed that girl and buried her in his yard. He sniffed it out, like police dog..." Stiles recounted the night''s events, concluding with how he''d stashed the wolfsbane in his backpack before the police arrived, and how Scott had disappeared as they made their way home.


    When he finished, a heavy silence settled over the kitchen. Charlotte struggled to collect her thoughts. The boys'' conclusions were wildly off-base. Derek wasn''t a murderer, or at least he hadn''t killed his sister. The reason for his wolf''s eyes being blue, indicating a killer, was still a mystery she needed to solve, but it wasn''t pertinent to the current crisis. She studied the anxious teenager, gauging how much to reveal. She bypassed her own knowledge of the older werewolf and direct her attention to the discoveries about the grave.


    While rummaging through one of the many unpacked cardboard boxes in the adjoining room, she made Stiles wait. She returned with a medium-sized box, setting it before him with a knowing smile.


    "It''s a Polaroid, the type of camera that prints pictures instantly," she explained. "I know everyone uses their phones now, but I want you to use this. If you see something suspicious¡ªa person, place, or thing¡ªsnap a picture and bring it to me ASAP. You can use your phone too, but physical prints are very important to me."


    She could almost see the gears turning in the boy''s head as he processed her instructions. His expression brightened momentarily, only to fall again.


    "You''re the Witch Derek told Scott about," he blurted out, catching her off guard. "He knows about you, which means you''re in danger..."


    "No more than you and your friend," she corrected, downplaying the situation. "I can handle myself far better than you two."


    "So, you''re a witch ... What does that even mean? Like a sorceress? A fairy?" he queried, his curiosity piqued.


    "I think witch is the best term, but it''s a bit inflated. I can''t hurl fireballs or foresee the future. Nothing like Harry Potter. I''m just a regular person with a bit more knowledge," she continued briskly, preventing any further digressions. "But back to you. You said you arrested a man for murdering a girl in the forest?" He nodded. "Was she buried under a wolfsbane spiral as a wolf?" she asked. Another nod. "So, this Derek knows Scott''s a werewolf?"


    "Derek''s a werewolf himself. He''s the one who bit and turned Scott," Stiles clarified.


    "He willingly surrendered and is now either in custody or undergoing interrogation. Meanwhile, Scott is out there somewhere, either in the woods or the city, in god knows what state? And he''s planning to play in a game that both I and the adult werewolf who turned him advised him not to?"


    Stiles''s wide grin faded as the gravity of the situation dawned on him. He glanced around the kitchen, finally fixing his gaze on Astra''s blue eyes, still unconsciously stroking her fur.


    "Seems like it..."


    The teenager spent several hours in her house, meticulously reconstructing the events leading to the discovery of Laura''s body.


    Charlotte asked him to draw the exact layout of the spiral and the grave, which he did with surprising precision. All the while, she pondered how the boy had got her address¡ªa troubling thought, but not a priority. She considered visiting the police station to check on Derek, but dismissed the idea. He had her number; if he needed help, he''d call. No sense in drawing attention to their acquaintance.


    As for Scott''s disappearance, she chose not to worry. His wolf''s instincts would likely drive him to hide and recover from the mild aconite poisoning he''d inflicted on himself. She conveyed this to Stiles, reassuring him so he could finally head home.


    Eventually, evening descended, and Charlotte made her way to the school''s lacrosse game. She hoped Scott had found his way back by now, although she had heard no updates. Perching herself in the stands just behind the substitutes'' bench, she exhaled a sigh of relief when she spotted the teenage werewolf gearing up for the game.


    "You going to try to convince me not to play?" Scott''s words drifted over to Charlotte, directed at his friend.


    "I just hope you know what you''re doing," Stiles responded with a mixture of concern and resignation.


    "If I don''t play, I lose first line. And Allison."


    "Allison''s not going anywhere. It''s just one game you don''t have to play," Stiles tried again, following Charlotte''s advice.


    "I want to play. I want to be on the team, I want to go out with Allison. I want a semi-freaking normal life. Do you get that?" Scott''s voice wavered with nerves, teetering on the edge of desperation. Charlotte understood his longing for normalcy but felt powerless to intervene.


    "I get it," Stiles conceded after a pause. "Just try not to worry too much while you''re out there, all right? And try not to get angry." He plopped down next to Scott, his back to the field, and shot Charlotte an apologetic glance.


    "Got it."


    "Or stressed..."


    "Got it."


    "And don''t worry about Allison being there. Don''t think about her father trying to kill you," Stiles added, unaware this was news to Charlotte. "Or Derek trying to kill you. Or the girl he killed. Or that you might kill someone..." He rambled, visibly flustered, ignoring Scott''s increasingly horrified expression. "If the hunter doesn''t kill you first." Realizing he had overstepped, he finally muttered, "I''ll shut up now."


    A familiar voice called out from just above Charlotte''s head, and as she turned, she saw Melissa McCall, Scott''s mom, sitting on the bench above. They exchanged pleasantries, Melissa inquiring about Charlotte''s injured arm. The witch engaged in friendly conversation, but kept a watchful eye on the crowd. Further up in the stands, she spotted Allison and an older man who had to be Chris Argent, her father, and a hunter.


    "Scott," Lydia Martin''s voice cut through the air as she grabbed Scott by the shirt, pulling him close. "I just want you to remember one thing for tonight..." She leaned in, her height aided by high heels.


    "Winning isn''t everything?" Scott guessed, uncertain.


    "Nobody likes a loser," Lydia corrected with a saccharine smile, smoothing his jersey before sauntering off.


    Charlotte half-listened as Melissa tried to explain the rules of lacrosse, a game neither of them particularly enjoyed. Her attention, however, remained fixed on the unfolding events. She sensed an underlying tension, a harbinger of the evening''s potential chaos. As the players charged onto the field, Stiles remained on the bench, soon joined by his father, the sheriff, in informal attire.


    "Hey, kiddo," the sheriff greeted. "Any chance you''ll be seeing some action tonight?"


    "Action? Definite possibility," Stiles muttered, his mind clearly elsewhere.


    The sheriff took his seat beside Melissa, who introduced him to Charlotte as Noah, unaware they''d already met under less pleasant circumstances.


    From the outset, the game went poorly for Scott. His teammates ignored him, passing the ball among themselves. When Scott finally had a chance, one of his own team members, number 37, shoved him aside to score a goal, further souring his mood. Melissa''s half-hearted applause mirrored Scott''s frustration, exacerbated by Allison''s reluctant banner-waving for Jackson Whittemore, the team captain.


    "This is not going to be good," Stiles muttered, his concern echoing Charlotte''s sentiments.


    From her vantage point, she couldn''t see Scott''s face, but she felt the simmering aggression. Even the opposing team seemed wary, avoiding direct confrontations with him. Her gaze flicked to the Argents. Chris was leaning in, speaking to Allison, but Charlotte couldn''t catch the words. The hunter''s presence was troubling; he wouldn''t ignore the signs of a werewolf on the field.


    With the Beacon Hills Cyclones trailing by two points, the tension in the stands was palpable. Lydia and Allison held up another banner for Jackson, though Allison''s expression was conflicted. Charlotte had a sinking feeling that Scott''s focus was elsewhere, ignoring everything that didn''t fit his immediate reality.


    As the game resumed, Scott''s frustration boiled over. He executed a near-impossible acrobatic leap, scoring a goal and eliciting cheers from the crowd. Charlotte bit her thumb nail nervously, aware of the implications of his display. Stiles cheered wildly, momentarily forgetting the potential fallout.


    The ball came back into play, and Scott, now more aggressive, scored again, nearly tearing through the goalkeeper''s racket. With 40 seconds left, the teams were tied.


    "What? Did you see that?" Melissa exclaimed, pride lighting up her face.


    Charlotte didn''t respond, her focus on Scott, who was acting like a cornered animal. His opponents regrouped, surrounding him, but he remained eerily calm, scoring the winning goal with seconds to spare.


    Spectators flooded the field, celebrating.


    Stiles exhaled in relief, but Charlotte''s unease persisted. She watched as Scott, hidden from view, examined his hand. She knew what he saw: claws instead of nails. He bolted off the field, Allison trailing behind, with her father watching closely.


    Stiles stayed by Charlotte''s side, scanning the crowd. Suddenly, the sheriff''s phone rang, disrupting the moment. He answered, his expression darkening. After hanging up, he informed Stiles, "The results from the coroner came in. The body belongs to Laura Hale. She was killed by an animal. We have no grounds to detain the suspect any longer, so they released him. Stiles, be careful. The guy has a right to be mad at you, and he doesn''t look nice."


    Noah headed toward the parking lot, presumably back to work. Stiles stood frozen, absorbing the news, while Charlotte''s mind raced, contemplating the night''s implications.


    Stiles sprinted to the locker room to relay the new information to his friend, leaving Charlotte alone in the stands. Her eyes fell on Jackson Whittemore, the team captain, who was scrutinizing a glove he had picked up from the grass. A jolt of anxiety coursed through her as she realized the potential evidence in his hands. When he abruptly looked up, Charlotte followed his gaze and saw Derek standing near the bleachers, locking eyes with Jackson. The younger man quickly looked away and walked off, while Derek started towards her.


    "Shall I drive you home?" Considering her car was parked nearby and he had surely seen it, Derek''s question seemed like an oddly inappropriate opening. She did not know where his vehicle was, as he must have arrived right after his release from custody.


    "I think it''s better if we go in my car. I won''t leave it in the parking lot all weekend," she replied with a smile, thinking of her beloved Chevelle.


    Derek nodded in agreement and, without waiting for her, headed toward her car. Once they were on their way, Charlotte decided she would not let him stay silent the whole trip, as he had last time.


    "I heard you had a rough day..." she began gently, imagining how she would feel in his shoes.


    "Thanks to your students..." he sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his tired face. The experience of being detained, coupled with the heartbreak of identifying his sister''s body, had clearly taken its toll.


    "And just so you know... you didn''t say a word about meeting them directly. I thought you were supervising Scott from afar. Stiles said... Do you live in your old house?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.


    "Yes, I haven''t had time to find anything more suitable. I''m looking for clues and monitoring the teenagers. It''s getting beyond me," he admitted, the exhaustion clear in his voice.


    She glanced at him, noticing the dark shadows under his eyes and his pallor. "Do you even have water in there?" she asked, but received no answer. You know what? Let''s go grab some of your belongings, and then you can come over to my place. You can freshen up and have a proper meal. I can''t imagine detention was all that comfortable... She barely finished the sentence, feeling like she sounded like a desperate spinster. Her face flushed from neck to forehead, but she stubbornly stared at the road ahead, already entering the forest. She felt his calculating gaze on her for a moment.


    "Yeah, it''s not a terrible idea. Honestly, I''m dreaming of a hot shower," he replied quietly, looking away. He hoped she wouldn''t take him for a pervert, although, being honest with himself, he wouldn''t mind if the evening ended that way.


    Derek didn''t even enter the crumbling house, announcing that he would follow her in his car, in which he had everything he needed. She pulled into her driveway, gesturing for him to park his Camaro in the garage.


    Once inside, she sent him to the bathroom, then realized she hadn''t given him a towel. Trying to rectify her mistake, she called through the door, but he didn''t hear her, likely over the sound of the water. Odd, given his heightened senses. So she quietly opened the door, intending to leave the towel on the cupboard. The sight reflected in the mirror above the washbasin stopped her in her tracks. She had never considered herself voyeuristic, but Derek''s shapely silhouette, blurred by the steam, left her breathless.


    "You just looking or you gonna join me?" His cheeky, confident voice made her jump, her heart pounding.


    "If you wanna repay me for crashing at my place, you better whip up some breakfast tomorrow," she shot back, giving a sarcastic look and strutting forward with more confidence than she actually had. The Darkness within her stirred, tempting her to give in. She knew she shouldn''t, that every time she did, the shadows around her heart grew stronger, but Derek''s grey-green eyes were irresistible.


    After a moment of hesitation, she shed her clothes and pinned her braid into a bun. Without waiting for another invitation, she stepped into the steamy shower, feeling the space shrink around Derek''s muscular frame.


    She looked up into his eyes bashfully, aware he could hear her heart racing. His predatory smile sent shivers down her spine. He closed the glass door and placed a hand on her hip, turning her so he could see her back. His soap-covered hands massaged her neck, and she moaned in pleasure, realizing how tense she had been all day. His hands worked wonders on her tight muscles, and he murmured with satisfaction as she relaxed under his touch. As the water rinsed away the suds, he kissed her neck and shoulders, marking a sensual trail with his lips.


    With a firm hand, he signaled her to lean over. She complied, bracing herself against the cool tiles, the contrast to the warm water adding to her arousal. His hands moved from her buttocks to her thighs, quickly finding her most sensitive spot. She trembled, pressing harder against the wall as her swollen nipples rubbed against the cold tiles. She sighed, her hips instinctively moving back to meet him.


    Derek emitted a low, guttural growl, his senses heightened as he experienced the sensation of her smooth, supple skin pressed against his. Every nerve in his body tingled with a mixture of excitement and restraint, his desire evident in the trembling of his eager member. With a delicate touch, he skillfully caressed her labia and clitoris, relishing in the quivers that rippled through her body, a silent confession of her pleasure.


    "More." Her voice, deeper than usual, commanded him.


    Without hesitation, he yielded. His strong hands firmly grasped her hips, guiding her into a position of utter ease before plunging into her with effortless grace. A symphony of pleasure echoed through the room as she let out a passionate, unrestrained moan, her teeth sinking into her lip with a fervor that drew forth a taste of metallic sweetness. The air, thick with humidity, became infused with the intoxicating scent of their arousal, heightening the intensity of the moment.


    "More," she gasped, her voice strained and desperate, as she pushed her hips harder against him. As he held her steady with one hand, his fingers skillfully teased her clit, evoking another moan of pleasure from her.


    Water cascaded down her back, glistening in the dim light of the bathroom. She strained to find purchase on the slick tiles, her fingers slipping slightly as she held on. Derek''s rhythmic movements engulfed her, electrifying every nerve ending, overwhelming her senses. The soft sound of his quiet growls blended with her delicate whimpers, creating a harmonious melody of ecstasy that resonated through the steam-filled air.


    However, the Darkness within her grew impatient. It simmered and churned, urging her to take control. With a swift movement, she pulled away, turning to face him. As her eyes met his, they radiated an unnatural, piercing green glow. The air crackled with anticipation. His heartbeat quickened, a symphony of desire echoing in his ears. A sly, predatory smile crept across her face as she delved into his thoughts, effortlessly deciphering his deepest desires. Her slender arms wrapped around his neck, causing his muscles to tighten in expectation. With a graceful leap, she entwined her legs around his hips, guiding him back into her. The sensation was electrifying, a fusion of pleasure and urgency that consumed them both.


    They both let out a low, throaty moan, their voices intertwining in a symphony of pleasure. His powerful hands tightened their grip on her supple ass, providing unwavering support as his eager fingers sank into the velvety flesh, creating a deliciously pleasurable ache.


    Amidst their passionate entanglement, a fleeting thought flitted through her conscious mind, noticing the diminishing warmth of the shower water. Yet, the scalding heat radiating from their entwined bodies effortlessly subdued any hint of a chill.


    The aroma of the forgotten dinner wafted through the air, but it was inconsequential in their world. Lost in each other, their connection grew more intense, engulfing their senses and eclipsing everything else around them.


    ??


    Allison walked into the dimly lit corridor, her heart pounding as she searched for Scott. The jubilant cheers of the fans and the victorious team echoed faintly behind her, but the locker room ahead was eerily silent. She halted abruptly, spotting Scott''s helmet abandoned on the floor. She stepped cautiously through the doorway to the locker room, her shoes crunching on broken glass, catching the glint of shattered mirrors above the sinks.


    "Scott?" she called out, her voice barely escaping her throat. The room''s oppressive atmosphere weighed heavily on her, evoking the unsettling sense of a horror movie setting.


    Summoning her courage, she pressed on, the feeling of being watched prickling her skin.


    She whirled around, but only darkness and rows of lockers greeted her.


    "Scott," she tried again, her voice just a whisper. Anxiety tightened her chest, her stomach knotting with apprehension. She moved forward, convinced she heard something beyond the wall where the showers were.


    Rounding the corner, she found Scott. Still clad in his uniform, he leaned against the wall, his back to her, panting heavily.


    "Are you alright, Scott?" She grabbed his arm, turning him to face her. His eyes held a flicker of fear, but otherwise, he seemed fine. "You scared me. Are you okay?"


    "Sorry. Just felt really light-headed for a sec," he mumbled, regaining his composure.


    "Maybe it''s the adrenaline," she suggested, a smile breaking her worried expression. "You were pretty amazing out there."


    "Thanks. And sorry for acting completely weird today."


    "It''s okay. I can handle weird," she replied with a broad smile, reflecting on her nomadic life and her parents'' unusual but legal business as arms dealers. Weird was her normal, and Scott''s stress was just another facet of it.


    "To be totally honest, you make me kind of nervous," Scott confessed, embarrassment coloring his voice.


    "I do?"


    "Kind of really nervous." They both laughed, the tension easing.


    "I just want to make sure I get my second chance."


    "You already have it," she said, her eyes locking with his. "I''m just waiting for you to take it." She smiled flirtatiously, stepping back slightly, her heart racing with a mix of embarrassment and anticipation.


    Scott slowly stepped closer to her, his gaze unwavering as he drank in every detail of her face. The faint scent of her perfume lingered in the air, adding a touch of sweetness to the moment. As he leaned in, the sound of their breaths mingled together, creating a symphony of anticipation. Their lips met gently, like a delicate brushstroke on a canvas, before gradually deepening into a passionate embrace. The warmth of their connection enveloped them both, sending shivers of pleasure down their spines.


    Just then, Stiles burst into the locker room, breathless. He froze mid-step, not wanting to interrupt, and quickly hid behind a locker, peeking out to see if what he witnessed was real.


    "I need to get back to my dad," Allison said, breaking the kiss, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and happiness. She turned to leave, nodding at Stiles as she spotted him, then exited with a light step and a smile playing on her lips.


    Scott stood there, a blissful smile on his face, lost in the moment. Stiles approached, silent but grinning, knowing words wouldn''t penetrate Scott''s cloud of happiness.


    "I kissed her..."


    "I saw."


    "She kissed me..."


    "I saw that too," Stiles said, trying to be patient with his love-struck friend. "It''s pretty good, huh?"


    "I don''t know how, but I controlled it. I pulled it back. Maybe I can do this. Maybe it''s not that bad," Scott said, his voice filled with wonder, his eyes unfocused.


    "Yeah, we should talk later then," Stiles suggested, patting Scott on the shoulder, ready to leave.


    "What?" Scott asked, sensing something serious in Stiles'' tone.


    "The medical examiner looked at the other half of the body we found," Stiles revealed. Scott gestured for him to continue. "It''s simple. Medical examiner determines the killer of the girl to be animal or human. Derek is human, not animal. Derek not killer. Derek let out of jail."


    "Are you kidding?" Scott couldn''t believe it.


    "No, and here''s the bigger kicker. My dad ID''d the dead girl. Both halves. Her name was Laura Hale."


    "Hale?" Scott''s confusion was evident.


    "Derek''s sister," Stiles clarified, a slight smile of disbelief on his face at the bizarre coincidence.

 1.3 Pack Mentality

    January 23rd 2011 - Sunday


    In the dawn''s soft embrace, she hesitated to chase away the remnants of sleep clinging to her eyelids. This morning''s reluctance was rooted not in fear but in the hope that the reality cradled in muscular arms around her waist was not a mere dream. She lay motionless, savoring the warmth of the man beside her, a surprising comfort given the previous night''s surrender to the Darkness within her. This very thought brought her crashing back to reality¡ªeventually, she would have to explain this to him. He had surely sensed that what was transpiring between them was far from mere physical attraction.


    "I know you''re awake," he murmured into her ear, his voice thick with sleep. "Feel like spending the day in bed?"


    "Of course I do," she replied, turning to him with a broad smile. "But you promised me breakfast."


    His only response was a throaty murmur as he rose, brushing his lips over the curve of her ear. As he dressed, she watched him with the satisfied smile of a cat who had lapped up the cream. The time for serious conversations would come later; today, they deserved a reprieve from their worries. For a fleeting moment, Sharon''s smiling face flashed in her mind, recalling their market conversation: "If he brings you breakfast in bed, you''d better chain him to the radiator and not let him out." Clearly, Sharon had sensed what was coming, and Charlotte felt a mischievous urge to follow her advice.


    After breakfast and a shower, she discovered Derek in the living room, going through her vinyl collection. He had just put on one of her beloved Presley records, but it was clear that Derek didn''t appreciate The King''s music.  Their musical preferences clashed just as much as their physical chemistry clicked. She let out a heavy sigh, her mind drifting back to the Darkness that had been brewing beneath her skin since last night. She knew the werewolf could sense it, but he hadn''t verbalized the questions she could see lingering in his eyes.


    She busied herself with the cardboard boxes against the peeling wallpaper, unable to focus in his presence. Unwrapping the first box, she was startled by the sudden assault of aggressive rock music blaring from the crackling speakers - a fierce cacophony she hadn''t realized Luisa had packed. Derek, on the other hand, sat there, leafing through a tattered book, clearly bored or annoyed, the scent of old paper filling the air. The book, a romance novel written in French, looked utterly out of place in his large, calloused hands.


    "I don''t believe you would find that kind of literature appealing," she observed, her eyebrow arching in amusement.


    He placed the book back on the shelf with precise care. Charlotte wondered why Luisa had packed that book. Maybe her cousin was subtly urging her never to return to Louisiana. Derek took a seat across from her, his eyes searching for the right words.


    "You know far more about me than I know about you, and that concerns me. What exactly are you? What does it mean that you are a Witch?"


    "It means only that I am an ordinary human being with a slightly expanded perception. I can see and feel things that others might not, human auras, emotions, sometimes flashes of memories. But it''s not like your hearing or smell, it doesn''t work automatically, at least most times. Me, I need specific rituals and spells, which can be very whimsical and don''t always work. It''s hard to describe exactly," she explained, struggling with her own understanding of her gift and the Curse she knew his next question would inevitably touch upon.


    "And your scent... You smell almost like a wolf¡ªof forest, anger, blood, and..." He trailed off, unsure how to articulate everything he sensed from her.


    She took a moment to pause, deep in thought. She wondered if she had developed clairvoyance, or if his thoughts were simply so transparent to her.


    "It''s actually something else... In the past, I''ve had a string of bad luck, and I refer to it as the Darkness, or the Lurker. During one of my journeys, I came across a sinister cult that was performing blood sacrifices. Somehow, whatever they were worshiping latched onto me. That''s the sensation you''re picking up on."


    "Is it This that makes us affect each other so much?" he asked, finally looking at her. His perceptiveness impressed her. The question deeply troubled him because he was afraid of losing his ability to control his instincts, which he had learned through a painful process.


    "It does seem that way. This entity appears to be a hunting spirit, similar to a predator. Its essence bears resemblance to that of a wolf, but... Taming it has proven to be incredibly challenging," she confessed, her tone tinged with a hint of shame. "I believe it may be linked to the potency of your bloodline. Your family has always been known for producing exceptionally powerful werewolves."


    "You clearly feel bad about it. Is it dangerous?" he asked, scrutinizing her intently, probably listening to her heartbeat to detect any deceit.


    "In this form, I don''t believe so. The flame may burn brightly, but it also extinguishes rapidly. This type of excitement is certainly less risky than anger," she commented, attempting to uplift the atmosphere. "Therefore, please refrain from irritating me."


    "So, I must keep the dreaded witch happy?" he smiled, one corner of his mouth lifting. "I think I can take on that task."


    She chuckled, feeling the tension ease between them. But as she looked into his eyes, she knew the serious conversations were far from over. Today, however, they could afford a brief escape from their realities.


    ??


    January 24th 2011 - Monday


    Before dawn, a scream jolted Charlotte awake ¨C her scream. The sound tore through the stillness, snapping Derek out of his sleep. It took him a moment to orient himself before realizing no immediate threat loomed. Gasping for breath, she received a hot cup of tea from him, a method his mother strongly believed in for calming jittery nerves. Deep within, Charlie felt a strange gratitude for Derek''s presence; it was a stark contrast to her usual companions of a dog and cats, who had all but abandoned her since Derek''s arrival. The touch of his warm hands proved more comforting than Isle''s watchful gaze or the soothing purrs of Behemoth and Astra.


    Despite her best efforts, Charlotte couldn''t recollect the exact details of her dream. It was as if the memory was shrouded in fog, leaving behind only the visceral sensations of blood and a piercing scream that still echoed in her ears. She briefly considered staying home, the idea of solitude gnawing at her resolve. Yet, the idea of confronting the day by herself motivated her to take action. They had a lot to accomplish, and their investigation had stalled over the weekend.


    After calming herself, Charlotte moved to the bathroom to prepare for the day. She stood before the mirror, her extremely long hair cascading around her like a fiery waterfall. With practiced ease, she braided her hair, fingers deftly weaving in beads and feathers that added a touch of mysticism to her appearance. Each movement was deliberate, almost ritualistic, as if the act of braiding provided her with a semblance of control and normalcy. Derek leaned against the doorway, observing her with a mix of curiosity and admiration.


    "You always do that?" he asked, breaking the silence.


    "Every morning," she replied, not pausing in her task. "It''s a way to center myself. The beads and feathers are... reminders."


    "Reminders of what?" Derek''s tone was soft, genuinely interested.


    "Of who I am, where I''ve been, and what I need to remember," she said cryptically, finishing the braid and securing it with a small leather band. She turned to face him, her green eyes meeting his grey-green ones. "Ready to face the day?"


    "As ready as I''ll ever be," he replied, offering a small smile.


    As she cautiously maneuvered her sleek Chevelle into the designated teacher parking lot, a bone-chilling sight sent shivers down her spine, causing her to freeze in place. The distinct metallic tang of blood permeated the air, intensifying the eerie atmosphere. A yellow school bus, its vibrant color tainted by gruesome streaks of crimson, stood as a macabre centerpiece. The doors of the bus hung askew, adding to the unsettling scene. A swarm of police officers, their presence both reassuring and disquieting, surrounded the blood-soaked bus, creating an impenetrable barrier of authority.


    Dazed, she climbed out of her car, only to be startled by Sharon''s sudden appearance.


    "I''m guessing the date was a repeat performance?" Sharon''s tone was light, attempting to divert Charlotte''s attention from the grisly scene.


    "Yeah... I followed your advice and chained him to the radiator this time," Charlotte joked, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "What... what happened here?"


    "No one knows for sure. Some say it was a wild animal, others think it might be murder, but nobody has been found yet... not even half of one."


    "Sharon, your humor is beyond me... even this morning," Charlotte replied wearily as they finally entered the staff room.


    "Let''s change the subject to something more pleasant... Tell me about Him."


    "There''s really nothing to talk about..." Charlotte muttered, desperately seeking a way to divert the conversation, but nothing came to mind.


    The day began with a surreal quality, the events of the morning casting a long shadow. Charlotte couldn''t shake the feeling that something sinister was lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to reveal itself.


    ??


    The first lesson of the day was chemistry, taught by the ever-stern Adrian Harris. Scott shifted restlessly in his chair, an uneasy tension radiating from him. He leaned over to his friend beside him, whispering, "Maybe it was my blood on the door?"


    Stiles dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "Could be animal blood. Like maybe you caught a rabbit or something?"


    "And did what?" Scott replied incredulously.


    "I don''t know. Ate it," Stiles suggested, his shrug infuriatingly casual.


    "Raw?" Scott was disgusted. He preferred his meat well-cooked, thank you very much.


    "Yeah, you stopped to bake it in a little werewolf oven," Stiles chuckled irritably. "How should I know? You''re the one who can''t remember anything."


    "Mr. Stilinski!" Mr. Harris''s voice cut through their conversation like a knife. "If that''s your idea of a hushed whisper, you might want to pull the earphones out once in a while. I think you and Mr. McCall would benefit from a little distance. Yes?"


    "No..." Stiles objected quietly.


    The teacher ignored him and pointed for them to sit on opposite sides of the room. "Let me know if the separation anxiety gets to be too much," he concluded sarcastically. A few students snickered.


    Scott ended up next to Harley, a black-haired, dark-skinned girl who threw him a sympathetic glance before turning her attention back to the teacher. From behind, he felt Jackson''s gaze drilling into him. Scott stiffened, feeling the weight of the stare.


    "Hey look! They found something!" Harley exclaimed, breaking the monotony as she darted to the window overlooking the school bus car park. The class quickly followed, crowding the window sills. Mr. Harris, seeing he had lost control, joined them.


    "They found a body," Harley announced, almost proud of her discovery.


    "That''s not a rabbit..." Scott whispered, horror creeping into his voice.


    Outside, nurses wheeled a stretcher to the ambulance. But before they could load the body, it sat up abruptly and howled incoherently. The students recoiled, terror gripping them.


    "Well, this is good. He''s not dead," Stiles tried to comfort Scott. "A dead guy can''t do that..."


    "Stiles... I did that..." Scott''s voice was filled with dread, a lump of anxiety growing in his chest, making it hard to breathe.


    Somehow, the boys made it to lunch, still haunted by the morning''s events. They settled at their usual table, trays in hand.


    "Dreams aren''t memories," Stiles insisted.


    "Then it wasn''t a dream. Something happened last night. And I can''t remember what," Scott said, his remorse palpable. They argued in hushed voices.


    "How are you so sure Derek has all the answers?" Stiles asked, still skeptical of the grim werewolf.


    "Because on the full moon he wasn''t changed," Scott whispered. "He was in total control. And I''m running around in the night attacking some totally innocent guy."


    "You don''t know that."


    "I don''t not know it. I can''t go out with Allison. I have to cancel," Scott said, his distress evident.


    "No, you don''t. You can''t cancel your entire life. We''ll figure this out," Stiles reassured him. "And if not, we''ll go to Mrs. Benoit. Maybe she''ll know something."


    Just then, a smiling girl with reddish-blonde hair arrived at their table. Lydia''s outfit, as usual, was a statement of the latest fashion, her makeup and hairstyle impeccable.


    "She''ll know about what?" she asked, resting her arms on the table.


    "Uh... about homework," Scott stammered, surprised by Lydia''s attention.


    "Why is she sitting with us?" Stiles whispered to Scott, leaning over so Lydia wouldn''t hear.


    More of Lydia''s usual crowd, including Allison, joined their table. Allison took a seat next to Scott, while Jackson approached, telling Brian to make way.


    "How come you never ask Danny to get up?" Brian asked, disbelief and mild indignation in his voice.


    "Because I don''t stare at his girlfriend''s coin slot," Danny Mahealani, a handsome boy with clear Hawaiian roots, replied smoothly. "So, they''re saying it''s an animal attack. Probably a cougar."


    "I heard mountain lion," Jackson corrected.


    "A cougar is a mountain lion," Lydia said automatically, then added in a higher, innocent voice, "Isn''t it?"


    "Who cares?" Jackson snapped. "The guy''s probably some homeless tweaker who''s gonna die, anyway."


    "Actually, I just found out who he is," Stiles interjected, drawing attention to his phone and displaying a news clip. "Check this out."


    "The sheriff confirmed that the victim, Garrison Meyers, survived the attack. He was taken to the hospital in critical condition."


    "I know that guy," Scott said, overwhelmed. "He used to drive the bus back when I lived with my dad."


    Lydia, visibly bored, demanded, "Can we talk about something slightly more fun, please? Like where we''re going tomorrow night?" She directed the question to Allison and Scott.


    Allison, caught off guard, stammered, "Uh... What were we going to do?"


    "We hadn''t decided," Scott replied.


    "Well, I''m not sitting at home watching lacrosse videos again. If the four of us are hanging out, let''s pick something fun."


    "Hanging out? The four of us?" Scott was puzzled. He glanced at Allison, who was drinking water, equally surprised.


    "When the hell were you going to tell me about this?" Jackson asked angrily.


    "You want to hang out? The four of us? You and me? And them?" Scott repeated, disbelievingly.


    "Sure," Allison squeaked, then added more confidently, "Sounds fun."


    "You know what else sounds fun?" Jackson interjected aggressively, brandishing a fork. "Stabbing myself in the face with this fork."


    Lydia laughed, cradling Jackson''s hand. "Oh, come on, Jackson. How about bowling? You love to bowl."


    "Yeah, but with actual competition," Jackson crowed.


    "How do you know we''re not competition?" Allison challenged. "You can bowl, right?" she asked Scott, grinning.


    "Sort of..."


    "Sort of? Or yes?" Jackson inquired.


    "Yes. In fact..." Scott began.


    Meanwhile, Stiles buried his head in his hands, foreseeing the disaster to come.


    ??


    After a day filled with academic drudgery, Charlotte guided Isle to the vet for a much-needed check-up and bandage removal. The waiting room of the clinic, bathed in sterile light and the hum of quiet conversation, was not a place she expected to encounter the sheriff. But there he was, with a police dog in tow, echoing her own purpose.


    Deaton, the clinic''s sole veterinarian, had a habit of leaving the door ajar while working, and through this gap, Charlotte caught glimpses of him and his assistant bustling about. The sheriff''s booming voice interrupted her thoughts as he addressed a boy Charlotte recognized as Scott.


    "Staying out of trouble, Scott?" Sheriff Stilinski''s voice cut through the air like a knife. Scott responded sheepishly as the police dog obediently sat on the examination table.


    The sheriff handed a nondescript envelope to Dr. Deaton. "While I''m here, could you take a look at these pictures? Sacramento can''t seem to identify the animal involved."


    "I''m not exactly an expert on this," Deaton admitted, peering into the envelope with a clinical detachment that bordered on eerie. "Huh. Interesting. This guy was attacked in a bus?"


    "We found wolf hairs on Laura Hale''s body," the sheriff added, fishing for confirmation.


    Scott, who had been a silent observer, broke his silence with a barely audible, "A wolf?" His voice carried a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "I mean... I think I read somewhere that there haven''t been wolves in California for like sixty years," Scott added, more assertively this time.


    Charlotte, unable to resist adding her two cents, strolled into the room, leaving Isle in the waiting room to avoid any tension with the police dog. "Wolves are migratory animals," she interjected smoothly. "They could have come from another state driven by hunger, instinct, or a strong enough memory."


    Scott looked bewildered. "Wolves have memories?"


    "Long-term memories, yes," Deaton affirmed, his gaze shifting from Scott to Charlotte. "If associated with a primal drive." He pointed to a photo in his hand. "These are claw marks. A wolf would have gone for the throat or spinal cord with its teeth."


    Charlie feigned ignorance. "So, probably a mountain lion?"


    Deaton''s calm demeanor did little to comfort her; his too-calm acceptance of everything around him made her wary. "I don''t know. A wolf could chase down its prey, hobbling it by tearing at the ankles before going for the throat."


    The conversation dwindled as Deaton turned his attention back to the police dog. Charlotte, now restless, returned to the waiting room. When the sheriff came out, Scott realised Isle was the same dog he had helped a few weeks ago and the witch finally found out what had actually happened to her familiar. Allison Argent had tripped over the poor animal, but had caught Isle and bring her to the clinic, revealing a small yet telling connection between their lives.


    Stolen story; please report.


    ??


    After dropping Isle off at home, Charlotte drove to the reserve where Derek spent his days. He had insisted that everything important was concentrated there, assuring her they would find something. However, their investigation was constantly being interrupted.


    First, a policeman showed up to check if anyone was loitering around. Charlotte felt a flicker of fear that they''d be discovered, but Derek managed to unsettle the police dog in the car, causing the officer to lose his nerve and leave without inspecting the crumbling building.


    Then Scott appeared, adding to Charlotte''s stress. She worried that if the boy discovered her acquaintance with the older werewolf, he would lose trust in her and become as hostile towards her as he was towards Derek. Strangely enough, Scott seemed too anxious to sense her presence. Derek went out to meet the boy, leaving Charlotte to sit quietly on the other side of the door, mentally repeating formulas to conceal her presence from the other werewolf''s senses.


    "I know I was part of you getting arrested and basically announced you being here to the hunters." Scott''s voice was laden with remorse. "I also don''t know what happened with your sister, but I think I did something last night." The older man''s silence didn''t help the boy articulate his thoughts, but he pressed on. "I had this dream about... someone. But someone else got hurt. And it turns out part of the dream might have actually happened."


    "You think you attacked the Driver?" Derek wanted to ensure he understood the boy correctly.


    "How do you know everything? Are you constantly keeping an eye on me? Did you see what I did last night?" Scott was terrified, seeking confirmation in Derek''s question.


    "No," the older werewolf replied, his tone and expression unchanged.


    "Then can you at least tell me the truth? Am I going to hurt someone?"


    "Yes."


    "Could I kill someone?"


    "Yes," Derek''s answers were automatic, the certainty in his voice as heavy as an anvil.


    "Am I going to kill someone?" Panic laced the teenager''s voice.


    "Probably."


    Scott leaned heavily against a porch pillar, devoid of any residual hope. Derek approached him, hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket.


    "I can show you how to remember, how to control the shift, even on a full moon. But it''s not going to come for free."


    "What do you want?" the teenager asked, his voice a whisper of desolation.


    "You will find out. But for now, I''ll give you what you want. Go back to the bus. Go inside. See it, feel it. Let your senses¡ªsight, smell, touch¡ªlet them remember for you."


    "That''s it? Just go back?" Scott was surprised the task seemed so simple.


    "You want to remember what happened?"


    "I just want to know if I hurt him."


    "No," Derek denied. "You want to know if you''ll hurt her."


    Scott walked away, almost immediately contacting his friend.


    Charlotte sat silently, her heart weighed down by the immense gravity of the situation. The air around her grew dense, almost suffocating, as if it mirrored the tension she had just witnessed. She could almost feel the weight of uncertainty hanging in the atmosphere. But amidst it all, they had managed to forge a plan, offering a glimmer of hope. And with that, a flicker of determination ignited within her.


    ??


    January 25th 2011 - Tuesday


    The redhead witch came home after a grueling day at work, and for half an hour, she debated the wisdom of her next move. From her handbag, she retrieved a small string bag containing a piece of bloody cloth¡ªa trophy she had snatched from the crime scene when no one was looking. It was a risk, but she knew it held secrets worth uncovering.


    Navigating through a maze of moving boxes, she found an oblong tube housing several posters. Browsing through them vaguely, she selected the one she needed. Pulling back the living room curtains, she shrouded herself in privacy, wary of neighbors who might accuse her of satanic rituals. Beacon Hills had enough troubles without adding witch hunts to the list.


    Charlotte spread a pentacle poster on the floor, its symbols as familiar to her as the lines on her palm. Placing a mirror in the center and the bloody cloth on top, she lit candles at each point of the star, their colors chosen with care. Standing within the drawn lines, she gazed into the mirror, chanting ancient formulas engraved in her memory. Her focus sharpened, her senses detaching from the present environment.


    The mirror''s surface undulated, creating a mesmerizing ripple effect that revealed the hidden world within. Through the distortion, Charlotte found herself transported into the interior of a yellow bus. The rows of dark, padded seats materialized before her, emitting a faint scent of musty upholstery. As her eyes met Mr. Meyers'', a mixture of terror and pain consumed his gaze, sending shivers down her spine. With a sense of urgency, she squeezed herself between the seats, feeling the rubberized floor under her fingertips.


    The visions that unfolded seemed so vivid, so tangible, that Charlotte often lost herself in their illusion. Peering cautiously through the narrow gap, her heart pounded against her chest as she caught sight of the attacker. It was a massive, black figure, with an animalistic aura that was both intimidating and unsettlingly human-like. Its blood-red eyes pierced through her, paralyzing her with fear.


    A familiar voice, sharp and urgent, snapped her out of her trance. Startled, she turned, her heart pounding, irrationally thinking it was the worst idea with the monstrous creature lurking behind her. Yet, there, in the driver''s seat, stood a transformed Scott, his presence filled with determination to save the injured man. With a swift and courageous movement, he lunged at the creature, the sound of his battle cry echoing through the air. Enormous claws slashed across his chest, the sickening sound of flesh tearing, sending him soaring through the air. The Alpha, enraged and powerful, hurled a back seat towards them, the rush of air and the menacing thud filling the tense atmosphere. Paralyzed by fear, Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, her body trembling, bracing herself for the inevitable impact.


    Nothing happened, no pain, no noise. Silent and still, she struggled to pry open her eyes, but they remained tightly shut. Cold beads of sweat trickled down her body, chilling her skin. Uncontrollable tremors wracked her body, rendering her helpless. Beneath her closed eyelids, a whirlwind of images flickered incessantly, like a chaotic slideshow. She pondered if this was akin to the experience of those afflicted by epilepsy, trapped in immobility while every thud reverberated through their being. Determined, she resolved that if she emerged from this state, she would intensify her efforts to forge a friendship with Erica Reyes.


    A firm grip on her shoulder jolted her awake, accompanied by a gut-wrenching howl that echoed through the air. As her senses returned, she fought to regain control, clamping her mouth shut to stifle the impending scream. Blinking away the haze, her gaze fell upon Derek, his powerful arms encircling her trembling frame. Seeking solace, she clung to him desperately, her tear-stained face a testament to her anguish. As his hand moved in a comforting rhythm along her spine, she yearned for more. The touch, though gentle, failed to alleviate the storm raging within her.


    She slipped out of his embrace, her heart racing, and stumbled to the kitchen. In desperate need of solace, she splashed her face with cold water, feeling the immediate jolt against her skin. The last thing she needed was to be hit with an overwhelming wave of hysteria.


    Derek measured her with a careful gaze, his brows furrowing with concern. The dim light cast eerie shadows across the room, amplifying the gravity of what he had just witnessed. If what he had seen was a normal emanation of witchcraft, he couldn''t fathom encountering more witches. Few people would consciously choose to do what had happened to Charlotte. The weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders.


    As he stepped into the house, a suffocating silence enveloped him, causing a shiver to crawl up his spine. Isle, lingered outside, sensing the foreboding aura that emanated from within. The two cats, usually aloof, suddenly darted past him, their figures blending seamlessly into the darkness of the encroaching night.


    An unsettling tension hung in the air, palpable and unnerving. Strange sparks danced across Derek''s skin, sending electric jolts through his body. His forearms prickled as the fine hairs stood on end, a physical manifestation of the otherworldly energy that permeated the room.


    Heart pounding, he cautiously made his way to the living room, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. There, he saw the witch''s silhouette, elongated and distorted, sprawled upon a pentagram etched on the floor. The sight froze him in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, he believed the girl to be lifeless, until her body began to tremble, a faint sign of life. The relief washed over him, but the experience had left an indelible mark on his psyche. He vowed never to repeat such a harrowing ordeal again.


    "I need to get out of the house, think about something else," she pleaded.


    "Sure, let''s go for a drive," he agreed, seeing she was still shaken.


    As they drove around town, they stopped at a petrol station. Charlotte, hungry and the Camaro needing fuel, stepped out. As she exited the shop at the station, she froze, watching the scene unfold before her. She froze as three men flanked the car. Recognizing Chris Argent, she noted his cruel smile.


    He was the epitome of a well-groomed, dangerous man. Standing at about six feet, his lean frame was always impeccably dressed. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed back, giving him an air of sophistication. But it was his eyes that left a lasting impression¡ªcold, calculating, and as sharp as a hawk''s. Those piercing blue eyes seemed to see right through you, assessing every weakness, every vulnerability. His chiseled jawline and a day''s worth of stubble added a rugged touch to his otherwise polished appearance. The aura of control and intimidation he exuded was palpable, making it clear he was not a man to be trifled with.


    "Nice ride," he said to Derek, running a finger over the car''s bonnet. "Black cars are hard to keep clean. If you have something this nice, you want to take care of it, right?" He cleaned the windshield with a brush. "Personally, I''m very protective of the things I love. But that''s something I learned from my family. And you don''t have much of that these days, do you?"


    Derek''s demeanor remained composed, his face impassive, until the mention of his family pierced the air. Charlotte, her anger palpable, noticed his fists tighten, the sound of knuckles cracking faintly audible. She quickened her pace towards him, her footsteps echoing through the tense silence. Yet, just as she approached, Derek''s body suddenly loosened, his muscles relaxing. A faint scent of relief lingered in the air as Argent, a smug grin on his face, observed the scene, content with the outcome.


    "You forgot to check the oil," Derek retorted as Charlotte reached his side. Argent ordered his men to check it. One smashed the side window with a rifle butt. Charlotte recoiled, but Derek''s grip on her arm stopped her from intervening.


    "Drive safely," Argent concluded, nodding at Charlotte.


    As they drove off, Charlotte shook with fury. Derek''s stone-faced expression held unspoken questions and concern.


    "It''s alright... I''m just having trouble controlling my anger," she reassured him.


    "Remind me never to get under your skin. You''re terrifying in this state," he attempted to joke, but his tone was serious.


    "The first night, this state seemed to make you feel differently," she teased, raising an eyebrow, easing the tension.


    They drove on, Derek plucking up the courage after a few minutes to tell her he wanted to go to the hospital and confront Mr Meyers, to perhaps find out who the attacker really was. Witch stayed in the car and waited for him. He came back heavily agitated, although he tried not to let it show. He did not go into the house with her and when she got out of the car, without a word, he drove off, leaving her wondering if he''d return.


    ??


    Melissa trudged into her dimly lit home after an exhausting day on call, her spirit sagging with discouragement. She sole hoped to collapse into bed, but first, she needed to say goodnight to her son. Stepping into his room, she found it empty. A sigh escaped her lips, frustration mingling with fatigue. Just as she turned to leave, a noise from Scott''s room caught her attention.


    Suspicion prickled her skin. She backtracked cautiously, her eyes falling on a baseball bat leaning against the wall. Grabbing it, she crept into the room, brandishing the bat like a makeshift weapon. In the faint glow of the streetlamp filtering through the curtains, a dark silhouette loomed. Instinctively, she swung, stopping inches from her target¡ªStiles'' freckled, terrified face.


    Both let out startled squeals, like a pair of frightened schoolgirls. "Stiles! What the hell are you doing?" Melissa demanded, her voice a mix of exasperation and relief.


    "What am I doing?" Stiles echoed, indignant. "Do either of you even play baseball?" He pointed to the bat Melissa still clutched in her hand.


    Before Melissa could retort, the room flooded with light. Scott stood in the doorway, confusion etched across his features. "Can you please tell your friend to use the front door?" Melissa sighed, her patience wearing thin.


    "But we lock the front door. He wouldn''t be able to get in," Scott replied, as if it were the most logical explanation in the world.


    "Exactly," Melissa said, rubbing her temples. "And, by the way, do either of you care that there''s a police-enforced curfew?" Her eyes, weary and accusatory, roved over the two teenagers.


    "No," they replied in unison, shrugging.


    "Okay then. That''s about all the parenting I can take for one night." Melissa tossed the bat onto Scott''s bed and turned on her heel, her departure as swift as her entrance.


    Scott laughed quietly as he bid his mother goodnight, his mood buoyed by a successful date. But his laughter died in his throat when he turned to see Stiles'' crestfallen expression.


    "My Dad left for the hospital fifteen minutes ago. The Bus Driver," Stiles began, his voice cracking. "They said he succumbed to his wounds."


    "Succumbed?" Scott echoed, confusion creasing his brow.


    "Scott... he''s dead," Stiles clarified, the weight of his words hitting like a sledgehammer. Scott''s face morphed through a kaleidoscope of emotions, from shock to grief, then rage.


    Without a word, Scott bolted from the house, leaving Stiles in stunned silence. Fury fueled his sprint through the night, memories of the red-eyed monster attacking Mr. Meyers flooding back, vivid and haunting. He didn''t slow until he reached a house shrouded in darkness and the shadows of ancient trees.


    "Derek! I know you''re here!" Scott''s voice echoed through the house, raw with accusation. "I know what you did!"


    "I didn''t do anything," came a voice, cold and dispassionate, reverberating through the house.


    "You killed him!" Scott ascended the creaking stairs, listening intently.


    "He died," the voice repeated, devoid of emotion.


    "Like your sister died?" Scott''s disbelief cut through the tension like a knife.


    "My sister was missing. I came here to find her."


    "You found her..." Scott''s voice wavered with anger and confusion.


    "I found her in pieces!" Derek''s voice crescendoed with fury. "Being used as bait to catch me."


    "I think you killed them both," Scott concluded with grim determination. "And I''m going to tell everyone. Starting with the Sheriff..." He reached the top of the stairs, still searching for the source of Derek''s voice.


    Out of nowhere, a shadow came lunging at him from behind, grabbing hold of his shoulders and forcefully propelling him down the stairs. In the midst of his descent, Scott''s transformation was triggered, causing his eyes to emit a golden glow, his brow to furrow, and his fangs to protrude. With remarkable agility, he landed gracefully on his feet, fully prepared to confront Derek, who had also leaped down to join him.


    Scott forcefully grabbed Derek by his jacket, slamming him into a wall with such intensity that it threatened to shatter. However, Derek swiftly shrugged off the impact, deciding to remove his leather jacket to protect it from any damage. He casually rolled his neck, his eyes transforming from a vibrant electrifying blue back to their usual human grey-green color in a blink, too rapid for Scott to perceive.


    The teenage wolf lunged once more, but was swiftly thrown against another wall. Derek, who possessed greater strength, granted Scott a moment to get up before launching a fierce counterattack, kicking him forcefully across the room. In retaliation, Scott grabbed a wooden board and forcefully rammed it into Derek, who quickly regained his composure and undercut Scott''s legs, pinning him by the throat. The pain caused Scott to revert back to his human form, gasping for breath heavily.


    Derek let him go, taking a step back while emitting a deep, guttural roar that reverberated through the house. Scott prepared himself for an imminent strike that never materialized. Tentatively opening one eye, he observed Derek, who had transformed back into his fully human form. Derek was breathing heavily, clearly struggling to reign in his murderous instincts.


    "I didn''t kill them. Neither of us did. It''s not your fault, and it''s not mine," Derek declared, his gaze piercing.


    "This... this is all your fault," Scott shouted. "You ruined my life!"


    "No, I didn''t," Derek denied calmly.


    "You''re the one who bit me."


    "It''s not him, Scott," a new voice interrupted. Both men shifted their gaze to the doorway, where Charlotte Benoit stood. Her dark chestnut hair shimmered in the glow of the car''s headlights.


    "What?" Scott''s confusion deepened.


    Charlotte''s gaze shifted to Derek, who nodded.


    "I''m not the one who bit you," Derek confirmed.


    Scott slowly backed away, his fingertips gingerly grazing the barely healed wounds on his neck. The touch sent a shiver down his spine as the memory of the attack flooded his mind, vivid and haunting. Blood stains adorned his trembling fingers, the metallic scent filling the air, a stark reminder of the violence he had endured. Overwhelmed, he sank into the plushness of the couch, his labored breaths punctuating the silence. Charlotte, concerned, reached out to offer comfort, but he flinched away, his gaze shifting between the two adults whose knowing expressions hinted at secrets he had yet to uncover.


    "There''s another," he whispered, realization dawning.


    "It''s called an Alpha," the witch specified simultaneously with Derek.


    "The most dangerous of our kind. You and I, we''re Betas," Derek explained. "My sister came here looking for him, trying to stop him. Now I''m trying to find him. And I don''t think I can do it without you."


    "Why me?" Scott asked, still not understanding.


    "Because he turned you. You''re part of his pack. It''s you, Scott. You''re the one he wants," Derek stated.


    "And what are you doing here? Who exactly is he?" Scott turned to Charlotte, demanding answers.


    "I came so you wouldn''t kill each other. Your friend asked me for help," she replied truthfully.


    "But why did you come to Beacon Hills in the first place?" Scott''s anger flared. "Did you come together?"


    "No," she answered, truthfully. "I came because I found out about the Alpha. He''s dangerous, and my job is to protect people who know nothing about this part of reality. I''m a kind of guardian."


    "And you know about me and him?" Scott pointed to Derek. Charlotte nodded. "Then who is Alpha?"


    "I have no idea," the witch admitted, her voice tinged with regret.


    ??


    January 26th 2011 - Wednesday


    The day began with an unusual air, as Charlotte Benoit walked into work with an appearance starkly contrasting her usual casual attire. Draped in an elegant black knee-length dress paired with high-heeled shoes, her entrance caught the eyes of curious students. None dared to question the sudden change, save for one brave soul: Stiles. During a break, he approached her with his signature cheekiness.


    "Going to a funeral?" he quipped, laughter in his voice, but his smile faded as she nodded solemnly.


    "Ahm... sorry... And whose... Is it Mr. Meyers?"


    "No, Mr. Meyers will be buried on Friday. Today is Laura Hale''s funeral, as I''m sure you''re well aware," she replied, her gaze piercing. "And I hope you''re not planning to attend. I''d prefer you alive. You''ve already irritated her brother enough. Let''s agree that I represent our little team of adventurers today, shall we?"


    Stiles, after a moment of contemplation, nodded and retreated, his head hanging low. As he joined his friend Scott, Charlie waved to them, her expression softening before she exited the building and got into her car. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart.


    Uncertainty gnawed at her. She didn''t know if Derek wanted her at the funeral, but she suspected that if he didn''t, he would have mentioned it. She also knew her students well enough to expect they''d try to spy on her, even if they didn''t outright refuse her request. So, during the sparsely attended ceremony, she kept her distance from Derek, adhering strictly to the formal expressions of sympathy.


    She observed the attendees closely. There were the sheriff and Officer Harris, probably there for duty. Dr. Deaton kept his distance from Derek. There were a few others who may have known Laura from her time in Beacon Hills. The undertaker and his son, who was one of her students, stood at a respectful distance, prepared to carry out their duties.


    Charlotte yearned to comfort Derek, though his demeanor suggested he would reject it. Her attention, meanwhile, kept drifting back to a tall, slim boy with blonde hair and a stooped figure. Despite being on the school lacrosse team, he seemed isolated, his eyes avoiding direct contact, and a faint bruise marring his jaw.


    She noted the stocky, broad-faced gravedigger, his features hardened and eyes hidden behind glasses. His tight lips suggested a stern disposition, and she hoped his hands weren''t as heavy as his expression implied. Derek and Officer Harris also kept a wary eye on the father and son, furrowing their brows in suspicion. Charlotte made a mental note to inquire about this with Derek later, assuming he planned to spend the evening with her.


    As a sudden realization struck her, she couldn''t help but feel a mix of excitement and terror. Over the past few days, Derek had practically moved in with her, a situation that had never happened before with anyone outside of her family. The emotional and physical closeness they were experiencing was uncharted territory for her, and her feelings were swirling in a near-panic. However, she knew she had to stay composed; after all, a cemetery was not the place for such introspection. She tried to rationalize that their relationship was solely driven by the Lurker and physical attraction, nothing more.


    When the ceremony concluded, she quickly left, the rain beginning to fall as she drove away. In her rearview mirror, she saw Derek lingering, watching as his sister''s coffin was lowered. A pang of guilt pierced her heart. She should have stayed to support him, if only as a friend, even though thoughts of deeper feelings clawed at the edges of her mind. Laura had died because Charlotte was late, and now she could only try to help Derek.


    That night, Derek arrived at her house unexpectedly, as usual, through the garden door. He collapsed into an armchair, silent and weary. Charlotte handed him a mug of tea and retreated to her corner, continuing to unpack. After an hour of silence, she couldn''t bear it any longer.


    "I noticed you were watching someone at the cemetery," she said, breaking the tension.


    "The older gravedigger''s son was a friend of mine in high school," he explained. "He died in Afghanistan. It seems his father hasn''t changed much since then." His tone was cryptic, but she didn''t press further.


    She moved to sit on the floor beside his legs, mirroring her dog Isle''s usual spot. She wondered if she should leave him alone, but decided to take a chance.


    "I''d ask if you''re alright, but the answer is obvious," she whispered, placing a hand on his knee. "Would you like to tell me about her?" She sent a wave of calm through her touch, but he recoiled.


    "Stop it!" he growled, startling her. Few realized when she was using her abilities. "Don''t charm me," he added more gently, seeing the fear in her eyes.


    "I''m sorry... I just wanted to help," she stammered, pulling away, but he stopped her by grabbing her arm.


    "I know... But don''t do it." He pulled her into his lap, her legs curling up instinctively. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. After a moment, his lips found her neck, seeking solace in the closeness.


    As they sat together, the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their own little world. The soft warmth of his embrace provided a comforting escape from the harsh reality they both faced, each gentle caress of his fingers on her back bringing a sense of security and belonging. Their bodies perfectly molded together, as if they were destined to be intertwined, their breaths synchronized in a rhythm that created a silent harmony, speaking volumes of the unspoken understanding between them. In that moment, the weight of their sorrows lifted, if only temporarily, as they found solace in the simplicity of their shared connection. They didn''t need any words; their bodies spoke a language of comfort and support, providing a sanctuary from the pain burdening their hearts.


    ??


    January 27th 2011 - Thursday


    Stiles walked into the locker room after lacrosse practice, scanning the area with a detective''s precision. His target wasn''t his usual companion, Scott, but a different individual altogether. His eyes finally settled on a slim silhouette at the end of a row of lockers. With purposeful strides, he approached and tapped the boy on the shoulder.


    "Hey, Lahey," he greeted, his face split into a wide, albeit forced, grin. "You work with your father at the cemetery, right?"


    "Yeah..." the boy replied, eyeing Stiles warily with his blue eyes. If he straightened up, he might have been taller than Stiles, but he remained hunched, squaring his shoulders defensively before turning back to his locker.


    "There was a funeral yesterday for that girl found in the woods, right?" Stiles pressed on, his tone insistent.


    "And? There''s a funeral today too... So what?" Lahey''s voice was edged with irritation as he continued changing his clothes.


    "At the one yesterday, Mrs. Benoit was there. You have her for history class too, don''t you?" Stiles'' curiosity was unrelenting.


    "Yeah, the young redhead," Lahey confirmed, his patience wearing thin.


    "Was she there with anyone? Maybe standing with the immediate family?" Stiles''s persistence was met with a contemplative pause from Lahey.


    "If you must know, no, she was alone. She stood off to the side and only moved to offer her condolences. Why do you care?" Lahey shot back, glancing at Stiles with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. "Even if she is single, you don''t stand a chance with her. Not just because of the age difference..." He chuckled dismissively, slamming his locker shut and walking out, leaving Stiles momentarily stunned.


    As the door swung shut behind Lahey, a mischievous grin spread across Stiles''s face. He headed to the second row of lockers, where Scott was waiting, lost in thought.


    "Well, you see, she was actually just there as a delegation," Stiles announced triumphantly. "And you know... If my suspicions are correct, even Derek is far too young for her."


    Scott blinked, clearly distracted. "What?"


    "I''m saying she confessed to being a witch, and Derek referred to her as a witch. Her name appears in all the credible articles I could find, some dating back to the 1970s! What''s the likelihood of women not changing their names after marriage and naming their daughters after themselves?"


    Scott''s eyes widened as the pieces began to fall into place. He could almost hear the gears turning in his head.


    "Meaning what exactly?" Scott asked, still trying to grasp the full implication.


    "Meaning that our teacher is holding up really well for her age," Stiles replied, his eyes gleaming with excitement.


    "She definitely doesn''t look old enough to have graduated college and be teaching high school..." Scott mused.


    "Maybe she''s got a good anti-wrinkle cream, but I''d bet she''s a hundred years old!" Stiles rubbed his hands together, thrilled at the prospect of unraveling yet another mystery that ordinary detectives could only dream of.

 1.4 Magic Bullet

    January 27th 2011 - Thursday


    Derek and Charlie popped their heads up almost simultaneously, the man just a tad faster than the woman. A wolf call, summoning his pack, pierced the night outside the window, audible only to the two of them. They both knew what the sound meant¡ªtrouble was approaching.


    The werewolf disentangled himself from the blanket they were sharing and snuggled into each other on the couch. By now, they were reading in comfortable silence, not feeling the need to talk. She was grading the last of the tests she was due to hand in the next morning, and he was familiarizing himself with more titles relating to her unofficial profession. Over the past few days, they had developed a comfortable routine and a shared trust, a certain bond that neither of them was prepared to name by any particular word.


    The witch threw him a worried glance but did not say a word, knowing that it did not make the slightest sense. Someone had to investigate the situation and, if need be, help Scott, who surely could not resist the call. The determination Derek felt was all the stronger because they could not find any trace for almost a week that would give them even the slightest clue as to the monster''s identity. They silently agreed that he would be the best one for the task. So the woman remained curled up on the sofa while he left.


    Derek''s instincts and the sound of gunfire led him to the industrial district. The first thing he sensed when he arrived was the metallic smell of blood. He didn''t have to search long for traces; the trail was fresh and still warm, the dark maroon drops guiding him like a string. He felt a sinister gaze upon him, though he could not decide if he himself was in danger. He raised his gaze, unerringly directing it to the roof of the nearest warehouse, and spotted it. A huge, fur-covered, gnarled silhouette that looked more like a beast from a nightmare than a human, or even his own werewolfish appearance.


    The alpha was clearly beckoning him on, hopping up onto the next higher roof, completely unhurried and growling at him. Derek knew he should be careful, that the blood and smell of gunpowder indicated the Hunters'' presence, but he had to find out who the man was, who had killed his sister, and why he had done it. Was it just about status and power? It was not a challenge for the werewolf to reach the roof of the building; He set off in pursuit.


    Completely forgetting about the Hunters, he was so focused on his goal for a moment. As he leapt between the roofs, a gunshot broke the silence, and he almost immediately felt a pain in his shoulder that made him curl up all over. He fell from a height of two stories, unable to complete the jump. The painful impact on the ground forced all the air out of his lungs. He tried to gather his strength, but the shock prevented him from doing so. Upon hearing a vehicle approaching, he attempted to rise to a sitting position and looked around to see if anyone was coming. He lifted the sleeve of his blouse to see the wound.


    A shimmering iridescent round hole appeared on his forearm, emitting a faint metallic scent. Alarmed by his body''s refusal to heal, he watched as wisps of blue vapors slowly wafted from the wound. Instinct kicked in as he had been taught from birth to hide and wait out the worst in case of danger. With difficulty, he got up on his feet and moved away, in the opposite direction to that from which he had come. He could not bring unknown enemy forces down on Charlotte''s head. He would wait so that the Hunters could not track him down, try to heal himself, and if he failed, seek the help of the witch.


    Chris Argent got out of a black SUV that had stopped on the other side of the building, nervously looking around. He was worried that someone would spot him and was nervous about his daughter catching him leaving the house in the middle of the night.


    "Get in!" in an aggressive tone, he turned to the attractive blonde, younger than himself, who came out to meet him. Some feature in their faces made them resemble each other, but the age difference made it hard to determine whether they were siblings or rather parent and child.


    "What? Not even a ''hello, nice to see you''?" awed the woman, with a hint of amusement in her voice. Over her shoulder, she had a sniper rifle slung, which she carried with the nonchalance that any other woman would hold a handbag.


    "At the moment all I''ve got is ''Please put the assault rifle away before someone notices,''" the man continued to look carefully around, honoring the girl with just a glance.


    "That''s the brother I love," she laughed and grinned, then changed the subject. "I know there are two. And one of them just attacked me."


    "Alpha?"


    "I don''t know."


    "One of them is going to lead us to the other. He can''t do that if he''s dead," announced Chris reproachfully.


    "And I can''t help kill either of them if one of them kills me first," she stated the obvious, shrugging her shoulders, clearly unconcerned by the man''s words.


    "How long will it take?" he asked, looking around helplessly, clearly having given up.


    "I''d give him 48 hours," the woman pursed her lips in thought. "If that," she elaborated, then headed for her car to stow the gun and follow her brother to his house.


    ??


    January 28th 2011 - Friday


    After a sleepless night, waiting until dawn for Derek to return, Charlie felt exhausted. He did not show up, and this added to her already considerable worries. The dark circles under her eyes that morning were prominent, and not even the strongest coffee could revive her energy. She was both worried and angry, compounded because she was due to attend another funeral that day, the second this week, immediately after her classes. She didn''t know Mr. Meyers, but she felt responsible; if she discovered who the murderous Alpha was, the older man would surely live.


    She was handing out the tests she had graded last evening, just before Derek left, when she overheard a conversation between two of her students.


    "If Derek''s not the Alpha... If he''s not the one who bit you... who did?" Stiles asked, not even bothering to lower his voice. It wasn''t a poor tactic, given that probably most of their peers thought the boys were talking about some computer game or something.


    "I don''t know..." Scott had the decency not to turn to his friend sitting in the bench behind him; he just tilted his head slightly.


    "Did the Alpha kill the bus driver?" Stiles continued, twisting around in his seat.


    "I don''t know." The young werewolf''s voice lacked energy and hope. This made the sheriff''s son sink into his thoughts for a moment.


    "Does Allison''s dad know about the Alpha?"


    "I don''t know!" Finally, Scott couldn''t stand it and shouted, drawing the attention of the other students. When he saw their gazes fixed on him, he slid down his chair a little and grimaced. At the same moment, the teacher approached him, placing a test on the tabletop in front of him with a grade of D- and the comment: "Not like you! See me after class." In contrast, Stiles got the highest grade that could be earned, an A.


    "Dude, you need to study more," commented his friend, peering over the werewolf''s shoulder and noticing the red writing at the top of the page. When Scott just sighed, the boy continued. "And that was a joke. It''s one test; Mrs. Benoit will definitely let you correct it. You need help studying?"


    "I''m studying with Allison at her house after school," the black-haired boy declined, in a slightly more cheerful tone.


    "That''s my boy!" commented his friend, modulating his voice playfully.


    "We''re just studying."


    "No, you''re not," laughed Stiles, and seeing the other boy''s uncomprehending look, he said, "Not if I''m forced to live vicariously through you. If you go to her house and squander that colossal opportunity, I''ll have you professionally de-balled. Got it?"


    "Yes," Scott measured his friend with a disbelieving look, trying to reassure him not to draw undue attention to them again. "If you stop with the questions."


    "Done. No more talk of Alphas or Derek." the husky boy raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Especially Derek... He still scares me..." he finished under his breath.


    None of the three of them could have predicted that later that day, the aforementioned werewolf would turn up at the school, looking for help. Charlotte had already left and was staying in the graveyard, and the boys still had a few lessons separating them from the weekend.


    Mingled between the students, with his head down, trying to conserve as much energy as possible and pick up any familiar scent, was Derek walking. His nose led him to Jackson Whittemore, who only moments earlier had poked Scott hard with his shoulder. It was the smell of a teenage werewolf that brought the poor-looking man to him.


    "Where''s Scott McCall?" spoke a voice, almost right next to the lacrosse team captain''s ear, as he pulled from his locker the books he needed for his next lesson.


    "Why should I tell you?" The teenager measured him with a contemptuous glance. Derek''s skin was waxy and covered in sweat. There were dark circles under his eyes.


    "Because I asked you politely. And I only do that once," almost growled the werewolf, perfectly sensing the smell of superiority emanating from the boy, which was getting on his already tarnished nerves.


    "Okay, tough guy," snorted the kid. "How about I help you if you tell me what you''re selling him?" he prompted, without getting an answer. "What is it? Dianabol? HGH?"


    "Steroids..." Derek raised an eyebrow disbelievingly.


    "No, Girl Scout Cookies. What do you think I''m talking about?" You could hear hectolitres of venom in the young man''s voice. "And by the way, whatever else you''re selling? I''d stop sampling the merchandise. You look wrecked." He measured the man with pity.


    The werewolf clenched his teeth and felt a trickle of blood run down his hand, warm and sticky. He had less and less time. He moved forward, ignoring the young man, but the boy stopped him, aggressively grabbing his arm. Jackson didn''t even have time to realize when his face was violently pressed against the lockers, nails digging painfully into his neck. However, just as quickly as he felt the pain, his assailant disappeared, leaving him sprawled, all alone, in the now-empty corridor.


    Derek ducked around the corner, terrified, staring at his wolf''s claws, covered in the boy''s blood. He was losing control, and he was in the middle of a school full of students. He knew that if he didn''t find any of the initiated three quickly, the wound would be the least of his problems. With all his senses, he tried to focus, examining the surrounding building. He sensed his hearing and his sense of smell, but focused on the former when it became apparent that there were too many scents mingling in the school, from sweaty clothes to overly perfumed, hormone-boosting teenage girls.


    To his ears came the increased hum of whispers, the scuffling of chalk on the blackboard, music coming from someone''s headphones, and even a phone call. Eventually, he caught the familiar name ''Scott'' in this cacophony. Two girls were talking to each other about the exact teenager he needed at that moment. One girl must have been Hunter''s daughter, just announcing to a friend that before meeting Scott, who seemed so different, she hadn''t planned on having a boyfriend until college. The werewolf snorted inwardly, regretting that she hadn''t stood firm in her resolve, but after a moment, he realized that just knowing her could be very useful to him at this point. Derek had only heard that his last resort was having an after-school date when the school bell sounded just above his head, inflicting a piercing pain. This brought him back down to earth and, along with the wave of students pouring out of the building, he moved towards the car park.


    Almost at the last moment, he dashed out right in front of the bonnet of Stiles'' just-departing blue Roscoe, stopping it. This action, however, used up the residual energy to keep him on his feet, and before Stiles had time to jump out of the car, the werewolf tumbled heavily, landing on his back.


    "Are you kidding me? This guy is all over the place," commented the teenage driver, getting out and noticing that his friend was already kneeling beside the older werewolf.


    "I was shot," Derek explained to the terrified boys, who were leaning over him.


    "Why aren''t you healing?" Scott didn''t understand.


    "I can''t. It was a different kind of bullet..." He was finding it harder and harder to catch his breath; he could feel his body temperature rising dangerously.


    "A silver bullet?" Asked an excited Stiles.


    "No, you idiot..."


    "Wait a second. That''s what she meant when she said 48 hours." Scott understood at that moment the conversation of the hunters he had overheard that night.


    "What? Who said 48 hours?" Derek had trouble focusing his gaze on the teenager''s face.


    "The one who shot you..." Scott explained, dismayed to discover that the older man''s eyes were glowing an electrifying blue. "What are you doing? Stop that!"


    "That''s what I''m trying to tell you. I can''t," growled the wounded man, and the sound of car horns blasted into his ears. The rest of the students wanted to leave the car park but were prevented from doing so by Stiles'' jeep.


    Scott, seeing Derek losing consciousness, grabbed him under the arms and demanded his friend''s help. More and more students were taking an interest in the commotion they had caused. The boys were struggling to place the man''s inert body in the husky''s car when the werewolf regained consciousness just enough to tell Scott that he needed to find out what kind of bullet had shot him, which he had a great opportunity to do by being invited to the Hunters'' house that day.


    "Why should I help you?" asked the nervous teenager.


    "Because you need me."


    "Fine, fine. I''ll try." He surrendered, turning to his friend. "Get him out of here."


    "I hate you for this," growled Stiles at the teenage werewolf, moving out of the school car park with a screech of tyres.


    "What was he doing here?" Allison approached Scott, with a suspicious look on her face, clearly thinking of the man who had given her a lift home after Lydia''s party, not the hyperactive Stiles.


    "Uh... Stiles is giving him a ride. It''s a long story. I''ll tell you at your house. Okay?"


    "I thought you said you weren''t friends with him."


    "I''m not. Not really." The teenager tangled. "We''re still studying together, right? Meet at your place?"


    He awkwardly jumped to another topic, watching the changing expression on the girl''s face, but over her shoulder, he spotted Jackson. The boy''s eyebrows were pulled down in angry thoughtfulness as he observed the whole situation and calculated something in his mind until Lydia approached him.


    "Who was that?"


    "No one," the captain tried to dispose of the girl.


    "He definitely looked like SOMEONE," she followed the receding jeep with her eyes, then returned her eyes to her boyfriend. "And what''s on your neck?"


    ??


    Scott, despite riding his bike, arrived outside Allison''s house at the same time as the girl was finishing parking her car. Puzzled, she asked him why he had been acting so strangely lately, seeing her boyfriend"s obvious irritation.


    "I think I"m just stressed about classes. I"m not doing as good this year." he explained, following her up the stairs.


    "Not doing as well" she corrected, smiling.


    "Exactly."


    "Maybe we should start with English," she laughed, letting the boy into her room. He looked around the room, noticing that it was in a very austere state, with no bookshelves or pictures on the walls, instead full of moving boxes.


    "I"m still unpacking," explained Allison, who suddenly felt embarrassed by the state of her room.


    "Haven"t you been here for over a month?"


    "I"m taking my time."


    "I know you wanted to start with History so I asked Mrs Benoit for some study papers..." started Scott, pulling off his sweatshirt and looking to unpack his backpack.


    Allison interrupted him by coming up to him and kissing him, completely surprising the boy with this. The kiss was gentle and innocent at first, but she moved a little closer to him, standing on tiptoe. Shocked, he squatted down on the bed that stood just behind him and pulled her to him. Both of them, still in their clothes, began to explore each other''s bodies with their hands, completely losing themselves in a feeling that was new to both of them.


    The boy felt a rush of adrenaline and some strange tingling in his fingertips, which he first explained to himself with excitement, but after a moment he noticed that instead of the usual human nails, there were wolf"s claws on the tips of his fingers. He drew in air violently, thus pulling Allison away from the kisses she was giving on his neck.


    "What''s wrong?" She asked, concerned.


    "Nothing. I just don''t want to make you feel like you have to do something you don''t want to do" he sobbed out with difficulty, hiding his hands under the blanket.


    "I" not doing anything I don''t want to do" the girl smiled radiantly, resting her head on her hand and looking down at him. "Are you?"


    "You''re seriously asking that question?" They were just about to go back to kissing when the silence was broken by the ringing of Scott''s phone, completely spoiling their mood.


    The boy didn''t answer, but a message from Stiles appeared on the display: "Did you find it yet", to which he quickly replied: "Need more time," then switched the phone off. Putting it in his jacket pocket, he noticed one of the open boxes and its contents, which caught his eye. On top of it lay a frame with a photograph showing Allison''s father and a young, blonde-haired woman. The same one that had shot Derek last night. He grabbed it in his hand, taking it out and showing it to the girl.


    "Who''s this?"


    " That''s my Dad''s sister, Kate. Except she''s more like my sister," she explained. "She just got here last night."


    "Last night?"


    "Yeah, she had some car trouble."


    "What kind of car trouble?" Scott was curious.


    "Just..." she stopped there for a second. "Car trouble."


    "She looks familiar..."


    "She actually used to live in Beacon Hills. Maybe you saw her once." Allison fell silent, thinking about something.


    Scott put down the photo and reached for the rest of the contents of the box, pulling out more photographs and paintings.


    "Did you take all of these?"


    "Back when I thought I could be a photographer." she laughed. "I stopped when I realized I was terrible at it. The framing''s off, bad lighting." She took the pictures out of his hands. "That''s when I tried painting. Terrible at that too." She open another box, holding several journals. "That was the year of the attempt at poetry. Terrible doesn''t even come close to describe that."


    "What are you good at?" Scott asked, looking into her eyes, genuinely curious.


    "I''ll show you," she thought for a moment before adding. "If you promise not to laugh..."


    She led him into the garage, cluttered with even more boxes than her room. She turned on the light and led him past two sizable SUVs parked inside.


    "I used to enter tournaments. My Dad used to cheer me on, but I think I got bored. Promise you won''t laugh," she asked, leaning over some crates while the teenager looked around curiously, looking for something that might give him a clue to Stiles and Derek.


    "I promise," he said reflexively, and jumped back as he looked at the girl. She was aiming straight at him with a bow. "What the hell is that?"


    "It''s a compound bow," she explained with a smile. "And I"m pretty sure it requires an arrow to be harmful."


    "That''s what you''re good at? Archery?" Scott stated, and the air escaped him as the sight of the bow brought back unpleasant memories of the last full moon.


    "I was nationally ranked when I was competing. My Dad wanted me to keep going. He thought maybe I could go to the Olympics. But I just didn''t like it enough. And you said you wouldn''t laugh" she reminded reproachfully.


    "Trust me. I''m not laughing." as he finished saying these words, it became apparent that they carried even more weight than he had assumed. His gaze paused on the opposite wall of the garage, where there was a barred cupboard, and in it, as if on display, were a dusting of all sorts of machine guns and sniper rifles, as well as a few pistols and other weapons he hadn''t even tried to name. On one of the opaque doors inside was a logo with the name of the company: Argent Arms International.


    "Oh, I guess I should explain..." Allison frowned, seeing the look on his face clearly showing that the boy was in shock. "Don''t worry. We''re not some kind of separatist gun nut family. My dad sells firearms to law enforcement."


    "Oh. That"s... That''s good. Are you planning on joining the family business?" Scott asked, struggling to tear his gaze away from the chilling sight.


    "You tell me. Would I look hot with a gun?" She asked, flirtatiously smiling and wrapping her arms around him.


    "Hotter without," the teenager smiled, looking deeply into her eyes and kissing her.


    Unfortunately, this time too, they were interrupted by a sudden sound. The garage door opened with a creak and Allison pulled him with her, hiding behind one of the cars.


    The girl''s father entered the room, carrying a box of some sort in his hands. His sister''s voice came from inside the house.


    "Chris, don''t expect the women to do all the heavy lifting out here. Get your ass out of the fifties and come help with the groceries."


    Argent set the cardboard box down on a pile of other similar ones and announced that he was going. However, something caught his attention, causing him to step back and look around the garage. He leaned his hand against the car behind which the teenagers were hiding and looked straight at them, completely unsurprised.


    "You two mind helping?" The pair nodded their heads in agreement, which, seeing, the man smiled and headed towards the house. "Great."


    They had already finished unpacking the groceries from the car parked outside the house when Scott received another text message from a friend: "Derek not looking good". He sighed heavily, realising that he had not done his job. He looked helplessly at Allison. It was already getting dark. He had less and less time.


    "Do you want to keep studying?" He asked hopefully, avoiding her father''s gaze.


    "I think she''ll concentrate better on her own," came the cool reply from the man, who did not wait for his daughter to speak. " You, on your bike," he showed to the teenager his means of transport, then turned to the girl. "You. Inside."


    "Chris, really?" Kate approached them, spreading her arms in a gesture of disbelief. "They were making out in the garage. Not shooting amateur porn," she said, defiantly looking her brother in the eye, then put her hand on Scott''s shoulder and announced, smiling almost flirtatiously. "You, with the adorable brown eyes. Drop the bike. You''re staying for dinner."


    The older man measured all three of them with a cool gaze, but did not object. He waited until the women had disappeared into the house and turned back to the boy.


    "Do you like steak?" He asked, completely submitting to his commanding sister''s will.


    Scott merely nodded without uttering a word, feeling a huge weight fall from his chest. There was still a chance to find the bullet and save Derek. All was not lost.


    "You don''t mind?" the boy made sure, walking through the door.


    "Actually, no. It''ll give us a chance to get to know each other." the man smiled, but something about that smile sent shivers down Scott''s spine.


    The teenager was helping his girlfriend set the dining room table as her parents and aunt prepared dinner in the kitchen next door. His hands were shaking, and he had the feeling that it was his life hanging in the balance, not that of a familiar werewolf.


    "He doesn''t hate you, he''s just protective," Allison tried to reassure him.


    "He hates me."


    "I wouldn''t call it hate."


    "Intense dislike?" suggested Scott, smiling nervously as he spread napkins by the plates. He usually only ate with his mum in such a setting at Christmas. "Should I just not say anything?"


    "No, I want you to say stuff. Just don''t say anything stupid." she hung her head for a moment, then added cheerfully. "Not that you''re going to. Just be the amazingly charming, sweet guy you always are. Be yourself. He''ll like you if you''re confident."


    "Do I look confident?"


    "You will when you stop sweating," she handed him a handkerchief so he could wipe his drip-drenched forehead.


    "Oh God..." the boy could sense, from the change in her scent, that the girl was just as frightened as he was, though making a good face.


    They sat down at the table at last, in tense silence. At the head sat Chris Argent, as head of the house, having his sister on his left and Scott on his right. Next to the boy sat Allison, nervously sipping her water, and next to her, facing her husband, was the girl''s mum, Victoria. The teenager himself didn''t know which of the adults scared him the most. Was the cool but smiling man, following his every move like a bird of prey. Or the disturbingly sexy young aunt, throwing funny remarks around, clearly enjoying the restraint of everyone around her. Or perhaps, finally, the other woman, older, with short-cropped red hair and terrifying bright eyes that could turn him into a block of ice if he looked into them.


    "You want something to drink other than water, Scott?" the latter asked him, seeing that the teenager had held the glass to his lips a moment too long without swallowing.


    "We could get you a beer" prompted Mr Argent, raising his eyebrows to emphasise the question, at which his daughter looked at him quizzically. "Tequila?"


    "Dad!"


    "You don''t drink, Scott?" couldn''t believe the man, when the boy shook his head with negation.


    "I"m not old enough to."


    "That doesn''t seem to stop many teenagers." Victoria whined.


    "No, but it should," stated Scott, without thinking, finally a little more confident.


    "Good answer!" concluded Kate cheerfully. "Total lie, but well played, Scott. You may yet survive the night." She added, looking defiantly at her brother, who was doing his best to ignore her.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "You ever smoked pot?" fired the man, pointing at the boy with the knife he held in his hand, with which he had just been cutting meat.


    "Oh, please," laughed the blonde loudly. "Changing the channel to something a little less conservative... Allison says you''re on the lacrosse team. I don''t know much about it, I always more a basketball girl" she didn''t wait for a response and took her own advice, completely ignoring the abashed looks her niece''s parents exchanged between them. "How do you play?"


    "You know hockey. " Scott relaxed a little, smiling. "It''s kind of like that only on grass instead of ice."


    "Hockey on grass is called field hokey," Chris interjected, interrupting his food and throwing a defiant look at the teenager. Allison measured her father with an angry stare.


    "So It''s like field hokey except the sticks have nets," the girl explained, wanting to help the boy.


    Scott felt the phone in his pocket vibrate, but rejected the call, seeing that it was Stiles.


    "Can you slap check like hokey?" Kate inquired, clearly wanting to keep the conversation going, although it was hard to judge whether she wanted to help the teenager or spite her brother.


    "Yeah. But only the gloves or stick."


    "Sounds violent," Kate stated, puffing out her lips. "I like it."


    "Scott''s amazing too. Dad was at the first game with me. Wasn''t he good?" smiled Allison, grateful to her aunt for helping to blunt her father''s attacks.


    "He was fine," concluded Chris, clearly trying not to compliment the boy.


    "He scored the last shot. The winning shot" paired the girl, at which her aunt smiled, taking obvious pleasure in this confrontation.


    "True. But he didn''t score at all until the last few minutes."


    "His first shot ripped through the goalie''s net. It was incredible!"


    "I think the goalie probably had a defective stick. But yeah, Scott played well." Every sentence from his daughter, Chris had to comment.


    Allison took a sip of water and set the glass down with a clink, leaning back against the backrest. She couldn''t believe that her beloved dad could bring her into such disrepute in Scott''s eyes. The werewolf heard her heartbeat speed up rapidly and, after a moment''s hesitation, took her hand tucked under the table. It worked. The girl relaxed visibly.


    "You know... " broke the heavy silence of the teenager, at first uncertain, but then in a more cheerful tone. "On second thought, I''ll take that shot of tequila." he looked Argent straight in the eye, defiantly, expecting his reaction. He felt Allison''s fingers tighten on his hand and could almost see the smile blossoming on her face, even though he wasn''t looking at her.


    The adults froze, then all laughed quietly, understanding that the boy was joking. After a while, he managed to find an excuse to leave the table for a moment and call Stiles. The man, finally impatient, handed the receiver back to the wounded werewolf.


    "Did you find it?" came the question, asked in a recognisable but much weaker voice than usual.


    "How the hell am I supposed to find one bullet? They have a million. This house is the freaking Walmart of guns!"


    "You don''t find it, I"m dead."


    "I"m starting to think that wouldn''t be such a bad thing."


    "So think about this..." the werewolf''s voice was breaking down, and somewhere in the background Scott could hear the voices of Stiles and someone else, a woman. He guessed his friend had called the history teacher, whom he seemed to trust implicitly, for help.


    The werewolf, meanwhile, was explaining to Scott that without his help, he was sure the teenager would end up dead, as he didn''t stand a chance against the terrifying Alpha himself. The man didn''t even let him answer and hung up, leaving the distraught teenager in the middle of a hallway in the Werewolf Hunters" house with no idea what to do next.


    Scott''s gaze stopped on the door in front of him. It was protected by an electronic lock, which gave him hope that this was where he would find what he needed. So he grabbed the handle, but as soon as he pressed it a quiet buzzing sounded, indicating a working alarm.


    "You look like a lost puppy," he heard a quiet voice behind him and turned abruptly. In the hallway, leaning against the wall, stood Allisons" aunt, measuring him with sparkling light brown eyes.


    "Just trying to find the bathroom."


    "Bathroom?" She took a few steps towards him. The boy didn''t know whether to feel threatened or excited. The woman was definitely sending strange signals that he couldn''t read. "Does that look like a bathroom?" she pointed with her chin to the electronic lock on the door he had just wanted to open.


    "No... " they answered simultaneously.


    "Use the one in the guest room. " she pointed him to the room she occupied.


    Scott thanked her and entered the dark bedroom, turning on the light. The room was clearly no one''s permanent residence, perfectly neutral, in shades of beige and brown. He directed his steps immediately to the bathroom, but froze, sensing a strange smell in the air. He looked around and noticed a bag sticking out from under the bed, from which the smell was wafting. As he reached for it, the hair on his arms went astray and a sensation like electric sparks ran between his fingers. He undid the zip and spotted a black metal box between his clothes. As he opened it, he found it filled with clips, but his focus quickly shifted to a different box. This box, made of wood, had a lid adorned with an intricately engraved flower. He opened it. There were ten holes carved into the centre, in which the cartridges rested. One was missing. He grabbed another, leaving two holes now free. On contacting the skin with the cartridge, he felt his eyes glow gold. He knew he had found what he had come for.


    He hastily put everything together exactly as it was before he moved anything, only putting the cartridge deep into his pocket. He spotted the inscription still on the wooden wrapping: "Aconit Napel Bleu Nordique", which he translated with his phone and sent to his friend. Maybe the name itself would be useful, too. Before he left the room, he jumped quickly into the bathroom to flush and wash his hands for the sake of appearances.


    He returned to the dining room but did not sit down at the table, full of anxiety, declaring that he should go home by now and thanking them for dinner.


    "Oh no!" objected Kate. "Stay for dessert. I want to hear more about you. Sit down"" she pointed to the boy''s chair, not expecting resistance. The boy agreed, intimidated by her commanding attitude.


    "Allison was saying you work for a veterinarian" the girl''s mum was clearly trying to hide the tension, the remnants of which could still be felt in the room.


    "I told them how you put the cast on the dog I hit," the teenager elaborated when Scott sensed his phone vibrating urgently.


    "What''s your boss think of the animal attacks? Any theories?" Chris got curious.


    "Everybody''s saying mountain lion."


    "That would have to be a pretty large mountain lion" snorted the blonde at this statement, bringing a smile to Victoria''s face with her words as well.


    "What do you think, Scott?" asked the redhead.


    "I wouldn''t really know. We get mostly dogs and cats at the clinic. Nothing that vicious."


    "Never had to deal with a rabid dog?" asked Argent, looking up at the ceiling, as if searching it for the patience he was running out of. Scott shook his head in denial."I grew up wiht a lot of dogs. I saw one get rabies from a bat. It was transferred through the bite. Sad, but kind of fascinating. People think a rabid dog just suddenly goes mad. It''s actually a lot more gradual." he explained, thus weighing down the mood at the table.


    His daughter stopped smiling, listening intently, with her head bowed.


    "The first stage is subtle changes in behavior. They''re restless, morose. It''s the second stage that everyone knows. The "furious phase". That''s when they attack. And we''re talking any moving object. Did you know a caged, rabid dog will break its own teeth trying to chew through the bars? It''ll even rear back and snap its own spine. Can you imagine the amount of force it takes to do that?" he said each word slowly and carefully, staring into the teenager''s face. There was no shadow of any emotion in his cold grey eyes. They seemed dead. "It''s a complete character reversal. This harmless animal turns into a perfectly vicious killer. And it all starts with one bite."


    The boy tore his gaze away from the man and looked around. Kate, who was sitting opposite him, seemed to struggle to hold back a smile of joy at hearing the story.


    "But it died, didn''t it?" interrupted Allison, quietly.


    "Yeah, well," replied her mother. "Your grandfather shot it."


    "Because he wanted to put it out of its misery," explained the teenager to herself.


    "Because it was too dangerous," corrected her father. "Something that out of control is better off dead."


    Scott swallowed his saliva loudly, wondering if he could have betrayed himself with anything? Did the Argents know he had been bitten? Did they think he was a rabid dog? His heart was palpitating in his chest, trying to leap onto the table. His hands were sweating, but with all his willpower he tried to remain calm, concentrating on the steady heartbeat of Allison, who was sitting right next to him.


    Fortunately, it didn''t take them long to eat their dessert. Allison fetched his backpack from her room and escorted him to the door.


    "I"m incredibly sorry for that being the worst, most horribly awkward dinner ever in the history of horribly awkward dinners," said the girl.


    "It wasn''t the worst. There was the dinner where my parents told me they were getting divorced."" he sang out, trying to make her laugh." This is a close second."


    Allison pulled him close, wanting to kiss him. But the boy noticed they were being closely watched the whole time by the girl''s father, sipping whisky. This did not discourage her, however, and she kissed him on the lips. Kate interrupted the moment, approaching them with a brisk step.


    "One second, guys. I have to ask Scott something," she stammered for a moment, shoving her hands in the back pockets of her trousers and looking at the teenager intently. "What did you take from my bag?"


    The boy became confused, flooded with a wave of fear.


    "You need me to repeat my question or ennunciate any more clearly?" she inquired as her brother, interested in the confusion, joined her. "My bag was open in the guest roo. It was zipped shut when I left it," she explained. "Scott came in to use the bathroom. He left. My bag was open."


    "He didn''t take anything... " groaned Allison, and her cheeks turned scarlet.


    "SOMETHING was taken from my bag" her aunt insisted."And I hate to be the accuser, Scott, because I do like those adorable brown eyes. I don;t know if you''re a klepto, curious, or just stupid, but answer the question. WHAT DID YOU TAKE?"


    "Nothing, I swear " the boy was sure he''d left everything exactly as he''d found it, but he could feel himself sweating. He couldn''t think of any explanation for the bullet he had just clenched in a fist pressed deep into his trouser pocket.


    "You don''t mind proving it, do you?" Kate looked at him with cold eyes, completely calm, like a predator on its prey.


    "Are you serious?" Allison became indignant.


    "How about you show us what''s in your pockets?" offered the blonde, her brother looking at her closely but not saying a word, even at her daughter''s request. "Come on, Scott, prove me wrong."


    "I''ll prove you wrong. " Allison couldn''t stand the tension and raised her hands in a gesture of surrender, directing the attention of everyone gathered in the corridor to herself. "It wasn''t Scott going through your bag. It was me." Everyone looked at her, shocked. Their surprise deepened further when the girl pulled a wrapped condom from her pocket and proudly presented everyone with the silverware rustling in her hand. Scott glanced at her, then restrainedly turned his face back to the front door to avoid looking at the adults.


    Kate bit her lip, completely taken aback, and Chris turned pale with rage. They looked at each other, then wordlessly let the boy leave.


    ??


    During the somber gathering at the bus driver''s funeral, Charlotte listened intently to the whispered conversations of his friends, piecing together fragments of his past. The revelation that the late driver had once been an insurance investigator caught her off guard. Once home, she wasted no time in calling her cousin Luise, hoping for any scrap of relevant information. To her relief, Luise recalled that Mr. Meyers had been investigating a fire at the Hale house.


    No sooner had she ended the call than the phone in her hand rang again. The unfamiliar number displayed made her hesitate, but curiosity got the better of her. Stiles'' voice, laced with panic, resonated through the receiver, sending a shiver down her spine.


    "Mrs. Benoit... I need help. I have an injured werewolf in my car..."


    "Scott... What''s wrong with him? Where are you guys?"


    "No, it''s not Scott. It''s Derek. Scott is trying to find a cure at the Argents. We don''t know what to do, and I thought maybe..."


    "Come get me!" she commanded, her voice betraying her fear. She barely composed herself before stepping outside, where Stiles'' blue Jeep awaited her. She approached it, hearing the tense exchange of words inside.


    "Are you dying?" Stiles asked nervously.


    "Not yet," Derek replied, his sweat-soaked skin reflecting his anxiety. "I have a last resort."


    "What do you mean? What last resort?" Ignoring Stiles, Charlotte flung open the driver''s door, maneuvering past him to reach the back seat.


    As she assessed Derek''s condition, her horror grew when she saw the gaping wound in his forearm, the inflamed edges emitting black veins.


    "Oh, my god..." The sight made Stiles feel queasy, and his face turned green. "Is that contagious? Maybe you should just get out?"


    "Start the car," Derek sighed heavily, his tiredness weighing down each word. "Now."


    "I don''t think you should be giving orders looking like that," Stiles retorted indignantly. "In fact, I think if I wanted to, I could probably drag your werewolf ass out to the middle of the road and leave you for dead."


    Charlotte''s gaze towards Stiles was a mixture of admiration and empathy. Despite his condition, Derek''s dangerous nature remained unchanged.


    "Start the car," Derek snarled, his voice laced with menace, "or I''m going to rip your throat out with my teeth."


    There was a palpable tension in the air before Stiles, almost incredulous, turned the key in the ignition.


    As dusk settled, they drove aimlessly, avoiding both the burnt house and Charlotte''s home. Derek was adamant about keeping their acquaintance a secret, and though it hurt, Charlotte understood. Their focus now was on finding way to save him.


    Stiles finally succeeded in reaching Scott, his heart pounding with anticipation.


    "What am I supposed to do with him?" Stiles asked his friend.


    "Take him somewhere, anywhere..."


    "By the way, he''s starting to smell," Stiles noted, his attempt at humor failing to lighten the mood.


    "Like what?" Scott''s voice echoed through the phone, filled with curiosity.


    "Like death," as the word was spoken, the witch realised it was real. A palpable heaviness hung in the air, accompanied by a putrid odor that filled her nostrils. The stench was unmistakable - a somber reminder that the infection was relentlessly advancing, consuming her lover''s weakened body.


    "Okay. Take him to the animal clinic."


    "What about your boss?"


    "He''s gone. There''s a spare key in a box behind the dumpster."


    "You''re not going to believe where he''s telling me to take you," Stiles sighed, handing the phone to Derek.


    "Well, werewolves aren''t that far from dogs anyway," Charlotte muttered from the back seat, eliciting a faint smile from Stiles.


    Derek, meanwhile, was discussing with Scott. "The Alpha called you out against your will. He''s going to do it again. And next time you either kill with him or you get killed. You need me. Find the bullet." He ended the call and handed the phone back to Stiles, who started the car again.


    "Alpha called Scott? Why don''t I know anything about this?" Charlotte demanded, trying to maintain appearances. Stiles attempted to explain, but their arrival at the clinic interrupted him.


    Inside the dimly lit room, Charlotte delicately eased Derek out of his shirt, unveiling the ghastly sight of his deteriorating wound. As Stiles anxiously attempted to reach Scott once more, he couldn''t help but notice the uncanny familiarity that resonated between the two adults. A strange intuition began to take hold of him, intensifying his suspicion. The air was heavy with tension, the sound of their quiet movements reverberating in the room. Stiles couldn''t shake the unsettling feeling as he observed the teacher''s adeptness in undressing the werewolf, surpassing the ease with which a teenager would undress themselves.


    "I should be healed by now..." Derek wheezed, his breaths coming in short, labored gasps, as he searched through the cabinets.


    "Does Blue Nordic monkshood mean anything to you?" Stiles asked, eyes on his phone.


    "It''s a rare variety of Wolfsbane. He has to bring me the bullet." The werewolf measured the boy with his eyes, while the witch herself was also looking for something in the drawers. She furrowed her eyebrows as she spotted several jars in one of the drawers with familiar contents that vets were unlikely to use.


    "Why?"


    "Because without it, I''m dead."


    The wound grew increasingly severe. The skin surrounding the bullet hole became progressively more inflamed, emitting a fiery heat that intensified with each passing moment. Derek''s breaths grew labored, each inhalation and exhalation requiring more effort than the last.


    "Well, that doesn''t look like anything some Echinacea and a good night''s sleep couldn''t fix," Stiles joked, looking away from the wound.


    "When the infection reaches my heart, it''ll kill me," Derek explained.


    "Positivity just isn''t in your vocabulary, is it?" Fed up with the growing fear, Charlotte snapped, her voice filled with frustration. Closing the drawer, she couldn''t help but wonder about its strange contents, but she had to focus on the immediate problem at hand.


    "If he doesn''t get here with the bullet in time... last resort."


    "Which is?" Stiles asked.


    "Last resort." Derek raised an automatic saw for amputating animal limbs in his hand, causing the boy to become speechless. His body frozen in place, he stood at the metal table, his mouth the only part of him in motion, flapping like a fish out of water.


    The witch rolled her eyes when she heard the exchange of words between the two, the man had a visible tendency to be dramatic. She pushed past the werewolf towards the table, pulling him behind her. She directed Stiles'' hands on Derek''s arm and had him hold it firmly.


    "We need to remove the bullet first. It''s what''s poisoning the body," she explained, lifting the curved pliers in her hand. "It won''t be the most pleasant experience. Clench your teeth."


    Without warning or undue hesitation, she inserted the sharp tip of the tool into the gaping wound, feeling a cold shiver crawl up her spine. As she rotated it, searching for any resistance, a faint metallic scent filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of aconite. The tissue fought against her, constantly attempting to heal around the wound, but she persevered. With a firm grip on the jagged metal shard, she pulled with all her strength, causing a slight crunching sound that made the younger man''s face turn pale and the older man grit his teeth, suppressing a pained cry. A fresh surge of blood cascaded onto the tabletop, creating a macabre blend of black and red. Witnessing this gruesome sight, Charlie swiftly reached for a tourniquet, tightly securing it above the werewolf''s elbow, feeling the tension in the air as they battled against time.


    The procedure definitely didn''t appease Derek, who moved the saw towards Stiles. The man squeezed the trigger of the device, and when it made its distinctive sound, he put it down on the countertop in disgust.


    "Oh my god... What if you bleed out?"


    "It''ll heal. If it works." Derek said, his voice barely audible as his strength waned.


    "But your arm won''t grow back..." witch''s concern deepened.


    "I don''t know if I can do it..." As the room fell silent, Stiles began, capturing everyone''s attention.


    "Why not?" Derek growled.


    "Because of the cutting through flesh, the sawing of bone, and especially the blood."


    "You faint at the sight of blood?" Charlotte asked incredulously.


    "No, but I might at the sight of a chopped-off arm..."


    "How about this: either you cut off my arm, or I rip off your head."


    "I''m not buiyng your threats anymore." Before the boy could finish, Derek grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him back over the table. "Okay, bought, sold, I''ll do it, I''ll do it."


    Before the werewolf had a chance to release the boy, he hunched forward on the edge of the tabletop, convulsing violently as a guttural retching sound pierced the air. Thick, inky black blood gushed forth from his mouth, the nauseating stench of iron and decay filling the room.


    "Holly god, what the hell is that?"


    "My body... trying... to heal" the man explained with a gasp.


    "It''s not doing a very good job," commented Charlie, her voice filled with concern, as she cautiously examined the wound. The pulsating veins were increasingly prominent, snaking their way above the tightly tied tourniquet.


    "Now... You have to do this now." The werewolf was struggling to lift his head.


    "Seriously, I can''t do it..." Stiles started to pull away.


    "Just do it!" Derek shouted, collapsing onto the metal table.


    "Okay, okay..." Stiles took the saw in his hand and applied it slowly to the man''s arm, trying it on. Charlotte watched anxiously, grabbing Derek''s shoulders to hold him down in case he should lash out. "Okay... Let''s go!" shouted Stiles, the moment the front door of the clinic slammed, and they heard Scott''s voice from afar.


    "Stiles!" the teenager ran into the treatment room and swept the scene with his eyes. "What the hell are you doing?"


    "You just prevented a lifetime of nightmares" sighed Stiles, dismissing the device from himself.


    "Did you get it?" Charlie asked and immediately snatched the cartridge from the teenager''s hands. She separated the casing from the bullet with a scalpel and spilled the contents onto a small piece of countertop that wasn''t stained with blood.


    Derek, in the meantime, had managed to lose consciousness, falling to the floor. Scott rushed over to him, to see if the injured man was still alive, it seemed so, but just barely.


    Charlotte carefully reached into her trouser pocket, retrieving a sleek silver lighter. As she flicked it open, a small flame danced to life, casting a warm glow in the dimly lit room. The gunpowder-infused powder ignited instantly, unleashing a fierce blaze that crackled and roared. The acrid scent of burnt herbs mingled with the slightly bluish smoke, permeating the air and tickling the senses.


    With a determined focus, Charlotte cupped her hand, collecting the smoldering ashes. She lowered herself into a crouched position beside the patient, her movements deliberate and calculated. Countless healing spells raced through her mind, a whirlwind of possibilities, each requiring extensive preparation.


    Gently, she pressed her hand against the bullet hole, where moments earlier she had removed its deadly contents. The ashes, now spread across the wound, clung to her skin. As she continued her ministrations, her index finger delved deeper, sinking into the wound until it reached the base of her nail. A shudder of revulsion rippled through both boys, their eyes locked on her every move, their discomfort palpable.


    Derek''s eyelids fluttered open as the procedure jolted him awake. A pungent smell of burnt flesh filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. A sharp hiss escaped his lips, a mixture of a shriek and a growl, as his body contorted in a violent spasm of agony. The room seemed to blur as tears welled up in his eyes.


    But then, a glimmer of hope emerged. The pulsating veins, once a vivid sign of infection, gradually faded into the background, like a waning storm. The wound itself seemed to exhale wisps of smoke, as if releasing the remnants of its torment. And then, as if guided by some unseen force, the bullet hole sealed shut, like an invisible hand stitching up the fabric of his flesh. It was a miraculous sight, as if magic itself had intervened to heal him.


    "That. Was. Awesome. Yes!" exclaimed Stiles, shaking off the shock.


    Derek lifted himself from the floor with difficulty, enlisting Charlotte''s help, resting most of his own weight on her.


    "Are you okay?" Scott asked, trying to take the burden from his teacher.


    "Except for the agonizing pain." Derek replied with a scowl on his face, dripping with irony.


    "I''m guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a sign of good health," commented the sheriff''s son, but fell instantly silent as the werewolf''s gaze lingered on him.


    "We saved your life. That means you''re going to leave us alone. You got that?" Scott seemed very agitated. The witch wondered what had actually happened between the two werewolves. "And if you don''t I go back to Allison''s dad and tell him everything..." he threatened.


    "You''re going to trust them? You think they can help you?" Derek asked in disbelief.


    "Why not? They''re a lot freaking nicer than you are."


    "I can show you exactly how nice they are," replied Derek, and in his eyes Charlie saw a dangerous glint. She knew exactly where the werewolf wanted to take the boy. She had been there herself recently, investigating the lead, the Long Term Care Unit.


    Stiles drive them to her car, so she offered to drive the werewolves to their destination. The lean boy took his friend''s bike and decided he''d had enough excitement for tonight, so he said goodbye and left them in her driveway. Charlotte thanked herself in spirit for her forethought and leaving the black Camaro in a locked garage so that Scott couldn''t realise the other werewolf had ever been to her place.


    She drove them to the hospital and waited in the car park, having no desire to run into the now familiar, not very friendly staff.


    The man led the teenager through the deserted corridors of the hospital, looking around to see if anyone saw them. When they reached the room marked 137, he pushed the boy into the room and quietly closed the door behind them. The room was bathed in moonlight pouring in through a large window on one of the walls. Only after a moment did Scott realise they were not alone in the room. A man was sitting in a wheelchair, facing the window, completely oblivious to them.


    The boy could not see his face, only his arms resting inertly against the back of the chair and his hands resting gently on the armrests. As he approached, he saw that the man was unresponsive, staring dead ahead, unable to see what he was looking at.


    Derek stood in front of the man, looking at him with his jaw clenched tightly, anger bubbling from his stance.


    "Who is he?" asked the teenager quietly, still studying the profile of the catatonic man. There was something familiar about him, perhaps the outline of a nose, or the shape of a forehead, but the boy couldn''t pinpoint it until he looked at his companion.


    "My uncle, Peter Hale," the werewolf struggled to say the words, and it all became clear to Scott. They both had a similar profile, although the darkness made an exact comparison difficult.


    "Is he... Like you? A werewolf?"


    "He was. Now he''s barely even human," Derek stated, his face once again nailed into a mask of indifference. "Six years ago, my sister and I were at school when our house caught fires. Eleven people were trapped inside. He was the only survivor..."


    The werewolf really didn''t want to tell the kid about it, however, he knew he had to. The witch had almost forced him to promise to do so when they were working out a plan to help the boy. She was right, if he wanted to gain Scott''s trust, he had to trust him at least a little bit himself and share the story, especially since Stiles would surely discover all the details himself soon enough, or at least that''s what Charlie claimed.


    "How are you so sure they set the fire?" asked the teenager, piecing together the facts with disbelief. If it wasn''t the Argents, the werewolf certainly wouldn''t have brought him here.


    "They''re the only ones who knew about us," he measured the kid with a glance, he had better proof, but he would not tell anyone about it. He wouldn''t tell Laura, nor would he tell the witch or some puppy, it was a burden he had to carry himself.


    "Then they had a reason." Scott attempted to explain something, but it''s unclear if he was explaining it to himself or to someone else.


    "Like what?" Asked Derek in disbelief, grabbing the chair where his uncle was sitting and turning it so that the boy finally saw the whole situation.


    Peter''s head rolled limply onto his shoulder, illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight that caressed the right side of his face, previously concealed from the boy''s gaze. Startled, the teenager cautiously approached, his senses heightened by the unexpected sight of a burn scar. The scar distorted the contour of Peter''s head and altered the shape of his ear, as if frozen in an eternal state of disfigurement. The absence of hair above the scar exposed the raw, burnt skin, a reminder of the unyielding flames that had ravaged his flesh. Astonishingly, Peter still possessed both of his eyes, their depths reflecting a miraculous resilience. Tracing a path down his neck, the marks vanished beneath his hospital shirt, only to resurface on his right hand, a haunting testament to his painful journey.


    "What justifies this?" the man waited a moment so that the teenager had time to realise what he was actually seeing, then took up: "They say they''ll only kill an adult and only with absolute proof. But there were members of my family who were perfectly ordinary in that fire. This is what they do. It''s what Allison will do."


    They both stiffened, sensing that something had changed. The door to the room creaked open and in stood a nurse in a white gown and tightly braided hair of a slightly lighter shade than Charlotte''s hair. Her name badge proclaimed her name was Jennifer.


    "What are you doing here? How did you get in here?" Her voice was annoying, too high-pitched and a little squawky. She was about to reach for the button, summoning security, but froze in mid-motion, looking at the older werewolf''s face, which she spotted in the moonlight. "Wait... Are you a relative?"


    Derek didn''t answer, dodging her in the doorway. Scott followed, not knowing what else to do. The woman led them away with a curious look, then entered the room they had just left.


    As the two werewolves walked back to the witch''s car, Scott was silent almost the entire way to his house, trying to digest the sight that Peter Hale was presenting. Charlotte couldn''t bear the tense silence that fell between them.


    "Scott, go home, go to bed. It''s been an adventurous day. This one here," she pointed to Derek. "I''ll drive him home too, and everyone will have time to calm down and think. There''s no point in deciding in the state you''re both in."


    As the boy disappeared into his house and her Chevelle had already covered a few blocks, the werewolf sitting next to her finally broke the silence.


    "How is it that you always arrange your words so that they are not lies?"


    "Years of practice," she replied immediately. "But I''m surprised Scott hasn''t figured out yet that you''re staying with me.... Shouldn''t he smell it or something?"


    "He doesn''t know how to take full advantage of his senses yet," Derek explained. "But don''t imagine I don''t know that you can somehow control your scent..."


    She looked at him puzzled. She knew she could temporarily hide her presence from others, but the spell she was using was more of an illusion.


    The werewolf, seeing her questioning look, elaborated: "I''m the one who smells of you more than the other way around. Which could be explained by the fact that I live with you, if it actually only worked that way."


    "I don''t understand. Then how does it work? Don''t tell me that the scent of werewolves somehow transfers differently..."


    "Not in werewolves, in lovers" he fell silent. They never defined exactly what word they should use when talking about what was between them. "The male always leaves a stronger mark than the female. The male marks the female, thus giving a sign to possible rivals."


    "So you''ve marked me as your property?" she raised an eyebrow, parking the car in the driveway. "Does that mean all the guys in the neighbourhood will subconsciously avoid me for fear of messing up with the big, bad werewolf?" she laughed, trying to trivialise the strange tightness in her stomach she felt.


    He didn''t answer her, getting out of the car and starting for home, dragging her behind him.


    As soon as the front door slammed behind them, Derek pressed Charlotte against the wall, his lips crashing into hers with a fierce, urgent hunger. Reflexively, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hoisted herself up, standing on tiptoes to deepen their kiss.


    With a passionate and forceful motion, he removed her shirt, causing a cascade of tender kisses to rain down upon her shoulders and exposed cleavage. The absence of a bra revealed her petite, porcelain-white breasts, igniting a visceral reaction within him. As he captured one of her delicate nipples between his lips, he applied a gentle nibble, coaxing a pleasurable moan to escape her lips. The sensation of her fingers entwining in his hair, tugging and tousling, served as a delightful sign of her satisfaction.


    Her delicate hand tightly clasped his forearm, yearning to direct it towards the place where she longed for his caress the most. However, her movement abruptly halted as she sensed the viscous texture beneath her fingertips. A shiver ran down her spine as she realized that his hand remained coated in a mixture of dark, crimson blood that had not yet congealed.


    With a heavy sigh, she pushed him away. She picked up their shirts from the floor, wondering when his had joined hers there. Noticing both were dirty and tattered, she sighed again, heading toward the kitchen. She threw the shirts into the sink and turned on the cold water.


    Derek followed her, never leaving her side. When she stopped, he encircled her waist with his arms and placed a kiss on the back of her neck. She grasped his injured hand, wiping the blood off it with one of the wet shirts.


    "Come on... A little blood doesn''t bother you..." His quiet voice murmured in her ear.


    "It doesn''t bother the Lurker, but it does me." She turned to face him, leaning against the countertop. His eyes immediately dropped to her exposed chest, her nipples swollen and pink from the cool air, begging for his attention. Yet, she seemed oblivious to her nakedness.


    "I don''t want to lose control every time you''re near me. The smell of blood complicates things," she said, finally meeting his gaze.


    His pupils were dilated with arousal, fully displaying his desire. She wanted to succumb to the passion, as she had so many times before, but something held her back. Her efforts to regulate her emotions proved challenging as the ominous tendrils of her inner turmoil coiled around her, menacingly testing her resolve.


    She didn''t have the strength to fight it that evening, so she decided she would try another time. So she let the Darkness take over, and her eyes glowed an unnatural green. The air was filled with a scent that Derek already associated only with them, together, entwined in a passionate embrace. He, too, allowed himself to loosen the leash on which he always kept his wolf. The flash of blue in his irises made the Darkness in her boil. They threw themselves at each other like hungry animals.


    In a matter of seconds, they shed their clothes and Derek''s back crashed against the floor as Charlie positioned herself on top of him. She didn''t hesitate or prepare for a single moment before accepting him into her. She was hot and wet, and he groaned in delight.


    For a moment, he wondered what it would be like if he were Alpha and his need to dominate was stronger. Would they fight for dominance every time? Could they be together like this? Would it turn into a fight to the death, with blood and flesh wounds? He found that at the moment he didn''t give a damn. He was completely at the mercy of the Witch and the Darkness within her, and he liked it. Probably a little too much.


    He gripped her hips in his hands to steady her movements, chaotic and passionate, both of them panting hard. He watched with pleasure as her hair rippled around her body, lifted by an invisible wind, her white skin adorned with freckles and tattoos covered in droplets of sweat slowly trickling down, drenching his own body.


    He knew he wouldn''t last long that day. The pain he had experienced and the adrenaline that was still coursing through his veins had put him over the edge. She didn''t seem to mind. He could see by the pretty curl of her lips and the frown of her brows that she didn''t need much anymore, either. And he was right. Coming, he clenched his fingers tighter on her hips, almost howling with pleasure, like a wolf to the moon, when he heard her scream filled with ecstasy. She fell hard against him, pressing her breasts against his chest. Her head was near his ear, and he could feel her lips whispering some words, but even his sensitive wolf''s senses could not hear what exactly the woman was saying. After a moment, she fell silent, and he felt her lips form a smile.


    "Let''s move to somewhere more comfortable and warmer, hm?"


    ??


    Meanwhile, in the Argents'' living room, a war council was in session. Though it comprised only Kate and Chris, the gravity of the meeting was palpable.


    "The one that attacked me was big. Broad shoulders, strong. The one I shot, though, was lean and quick," Kate recounted, her fingers idly toying with a matchstick that chimed as it moved.


    "That would be Derek Hale," Chris said, his gaze tracking his sister as she paced.


    "Are you certain?" She flicked the match in her hands, a habit that hinted at her restlessness.


    "Mostly," Chris replied, taking a measured sip of his whiskey, his expression unyielding.


    "And we''re sure it''s just the two of them?"


    "Not yet. But if Derek''s alive, he''ll lead us to the Alpha," he noted, watching as she turned off the gas in the fireplace.


    "Take down the pack leader, and the rest will follow," she said with a dangerous glint in her eyes, rising with an almost morbid enthusiasm.


    "And we do it by the code," Chris reminded her, his tone stern.


    "You and your code," she laughed, a touch mockingly.


    "It''s there for a reason," he said seriously.


    "Of course..." she murmured, lighting the match and watching the flame flicker for a moment. The faint smell of gas reached her nose before she threw the lit match into the fireplace, triggering a controlled explosion. "I always play by the rules," she declared, winking at her brother before striding out, leaving him to his contemplations.


    Moments later, the living room door swung open, and there stood Victoria, her posture rigid and her gaze cold.


    "We''re supposed to attend a meeting at the school on Monday. Allison just gave me her grades spreadsheet. Do you know who her history teacher is?" she asked, seating herself beside her husband and handing him a piece of paper.


    Chris scanned the page quickly, his brows furrowing at the sight of his daughter''s less-than-stellar grades. His attention stopped at one name - Charlotte Benoit. His face turned into a mask of concern. He looked at Victoria, his blue eyes filled with a mix of dread and determination. He knew they now faced a more intricate challenge.


    "It might not be her," he whispered, hoping against hope that it was a coincidence. "We don''t need to tell him until we''re sure. Maybe it''s just a coincidence..." His attempt to reassure himself fell flat, as he didn''t believe in coincidences. However, his words calmed Victoria, who nodded and left to prepare for bed.


    Chris rubbed his tired face and poured himself another whiskey. He needed a plan to prevent Kate from discovering there was a Witch in Beacon Hills. If she did, bloodshed was inevitable, far beyond what the Code could handle. He had to delay the inevitable, to save as many lives as he could before his father''s arrival turned everything to rubble.

 1.5 The Tell

    January 29th, 2011 - Saturday


    An unwelcome chill roused him from sleep, one he hadn''t felt in some time. The cold emptiness of the bed where he now lay alone gnawed at him, a sharp reminder of last night''s resolution. He growled, irritated with himself, cursing the thought of the conversation he had promised to have. He had no desire for it, none whatsoever. Briefly, he toyed with the idea of fabricating an argument¡ªsome petty conflict that might justify severing his connection with the witch. Yet, no plausible excuse presented itself. Moreover, he found no enthusiasm for returning to the old, charred remains of a house that still bore the weight of tragedy from long ago. He''d spent enough days there already, sifting through the ashes of a dead past, hoping for some scrap of a clue while Charlotte busied herself with work.


    He cast a glance at the alarm clock on the opposite side of the bed. It was past ten, a time he was unaccustomed to seeing from this side of sleep. But it was evident that his body had demanded the extra rest, and he wasn''t inclined to fight it. Procrastination took hold as he tried to delay the inevitable. Would it be such a catastrophe to put off his decision for just one more day? He concluded it wouldn''t. After all, the witch had saved his life only yesterday¡ªhe could afford her one more day before they parted ways.


    With a reluctant sigh, he got out of bed, dressed, and let the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee guide him to the kitchen. He found Charlie in the kitchen, curled in an awkward but oddly endearing position. One leg was folded beneath her, while the other was drawn up to her chin, which rested lazily against her knee. In one hand, she held a book, and with the other holding a fork, she tried to turn the page. Her hair, swept into a messy bun atop her head, evoked a memory of his younger sister, Cora, who used to attempt combing her own hair before school with similarly disastrous results.


    The witch, dressed in loose tracksuit bottoms and a matching tank top, sparked an unexpected warmth in his chest that made his breath catch for a moment. He stood in the doorway, unnoticed, momentarily confused about why he had ever wanted to distance himself from her. A peculiar sensation crept over him¡ªan instinct that told him she was dangerous, untrustworthy, and altogether indifferent to him. But in that instant, he knew the truth: she wasn''t indifferent. And that, above all, was what made her dangerous.


    Her green eyes flicked up from the book, thoughtful, as if she had only just registered his presence. A moment later, her face lit up with a bright, genuine smile that seemed to warm the entire room. At that very moment, her scent reached him¡ªa heady mixture of fresh coffee, citrus, and something else. Something she called "Darkness," but he knew it was simply a part of her being, a force woven into her very essence.


    "Coffee in the pot, scrambled eggs in the pan," she said casually before returning her attention to the book.


    Taking a seat opposite her, his breakfast in hand, he found himself scrutinizing the cover of her book. Violence Against Minors: Legal Aspects¨CWhat a Teacher Can Do. It was an unusual choice, especially for a witch. It veered far from any subject related to magic or the arcane, but considering her position as a school employee, it made some sense.


    "What are your plans for today?" she asked, pulling him from his thoughts. She had felt his gaze lingering on her since he entered the kitchen, and it had made her uneasy. He''d been unusually quiet, even by his own standards. A flicker of worry crossed her mind, wondering if he was still feeling the effects of yesterday''s ordeal, or perhaps their rather intimate night that followed.


    "Would it bother you if I just rested?" he replied, choosing his words carefully, as if uncertain of how they might land.


    "Of course not, though I suspect you''ll be bored stiff," she said with a slight grin. "I have a parent-teacher meeting on Monday and need to prepare for it. Most of them will meet me for the first time, and I''d like to make a decent impression... but if you want, I could help you find something interesting to read. Or maybe we could rent a movie for later?" she suggested, her words spilling out in a nervous rush.


    "That sounds like a good idea..." he said, immediately regretting it. He had the sinking feeling that he had just made a colossal mistake. A day with a book was manageable¡ªhe did like to read, after all. But a movie night? That was something else entirely, especially as he wrestled with thoughts of how to bring their acquaintance to an end. "Just... please don''t¡ª"


    "I think horror is overkill, but how about Star Wars?" she interrupted, her face lighting up with excitement at the idea of visiting the video store. "Have you seen Star Wars? If you like it, we could do a whole marathon. I actually remember the premiere..." She trailed off, laughing at the expression on his face¡ªcaught somewhere between relief and abject terror. "Let me guess: you were worried I''d suggest a romantic comedy, and now you''re horrified at how much of a nerd I am."


    She was right. He was horrified. But the reason was altogether different.


    ***


    That evening, as they had planned, Charlie made her way to the video rental shop. She had opted to handle the task herself, sensing that Derek might have no idea where to begin looking for Star Wars amidst the rows of shelves. It was late, the car park nearly deserted, save for two cars: an old, battered vehicle that likely belonged to the store''s salesman, and a shiny new Volkswagen Beetle, which she had seen before in the school parking lot. As she passed by, she caught a glimpse of Lydia Martin sitting inside, posing for selfies with various practiced expressions. Charlie rolled her eyes at the sight and pushed open the door to the shop.


    Inside, the fluorescent lights were flickering, casting a dim, erratic glow over the store. One of the tubes had probably burned out. Among the aisles, she spotted Jackson Whittemore, the lacrosse team captain, whose shoulder Scott had injured during the last practice she had watched. He was wandering aimlessly between shelves, visibly frustrated.


    "Can somebody help me find The Notebook?" Jackson called out to the empty space, his voice tinged with irritation.


    Charlie stifled a quiet laugh. It was obvious to her that Lydia had chosen the film, much to Jackson''s displeasure. He had likely hoped for something with a bit more action¡ªperhaps a sports film or at least a thriller. As he scanned the store for a salesman, his eyes fell on her, but he quickly decided to ignore her presence. Socializing with a teacher was the last thing on his mind.


    "Hello? Anybody working here? Anybody at all?" Jackson''s exasperated tone reverberated through the shop, and Charlie couldn''t help but agree. She, too, had been searching for an employee for some time, having already picked out the movies she needed. In the distance, a phone rang behind the unattended counter, unanswered. "This has to be some kind of joke..."


    Jackson ventured deeper into the store, his movements becoming more restless. Charlie followed his gaze as she approached, her eyes narrowing when she saw a pair of feet sticking out from behind one of the record racks. It seemed like someone had been attempting to fix the flickering light, as there was a ladder propped up nearby. Her first thought was that the man had fallen while working. She moved toward him, Jackson trailing behind her. But as they reached the figure, both of them froze.


    The salesman lay sprawled on the ground, his throat brutally slashed, a pool of blood spreading like a macabre painting beneath him. His eyes were wide open, frozen in an expression of pure terror that death had failed to erase.


    Jackson reacted instinctively, grabbing her arm and yanking her backward with such force that he knocked over the ladder. The lamp crashed to the ground, snapping the cord. Sparks shot out, and the remaining lights flickered wildly, casting the store into a chaotic strobe of shadow and light. Charlotte''s instincts flared to life, sensing a presence beyond them. She turned quickly, her body tense as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Jackson, breathing heavily, mirrored her movement, equally on edge.


    In the darkness, a pair of blood-red eyes gleamed, staring at them with a predatory hunger that sent a chill down her spine. Jackson tugged at her again, pulling them both behind a nearby bookcase in a desperate attempt to hide from whatever beast was lurking in the shadows. He couldn''t identify what it was, but Charlie didn''t need to wonder. She knew exactly what kind of creature they were dealing with.


    Pulling out her phone with trembling hands, she quickly texted Derek: "¦Á in rental." She hoped he would understand the urgency. After sending the message, she pocketed the phone and placed a reassuring hand on Jackson''s shoulder. To her surprise, he squeezed her hand in return, a gesture of shared fear and solidarity that she hadn''t expected from the typically arrogant and self-centered boy.


    Jackson leaned out from behind the bookcase to get a glimpse of the creature. His head snapped back almost immediately, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to summon his courage. But there was no time to act. The sound of DVD cases crashing to the floor and bookshelves toppling over signaled the approach of their pursuer. Without warning, Jackson shoved her away, trying to push her out from under their fragile hiding spot while he leaped in the opposite direction.


    Charlie hit the floor hard, her hand trapped beneath the weight of the overturned bookcase. Pain shot through her arm, sharp and immediate. The initial shock gave way to the horrifying realization that she had likely broken a bone in her forearm. Panic swelled within her as she scanned the room, her eyes darting in search of Jackson. He was only a few feet away, pinned beneath the other end of the fallen bookcase. He struggled to free himself, but then he froze, his gaze locked on something behind him.


    A hulking, fur-covered figure emerged from the shadows, looming over the terrified boy. In the intermittent flashes of the flickering light, Charlotte could barely make out the creature''s features. But she didn''t need to see clearly to know what it was. Alpha. The beast didn''t strike immediately, didn''t tear at Jackson''s throat as she had expected. Instead, it seemed to hesitate, as if considering its next move. She knew what it wanted. It intended to bite him, to turn him.


    The thought jolted her into action. Muttering a quiet incantation under her breath, she grabbed a nearby DVD case with her uninjured hand and hurled it at the beast. As the case struck the creature''s fur, sparks erupted across its body. The spell shouldn''t have had any effect on the Alpha, yet it was enough to distract it. Without even looking at her, the beast bolted, crashing through the window and disappearing into the night.


    Charlie wasted no time. She immediately called the police, knowing she wouldn''t be able to lift the bookcase off Jackson by herself, not with her injury. Outside, she heard Lydia''s piercing scream from the car park. Her heart pounded in her chest as she prayed the girl was merely frightened and not another victim of the beast that had just escaped into the darkness.


    Help arrived swiftly, and before she could fully register what was happening, Charlotte found herself seated in the back of an ambulance. A paramedic was carefully bandaging her arm. Thankfully, her worst fears were unfounded¡ªit turned out she hadn''t broken it as she had initially suspected, merely severely bruised it. Still, it would need to be braced for the next few weeks, a fact that offered her little comfort. She knew that if she had any hope of closing the case of Laura''s death and standing a chance against the beast, she would need to be at full strength. Painkillers and a brace wouldn''t be enough.


    When Sheriff Stilinski arrived at the scene, accompanied by his son, Stiles, it barely registered as a surprise to Charlotte. Their presence jolted her out of her gloomy thoughts, forcing her to refocus on the chaotic surroundings.


    "I don''t need to go to the hospital. I''m fine!" Jackson''s voice rang out nearby, sharp with frustration. He was arguing with one of the officers, and Charlotte could see the fear in his eyes. He was still in shock, terrified, and utterly clueless about the true nature of what had attacked them. If she were in his position, she would likely feel the same desperate urge to go home, to crawl into bed and hide from the nightmare.


    "I''m sorry, but the EMTs say you hit your head pretty hard," Sheriff Stilinski replied, his tone firm yet reassuring. "They need to make sure you don''t have a concussion."


    "What part of ''I''m fine'' are you failing to grasp here? I want to go home."


    "I understand..." The sheriff''s voice remained calm, steady, though Charlotte sensed it was more out of professional habit than genuine empathy. If anything, there was a subtle undercurrent of reluctance in his demeanor. It didn''t surprise her. She, too, found it hard to muster any real sympathy for Jackson, despite his model behavior in the classroom. Outside of lessons, the boy was insufferable.


    "No, you don''t understand!" Jackson''s agitation escalated. "Which blows my mind, considering it''s a pretty basic concept for a minimum-wage rent-a-cop like you! I want to go home!" His voice rose in a shout, inches from the sheriff''s face. Charlotte could see the tension building in Stilinski''s expression, and she had a feeling the boy was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.


    Before she could intervene, Stiles jumped in, darting out of his father''s police car, eager to defuse the situation.


    "Hey, is that a dead body?" Stiles called out, his voice cutting through the escalating argument. His father shot him an almost pleading look, one that immediately sent the boy retreating back to the van, a sheepish grin on his face.


    The arrival of the body cart interrupted the scene, drawing attention as it approached the ambulance. Charlotte stepped out alongside Lydia, who was still in a state of shock, pale and trembling. They both moved aside to make room for the nurses as they loaded the body bag into the cart.


    As Charlotte stood there, she inhaled deeply, letting the night air wash over her. Her senses sharpened, and something familiar caught her attention. For a fleeting moment, she detected a scent she knew all too well. Her eyes flicked upward, and there, on the roof of the rental shop, she caught sight of Scott and Derek, silently observing the scene below. She quickly averted her gaze, careful not to draw any unwanted attention to their presence.


    After a brief pause, Derek appeared beside her, informing the officer that he would take her home. In response to the sheriff''s questioning look, she merely nodded and followed the werewolf toward her car, which still sat in the parking lot. Standing next to the vehicle, Scott awaited them, a faintly puzzled expression on his face. It was clear he hadn''t expected his companion bringing a teacher along, but he remained silent, withholding any questions.


    Once they all settled into the car, Derek declared they needed to talk and drove them to the remnants of his burned-down home. Charlotte felt a pang of guilt for not being behind the wheel of her beloved car, but clenched her jaw in resignation¡ªher injured arm made driving impossible.


    "You know, I have a life too," Scott began as they stepped out of the vehicle.


    "No, you don''t," Derek retorted flatly.


    "Yes, I do. I don''t care what you say about him making me his pet¡ª"


    "Part of his pack," Charlotte interjected reflexively, "But it''s all the same. Scott has school tomorrow; there''s a parent-teacher meeting he needs to attend because he''s failing chemistry," she announced pointedly.


    Derek''s eyes flickered with irritation. "Would you rather worry about his school, or would you rather worry about whether he survives?" His tone was sharp, and he leveled her with a hard stare. Charlotte returned it, unflinching. Sensing the tension crackling between them, Scott shifted uneasily, sighing loudly.


    "We have less than a week until the full moon. Is it lost on you what happens then? The Alpha will kill Scott," Derek stated, each word emphasized with grim clarity.


    "Seriously? Who made up these rules?" Scott''s disbelief was palpable.


    "It''s a rite of passage into his pack," Derek explained, attempting to keep his composure, though his face betrayed the struggle.


    "You know what else is a rite of passage?" Scott shot back. "Graduating high school. And you don''t have to kill anyone for that. Why can''t you just find him yourself? Why don''t you sniff him out when he''s human?"


    "Because his human scent could be entirely different. It has to be you," Derek insisted. "You have a connection with him¡ªa link you can''t yet understand. If I can teach you to control your abilities, you can find him."


    "If I help you find him, can you stop him?" Scott asked, his resistance visibly faltering.


    "Not alone. We''re stronger in numbers. A pack makes the individual more powerful."


    "How am I supposed to help when I don''t have a clue what I''m doing?"


    "I''m going to teach you," Derek replied, his patience thinning. He felt like he was speaking to a brick wall, with Scott stubbornly refusing to listen. "Do you remember what happened the first night when you were shot in the arm? Right after you were hit?"


    "When were you shot?" Charlotte asked, concerned, but neither of them acknowledged her. She remained behind Scott, watching the tense exchange unfold.


    "I changed back," Scott answered.


    "And when you were hit by the car? Same thing, right?"


    "The car?" Charlotte''s agitation grew with every revelation. How many incidents had happened without her knowledge? How many could she have prevented if they had only trusted her more? She didn''t blame Scott¡ªshe had known from the start that this was beyond him, and his trust had always been with Stiles, who, to her surprise, had managed remarkably well in his role. But she blamed Derek. They had an agreement to share information, to help one another. He had promised to help her protect the students. Yet here he was, breaking his word, using her. It wasn''t about the physical aspects of their relationship; that was irrelevant. What hurt was that she had seen him as part of the team. A growl of frustration escaped her, drawing Derek''s attention. His expression softened as guilt flickered briefly in his eyes.


    "What''s the common denominator?" Derek asked, refocusing on Scott. When the boy remained silent, Derek grabbed his hand and swiftly snapped one of his fingers. Scott howled in pain.


    "What the hell are you doing?" Charlotte nearly lunged at Derek, her instincts kicking in to protect her pupil, even though she knew she''d stand no chance, especially with her injury.


    "It''ll heal," Derek assured her, gripping her uninjured arm and pulling her back.


    "But it still hurts!" Scott barked.


    "And that''s what keeps you human," Derek explained. "Pain."


    Scott stared intently at his injured hand, willing his fingers to move. When he finally succeeded, Derek raised an eyebrow, his voice edged with a begrudging approval. "Maybe you''ll survive after all." Then, turning back to Charlotte, he added, "I''ll drive you home."


    He pulled her along behind him, leaving the teenager behind in the charred remnants of the house. Without a word, he bundled her unceremoniously into the passenger seat of her own car, then slid into the driver''s seat himself. The witch remained silent, her stubbornness palpable as they drove to her house. She stared blankly out the windshield, her mind elsewhere, seeing nothing but the fog of her own thoughts. An inexplicable lump formed in her throat; she felt like crying, though she couldn''t quite pinpoint why. Crying had never been something she indulged in¡ªan expression of weakness she always found unnecessary.


    "I take it the Star Wars marathon is over?" Derek broke the silence as they pulled into her driveway. His voice carried an undercurrent of uncertainty and guilt, but it did little to quell the storm of anger simmering inside her. Unfortunately, her anger held a darker edge¡ªa shadow that, in Derek''s presence, stirred emotions she had no desire to confront at the moment.


    She exited the car swiftly, eager to put distance between herself and Derek, but he followed closely behind. He knew he needed to explain, to apologize. The Alpha had hurt her, and by extension, that meant he was complicit. She wanted him gone, out of her life for good, but she couldn''t bring herself to say it. The idea of him being left alone gnawed at her. Wolves were pack animals, and a lone wolf would eventually die. She didn''t want that on her conscience. On the other hand, Derek couldn''t leave her alone¡ªespecially not now, when she was injured and vulnerable. Yet, for her own safety, he knew he had to, hoping she would understand.


    "This isn''t how we agreed to handle things," she finally mustered the courage to speak, walking into the kitchen and yanking open the fridge. She retrieved a piece of cake she had baked earlier in the week, sticking a fork into it without hesitation. There was no intention of sharing, not with the level of stress coursing through her at that moment. "We were supposed to share information to ensure Scott''s safety. That all my students were safe. Do you know why the Alpha didn''t bite Jackson today?" Her tone dripped with fury, and even though Derek couldn''t see her face, he didn''t need to. He could feel her anger. She was barely keeping the Lurker at bay. And while Derek often found her unleashed Darkness captivating, he knew this time she wasn''t aiming for seduction.


    "Why?" he asked cautiously, trying to placate her.


    "Because Jackson''s already been marked. There are claw marks on the back of his neck," she declared, locking eyes with him. "I know Scott didn''t do it, and the Alpha wouldn''t just stop there. So, tell me, Derek, why did you attack my student?"


    Her use of his name, laden with regret and mistrust, hit him harder than he''d expected. He hadn''t anticipated how much it would hurt, and the pain was yet another reason to pull away from their arrangement. Derek had grown too attached¡ªunable to separate physical attraction from the other emotions she evoked in him, especially his protective instincts. He didn''t want to explain himself, but leaving things unsaid felt worse, especially when it seemed like Charlie was accusing him of something he hadn''t done.


    Werewolf was silent for a moment, then quietly put water on to boil. It was going to be another long night, and he suspected only coffee would keep him awake. He sat across from her and began explaining everything that had happened after Kate Argent shot him. How he had gone to the school to seek her help, encountered Jackson, and lost his temper before ending up in Stiles'' jeep. When the coffee was ready, he slid a mug toward her. In response, she pushed a plate with a small piece of cake his way¡ªa peace offering, a sign of goodwill. He smiled to himself. He knew that from her, this gesture meant far more than it would from anyone else. A few days earlier, she had nearly torn his head off for eating the last biscuit she''d hidden above the fridge.


    "I know there''s more to it than that," she said, still visibly angry, wrinkling her nose in frustration. She untied her braid, letting her hair fall loose as she stared at the countertop. A few of the beads and feathers that she had woven into her hair fell onto the floor. "You were acting strange last night, after everything. You sat in the bathroom until I fell asleep. And this morning, you were just as silent. I thought maybe it was because of Peter, but I can sense it¡ªthere''s more to it. You reek of guilt, Derek. I don''t have to be a werewolf to smell it."


    The fork, midway to his mouth, froze. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing with nervous tension. To his surprise, she was the one who brought it up first, which he hadn''t expected. He had hoped she wouldn''t worry for at least one day, but with the Alpha on the prowl, hunting her students, they had no chance of that.


    "You came here because of Laura," he began, unsure of how to steer the conversation. "But she''s dead. And I think you''re getting too involved in all of this. Despite what people say about you, you keep emphasizing that you''re only human. Humans die much more easily than werewolves. If Laura, who was an Alpha, died, what chance do you have?"


    Her green eyes widened at his words. She hadn''t known that Laura had been his Alpha, and now it made sense why he wanted her off the case. But Charlotte wasn''t one to back down.


    "Do you realize she probably died because she was an Alpha?" Charlotte shot back, her voice rising. "Why didn''t you tell me before? He could''ve lured her here just to steal her status!"


    Derek held his breath. The thought had crossed his mind, but he hadn''t given it much attention, too focused on tracking the Alpha.


    "You completely overlooked that, didn''t you?" she asked, disbelief etched in her features. "As far as I know, there''s only one pack in Beacon Hills, and its Alpha is rational. I saw her in human form at the shopping center two weeks ago. There''s no way it''s her. That Alpha polices her pack well enough that they aren''t running around killing people. It''s possible this Alpha just wandered in here, stumbled upon Laura by chance, but I doubt he could''ve beaten her without a pack. And since he didn''t have one until now, since that''s why he turned Scott, it means he was an Omega. Laura''s death changed that."


    "And Laura came here for a reason... She wasn''t just reminiscing about the past," Derek added, catching on to her line of reasoning.


    "Exactly. She told me over the phone that your Emissary sent her a message. Do you know who that is?" When he shook his head, she continued, "You''ll need to figure that out. And investigate what brought her here in the first place. Something caught her attention¡ªand the Hunters''. They arrived around the same time as Laura. Either they were watching you the whole time, or the same thing drew them here."


    Silence fell between them as they each retreated into their thoughts.


    "Are you sure you don''t want me involved?" she finally asked, her voice soft but determined. "I get it if you don''t trust me, especially because of the Darkness, but I can help you. I want to help you." She looked past him, trying to maintain a mask of indifference, but Derek could smell the sadness and discouragement emanating from her. He didn''t like the scent¡ªit was a far cry from the determination and joy he had grown accustomed to.


    "I want nothing to happen to you," he replied quietly. "You hurt your arm because of the Alpha. Who knows what else could happen?"


    "It''s just bruised, not broken," she corrected him. "Besides, I can take care of myself. I''m an adult. And, for the record, I''m actually older than you." She chuckled, tilting her head, and he realized he had never truly considered her age.


    "How old are you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, somewhat amused by the shift in conversation.


    "Older than I look¡ªbut nothing a good anti-wrinkle cream can''t handle," she teased, though he noticed her heartbeat stutter for a moment.


    She pulled out her wallet and slid her driver''s license across the table. He glanced at the photo, noting how identical she looked to the woman in front of him, save for the shorter hair in the picture. The date of birth revealed she was two years older than him, with a birthday in a month. Twenty-five, a fitting age for a novice teacher, but something still didn''t add up.


    "Suspicion... Not bad," she commented, a smirk playing on her lips. "Maybe you''re finally starting to think, instead of just sniffing around in the dark. Our opponent isn''t stupid. To beat him, we have to be smarter. Now, tell me¡ªwhy did Scott and Stiles find Laura''s body buried near your house? I don''t believe you buried it there, but I also doubt you didn''t know about it."


    ***


    January 31st, 2011 - Monday


    Allison approached her locker, her thoughts still lingering on the conversation she''d had that morning with her aunt. She absently played with the necklace now hanging around her neck, a gift from Kate. The piece was beautiful, worn by time, and she had definitely seen something similar around her aunt''s neck before. However, what puzzled her was the connection this necklace could have to her family.


    As she opened her locker, a cascade of colorful balloons burst out, startling her. Dropping her bag in shock, Allison frantically began stuffing the balloons back inside, desperate to keep anyone from noticing. A small greeting card dangled from the locker door.


    "It''s your birthday?" Scott asked as he walked up beside her.


    "No!" she squeaked, then immediately collected herself and corrected her tone. "I mean, yes. But don''t tell anyone. I don''t even know how Lydia found out." Her voice was strained, clearly annoyed.


    "Why didn''t you tell me?" Scott asked, confused.


    "I don''t want everyone knowing," she whispered, seeing that Scott didn''t quite understand. "I just turned seventeen," she whispered, making sure only he could hear her.


    "Seventeen?" he asked, genuinely surprised.


    "And that''s exactly the reaction I''m trying to avoid," she sighed, her expression hardening.


    "Why?" he asked, then quickly pieced it together. "Oh, I get it. You had to repeat a year because of all the moving around, right?" he guessed, catching her off guard.


    A wide smile broke across her face, and before Scott could react, she leaned in and kissed him.


    "What was that for?" he asked, still processing what had just happened.


    "For literally being the first person to ever make the correct assumption," she explained.


    "Everyone else says, ''What? Were you held back? Are you stupid? Did you ride the short bus? Were you pregnant?''" She scrunched up her face, clearly frustrated by the usual barrage of insensitive assumptions.


    "That''s what people say to you on your birthday?" Scott was stunned. He couldn''t fathom anyone thinking that about her, especially since she seemed perfect in his eyes.


    "All day long," she replied with a hint of exhaustion.


    Scott sighed heavily, his mind racing with ideas on how to lift her spirits¡ªand what he could possibly give her for her birthday. "So... what if we got out of here for a day?"


    "Skip a whole day?" Allison looked at him, bewildered. "You''re asking someone who''s never even skipped a single class to bail on an entire day?"


    "Exactly! It''s perfect. If you get caught, they''ll go easy on you," he reasoned with a grin.


    "And what happens if you get caught?" she asked, watching his face twist into a mock expression of suffering.


    "Let''s... try not to think about that," Scott said with a sheepish smile. "Besides, I''m comforting myself with the fact that we''ll have a substitute for two hours today, anyway."


    "Really? Why?"


    "Mrs. Benoit broke her arm, so she''s off today," he explained, though a small frown crossed his face. "But I know she''ll still be at the parent-teacher conference later. My mom has to meet with her."


    "My parents wanted to talk to her too," Allison added, nodding thoughtfully.


    ***


    In chemistry class, Adrian Harris surveyed his students with a look of resigned pity. He despised his job and often wondered why he hadn''t yet walked away from it. Adrian Harris had once been in the army, but he had to come back home to care for his younger sister, who was still in high school, after his father''s tragic death. Now, nearly ten years later, Diana was an adult, and yet he remained stuck in Beacon Hills, unable to move on with his life.


    His gaze settled on the student he liked least¡ªStilinski, the disheveled boy whose name he could never pronounce correctly, so he didn''t bother trying. Stilinski sat sideways at his desk, mindlessly scribbling with a colorful highlighter over the pages of a textbook, almost certainly without reading a word. The sight reminded Harris of his own teenage years, of an old friend who had been just as careless.


    "Just a friendly reminder," Harris called out to the class. "Parent/Teacher conferences are tonight. Students below a C average are required to attend. I won''t name you, since the shame and self-disgust should be punishment enough." He focused his comment on Stilinski, who took a moment to realize it was directed at him. "And has anyone seen Scott McCall?"


    Before the boy could respond, the door swung open, and in walked Jackson Whittemore¡ªone of Harris''s more promising students, though today he didn''t look at it. His eyes had dark circles, his cheeks looked slightly hollowed, and his usually perfect hair seemed less styled than usual.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Jackson quietly made his way to his seat without offering a greeting.


    Harris placed a hand on Jackson''s shoulder and spoke in a quiet, reassuring tone, "Jackson, if you need to leave early for any reason... you just let me know." The entire teaching staff was well aware of what had transpired at the DVD rental shop on Saturday, and it had been the sole topic of discussion. Harris had even called his new colleague, Charlotte, offering help since she had injured her hand. But Charlotte had reassured him she didn''t need any help and that she would attend the conference that evening, insisting her hand was in better shape than it appeared.


    "Everyone, start reading Chapter Nine," Harris addressed the class again, his gaze absent from the students. "And Mr. Stilinski, try putting the highlighter down between paragraphs. This is chemistry, not a coloring book." He couldn''t resist adding a touch of sarcasm.


    Stiles glanced reproachfully at Harris, just as the cap of his highlighter, which had been between his teeth, shot into the air and landed neatly in his hand. The student seated in front of him chuckled softly, only to be silenced by a low voice behind him.


    "Danny, can I ask you something?" Stiles asked, eyeing Jackson with suspicion.


    "No," came the curt reply from Danny, the lacrosse team''s goalie.


    "I''m going to ask, anyway. Did Lydia show up in your homeroom today?" Stiles leaned closer to Danny''s back, pressing for answers.


    "No."


    "Can I ask you another question?"


    "The answer''s still no," Danny sighed, clearly exasperated.


    "Do people know what happened to her and Jackson last night?" Stiles persisted, his curiosity unabated.


    "He wouldn''t tell me," Danny mumbled, casting a worried glance at his friend.


    "But you''re his best friend," Stiles quipped, only to be met with a shrug from Danny, who dropped his gaze.


    "One more question?"


    "What?" Danny finally snapped, his patience worn thin by Stiles'' relentless questioning and concern for his friend.


    "Do you find me attractive?" The question caught Danny off guard, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. Before he could formulate a response, he heard a sudden whoosh of air behind him. Turning, he discovered Stiles had somehow managed to fall off his chair.


    ***


    Jackson leaned heavily against the sink in the men''s locker room, his body still damp from the shower after an intense PE lesson. His neck throbbed, a persistent ache that had worried him.


    The wounds McCall''s suspicious friend had inflicted with those scratches had healed, but ever since the attack by that strange creature, the pain had resurfaced. It gnawed at him, accompanied by a constant feeling of tension, like he was being watched at all times.


    Shaking himself from his anxious thoughts, Jackson realized he was now alone in the locker room. The rest of the guys had already left. Stepping around one of the lockers, he stopped dead in his tracks, nearly colliding with someone. The man standing before him, tall, dark-haired, and clad in a leather jacket, was none other than the same man who had attacked him at school just days ago. A jolt of fear shot through him, and his knees buckled involuntarily, causing him to stumble back into the lockers.


    "Okay, all right. I¡ªI don''t know where Scott is. I haven''t seen him," Jackson stammered, his voice breaking. The man''s presence was terrifying, his approach methodical and menacing.


    "I''m not here for Scott," the man replied coolly, his voice low and unnerving. "I''m here for you, Jackson."


    "Me? Why me? I didn''t do anything!" Jackson''s voice cracked with desperation.


    "But you saw something, didn''t you?"


    "Saw what? When?" Jackson''s mind raced, unsure of what exactly the man was referring to. But then, almost reflexively, his thoughts flashed back to the incident at the DVD rental shop.


    "Last night. What was it? An animal? A cougar?"


    "What? No! I didn''t see anything, I swear! I''m not lying!" Panic overtook him, his words spilling out in a rush. "Maybe Mrs. Benoit saw it¡ªshe was there too, the history teacher!"


    "Calm down," the man said, stepping even closer, now blocking any possible escape. "Say it again."


    "Mrs. Benoit?" Jackson repeated, his breath hitching.


    "The other part. Tell me you didn''t see anything. Slowly."


    "I didn''t see anything," Jackson said, his voice shaking. The man stared at him intently, but his gaze seemed unfocused, as though he were listening to something beyond Jackson''s words. After a tense moment, he seemed satisfied.


    "Why do you care?" Jackson asked, fear mingled with curiosity.


    Ignoring the question entirely, Derek''s hand shot out, gripping Jackson by the hair and twisting his head to inspect the scratches on his neck. He examined them closely, his eyes narrowing with grim irony. "You should really get that checked out," he muttered dryly, his tone clipped.


    Then, just as silently as he had appeared, Derek walked away, vanishing from the locker room like a shadow.


    Jackson stood frozen for a moment, furious with himself. He despised the feeling of helplessness that had overtaken him, hated how easily this man had reduced him to fear. Anger boiled up inside him, and in a fit of rage, he slammed his fist onto the bench, the loud thud echoing through the now-empty locker room.


    ***


    Charlotte curled up comfortably on the dusty sofa that occupied the center of the charred Hale house''s former living room. The furniture must have been placed there after the fire, but she preferred not to ask Derek if he himself had done it. She reviewed her notes, preparing for the evening''s meeting, awaiting his arrival as they''d arranged. She had no real understanding of why he had chosen this place, but she figured a change of environment might do her some good.


    The sharp ringing of her phone abruptly interrupted her thoughts. The display showed Stiles'' name, someone she had barely spoken to since the incident at the vet clinic. She wondered what he wanted, doubting that his call was simply a friendly inquiry into her well-being.


    "Do you have any clue what''s going on here?" he blurted out before she had a chance to speak. "Lydia''s totally M.I.A., Jackson looks like someone stuck a time bomb in his face, another random guy''s dead, and you''re taking the day off? We need to do something about this!" As expected, he wasn''t calling out of concern for her.


    "So, as a ''worried friend,'' you''re going to check on Lydia after school and see if she''s alright. I highly doubt Jackson''s condition is your priority, and you could at least pretend to care about how I''m feeling. For the record, it''s not too bad. Thanks for asking," she replied with cool detachment.


    "I... I''m sorry, but I''m really worried. Scott''s disappeared with Allison, skipping school, and he''s not answering... I didn''t have anyone else to talk to," the teenager stammered in his defense.


    "I understand. But don''t stress about it right now. Focus on school," she advised, cutting the conversation short as she heard Derek finally arrive.


    He was seething, it was clear in every movement he made. Barely had the door closed behind him before he began peeling off his shirt, to which Charlotte merely raised a questioning eyebrow. She hadn''t expected such boldness from him, though neither of them typically minced words when it came to the physical aspect of their relationship. However, she knew this wasn''t some attempt at seduction. He leaped up and gripped the doorframe, pulling himself up in a display of controlled aggression. He needed to release his pent-up rage and tension, but he had no intention of approaching her in his current state, despite knowing that she could calm him far more effectively than any exercise could.


    For a moment, she watched him; her gaze trailing over his broad chest and the narrow cut of his jeans. The sight was undeniably pleasing, and she found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on her notes. Not that she minded. She stretched out more luxuriously on the sofa, trying to refocus, but every now and then, her amused eyes flicked toward him. With each glance, she could feel her pulse quicken, blood surging more fervently through her veins.


    When the first drops of sweat beaded on his skin, Derek released the doorframe and landed softly on the floor, transitioning seamlessly into push-ups. He was acutely aware of the witch''s gaze lingering on him, and not long after he began his set, he detected the unmistakable scent of her arousal¡ªand her Darkness. A wave of primal satisfaction coursed through him. Shifting his weight to one arm, he threw the other behind his back, showcasing his strength.


    "Show off," she muttered, her eyes locked on the tattoo between his shoulder blades. A triskelion, composed of three spirals¡ªthe emblem of his pack. She bore a similar tattoo on her left shoulder, though its meaning to her was entirely different. She wondered if Derek had ever noticed hers; he had never asked about it.


    Her presence, however, distracted him enough that he almost missed the sound of approaching voices. Springing to his feet, he quickly gathered Charlotte''s things, stuffing them into her backpack, and pulled her up from the sofa.


    "We have visitors," he growled, a strange warmth creeping into her chest at his words. "Hide under the stairs and leave as soon as you can."


    She nodded, complying without protest. Given her current condition, she had no plans to obstruct him, especially. She was certain Derek could handle whatever came next on his own.


    The door burst open with a thunderous bang, kicked wide. Three figures rushed in. Leading the charge was a powerfully built man, his blonde hair streaked with grey, gripping a shotgun in his hands. His sharp eyes quickly swept the room, the barrel of the weapon instinctively following. The second was a younger man, sporting a punkish haircut and clad in a leather jacket. His hands were free, though a pistol rested menacingly at his belt, his posture screaming an eagerness to kill, as though he was just waiting for an excuse. The third was a woman, young and strikingly beautiful, her long blonde hair framing a face that exuded an unsettling combination of charm and coldness. Her eyes¡ªkiller''s eyes¡ªgleamed with an aura of danger despite her empty hands, and her confident smile was nothing short of predatory.


    "He wants us to wait," the older man, clearly the leader, stated.


    "So I''ve been reminded. To death," the woman replied, her voice dripping with sarcastic amusement.


    "And that means we can''t kill him," he added, the frustration evident in his tone.


    "But that doesn''t mean we can''t say hello," the blonde woman chuckled, a dark gleam flashing in her eyes.


    "No one home?" Ulrich, the man with the shotgun, inquired as he stepped over the threshold, his voice gruff and suspicious.


    "Oh, he''s here. He''s just not feeling particularly hospitable," Kate laughed, the sound sending a chill through the room. Charlotte''s stomach twisted¡ªthere was something disturbingly familiar about her voice.


    "Maybe he''s out burying a bone in the backyard," L¨¦v¨ºque, the younger man, equipped with a heavy French accent.


    "Really? A dog joke?" Kate turned her gaze on him, disbelief flashing across her face. "We''re about to face off with a werewolf, and that''s the best you''ve got?" she chided, her playful tone suddenly serious.


    L¨¦v¨ºque, clearly embarrassed, averted his eyes, but his attention caught on something. He started moving toward the stairs as if sensing a presence there.


    "You want to provoke him?" Kate continued, ignoring the younger man''s movements, her focus now locked elsewhere. "Try this on for size: Too bad your sister bit it before she had her first litter. Too bad she howled like a bitch when we cut her in half!" she shouted, her voice slicing through the air like a knife.


    Charlotte could bear it no longer. L¨¦v¨ºque, who had indeed spotted her, didn''t even have time to react before she gathered all her energy into her right hand. With one decisive move, she slammed her palm into his solar plexus, sending him hurtling across the room. His body crashed against the opposite wall with a sickening thud, and before the Frenchman could even scream, he was unconscious. In that split second, Charlotte activated her illusion spell, using the amulet she always carried. She vanished from sight, blending seamlessly into the background, hidden from all but the most trained eyes.


    At that very moment, Derek''s feral roar echoed through the house. In an instant, he shifted into his werewolf form, leaping from the shadows to attack the older man. The intruders did not know they were fighting more than a single werewolf. The force of the attack threw Ulrich, the grey-haired hunter, onto the floor, rendering him unconscious.


    Derek froze when his gaze landed on the woman. Kate. She stood alone, eerily calm, as if unbothered by the werewolf towering over her. She smiled provocatively, slowly drawing a telescopic baton from behind her belt, twirling it casually as though it were a mere toy.


    Charlotte, hidden behind the staircase railing, watched in growing confusion. What gave this woman such confidence? She had nothing but a baton, hardly a match for Derek in his current form. But Charlotte''s stomach sank as realization dawned: she had misjudged. The moment Derek lunged at Kate, he collapsed mid-stride, his body seizing up as the smell of ozone filled the room. Electricity crackled in the air, and Derek writhed on the floor, muscles spasming uncontrollably.


    "Wow, what a specimen," Kate remarked with a smug grin, circling his trembling form. "This grew up in all the right places. I can''t decide whether to kill it... or lick it." Her lips curled into a pout, and Charlotte''s stomach churned with disgust. The witch remained motionless, unwilling to reveal herself too soon. This woman was far too dangerous to act rashly against, and Charlotte''s curiosity burned to know what Kate wanted.


    Derek''s glare was murderous, his hatred palpable. For a split second, his gaze flicked to where Charlotte stood hidden, but he quickly refocused on Kate, unwilling to betray her presence.


    Struggling to overcome his paralyzed muscles, he attempted to back away from the huntress, but she stalked him relentlessly, her eyes hungrily tracing his every movement. Her almost seductive display only deepened Charlotte''s fury. She could feel the Darkness inside her stirring, rising far more swiftly than usual, and this time, she had no intention of suppressing it.


    Derek, desperate, tried to prop himself against the couch and attack again, but Kate struck him with her baton, electrocuting him once more. He collapsed back, landing just beneath Charlotte, still invisible. She itched to reach down and soothe him, but now wasn''t the time. The sight of his twitching muscles filled her with anguish, but she forced herself to stay still, gathering her energy, readying herself.


    "900,000 volts," Kate mused aloud, watching as the baton sparked in her hand. "You''ve never been good with electricity, have you? Or fire..." She paused, her eyes scanning the soot-covered room before lowering her voice, as if sharing a secret. "So, let me fill you in on a little something. We didn''t kill your sister."


    Derek, panting from the pain, managed to lift himself slightly. He knew Charlotte was there beside him, her presence a strange comfort, even though her scent also carried the unmistakable promise of incoming bloodshed.


    "You expect me to believe that?" Derek rasped, his voice low with strain.


    "Honey," Kate whispered, leaning down so close to him that her hair brushed his chest. "Listen to my heart and tell me if I''m lying." Her voice was soft, teasing, her lips hovering dangerously close to his ear. "We... didn''t... kill... your sister."


    Charlotte, still cloaked in her illusion, could hear the steady, calm rhythm of Kate''s heartbeat. She was either telling the truth¡ªor she was a master manipulator. Regardless, it was clear they hadn''t been the ones responsible for Laura''s death.


    "Bite marks were found on your sister''s body," Kate continued, standing back up and folding the baton with a smug snap. "What do you think, Derek? A mountain lion?" she sneered. "Let''s cut the crap. The Alpha killed your sister. You tell us who he is, and we take care of him for you. Problem solved. Everyone goes home happy."


    Derek remained silent, his sharp gaze never leaving her. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his hand brushed against Charlotte''s shoe, signaling her to get ready.


    "Unless..." Kate''s eyes gleamed wickedly as she smirked. "You don''t know who the Alpha is either." She turned her back on him for a moment, a fatal mistake. "Guess who just became totally useless?"


    In that instant, Derek sprang to his feet, grabbing the invisible Charlotte in his arms and charging out of the room. A machine gun roared behind them, bullets flying at blinding speed, but Derek barely felt the impact. None reached him. An invisible barrier blocked the barrage, but he didn''t look back to see it. He already knew. Just before he could leap off the porch, Charlotte went limp in his arms, her illusion dissipating as she lost consciousness. She had spent too much energy protecting them both, and now her body had given out. Derek only hoped Kate hadn''t spotted her. Without stopping, he ran, not pausing until they reached safety.


    Their home.


    He laid Charlotte gently on their bed, slumping into a nearby armchair, his mind a whirlwind of anger and shame. He had run. Again. Once again, a woman had come to his defense. His claws dug into the chair as he clenched his fists, fury surging through him. He gazed at her pale, still form, fear gnawing at his gut. If his suspicions about her Darkness were correct, she might not want to see him again. Darkness only respected strength, and his wasn''t enough.


    Kate Argent had ruined his life. Again.


    ***


    Charlotte awoke an hour before her scheduled meeting. She lay in her bed, stripped down to her underwear, yet she was completely alone. She called out to Derek several times, but there was no response. Realizing he wasn''t home, she rose and prepared to leave, her suspicions confirmed. There was no sign of him; all his belongings were gone, though his Camaro still sat idly in the garage. Concern barely scratched the surface of how the witch felt. She had believed their misunderstandings were behind them and that Derek no longer harbored guilt over taking advantage of her hospitality. But the recent confrontation with the Hunters had clearly altered something, and she had a sinking feeling it had to do with a particular Huntress. Charlotte couldn''t deny that the palpable hatred radiating from Kate Argent was the only thing stopping her from letting her gaze linger.


    Yet there was no time to dwell on Derek or the poisonous allure of Kate. Duty called¡ªshe had a parent-teacher meeting to attend. Charlotte expected little interaction from parents, given that she had only been teaching for a month, but she was allowed to sit in on a few of her colleagues'' meetings, which she fully intended to do. She texted Derek, more than an announcement than a request, stating that they needed to talk once she returned from school. She hoped he wouldn''t vanish before that conversation could happen.


    For the first time since arriving in Beacon Hills, she donned her "official teacher''s uniform": a black pencil skirt, a crisp, fitted white blouse, paired with a navy blue blazer and sleek black leather stilettos. She pulled her hair into a high bun to add a few inches to her height, and swapped her usual dramatic black cat-eye makeup for softer, neutral tones that lent her a more serious appearance. To complete the look, she slid on her large reading glasses, which not only made her seem older but also aided her vision, which had been strained lately¡ªno doubt from the life force the recent surge of Darkness had consumed.


    Her first stop was with Adrian Harris, whose enthusiasm upon seeing her was more than she cared for. The first set of parents arrived soon after: Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore, a sharply dressed couple with the unmistakable aura of wealth. Unlike their son, Jackson, they didn''t flaunt their status. It was during their conversation that Charlotte discovered that Jackson was adopted¡ªsomething she hadn''t known before. Harris, however, was unfazed, clearly invested in the life of one of his top students.


    "Jackson''s a highly motivated student. In fact, I''d describe him as unusually driven," Harris stated, verbalizing what Charlotte herself had observed.


    "We were hoping he might ease up a bit," Jackson''s father sighed, while his mother nervously rubbed her cheek. "He''s always been hard on himself. We thought it was something to do with being adopted."


    "I take it he doesn''t know his biological parents?" Harris asked, his tone professional yet curious.


    "That''s right. It''s that need to please¡ªthe over-achieving. He''s constantly trying to make someone proud, someone he''s never even met."


    "Well, from an outside perspective, it''s clear something has dialed his drive for success several notches higher," Harris continued. "Not to be too blunt, but he seems almost... obsessed."


    "I didn''t realize it was that bad. Good grades are hardly a reason to worry, are they?" Mrs. Whittemore whispered, visibly shaken by the revelation.


    "The grades alone aren''t the issue," Charlotte interjected gently. "It''s the overall behavior. Jackson may feel he has to prove himself not to one set of parents, but to two. He could be trying to meet expectations he believes both his biological and adoptive parents have for him. Or worse, he may fear that if he doesn''t, he''ll be rejected again. Adopted children often harbor anxieties about not measuring up."


    "But we love him," the woman whimpered, her voice trembling.


    "I know you do, and I''m sure Jackson does too, deep down. But fear is a powerful emotion¡ªit can cloud judgment, even in those we love," Charlotte said softly, placing her hand over Mrs. Whittemore''s and subtly sending a calming energy toward her. It drained her, but she felt the mother''s anguish warranted the effort.


    "I would suggest consulting a psychologist, perhaps someone outside the school system," Harris added. "Jackson may resist at first, so take your time in preparing him for it. You could even frame it as a way to manage the stress of being captain of two sports teams and the academic workload."


    The next parent turned out to be Melissa McCall, Scott''s mother, who greeted Charlotte warmly and immediately inquired about her health. Melissa''s sharp eyes zeroed in on the bruised left hand Charlotte had sustained, but she also took her right hand, inspecting the healing wound that she had helped bandage weeks before.


    Once pleasantries were exchanged, Melissa anxiously attempted to call her son, but when it became clear Scott wouldn''t show, Harris took initiative to nudge the meeting forward.


    "Shall we begin?" he suggested, with a knowing look.


    "Of course," Melissa replied, though her sigh was heavy with disappointment.


    "Scott''s mind seems to be... elsewhere lately. And so is his body," Harris added wryly, earning a strained smile from Charlotte.


    "I''m not sure what you mean by ''home situation''?" Melissa pressed, her smile faltering as her lips tightened into a thin line.


    "I''m referring to the lack of an authority figure," Harris replied, oblivious to the tension he was stoking.


    "I am the authority figure," Melissa''s voice dropped, carrying an unmistakable edge.


    "Sorry, allow me to clarify: a lack of a male authority figure," Harris corrected, utterly tone deaf to the storm brewing before him.


    "Trust me, things are much better with him out of the picture," Melissa muttered, her eyes lowering to her phone as if hoping Scott would at least text her back.


    "Does Scott feel the same way?" Harris pressed on, oblivious to the deepening scowl on Charlotte''s face.


    "I think so," Melissa responded quietly, her voice tinged with doubt. "I hope so."


    "Boys rarely confide in their parents at this age," Charlotte interjected, trying to ease the tension. "It''s a tough time for them."


    "Scott is one of my most intriguing students," Harris said, shifting the conversation slightly. "You can tell there''s something... different about him. Something special."


    "Do you really think so?" Melissa asked, her expression softening, the hope in her eyes palpable.


    "Definitely," Harris confirmed, though Charlotte could sense an undertone of suspicion. "But he''s also going through significant changes. He just needs a bit more guidance, a steady hand through this pivotal stage in his life," he finished, casting a brief glance toward Charlotte before turning his full attention back to Melissa.


    Charlotte could feel the tension in the room ease slightly, but it didn''t fully dissipate. The conversation had shifted, but the underlying unease remained.


    ***


    Charlotte''s greatest fear was the impending meeting with Aaron Lahey, the local undertaker, whom she suspected of mistreating his son, Isaac. Desperately needing support, she asked the school''s psychologist and French teacher, Marin Morrell, to accompany her through the difficult encounter. To her surprise, Marin agreed without hesitation, an unexpected gesture from a colleague who had kept her distance until now.


    Mr. Lahey turned out to be an imposing, taciturn man, his demeanor cold and unyielding. Yet there was no visible sign of trouble in his household, at least on the surface. This contrasted starkly with his son, Isaac, who withdrew and guarded himself, conveying volumes of information through his silence.


    "Isaac is a very quiet boy," Charlotte began, her voice carefully measured, offering the man a polite smile, though it took all her effort to maintain it. Derek had told her about Lahey''s older son, Camden, who had enlisted in the military simply to escape the oppressive atmosphere of his home. "He never causes any problems in my lessons. He''s a strong student, with good grades, but I''ve noticed he doesn''t seem to have any close friends, which concerns me."


    "He doesn''t have much time for friends," Aaron Lahey replied, meeting her gaze directly, his eyes hard. "He studies a lot and helps me out at the cemetery. Maybe that keeps other kids at a distance."


    "He joined the lacrosse team this year, didn''t he?" Marin Morrell interjected, her voice calm and professional, yet with a subtle undertone of empathy. "As his classmates get to know him better, perhaps he''ll open up more and start forming connections."


    "I hope so," Lahey grunted, though his expression remained unchanged. "Ever since his brother was killed in Afghanistan, Isaac hasn''t been the same."


    "We''re deeply sorry for your loss," both teachers responded in unison, their voices filled with genuine sympathy.


    For a moment, the room fell silent, the weight of grief hanging between them like an invisible shroud. Charlotte glanced at Isaac''s father, searching his impassive face for any cracks in the armor of stoicism he wore so rigidly. There was none. Still, her heart ached for the boy¡ªtrapped in a house where words of kindness seemed scarce, and the ghost of a brother lost to war loomed over everything.


    ***


    The next meeting Charlotte conducted was entirely on her own. She already had some familiarity with Erica Reyes'' parents, having spoken to them in the hospital shortly after the epileptic seizure Erica had suffered during her class. Despite their evident concern for their daughter''s health, they weren''t much easier to engage with than the other parents she''d met so far. Their focus remained narrowly fixed on Erica''s physical condition, dismissing any broader concerns about her emotional well-being or her ability to acclimate socially at school.


    Charlotte tried, unsuccessfully, to impress upon them the importance of Erica feeling comfortable and accepted within her peer group. However, the Reyes family seemed unconcerned, even trivializing the devastating impact of the video taken during Erica''s seizure, which someone had shared on social media and left her stigmatized.


    Before she could properly conclude their meeting, another student stepped into her classroom.


    A tall, broad-shouldered boy, someone Charlotte thought of as a "gentle giant." Vernon Boyd¡ªquiet, calm, always willing to help others. She glanced around, searching for his parents, but quickly realized he was alone.


    "I always come to these meetings by myself," he explained, his tone soft. "My parents work a lot."


    Charlotte nodded, her eyes subtly taking in the signs of wear on his clothes. "You work after school too, don''t you? At the ice rink?" she asked, glancing at her notes for confirmation.


    "Yeah," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably. "We''ve got some financial issues..."


    Charlotte studied him for a moment, sensing the heaviness of grief, anxiety, and guilt hanging over him. "Vernon, are you okay?" she asked, her voice full of quiet concern. "Do you need to talk about something?"


    "I... um... no..." he stammered, though it was clear something weighed on him.


    She hesitated briefly, then decided to take a calculated risk. "Your records show you were seeing a psychologist in middle school, but stopped after coming to high school." She phrased it carefully, knowing she could push him away with this, but willing to take that chance.


    "The psychologist can''t find my sister..." he murmured, his voice so low that she wouldn''t have heard him if she hadn''t been watching his lips closely, reading the quiet confession from their movement.


    "If you ever want to talk, just as two people¡ªno therapist, no labels¡ªyou can always come to me," Charlotte offered gently, her tone sincere. Boyd smiled sadly, gratitude evident in his eyes, and quietly thanked her before turning the conversation to his grades, clearly eager to shift away from the painful subject.


    ***


    "So, let me just say there''s plenty to discuss when it comes to Lydia," Sharon began, flashing a broad smile at the girl''s parents. Charlotte, seated beside her, could sense the tension between the two. At Sharon''s words, Mr. Martin immediately scowled, casting a mocking glance at his ex-wife while folding his arms over his chest.


    "Did I not predict this?" he muttered, his voice laced with bitterness.


    "Here we go, total nuclear meltdown¡ªlike always," Mrs. Martin retorted, her tone dripping with condescension. She tucked her hair behind her ear with a practiced gesture, her eyes rolling upward in feigned exasperation. Sharon drew a breath, clearly uncertain how to navigate such palpable animosity. However, Charlotte suspected that Lydia had inherited much of her mother''s polished, aloof demeanor.


    "So, what is it?" Mr. Martin pressed, his frustration clear. "Grades? Trouble focusing? Erratic behavior?" Charlotte wondered if Lydia, at home, let go of the carefully curated image she projected at school.


    "I''m not the one who forced her to choose who to live with," Mrs. Martin interjected sharply. "As if that wouldn''t mess with a sixteen-year-old girl''s head."


    "Just tell us what the issue is," Mr. Martin snapped, ignoring his ex-wife as he turned back to Sharon, his eyes briefly flicking to Charlotte for confirmation.


    "Actually, there''s no issue at all," Sharon responded, a bright smile spreading across her face. Her words seemed to confuse Mr. Martin, while Mrs. Martin wore a satisfied smirk.


    "Academically, Lydia is one of the finest students I''ve ever had. Her AP classes push her GPA above a 5.0. In fact, I''d like to have her IQ tested. And socially, she exhibits incredible leadership qualities. I''m not exaggerating when I say this¡ªLydia could be a Senator one day."


    Charlotte raised an eyebrow, unsure if Lydia''s polished exterior or simply playing a part for the parents genuinely fooled Sharon. Charlotte, on the other hand, knew better. Lydia was troubled. Much like Jackson, she tailored her behavior to fit the expectations of others, but unlike him, Lydia seemed isolated. Jackson had friends like Danny. Lydia, before Allison, had no one. The confident, perfect image Lydia projected hid a far more complex and vulnerable girl.


    As Mr. and Mrs. Martin took their leave, both teachers let out a collective sigh of relief. Navigating conversations with divorced parents was never simple. Sharon tried to lighten the mood by making a few lighthearted remarks, but Charlotte quickly focused on the next couple who walked into the room¡ªAllison Argent''s parents.


    As all four sat down, Chris Argent''s eyes remained fixed on Sharon, studying her intently, while barely acknowledging his wife had started speaking.


    "Your daughter is an incredibly sweet girl," Sharon said, her words warm and honeyed, instantly softening the Argent parents. They smiled at each other, clearly pleased. "She adjusts so quickly, despite the frequent moves."


    "We know it''s hard on her, but it''s a necessary evil. I have to go where the work takes me," Chris explained, his glance shifting briefly toward Charlotte.


    "Necessary or not, I''d prepare for some..." Sharon faltered slightly, meeting the cold, calculating gaze of Victoria Argent¡ªa stark contrast to her daughter''s warmth and friendliness. "How should I put this?"


    "Rebelliousness?" Chris offered, his tone calm but perceptive.


    "We appreciate your concern, but we have a fantastic relationship with our daughter¡ªvery open and honest," Victoria chimed in, flashing a confident smile as she grasped her husband''s hand, emphasizing the closeness she believed they shared. Charlotte, however, caught the fleeting sadness and guilt in Chris''s eyes, which betrayed the facade. Victoria''s words were a lie, and to Charlotte, it was as clear as day.


    "I''m glad to hear that," Sharon replied, her smile as insincere as Victoria''s. She sensed something was off, though she couldn''t place it entirely. "And please, let her know I hope she''s feeling better," Sharon added with a subtle yet pointed edge to her tone. Allison''s parents exchanged confused glances.


    "She wasn''t in class?" Chris asked, his brow furrowing in surprise.


    "She wasn''t in school," Sharon confirmed, her voice steady. "I checked with the office."


    Charlotte had mixed emotions. On one hand, she wanted to high-five Sharon for the subtle jab at the Argents, but on the other, she couldn''t help but worry about the consequences. If Allison had skipped school to run off with Scott, as Stiles had hinted, there could be serious repercussions¡ªespecially considering the dangerous world her family was involved in.


    ***


    "Who''s your daughter?" Coach Bobby Finstock asked with characteristic bluntness.


    "Son," the sheriff corrected him calmly.


    "Who''s your son?" Finstock repeated, unfazed.


    "Stiles."


    "Right, right, Stiles. Wait a second, I thought Stiles was his last name." Bobby admitted without the slightest hint of embarrassment.


    "His last name is Stilinski," the sheriff repeated, casting the coach a mildly suspicious look.


    Charlotte, seated nearby, suppressed a smile, feeling secondhand embarrassment for her colleague but also fighting the urge to giggle.


    "You named your son Stiles Stilinski?" Bobby stared at the sheriff incredulously, as if such a thing were a criminal offense. "Is that even a real name?"


    "No, it''s just what he likes to be called," Sheriff Stilinski explained with practiced patience.


    "I prefer to be called Cupcake..." Finstock remarked offhandedly, to which Charlotte snorted, quickly covering her mouth with her hand, while the sheriff simply raised his eyebrows, trying to absorb the absurdity.


    "What''s his real name?" the coach pressed.


    With a resigned sigh, Stiles'' father reached across the desk and tapped his finger on the official papers in front of him, showing his son''s italicized name. Bobby picked up the paper, turning it over a few times in his hands, squinting at it as if it were some kind of code.


    "You''ve hurt him..." Bobby mumbled, unable to form the letters into a comprehensible word. "How do you even pronounce this?"


    "It was his mother''s father''s name," the sheriff explained, his smile patient and indulgent. This clearly wasn''t his first time fielding questions about Stiles'' unusual name.


    "Wow, you must''ve really loved your wife," Finstock laughed in disbelief, and Charlotte couldn''t help but feel the urge to give him a light smack on the head for his lack of tact.


    "I did..." the sheriff replied softly, his tone quiet but unmistakably sincere.


    "Oh. Well. This just became incredibly awkward," Finstock muttered, his gaze shifting uncomfortably back to the papers in front of him.


    "Listen, Cupcake," the sheriff leaned in slightly, his voice firm but good-natured. "Shall we get to the point?"


    Bobby blinked, taken aback for a moment before grinning. "I''m starting to like you." He glanced back at the papers. "So, Stiles. Great kid. Zero ability to focus. Super smart. Never applies himself."


    "What do you mean?" the sheriff asked, leaning forward with concern.


    "For the final question on his midterm, he gave a detailed history of male circumcision," Bobby replied, deadpan.


    "Well... that does have historical significance, right?" the sheriff stammered, visibly confused as he shifted nervously in his chair, trying to justify his son''s unconventional response.


    "Sheriff Stilinski, I teach history. Mr. Finstock teaches economics," Charlotte chimed in gently, smiling apologetically as she clarified the mix-up.


    "Oh... well, shit," the sheriff muttered, rubbing his temples in disbelief.


    Later, when Charlotte returned from the bathroom, she found she couldn''t get back into Finstock''s office. He had barricaded himself inside and was shouting through the closed door to the bewildered parents who had gathered nearby. The students standing with their parents seemed less surprised by the scene than their mothers and fathers.


    "Greenberg! I told you your parents didn''t have to come! I refuse to talk to them!" Finstock yelled through the door, his voice growing more agitated by the second.


    Charlotte simply shrugged, glancing at the bemused parents and students. She sighed and moved on to her next meeting, shaking her head in amusement. She would never fully understand Coach Finstock, but at least he was always good for a laugh.


    ***


    Charlotte stepped out of the school building, utterly drained. The crowd of parents swirled around her like a river, making her feel as though she were wading through an unrelenting current. Each step was an effort. She spotted Melissa McCall, looking increasingly frazzled, still trying to reach her son, her fingers anxiously tapping on her phone. Nearby, Chris Argent wore a similar expression of frustration as he scanned his surroundings, clearly also unable to contact Allison. Almost instinctively, Charlotte tensed as she watched the two sets of parents meet at the foot of the stairs, exchanging awkward glances before speaking.


    "Excuse me. You''re Allison''s parents, aren''t you?" Melissa asked tentatively, uncertainty in her voice. "I''m Scott''s mom. And I hate to say this... but he''s not answering his phone either."


    "You''re his mother?" Chris Argent responded, his eyes coolly scanning her from head to toe, his tone clipped and sharp.


    "Funny how you said that like it was an accusation," Melissa shot back, her voice edged with annoyance.


    "I wouldn''t exactly call it a source of pride since he basically kidnapped my daughter today," Chris replied, raising his voice, his frustration boiling over.


    "Chris..." Victoria murmured, trying to quiet her husband, but there was no mistaking her underlying displeasure.


    "How do we know skipping school wasn''t your daughter''s idea?" Melissa fired back, the tension between the parents growing thicker by the second.


    Charlotte, standing nearby, contemplated stepping in to de-escalate the situation, but before she could intervene, she noticed two familiar teenagers climbing out of a small silver Mazda. The confrontation between the parents ceased almost instantly as they, too, spotted Scott and Allison.


    Suddenly, a bone-chilling scream sliced through the night air, causing everyone to freeze. The peaceful gathering of parents dissolved into chaos, panic spreading like wildfire. People began darting toward their cars, frantically trying to leave, creating a dangerous, frenzied scene.


    Charlotte''s eyes darted around as she saw Scott raise his head, clearly trying to filter the overwhelming mix of scents to detect any sign of an Alpha. But the sheer number of people and the noise made it impossible for him to focus, and soon he disappeared from her view entirely.


    Charlotte''s gaze shifted to Chris Argent, who had moved swiftly to his cherry-red SUV, retrieving something from the back. His daughter, Allison, stood beside her Mazda, looking nervously over her shoulder as the surrounding crowd grew increasingly chaotic. The panic among the parents intensified, their movements wild and uncoordinated. Several people bumped into Charlotte, but she stood firm, her senses on high alert as she scanned for the source of the danger.


    She tasted the sharp, distinct fear in the air¡ªa wave of panic that seemed to center on Allison. Charlotte turned, searching for the girl, and spotted her walking backward, her eyes wide with terror, fixed on something Charlotte couldn''t see. In that instant, Charlotte''s blood ran cold. A white Chevy barreled toward Allison, the driver oblivious to the girl''s path. Time slowed as Charlotte sprang into action, racing toward her student with all the speed she could muster. Despite being smaller and lighter, Charlotte collided with Allison, knocking her out of the car''s trajectory just in time. Both women tumbled to the pavement, narrowly avoiding disaster.


    A sharp, painful groan escaped Charlotte as she landed heavily on her bruised arm. Allison wasn''t much luckier, hitting the curb hard with her hip. Before either of them could fully process what had just happened, Victoria Argent rushed over, pulling them both to their feet, thanking Charlotte profusely for her quick thinking.


    But the chaos around them continued unabated. The panic surged through the crowd as people scrambled to escape. Charlotte watched helplessly as Sheriff Stilinski tried to control the situation, only to be struck by the same car that had nearly run down Allison moments earlier.


    "Scott! Scott!" Melissa''s frantic voice echoed through the night, cutting through the din of the crowd. Charlotte spotted her between two cars just as the fleeing masses jostled her. Melissa bent down to pick up her phone, which had fallen to the ground, and froze. Her eyes locked onto something beyond the vehicles, her body tense with fear. Chris Argent appeared beside her, crouching down and pulling Melissa away from whatever had paralyzed her. In the next instant, both of them disappeared from Charlotte''s view.


    Then a roar pierced the air¡ªprimal and fearsome. Strangely, Charlotte felt a wave of relief wash over her. She recognized the sound; it wasn''t an Alpha on the loose, but a wild animal. A cougar had triggered the panic. Moments later, gunshots rang out, silencing the commotion. Charlotte, along with Victoria and Allison, turned to see Chris Argent standing tall, his gun in hand, the barrel still smoking from the kill. The cougar lay lifeless on the ground, the source of all the chaos finally revealed.


    Charlotte''s gaze flicked to Scott, whose eyes were wide with shock. He was staring at Chris Argent, his face a mix of terror and awe. The calm, calculated way Chris handled the situation spoke volumes to the young werewolf. Charlotte nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all, but the moment quickly turned serious again as Chris met her eyes from across the parking lot. His expression was unreadable, but the subtle nod he gave made it clear he knew exactly who Charlotte was¡ªand that she wasn''t just Allison''s teacher.

 1.6 Heart Monitor

    That morning, Charlotte awoke gasping for air, something constricting her chest, making it impossible to draw breath. Panic surged through her before she realized it was Derek''s heavy arm, draped possessively over her, pressing her against him and stifling her movement.


    She squeezed her eyes shut, deciding she didn''t need to get up just yet. Her mind wandered back to last night''s drive home. Exhausted and frustrated, she had resigned herself to a lonely night in a cold bed. The werewolf hadn''t responded to her message, and she certainly hadn''t expected him to wait for her. A soft laugh escaped her lips as she recalled the scene: he had tried to wait but failed miserably. She found him sprawled across the living room sofa, fast asleep with the TV still flickering. Charlotte suspected he had watched something more engaging than the credits of the Brazilian Telenovela now rolling across the screen.


    She had stood there for a moment, watching him, captivated by the sight. Isle, the dog, lay sleeping at the foot of the couch, her nose pressed lazily into his hand, which hung loosely off the side. On the backrest, Astra and Behemoth were curled up together, having seemingly forgotten their disdain for the man over the past month. It was a perfect image of a cozy, peaceful home. The only thing missing, she mused with a sudden pang, was a child-or two. Charlotte instantly regretted the thought. They weren''t a couple, and even if they were, she had no right to dream of a future that wasn''t hers to have. Darkness had always been her greatest curse, the shadow that stole from her any hope of a family, of a child.


    Reluctantly, she had woken Derek, knowing that if he spent the night on the couch, his neck would be stiff the next day. His large frame was no match for furniture, not built for comfort. Groggy and compliant, he followed her without protest. She had the distinct impression he wasn''t fully awake. Only when his head hit the pillow did he murmur softly.


    "We were supposed to talk..."


    "It''s late, we can do it tomorrow," she interrupted, running her fingers through his thick, dark hair.


    "You look good..." he whispered, his eyes lazily drifting to the reflection of her form in the tall mirror behind her. Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep.


    Charlotte couldn''t decide if she should feel flattered or insulted. He had never given her a compliment before, and she certainly didn''t look like herself that night. She shrugged it off. She had no intention of changing for anyone-not even for a breathtaking werewolf.


    After a quick shower, she slipped under the duvet beside him. She hadn''t even fully settled when he instinctively pulled her into his embrace, holding her tightly, refusing to let go all night.


    Now she lay awake, unable to move. He clung to her as though she were his lifeline, as though she might slip away. It amused her, given how often she felt it was he who was on the verge of leaving. That was why last night''s discovery, finding him still here, had been such a surprise.


    The subtle change in his breathing interrupted her thoughts, something she might not have noticed if he hadn''t been holding her so closely. His hands shifted, settling at her hips, and with a gentle nudge, his nose brushed aside her hair, placing a tender kiss at the nape of her neck. A pleased hum escaped her lips. This, she thought, was the perfect way to start any day.


    Pretending to sleep a little longer, she knew full well he wasn''t fooled. He continued his slow exploration of her body with soft kisses, his hands tracing the curve of her sides. She waited for the Darkness to stir within her, but it remained quiet, yielding to the simple, human pleasure of the moment. It was a rare and sweet sensation, untainted by magic, and even more profound because, for once, she felt entirely herself-free to surrender, free from fear, without the demons lurking in the shadows.


    He kissed her and touched her gently, careful of her wounded hand. If she didn''t know better, she could tell they were making love...


    His calloused hands, rough and strong, glided over her velvety skin, causing a cascade of goosebumps to rise. A soft sigh of surrender escaped her parted lips as she melted into his touch. Her healthy hand yearned to explore his chiseled shoulders, but he gently halted her, his warm breath whispering for her to stay still. Obediently, she complied, anticipation coursing through her veins.


    His skilled fingers and tender lips embarked on a journey, tracing every contour of her body, leaving behind sweet imprints of their affection. A different kind of tension began to build within her, unlike anything she had ever experienced. It simmered beneath her skin, aching for release.


    As the all-consuming Darkness threatened to dominate, seeking to take without offering in return, Derek''s caresses sparked a subtle transformation. An impulse stirred within her, a desire to reciprocate his attention and tenderness. Yet, every attempt to take initiative was met with a playful growl, teasingly discouraging her advances.


    Discovering the delicate junction where her neck met her shoulder, he focused his attention, experimenting with different touches to elicit maximum pleasure. With each passing moment, her breath grew heavier, unable to keep pace with the mounting sensations that consumed her.


    His tongue moved with a magical rhythm, coaxing forth a radiant white light that danced behind her closed eyelids. The tension in her stomach tightened, rising rapidly like a crescendo.


    Overwhelmed by the unfamiliar intensity of these sensations, a subconscious urge to retreat tugged at her, a fleeting attempt to escape. Yet, his firm grip on her hips and the relentless pursuit of his mouth and tongue anchored her in place, intensifying their efforts to please her.


    She squeezed her eyelids shut and clenched her fists tightly, the sharpness of her nails piercing her own skin. In that climactic moment, a surge of pleasure engulfed her, flooding every inch of her body, igniting spasms deep within her core.


    She didn''t even notice when his face hovered just inches above hers, the warmth of his breath caressing her skin. A self-satisfied smile played on his lips, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. As she lifted her head slightly, their lips met in a gentle kiss, igniting a surge of excitement within her. Her hips arched, silently inviting him to join her in the next stage of their intimate journey.


    With a fluid motion, he entered her; the sensation drawing a sharp intake of air from his lips. The surge of control he felt in that moment surpassed any aphrodisiac he had ever known. In this vulnerable act, she revealed her true self, the darkness that haunted her, retreating to the shadows. He dared not question its absence, instead choosing to revel in the moment.


    His primal instinct urged him to mark her as his own, a possessive desire surging through his veins. But he resisted, knowing that it would only complicate their already complex bond. As she impatiently moved her hips, he gently nipped at her earlobe, a silent apology for his restrained pace. Her uninjured hand, now liberated from his grasp, found its way to his neck, her nails lightly grazing his skin.


    They moved with a deliberate rhythm, each motion purposefully slow, as if trying to prolong the intoxicating connection they had. It was less about raw force and more about conveying a deeper meaning, a silent declaration that she held a special place in his heart. The term "friend" fell short, but there was no better description of what they were.


    Hours passed as they explored the depths of pleasure, their bodies driving each other to the precipice of ecstasy. Waves of fulfillment washed over them, their connection intensifying with each passing moment. Eventually, the demands of their condition forced them to acknowledge their human needs. They reluctantly broke away from their intimate cocoon, knowing that even creatures like them required sustenance and rest.


    ***


    In the afternoon, Derek insisted on accompanying Charlotte to the store, determined to assist her, given the difficulty she faced with her uncooperative hand. Charlotte tried to dissuade him, but he remained resolute. His behavior throughout the day had been strange, almost unsettling. When she was reading, he tiptoed around her, careful not to make the slightest noise. Whenever she rose to make herself a coffee or grab a snack, he would dart into the kitchen before her, handing her whatever she needed as if it were his sole mission.


    Now, with her merely mentioning a trip to the market for groceries, he was already standing by the car, ready to join her. His insistence left her feeling uneasy, unsure of what lay beneath it, but she chose not to address it for the moment. Instead, she quietly reveled in a mischievous satisfaction at the little games she played at his expense. Like when, just five minutes after Derek had brewed her a fresh cup of coffee and returned to his book, she announced it had gone cold and asked for a new one. She saw the brief flicker of annoyance cross his face, but without a word, he dutifully made her another. She planned to continue this little charade for a while longer.


    At the market, they ran into Sharon. Charlotte had half-expected this; it seemed to happen with predictable frequency. As always, the older colleague was quick to spot her, and with a knowing smile, her gaze slid to Derek, giving him an approving once-over. She shot Charlotte a conspiratorial wink, but didn''t approach them. Charlotte''s cheeks flamed crimson, and her heart raced in response. The werewolf, ever perceptive, raised an eyebrow in confusion, sensing the shift in her mood, though clearly unaware of the cause.


    As they entered the storied parking garage where her Chevelle was parked, Derek suddenly came to a stop. His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply, his expression darkening with a devious, almost unsettling smile. He was clearly planning something. Charlotte jabbed him lightly in the ribs with her finger, silently demanding an explanation as his attention snapped back to her.


    "Scott is here... I think this would be a good time for the first training session," he said in a low, deliberate tone. Without further explanation, he gestured for her to get into the car and wait.


    Reluctantly, Charlotte complied, though every instinct tempted her to follow and see what was about to unfold. Before she even realized it, Derek had vanished.


    The teenager walked past her car without noticing her. Charlotte sat stiffly, not daring to move, knowing even the slightest motion might catch his attention. Scott was scanning the lot frantically, clearly disoriented, unsure of where he had parked. He clicked his remote a few times before hearing a distant beep. Moving in that direction, one of the bags he was carrying gave way, its contents spilling onto the ground. A bottle of milk rolled beneath the nearest shopping cart.


    "Crap..." Scott groaned, bending down to retrieve the runaway bottle. Yet before he could reach it, the bottle appeared to roll back toward him, leaving behind three neat, white trails on the concrete. His first instinct was to grab it, but something made him stop. A deep, rumbling growl echoed through the parking lot, sending chills down his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.


    Without waiting another second, Scott bolted, abandoning his bags where they had fallen. The sense of danger was palpable, an unseen force pursuing him with every step. He could feel it-something was chasing him. Panic gnawed at his chest as he darted between the parked cars, constantly glancing over his shoulder, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of his pursuer.


    Desperation drove him to take cover behind one of the cars, his back pressed firmly against the door. He breathed heavily and raggedly, with his heart pounding so hard that he was sure whatever was stalking him could hear it. Terror coursed through his veins, momentarily paralyzing him. He was going to die. Alpha had finally lost patience and was here to kill him. He couldn''t think straight, but he knew he had to do something. What would Stiles do? The thought flickered through his mind, urging him to think tactically.


    The growl drew closer, menacing and unrelenting. Panic spiked as an idea took shape, hazy but clear enough. He was in a parking lot, surrounded by cars. Just like those special forces soldiers Mrs. Benoit had talked about in their history lesson, he could use them. By leaping onto the hood of the closest car, he set off its blaring alarm. Then he leaped to the next, another alarm piercing the air. With each jump, the shrill howls of alarms multiplied, a cacophony that was almost unbearable, but Scott didn''t care. Alpha would hear it too-maybe it would buy him some time.


    Reaching the end of the row, he ducked down behind the wall, pressing his back hard against the wheel of a silent SUV. For a moment, he thought he had done it-he had escaped. His breathing slowed, and his heart began to steady as hope flickered. He might actually survive this.


    Just as he allowed himself that sliver of relief, his jacket pocket vibrated, followed by the unmistakable ringtone of his phone. Frantically, Scott fumbled to silence it, his hands trembling as he prayed it wouldn''t betray his hiding spot. But it was too late. A sound behind him-a soft thud. Something had landed on the car he was crouched behind.


    The phone fell silent just as strong hands grabbed him, lifting him clean off the ground and pinning him forcefully against the SUV''s hood. Scott''s eyes flew open, and there was Derek, his expression a mask of barely controlled anger.


    "You''re dead," Derek growled, his voice low and menacing. He stepped back, releasing the boy, who stared up at him, still shaken.


    "What the hell was that?" Scott demanded, still panting, anger and fear colliding within him.


    "I told you I''d teach you. I never said when," Derek replied, his earlier fury fading, replaced by the barest hint of amusement.


    "You scared the crap out of me!" Scott''s voice was edged with frustration, but Derek simply inhaled, raising an eyebrow, his tone calm.


    "Not yet."


    "Well... I was fast, right?" Scott''s cheeks flushed, embarrassed by his own desperation.


    "Not fast enough." Derek was already walking ahead, his voice dismissive, barely acknowledging the boy''s presence.


    "But the car alarms... That was smart, right?"


    "Until your phone rang."


    "That was... I mean..." Scott stammered, his annoyance building. "Would you just stop? Please?"


    Derek finally stopped and turned to face him, an expectant look in his eyes.


    "What happened the other night... Stiles'' dad getting hurt... That was my fault. I should have been there to stop it. I need you to teach me how to control this," Scott admitted, his voice tinged with desperation.


    "I''m what I am because of birth. You were bitten. Teaching someone who was bitten takes time. I''m not even sure I can teach you," Derek said, his tone measured but firm.


    "What do I have to do?" Scott pleaded, grasping at any thread of hope, too exhausted to carry the weight of his circumstances alone.


    "Get rid of distractions." Derek reached into Scott''s pocket, pulling out the phone and holding it up for the boy to see. The screen displayed a message: "Missed call: Allison." Derek''s voice hardened. "This is why I caught you. You want me to teach you? Get rid of her."


    "What? Just because of her family?" Scott''s disbelief was palpable, unable to comprehend how someone as perfect as Allison could be a problem.


    Derek sighed heavily, his patience waning. With a sudden, violent motion, he hurled the phone against the garage wall, shattering it into pieces. The sound of plastic and glass splintering echoed around them. Scott winced, closing his eyes.


    "Getting angry?" Derek asked, his voice goading. "That''s your first lesson. You want to control this? To shift? You do it through anger. Through primal, animal rage. And you can''t do that with her around."


    "I can get angry," Scott growled, his face tightening with frustration.


    "Not angry enough," Derek retorted, his gaze scrutinizing the boy. "This is the only way I can teach you. Can you stay away from her, at least until after the full moon?"


    "If that''s what it takes..." Scott''s voice was hesitant, unsure, torn between the life he wanted and the reality he couldn''t escape.


    "You want to live? You want to protect your friends? Yes or no?" Derek''s voice rose, insistent.


    "Yes! If you can teach me, I can stay away from her," Scott vowed, then turned to gather his scattered shopping and head back to his car.


    Derek watched him go, his eyes narrowing. After a moment, he felt a small hand gently grip his forearm.


    "Do you remember what you were like at his age?" a quiet voice asked from beside him. "All growing boys are the same... You don''t seem to believe he''ll keep his promise. Especially when you''re not exactly setting the best example yourself."


    Derek remained silent, contemplating her words. Was she referring to their relationship, or something deeper-his past, which she had no right to know about? A past filled with mistakes he was determined not to let Scott repeat.


    "Scott doesn''t know about us. He hasn''t learned to use his sense of smell well enough yet..." Derek muttered.


    "Scott doesn''t, but Stiles is clever, and if he figures it out, Scott will know soon enough. We''re not exactly being discreet," she replied, moving toward her car. "What would you say if it had been his mom calling instead of Allison?"


    "It wasn''t his mom, so it doesn''t matter," Derek responded flatly, following her with his eyes, appraising her form.


    He liked watching her. She stirred something primal within him, even though she never dressed provocatively or acted overtly seductive. The worn sneakers and tattered sweatpants she wore around the house made him feel as though she had wrapped him in a warm, comforting blanket, scented with coffee and citrus. If she wanted to, she could have any man at her feet. He remembered how striking she looked after a parent-teacher conference, dressed so differently than usual. Yet, she looked just as good now in her everyday clothes. The black jeans hugged her legs and hips, and the leather jacket added a fierce edge to her appearance.


    But deep down, he was glad she was his, at least for now, hidden from the world. The thought of her igniting that same fire in someone else would have driven him mad with jealousy. The only worry gnawing at him was whether this jealousy signaled that he was losing control of his wolf nature.


    #


    Scott didn''t care about Derek''s prohibitions in the slightest; he reasoned that as long as the werewolf remained unaware, there would be no issue. So, that very evening, he paid Allison a visit, slipping into her room through the window, skillfully avoiding any encounter with her parents. Their reunion was marked by passionate kisses, and they might have gone further had a knock had not interrupted them. In that moment, Scott hurriedly took refuge in the wardrobe, whether by choice or necessity, eavesdropping on Allison''s conversation with her aunt.


    "What''s up?" Kate asked, as she stepped into her niece''s room.


    "Nothing. Just doing homework, sending emails," Allison replied, her tone a bit too casual as she crossed her arms, attempting to conceal the fact that she wasn''t wearing a bra beneath her shirt.


    "Emailing the boyfriend?" her aunt inquired, glancing at the photos on a shelf near the desk.


    "No. I''m emailing PETA about how my wingnut father gunned down an innocent mountain lion in the school parking lot," Allison responded, tapping furiously at the keyboard.


    "And that has nothing to do with being grounded and forbidden from seeing Scott?" Kate raised an eyebrow, amused by her niece''s defiant behavior.


    "No."


    "That much of an animal lover, huh?"


    Allison swiveled in her chair to face her aunt, locking eyes with her.


    "I''m not going to be the whiny teenager who tells her dad, ''I hate you, I wish you were dead.''"


    "But?"


    "I hate him, and I wish he was dead," Allison grinned mischievously, though the sentiment was far from genuine. She loved her father and, despite their disagreements, knew that everything he did, he did out of love for her.


    "Good. You''re starting to sound like a typical, angry teenager again," Kate laughed gleefully. "What are you working on? Maybe I can help?"


    "A history project. And I''d rather do it myself, actually. Mrs. Benoit always seems to know when we''ve had outside help..."


    "Benoit?" Kate almost chuckled at the mention of the name.


    "Yes, our history teacher. She''s great, really. She actually made me like the subject."


    "I used to have a friend with that last name-Charlotte, maybe? Is she a redhead?" Kate''s tone suddenly grew colder, more intense, making Allison feel a bit uneasy.


    "Yes..."


    "Oh, I''ll have to pay her a visit. But let''s get back to your project. What are you writing about?"


    "I need to create a report that ties into my own family history."


    "Specific to your family?"


    "Yeah. Why? Do you have any ideas?"


    Kate smiled, then crouched beside her niece''s chair.


    "Google this: La B¨ºte du G¨¦vaudan."


    "The Beast of G¨¦vaudan? What''s that?" Allison asked, her curiosity piqued as she scrolled through the search results.


    "An old French legend that, believe it or not, involves your family. Yes, even your boring and ''lame'' family has some pretty cool history."


    An engraving popped up on the screen, depicting a massive, four-legged beast with an elongated snout and viciously sharp fangs. Both women leaned closer to examine the text beneath the image.


    Allison read softly, "In 1799, in the province of Loz¨¨re, La B¨ºte killed over a hundred people." She leaned back in her chair, struggling to see the connection between this legend and her family.


    "Mostly women and children," Kate added.


    "Is this real?" Allison asked, skeptical.


    "Very real. Mysterious animal attacks. Just like a certain town called Beacon Hills," Kate whispered eerily, her voice low and cryptic, sending a shiver down Allison''s spine.


    "What was it? The animal?"


    "No one knows. But it definitely wasn''t a mountain lion," Kate replied, her tone suddenly normal again. "What does it look like to you?" she asked, gesturing toward the engraving.


    "It looks like... a wolf."


    Scott, still hidden in the wardrobe, inhaled sharply and then covered his mouth with his hand, terrified that the Huntress might hear him. One thing was clear now: Allison did not know about her father''s or her aunt''s true nature, but she was bound to find out soon enough. Kate was subtly steering her toward uncovering the truth on her own.


    #


    #


    Less than an hour later, the teenage werewolf stormed into his room like a whirlwind, slamming the door behind him with a resounding thud. His heart pounded in his throat, blood pulsed in his ears, and an icy shiver of terror rippled down his spine. He rushed to the window, frantically closing it to ensure no one could enter the house. His hands trembled as he pulled the blinds shut, then swung them open again, scanning outside to see if anyone was lurking.


    Silence. The street lay empty. His panic subsided slightly, and he reached for the lamp on the windowsill. As the light flickered on, he jumped back in shock. There was someone sitting in the armchair.


    "God!" he shouted, his pulse spiking again. "You seriously need to stop doing that."


    The dark figure, nearly giving him a heart attack, belonged to Derek Hale, watching him in the dim light with his characteristic silence.


    "What happened? Did he talk to you?" Derek asked, his voice flat and emotionless, as if he had no genuine curiosity about the answer.


    "Yeah, we had a nice chat about the weather," Scott snapped, his heart still racing. Encountering the Alpha outside Allison''s house had pushed him to his limit. The Hunters had a monster lurking under their noses and they were blissfully unaware. How could he possibly protect Allison from this creature? "No. He didn''t talk."


    "Did you get anything from him? A sense of something?" Derek asked, a slight frown creasing his otherwise impassive face.


    "What do you mean?" Scott asked, confused. The fear of what he might have felt already overwhelmed him; now Derek was asking for more?


    Derek''s expression tightened, a wry smile barely touching his lips. His patience was wearing thin with a kid who couldn''t even grasp the basics. How did someone like Charlie manage to deal with such clueless individuals every day?


    "Remember, your other senses are heightened. Communication isn''t always verbal. What kind of feeling did you get from him?"


    "Anger," Scott replied after a moment''s thought, replaying the unnerving experience of the Alpha circling his car in his mind.


    "Directed at you?"


    "No, not at me. But definitely anger. I could feel it," Scott reflected. "Especially when he drew the spiral."


    "The what?" The words slipped out of Derek''s mouth, a rare lapse in his composure. "What did you just say?"


    "He drew a spiral on my car window. In the condensation. Why?" Scott looked closely at him. "You have that look like you know what it means."


    "It''s nothing," Derek replied, avoiding his gaze as his thoughts shifted elsewhere. He brushed past Scott, heading for the door, signaling that the conversation was over.


    "Whoa, wait a second. You can''t do that," Scott called after him. "You can''t ask me to trust you and then keep secrets."


    "It doesn''t mean anything," Derek muttered, his hand already turning the lock on the door.


    "You buried your sister under a spiral. What does it mean?" Scott pressed.


    Derek turned to face him, letting out a heavy sigh. He debated whether to confess that he hadn''t made the spiral himself, that he had been just as shocked and disturbed by its presence.


    "You don''t want to know," he said quietly, placing a hand on Scott''s shoulder before slipping out. This time, Scott didn''t stop him, paralyzed more by the fear he saw in Derek''s eyes than by his recent encounter with the Alpha. What could rattle Derek, who was usually so composed and self-assured? And what was the significance of the mysterious, recurring spiral? What did it mean for Derek, and more terrifyingly, what could it mean for him?


    #


    February 2nd, 2011-Wednesday


    Charlotte had been keeping a watchful eye on Scott from the early morning. Derek''s uncharacteristic silence after his confrontation with the boy troubled her, especially since he returned much later than she had expected. The young werewolf appeared to be following the older man''s instructions; she hadn''t seen him so much as approach Allison, let alone speak to her. To be fair, Scott hadn''t spoken to anyone that day, and his best friend seemed absolutely furious with him.


    It wasn''t until she saw the boys in her class that Scott made his first attempt to speak with Stiles.


    "You''re still not talking to me?" he asked, his voice almost pleading, as he gazed at the back of Stiles'' head with eyes that resembled those of a defeated puppy. But Stiles remained silent. "Can you at least tell me if your dad''s okay? It was just a bruise, right? Soft tissue damage?" Scott''s concern was obvious, but Stiles still didn''t respond. From her seat at the teacher''s desk, Charlotte could see Stiles licking his lips nervously, trying to ignore his friend. "You know I feel really bad about it... Okay, what if I told you that I''m trying to figure this out? And that I went to Derek for help."


    Stiles'' response came after a brief, tense silence, his anger seemingly intensifying.


    "If I was talking to you," he said, his face still turned towards the board. He slightly raised his voice, whether out of frustration or to ensure Scott heard him, though the werewolf would have caught the words, regardless. "I''d tell you that you''re an idiot for trusting him. But obviously, I''m not talking to you." He lowered his voice as the bell rang, signaling the start of the lesson.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Charlotte waited for the rest of the students to settle before beginning her lecture. Though she decided not to intervene in the boys'' argument, it was clear they had a lot left unsaid. Still, her curiosity about their conversation lingered, making it difficult for her to fully concentrate on the lesson. She mentally prepared to assign extra homework to compensate for the material she would only briefly cover.


    "What did he say?" Stiles finally turned to Scott, unable to endure the tension any longer, his curiosity overwhelming him.


    Charlotte inhaled deeply and shifted her focus back to her lesson. She already had a good idea of what Derek might have said to Scott. There was no need for her to eavesdrop any further.


    After the lesson ended, both boys approached her, their expressions grim. They waited until the other students had cleared the room before Stiles began, his tone a mix of frustration and exasperation.


    "Derek made Scott tap into his animal side and get angry! But every time he does that, he tries to kill someone! And that someone''s usually me," Stiles complained, clearly expecting the teacher to comfort him or at least criticize the dangerous idea. However, Charlotte simply turned her questioning gaze toward Scott.


    "Well, yeah... And he said he''s not sure if he can teach me. I have to be able to control it," Scott admitted, clearly disheartened.


    "And how exactly is he planning to teach you that?" she finally asked. She and Derek had been puzzling over this dilemma for nearly a week, though she hadn''t ruled out the possibility that Derek had come up with something on his own and neglected to inform her.


    "I don''t know... and I don''t think he does either," Scott responded, sounding discouraged.


    "When are you seeing him again?" Stiles interjected. There was a flicker of something-perhaps excitement or determination-in his eyes, though Charlotte wasn''t entirely sure.


    "He doesn''t want me talking about it. He told me to act normal today. To just get through the day."


    "When?" Stiles pressed, unwilling to let the matter drop.


    "He''s coming to get me at work, at the Animal Clinic," Scott finally conceded.


    "Okay. Then that gives us until the end of the school day," Stiles said with a sigh, a mischievous smile creeping onto his face as he glanced at Charlotte. "You''ll help us, won''t you?"


    "With what?" she asked, sensing a strange unease but still not fully grasping Stiles'' intent.


    "In teaching Scott ourselves."


    #


    During the free hour between classes, Charlotte accompanied the boys to the lacrosse field, far from the prying eyes of students and teachers. In the meantime, Stiles had somehow gathered his "gear," as he called it, lugging a sports bag along with him. She watched him closely, unsure of what to expect. Settling herself on the bleachers, she informed the boys that, for the time being, she would confine herself to the role of an observer and would only intervene if her help was required.


    Stiles halted nearby, pulling a small device attached to a black rubber belt from his bag.


    "Put this on," he directed Scott.


    "Isn''t that one of the heart rate monitors for the track team?" Scott asked, eyeing the device with suspicion.


    "Yeah, I borrowed it."


    "Stole it..." corrected the werewolf.


    "Temporarily misappropriated," Stiles insisted. "Coach uses it to track his heart rate with his phone while he jogs. You''re going to wear it for the rest of the day," he instructed, pulling a mobile phone from his pocket with a confident air.


    "Isn''t that Coach''s phone?"


    "That I stole," Stiles admitted bluntly.


    "Why?" Scott asked, still perplexed by his friend''s plan.


    "Your heart rate spikes when you go wolf, right?" Charlotte interjected, having watched their exchange until now. "During lacrosse, when you''re around Allison, and especially when you''re angry. Learning to control it is linked to learning how to regulate your heart rate."


    "Like the Incredible Hulk?"


    "Kind of like the Incredible Hulk," Stiles confirmed.


    "I''m the Incredible Hulk..." Scott smiled, a dreamy expression spreading across his face, his focus wavering.


    "Shut up and put the strap on," his friend ordered, bringing him back to the task at hand.


    Once Scott had secured the heart rate monitor, Stiles tied his hands behind his back with power tape.


    "This is not exactly how I envisioned spending my free period," Charlotte sighed, glancing at the boys as she made herself more comfortable on the bleachers.


    "Are you guys ready?" Stiles asked, his voice brimming with excitement, moving a few paces away with his lacrosse stick and bag.


    "No..." replied Scott uncertainly.


    "Remember, don''t get angry," the husky boy reminded him, turning on the app on his phone.


    "I''m starting to think this is a really bad..." Scott didn''t even have the chance to finish his sentence before the first lacrosse ball hit him squarely in the stomach.


    Charlotte watched the unfolding scene with wide eyes, astonished by what she was witnessing. She should probably intervene-if anyone saw her standing by idly, she could easily lose her job. It was clear, from the look on Stiles'' face, that he was thoroughly enjoying the situation, while Scott, on the other hand, was visibly losing his patience, lunging forward repeatedly as the balls struck him.


    "Son of a bitch!" Scott screamed at one point, after being hit particularly hard in a sensitive spot.


    Charlie heard muffled laughter behind her and turned in alarm. They were being observed by Jackson Whittemore. However, he seemed not to notice her presence, as his attention was entirely fixed on his teammates.


    "I think my aim is improving..." commented the sheriff''s son, oblivious to the fact that they had an audience.


    Before Charlotte had time to react and halt the impromptu practice, it became alarmingly clear that Scott was kneeling on the turf, growling. His hands were free, embedded in the ground-he must have ripped through the tape. She sprinted toward them, and as she got closer, the rapid beeping of Coach''s phone became unmistakable, signaling Scott''s dangerously sped up heart rate. Kneeling beside the werewolf, she positioned herself to shield him from Jackson, turning her back to block the view. Scott had managed to calm himself just enough to avoid shifting, but it had been a close call. When Charlotte glanced over her shoulder to check, Whittemore had already disappeared.


    "You started to change?" Stiles was immediately at their side, his voice edged with concern.


    "From anger. But it was more than that. The angrier I got, the stronger I felt," Scott panted, still kneeling on the grass, trying to catch his breath.


    "Then it is anger. Which means Derek''s right?" Stiles said, a note of disbelief in his voice, clearly disappointed by the revelation.


    "I can''t be around Allison..." Scott muttered, realizing fully what Derek had been right about. The weight of it hit him hard, his heart sinking.


    "Why? Because she makes you happy?" Stiles asked with a touch of irony.


    "Because she makes me weak," Scott replied, his voice breaking as he collapsed onto the grass, burying his face in his knees. The realization shattered him.


    "So, stay away from her for a few days," Stiles suggested pragmatically as he began packing up the gear. "You can do that."


    "But is it a few days, or is it forever?" Scott couldn''t bear the uncertainty. The idea of a permanent separation from Allison was unbearable.


    "You know, this whole ''women make you weak'' thing is a little too Spartan Warrior for me," Stiles muttered, casting a sideways glance at Charlotte, who was helping Scott get back on his feet. He could have sworn her ears flushed slightly. "It''s probably just part of the learning process."


    "But you''ve seen Derek. He''s totally alone," Scott mumbled, brushing the grass off himself. "What if I can''t be around her ever again?"


    Both boys turned to Charlotte, their expressions filled with silent pleas for guidance. She felt the weight of their expectations. After all, she had lived with the knowledge of the supernatural far longer than they had. Yet, when she looked into Stiles'' eyes, she saw something more than the question in Scott''s. Stiles suspected Derek wasn''t as "totally alone" as Scott believed-or at least, he had an idea.


    "If you''re not dead, that could be a good thing," Stiles quipped.


    "I''d rather be dead," Scott responded, his voice laden with despair.


    "Don''t be dramatic like some thirteen-year-old Scott," Charlotte said with a broad, reassuring smile. "Werewolves can have partners, and they don''t have to be of the same species. But they do have to learn control first. How would you feel if you accidentally hurt her?" She hoped her words would settle the matter for at least a few days.


    #


    Allison sat beneath her locker, using the break to finish the reading her aunt had recommended. The story had captured her attention, and she absentmindedly reached for her necklace as her eyes moved over the words.


    "What are you reading?" The sudden question jolted her from her trance, causing her to jump. She glanced down at the feet of the newcomer standing beside her and then slowly looked up. Jackson didn''t look well; his complexion seemed off, like he was running a fever.


    "Oh, hey. Just some stuff for a history project," she replied, her concern evident. After their last outing together with Scott and Lydia, she had the distinct impression that he wasn''t particularly fond of her.


    Jackson slid down to sit next to her on the floor, peering over her shoulder at the book resting in her lap.


    "You have a free period?" she asked, her voice betraying her surprise at his sudden proximity and unusual behavior.


    "No. I just don''t feel like sitting through Chem," he muttered evasively, giving her a half-hearted smile.


    "Understandable," she laughed softly, feeling a bit awkward. "Umm... did you want something?" She had been eager to return to her reading, but Jackson''s presence made it impossible to focus.


    "Actually..." he hesitated, staring at her face as if battling with his own thoughts. After a pause, he continued, "I wanted to talk. I''ve been a jerk. To you. And especially to Scott." He fell silent for a moment, watching as Allison''s eyes widened in surprise. She didn''t respond immediately, clearly surprised. "And I want to say I''m sorry. I''m serious."


    "Okay," she replied slowly, weighing his words. "I believe you''re serious. But I''m not so sure you''re being sincere," she added, returning her attention to the book in her lap. She heard Jackson let out a deep sigh.


    "Do you know what it''s like to be the best on the team?" he began, his voice low and intense as he studied her closely. "To be the star? To have your name chanted at the start of every game?" He paused for effect, his frustration palpable. "And then some other kid shows up, and suddenly, everyone''s looking at him instead of you? Do you know how that feels?" His gaze bore into hers, searching for understanding.


    "Not really, no," she answered quietly.


    "It feels like something''s been stolen from you," he explained, his voice tinged with bitterness. "And you start thinking you''d do anything to get it back." Their eyes locked for a moment.


    "Didn''t anyone ever teach you there''s no ''I'' in team?" she replied, leaning her head back against the locker with a small smile.


    "But there is a ''me,''" he retorted quickly, almost before he realized what he''d said. Catching her surprised expression, he laughed and added, ,"That''s a joke." Allison gave him a weak, forced smile in response. "You totally hate me, don''t you?" he asked, with a mix of humor and sadness rubbing the back of his neck. His fingers brushed against the unhealed scratches Derek had left behind.


    "Not at all," she replied, laughing more sincerely this time.


    "You promise?" He seemed genuinely surprised. "Because I''m not a bad guy. I just make stupid mistakes sometimes. I want to be friends. With you..." He paused, gauging her reaction, and when she looked at him with a hint of apprehension, he continued, "And Scott too. I want you guys to like me. I want to get to know you better."


    #


    "Sit down. Sit. Sit. Sit," Coach Bobby Finstock commanded as he prepared to begin his economics lesson. The students hurriedly took their seats while he paced the front of the room, clearly eager to get started. "Lots to cover. Sit."


    Scott had avoided Allison all day, but now, feeling her presence directly behind him, he quickly whispered to Stiles to switch places with him, desperate to avoid her proximity. Unfortunately for him, Allison was quicker than Stiles and slid smoothly into the seat behind Scott before Stiles had a chance.


    "Hey, I haven''t seen you all day," Allison chirped, barely having time to unpack her things.


    "Oh. Sorry? I''ve been super busy," Scott mumbled, doing his best to avoid eye contact, his gaze shifting towards Stiles, silently pleading for help.


    "When are you getting a new phone? I feel like I''m totally disconnected from you," she asked, her curiosity evident.


    "Soon. Really soon," Scott responded, trying to turn away, but Allison cut him off again.


    "I switched lab partners, by the way," she smiled, clearly pleased with herself.


    "To who?"


    "To you, dummy," she laughed, amused by the confusion on his face.


    "Me? Why me?" Scott stammered, completely at a loss. "I mean... are you sure?"


    "Yeah," she said with a playful eye roll. "This way, I have an excuse to bring you home to study." Her expression softened as she watched him, sensing something was off. "You don''t mind, do you?"


    "I just don''t want to bring your grade down," Scott sighed, attempting to deceive both her and himself.


    "Maybe I can bring your grade up," she whispered, making sure the teacher couldn''t hear their conversation.


    From his seat, Stiles observed the exchange with exaggerated distaste, glancing toward the ceiling, his lips puckered in mock exasperation at the sickly sweetness in their voices.


    "Come to my place tonight. Half past eight?" Allison suggested, still smiling.


    "Tonight?" Scott straightened up, visibly uncomfortable.


    "All right, settle down," Finstock''s voice cut through the room as he scanned the class with a critical eye. "Let''s start with a quick summary of last night''s reading." A few eager hands shot up immediately. The coach grimaced at Vanessa and Kevin, the Greenberg siblings, who sat together with their hands in the air. "Greenbergs, put your hands down. Everybody knows you did the reading. How about..." He looked around the room before his gaze landed on Scott. "McCall?"


    "Huh?" Scott asked, his voice distant, lifting a confused gaze from his desk.


    "The reading, McCall."


    "Last night''s reading?"


    "No, the reading of the Gettysburg Address," the coach retorted, shaking his head in disbelief.


    "What?" Scott mumbled, completely misunderstanding, causing the class to erupt in laughter.


    "That was sarcasm, McCall. Familiar with the concept?"


    "Very..." Scott replied slowly, casting a helpless glance at Stiles, who grinned proudly to himself.


    "You do the reading or not?" Finstock pressed, watching as Scott nervously flipped through the pages of his textbook.


    "I think I forgot..."


    "Okay, then. Nice work," Finstock''s voice dropped into a dangerously low tone. "Because it''s not like you''re averaging a D in this class." He leaned over Scott''s desk, placing his hands firmly on the surface. "You do know I can''t keep you on the team with a D, right, McCall?" Stiles tensed up at this statement and simultaneously heard the soft beeping of his phone, indicating Scott''s heart rate was rising.


    "How about you summarize the reading from the night before?" Finstock asked, his expression showing a brief flicker of hope, which vanished when Scott shook his head.


    "No? How about the night before that?" The coach leaned in even further, glaring down at the werewolf. "How about you summarize anything you''ve ever read in your entire life?" His voice grew louder, but only Stiles could hear the incessant beeping from his phone as Scott''s pulse quickened. "Anything at all. A blog? The back of a cereal box?" Finstock''s frustration mounted. "The adults-only warning on your favorite website?"


    Scott''s blood pressure wasn''t the only thing escalating. The coach''s nerves were fraying, too. "Thank you, McCall," Finstock said, throwing his hands up dramatically as he moved back to the center of the room. "Thank you for extinguishing every last flicker of hope I had for your generation." He gestured wildly. "Next practice, you start with suicide runs. You don''t need to read for that."


    Stiles squirmed in his seat, anxiously watching his phone as the numbers continued to rise. He wiped his face with the palm of his hand, wondering what he would do if Scott lost control, shifted, and attacked the coach-or worse, the entire class. He could see sweat beginning to bead on Scott''s forehead, his shoulders tensing more with each passing second.


    Then, suddenly, the beeping slowed. Stiles stared at his phone in disbelief as Scott''s heart rate decreased. He glanced over at his friend and saw the reason-Allison had reached out and taken Scott''s hand, her touch alone soothing him, even as Finstock continued his tirade, completely unaware of the danger he had narrowly avoided.


    After the lesson, Stiles almost forcibly dragged Scott out of the classroom, pulling him along so no one else could overhear their conversation.


    "It''s her," Stiles finally blurted out, his tone urgent. Scott, walking beside him with a strangely blissful expression on his face, glanced over, confused.


    "What do you mean?"


    "It''s Allison. Remember what you told me about the night of the full moon? You were thinking about her-about protecting her," Stiles reminded him.


    "Okay."


    "And remember the first lacrosse game? You said you could hear her voice on the field."


    "Yeah. I did."


    "That''s what brought you back. So you could score," Stiles concluded, his voice growing more intense. "And then in the locker room, you didn''t kill her. At least, not like you tried to kill me. She brings you back," he added with a note of reproach. "She calms you down."


    "But that''s not always true," Scott resisted, shaking his head. "Because literally every time I''m kissing her or touching her-"


    "That''s not the same," Stiles cut in, already certain of his theory. "When you''re doing that, you''re just another hormonal teenager thinking about sex." He gave Scott a disbelieving look as a dreamy expression crossed the werewolf''s face, clearly showing his mind had drifted. "See? You''re thinking about sex right now, aren''t you?"


    "Sorry," Scott shrugged, a goofy grin plastered across his face.


    "Right," Stiles waved it off with a chuckle. "But when she was holding your hand in class? That was different. I don''t think she makes you weak, Scott. I think she actually gives you control. It''s like she''s some kind of anchor."


    "You mean because I love her," Scott blurted, not fully realizing what he was saying. As soon as the words left his mouth, he froze, gripping the straps of his backpack tightly. Panic flickered across his face.


    "Exactly," Stiles confirmed, though it took him a moment to notice Scott had stopped in his tracks.


    "Did I just say that?" Scott asked, incredulous, unsure if he was addressing Stiles or himself.


    "You just said that."


    "I love her..." Scott repeated, a blissful smile spreading across his face as he sighed, clearly lost in the realization.


    "That''s great," Stiles remarked dryly. "Moving on..."


    "No, I do. I really do. I think I''m totally in love with her," Scott continued, his face now looking as though he''d just spotted an oncoming train.


    "And that''s beautiful. But before you go off and write a sonnet, Shakespeare, can we figure this out? Because you obviously can''t be around her all the time."


    "Okay, what do I do?"


    "I don''t know. Yet," Stiles replied with a frustrated chuckle, his eyes darting around the corridor as if searching for inspiration. Then, suddenly, he stopped and smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes.


    "You''re getting an idea, aren''t you?" Scott asked, his concern clear.


    "Yeah."


    "Is this idea going to get me in trouble?"


    "Maybe."


    "Is this idea going to cause me physical pain?"


    "Definitely," Stiles grinned, grabbing Scott by the arm and leading him toward the school parking lot, the werewolf following reluctantly.


    #


    Charlotte had already finished her work for the day, and the boys had decided they no longer needed her help. She sat in her classroom, grading the first batch of essays, her head resting heavily in her hand, disheartened by the lackluster performance of her students. Some, she thought with a sigh, should abandon all other subjects and devote their full attention to English. She glanced out the window, frowning as she noticed something unusual.


    Down in the parking lot, she saw Stiles and Scott, and it was clear that they were up to something. Or rather, it seemed Stiles had come up with a plan, while Scott stood there with a face full of confusion. Her concern deepened when she saw Stiles dramatically drag his keys across the paintwork of one of the cars, scratching it, and shout theatrically at Scott. Alarmed, she jumped up from her desk as the car''s owner approached Scott, looking furious. To her bewilderment, Stiles pulled out his phone and gazed at the display.


    Without wasting a moment, Charlotte rushed out of her classroom and down the hall, spotting Adrian Harris on her way out. She grabbed him by the arm, breathlessly asking for help. She knew she wouldn''t be able to stop the brewing fight on her own.


    "Stop! Stop right now!" shouted the chemistry teacher as he reached the group of boys pummeling Scott, who was limp on the ground. The moment they saw two teachers approaching, the group scattered. "What do you idiots think you''re doing?" Harris barked at the fleeing students, his frustration evident.


    Charlotte crouched beside Scott, helping him up. She glanced over at Stiles, who, with a proud grin, pointed at his phone''s display. The app showed Scott''s heart rate had returned to normal, and he hadn''t transformed.


    "Thanks," Charlotte said to Adrian, promising to handle the situation from there. Once he was gone, she let go of Scott''s arm and turned to the two boys, her anger bubbling over.


    "Are you two completely out of your minds? What was that?" she demanded, furious.


    "We found Scott''s Anchor," Stiles replied, his tone brimming with pride.


    "The Anchor?" Charlotte repeated, her confusion growing as she looked between them, waiting for an explanation.


    "Something to keep him from transforming," Stiles explained. "Every time Scott loses control, he''s able to pull himself back because he hears Allison''s voice. She actually makes him weaker-but in a good way. She calms him down."


    "The Anchor..." Charlotte mused aloud. "Why didn''t I think of that?" She paused, then nodded thoughtfully. "It''s a good lead. Well done. Though you could''ve planned this little test a bit more carefully..." She gestured toward the scratched pickup truck. "Unfortunately, I''m going to have to give you both detention. Otherwise, I''ll be in trouble."


    They ended up in detention with Mr. Harris. After half an hour, Scott couldn''t take it anymore.


    "Excuse me, sir," Scott began, trying his best to sound reasonable. "I know it''s detention and all, but I''m supposed to be at work. And I don''t want to get fired."


    Harris smiled thinly, his lips curling into a tight, unimpressed smirk. His gaze made it clear he thought Scott was an absolute fool for even asking. Stiles sighed heavily from the same table, not bothering to look at Scott.


    "You knew I would heal," Scott whispered to his friend, breaking the silence.


    "Yep," Stiles replied, still staring straight ahead, refusing to meet his eyes.


    "So, you did it to help me learn," Scott said, slowly piecing things together. "But also to punish me, right?"


    "Well, that''s obvious," Stiles muttered, his eyes still fixed elsewhere.


    "You''re my best friend," Scott''s voice grew a little louder, frustration creeping in. "I don''t want you to be angry with me."


    "I''m over it now," Stiles admitted, dragging a hand across his face but still avoiding Scott''s gaze. His voice softened, more serious than before. "You have something, Scott. Whether you like it or not. You can do things other people can''t. That means you don''t have a choice anymore." His tone was almost mournful, as if delivering a eulogy, his eyes finally meeting Scott''s. "It means you have to do something."


    "I know. And I will," Scott promised quietly, but with determination.


    "All right," Harris suddenly spoke up, clearly having waited for them to reach some sort of resolution. "Both of you. Out of here."


    "Thank you!" The boys scrambled to their feet, hastily shoving their notebooks into their backpacks before bolting out of the classroom with relief.


    #


    Derek sat in the car for what felt like an eternity, wrestling with his thoughts and trying to convince himself that his plan wasn''t one of the worst ideas he''d ever had. He was already losing hope-hope that he''d figure out who the Alpha was, who had killed his sister, and how to stop the predator terrorizing Beacon Hills.


    Finally, his patience snapped. He got out of the car and headed toward the entrance of the Long-Term Care Unit at Beacon Hills Memorial. The last thing he wanted was to see his uncle''s disfigured face again, but he felt like he had no other choice.


    "Peter..." he whispered as he stepped into the elder Hale''s room. Like the last time, there was no response from the man slouched in his wheelchair, staring vacantly out the window. Derek crouched beside the bed, turning the chair so he could look directly into the catatonic man''s face. Peter''s glassy eyes were almost corpse-like, and the sight of the burnt half of his face was so disturbing it made Derek want to look away. He waved a hand in front of Peter''s eyes, but there was absolutely no reaction.


    Swallowing hard, Derek felt a wave of grief crash over him. "I need your help," he whispered, his voice tinged with desperation. "If you can hear me, I need you to give me a sign. Anything. Blink, or raise a finger. Just something to point me in the right direction."


    He could feel Peter''s empty gaze piercing into him, but his expression remained unchanged.


    "Someone killed Laura. Your niece, Laura," Derek''s voice broke at the mention of his sister. He leaned in closer, his face inches from Peter''s. "Whoever did it is an Alpha now. But one without a pack. Which means he''s not as strong." The pain inside him surged like a tidal wave. The helplessness was suffocating. "I can take him," Derek muttered, as if trying to convince himself. "But I have to find him first. Give me a sign if you know anything. Is it one of us?"


    He thought he saw a flicker in Peter''s eyes, but it could''ve just been the sunlight streaming through the window.


    "Did someone else survive the fire?" he pressed, but silence answered him, along with Peter''s blank stare. "If you know anything, just blink. Raise a finger. Anything..." Frustration welled up inside him. Staring at Peter, knowing that even if he had the answers, he couldn''t give them, was unbearable.


    "Say something!" Derek snapped, losing his grip. He stood abruptly, gripping the wheelchair and shaking it in anger.


    "Let him go!" a sharp voice cut through the tension behind him. It was the red-haired nurse, the same one who had scolded him the last time he''d brought Scott to see his uncle. "You think after six years of this, yelling at him, is going to get a response?"


    "You have a better method?" Derek shot back, mirroring her irritation. She was young, probably his age.


    "Patience. He''ll respond if you give him time," she said, her tone softening as she saw the pain and agitation on his face.


    "I don''t have any more time," Derek hissed through clenched teeth, storming toward the door.


    He didn''t notice that, as he left, Peter Hale-still sitting in the same position, staring into the void-had his finger twitch. Whether it was an unconscious muscle spasm or the sign Derek had desperately asked for, no one would ever know.


    Derek stormed out of the hospital like a bullet, practically sprinting to his car. But as he reached it, he froze. Behind the windshield wiper, someone had left a slip of paper.


    Derek''s instincts kicked in, and he scanned the area carefully, checking if the person responsible might still be nearby. But the parking lot appeared empty.


    He reached for the paper, unfolding it cautiously. His brow furrowed as he looked around again, sensing something strange. The paper had an odd smell, so he brought it closer to his nose but couldn''t quite place the scent. Folding it in half, he shoved it into the pocket of his leather jacket before sliding into his car, his mind buzzing with questions.


    Arriving at the veterinary clinic just after dark, Derek noticed the "CLOSED" sign hanging on the door. Scott hadn''t arrived yet, but at the moment, Derek didn''t particularly care about the teenager. His primary focus was the vet.


    "Scott, you''re late again!" a man''s voice called out as the bell above the door rang. "I hope this isn''t becoming a habit." The smile vanished from Alan Deaton''s face when he realized his visitor wasn''t his teenage employee, but a black-haired man in his twenties, clad in a leather jacket and wearing an uncertain expression. "Can I help you?"


    "I hope so," Derek replied. "I want to know about the animal you found with the spiral on its side."


    "Excuse me? What animal?" Deaton responded, crossing his arms over his chest, confused.


    "Three months ago. The deer..." Derek pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, unfolded it, and displayed a page from a police report, showing a photo of the dead animal. "See that mark. You remember it?"


    "Ah, yes," Deaton said, glancing at the paper, though he didn''t move any closer. He clearly felt uneasy. "It was just a deer. And I didn''t find it," he clarified. "They called me in to ask if I''d seen anything like it."


    "What did you tell them?"


    "I told them no." Deaton''s smile seemed forced, especially when he noticed Derek tilting his head slightly, as though listening for something else.


    "Did you hear that?" Derek asked, pocketing the note and stepping closer. Deaton instinctively took a step back.


    "Hear what?"


    "The sound of your heartbeat rising," Derek said, his voice steady as he faced the increasingly nervous vet.


    "Excuse me?" Deaton''s voice faltered.


    "It''s the sound of you lying," Derek growled, dropping all pretense of civility.


    Before Deaton could react, Derek had already grabbed him by the lapels of his medical apron, dragging him across the cold metal surgical table and stunning him with a quick blow.


    When Deaton came to, he found himself strapped to a chair, feeling disoriented and terrified. His vision was blurry, and he couldn''t focus on his surroundings.


    "Are you protecting someone?" Derek''s voice emerged from the shadows, low and menacing.


    "Okay, all right! The key to the drug locker is in my pocket," Deaton stammered, his voice shaking.


    "I don''t want drugs. I want to know why you''re lying," Derek roared, suddenly appearing right beside the vet, his breath hot against Deaton''s ear.


    "I don''t know what you''re talking about..." Deaton started, but suddenly found himself lifted into the air, still strapped to the chair. Derek raised him effortlessly, their faces now level. The werewolf noticed the slight cut beneath Deaton''s eye hadn''t healed.


    "You''re not healing..." Derek murmured, his brow furrowed.


    "What?"


    "Although an Alpha could control that," Derek muttered to himself.


    "What are you doing? What do you want?" Deaton asked, panic rising in his voice.


    "I want to know who you are, or who you''re protecting," Derek snarled, his face inches from the vet''s.


    "What are you doing!" came a panicked voice from the doorway. Scott had just arrived for his shift and he was horrified by the scene before him.


    "Scott! Get out of here!" Deaton yelled over his shoulder, but before he could say anything more, Derek dropped the chair to the ground and punched him hard, knocking him unconscious once again.


    At this, Scott rushed forward, trying to pull Derek away from his employer.


    "Stop!"


    "He can stop himself from healing while conscious. But unconscious..." Derek started, his frustration mounting.


    "Are you out of your mind?" Scott shouted, confused and angry.


    "You want to know what the spiral means?" Derek snapped. "It''s our sign for a vendetta. For revenge. It means he won''t stop killing until he''s satisfied."


    "You think he''s the Alpha?" Scott asked, shocked by the revelation.


    "We''re about to find out." Derek''s nails elongated into claws, and he moved to strike Deaton. But before he could land the blow, Scott grabbed his forearm, stopping him. When Derek looked up, he saw Scott fully transformed into his werewolf form, baring his fangs and growling, as a clear warning.


    Derek stepped back, startled. He hadn''t expected such a reaction-or the ease with which Scott had shifted. But what surprised him even more was how quickly Scott returned to his human form, as if it were nothing. Derek stood frozen, wide-eyed, watching the teenager in disbelief. Scott exhibited a level of control over his transformation that older werewolves could only dream of. Something had shifted in the boy.


    "Hit him again, and you''ll see me get angry," Scott said slowly, his voice calm but filled with warning. His hands, no longer shaking from nerves, reached for the disinfectant as he cleaned the wound on Deaton''s cheek. Meanwhile, Derek paced around the office, his frustration mounting as he watched Scott work.


    "You have a plan?" Derek finally asked, unable to tolerate the silence any longer.


    "Just give me an hour," Scott replied, his tone measured.


    "And then what?"


    "Meet me at the school. In the parking lot."


    #


    #


    Charlotte sat at her computer, video-chatting with Luise. While the older woman wasn''t particularly fond of this form of communication, they hadn''t seen each other in over a month, and both were feeling the ache of distance. Her cousin filled her in on the latest news from the supernatural community she stayed in contact with, but also on more mundane matters-like the sudden drop in temperature that had decimated half the herbs in her garden.


    As they talked, the phone on Charlotte''s desk rang. She glanced at the display, her expression turning weary. She had hoped for a quiet evening after a long day of work. With an apologetic smile, she excused herself from the chat, shut off the computer, and answered the call.


    "Stiles, really... How did you even get my number?" she asked, not bothering with pleasantries.


    "Does it matter?" Stiles laughed, quickly moving to the reason for his call. "Could you meet us at the school? There''s a bit of a situation... Derek attacked Scott''s boss, convinced he''s the Alpha. Now we have to prove he''s not, and Scott came up with this brilliantly insane plan, so we need you at the school..."


    "Stiles... slow down. I don''t understand. Scott''s boss, as in the vet? Derek attacked him?"


    "Yes, and yes. Please meet us at the school!" Stiles said hurriedly before hanging up.


    Charlotte sighed deeply, at least now knowing where her tenant was. She swapped her comfortable track pants for jeans and grabbed her car keys. But just before leaving, she stopped mid-step. If the boys had come up with the crazy plan, she suspected, a few protective measures would be wise.


    From a drawer in the hallway, she retrieved a jar of mountain ash, dried and powdered mistletoe, and a small vial of taconite extract-though she hoped she wouldn''t have to use that. She also pocketed a few amulets, pre-charged with magical energy.


    After getting into her car, it didn''t take long for her to reach the school parking lot. Stiles'' blue Jeep and Derek''s black Camaro caught her attention immediately. The skinnier of the teenagers was holding chain cutters, while Derek looked as impatient as ever. They were peering into the backseat of the Camaro when she pulled up in her Chevelle and stepped out.


    "He looks comfortable," Stiles dryly commented, as he eyed Alan Deaton, who was tied up like a trussed-up ham and leaning his head against the car window. Charlotte winced at the sight, already dreading what this might do to her vet bills.


    The group started heading toward the school when Derek suddenly stopped them.


    "What are you doing?" Derek asked, clearly just as out of the loop as Charlotte.


    "You said I''m linked to the Alpha," Scott reminded him. "I''m going to see if you''re right."


    Without further explanation, the boys disappeared into the school, leaving Charlotte to trust that they knew what they were doing. When she was sure they were out of earshot, she turned to Derek, raising an eyebrow.


    "Busy day, I see..." she remarked.


    Instead of responding, Derek extended a piece of paper toward her, showing a depiction of a deer. She took it and examined the image, though the darkness made it hard to see clearly.


    "The same symbol... Vendetta," she noted, squinting at the date on the report. "Three months ago... Could this be the reason why Laura came to Beacon Hills?" She looked up at Derek, who nodded in confirmation. "And you think Deaton''s behind this?"


    "He lied when I asked about it. He could be the Alpha..." Derek''s voice trailed off, his suspicion evident.


    "Unlikely," Charlotte murmured, more to herself than to him. She handed the paper back, then took his hand, palm up. "Let''s try a little experiment," she said, pulling out a small vial of glowworm dust from her pocket and sprinkling some ash onto his hand.


    Derek yanked his hand away sharply, as if burned, shaking off the soot with a grimace.


    "What was that for?" he asked, clearly offended.


    "Mountain ash. You know exactly what it''s used for," she said, shrugging casually. "Deaton isn''t a werewolf, let alone an Alpha. He keeps plenty of mountain ash in his office, and if he were one of your kind, he wouldn''t be able to handle it."


    "But he knows something," Derek insisted, his frustration simmering.


    "Definitely. The question is what and how he knows it. But perhaps there were more humane ways to find out. I doubt he''ll feel much like talking to us after what you did..."


    Suddenly, a sharp screech erupted from the school''s sound system, signaling that someone had turned on the microphone. Both Charlotte and Derek tensed, bracing for what would come next. The sound that followed made Charlotte''s jaw drop, leaving her momentarily speechless, while Derek grimaced painfully.


    "You''ve got to be kidding me..." Derek muttered in disbelief.


    "Was that supposed to be Scott attempting a wolf howl?" Charlotte asked, incredulity creeping into her voice as she glanced at Derek, who could only nod, too stunned to respond.


    The noise that Scott had made was more akin to the tortured wail of a skinned cat than any kind of wolf howl. Even a regular ten-year-old with no supernatural abilities could have likely managed a better attempt.


    "It seems you''ll need to expand your tutoring," Charlotte remarked under her breath, but before Derek could respond, something else interrupted them.


    This time, the sound was completely different. It started low, a rumble that settled uneasily in the pit of Charlotte''s stomach. As the volume intensified, it grew into a roar, something far deeper and more primal than the pitiful imitation Scott had attempted. There was a faint resemblance to a true wolf''s call, but it was unmistakable from something much more powerful-something undeniably supernatural. Charlotte felt the ground tremble beneath her feet.


    Derek stood rigid, a shiver running down his spine, his eyes scanning the area, both impressed and worried.


    A moment later, Scott and Stiles appeared in the parking lot, looking very proud of themselves.


    "I''m going to kill the two of you myself," Derek growled, his voice thick with anger. "What was that supposed to be? Are you trying to attract the entire state to this school?" For a moment, Charlotte thought she saw a flicker of fear on his face, but as usual, the teenagers remained oblivious to his tone.


    "I didn''t know it''d be so loud..." Scott shrugged, grinning sheepishly.


    "Yeah..." Stiles chimed in, grinning even wider. "It was loud. And it was awesome," he added, his voice climbing in pitch with excitement.


    "Shut up," Derek snapped, freezing in place.


    "Don''t be a sour-wolf..." Stiles teased with a chuckle, oblivious to the growing tension in Derek''s expression.


    Charlotte, sensing the shift in the air, barely had time to react before Scott pointed to the backseat of the Camaro, where Deaton had been bound. The seat was now conspicuously empty.


    "What did you do with him?" Scott asked, his voice tinged with concern.


    "What?" Derek whipped around to look at the backseat, his prisoner now missing. "I didn''t do anything..."


    "He was here just a moment ago..." Charlotte added, but her words faltered as she spotted something-a shadow-moving behind Derek.


    In an instant, an invisible force lifted Derek''s body into the air, suspending him. Blood spurted from his mouth, and the roar of the creature that had attacked him filled the air, materializing out of thin air. Without hesitation, Scott and Stiles spun on their heels, yanking Charlotte with them as they sprinted towards the school. Her legs, frozen in shock, struggled to comply as they dragged her along.


    Just as they reached the school''s door, Derek''s lifeless body slammed against the wall near them. The sickening sound of the impact reverberated through the air. His body crumpled to the ground, motionless, dead.


    Charlotte screamed, the sight of Derek''s broken form burning into her mind, but before she could react, Scott and Stiles pulled her through the doors, slamming them shut behind them.

 1.7 NIght School

    "Lock it! Lock it!" Scott screamed, his voice breaking with terror. The three of them huddled together near the front door of the school, desperately trying to evade the monstrous creature lurking outside.


    "Do I look like I have a key?" Stiles retorted, equally frightened.


    "Grab something..." Scott urged.


    "What?" Stiles asked, panic evident in his voice.


    "Anything!" Scott shot back.


    Suddenly, Stiles steadied himself, his frantic breathing slowing as he straightened up and peered through the glass of the door they were hiding behind. His gaze fixed on something outside, and he grabbed the door handle.


    "No!" Charlotte exclaimed, swiftly reaching out and grabbing his forearm. She had composed herself, her voice more controlled now.


    "Yes!" Stiles broke free from her grip, stepping out of the school and heading toward the chain cutters lying nearby. He moved cautiously, scanning his surroundings for danger, unaware that the teacher had silently followed him.


    "Hide somewhere. I''ll be back with help," she whispered to Scott, who remained concealed behind the door.


    As Stiles descended a few steps to retrieve the cutters, Charlotte leapt sideways, her focus shifting to Derek''s motionless body. She couldn''t just leave him like that, especially since he might still be alive. Werewolves, after all, didn''t die so easily.


    She spotted movement near the parked cars at the same moment her students did. Scott shouted to warn Stiles, who bolted toward the door, while Charlotte hurried to reach the unconscious Derek, just a few steps away. Her fingers trembled as she yanked a jar of mountain ash from her pocket. Struggling momentarily with the cap, she managed to scatter the protective dust in a circle around them. Instantly, a magical barrier formed, impenetrable to any supernatural being.


    Charlotte caught a glimpse of Stiles as he made it to the door, slamming it shut just as the creature''s massive body slammed into the barrier she had erected. The Alpha halted, frozen in place, its blood-red eyes glowing as they locked onto her. This was the first time she had been able to examine the beast so closely, without the paralyzing grip of fear, although her heart still pounded furiously in her chest.


    A thunderous growl erupted from the creature''s chest, and it bared its fangs at her, each one as long as her fingers. Its enormous silhouette towered over two meters in height, its skin black and covered with thick fur. Broad, muscular shoulders hunched forward, suggesting that the Alpha was most comfortable moving on all fours. Each limb ended in massive claws, strong enough to crush her skull with ease. He was unlike any werewolf she had encountered before, far more animalistic, with madness and a relentless thirst for blood burning in his eyes.


    It took her a moment to realize the Alpha had stopped, nostrils flaring as it inhaled deeply, studying her scent. He curled his lips into what could only be described as a gruesome, bloodthirsty grin resembling characters in some twisted horror film. Yet, after what felt like an eternity, the creature turned and walked away, abandoning her alone with Derek''s unmoving body.


    It seemed the Alpha had deemed them no threat, no use to him¡ªunlike his Beta, Scott.


    She waited a few more seconds for her heart to steady, then traced the faint, almost imperceptible pulse at her lover''s neck with fingers that felt as cold as ice. He was still alive, but she couldn''t determine how much time he had left. Sifting through the contents of her pockets, she sighed in frustration. She couldn''t exhaust her strongest amulet, which was meant to protect her students, but she also had no way of knowing how much power Derek would need to heal the wounds inflicted by the monstrous Alpha. She settled on a small, moon-shaped necklace that had been absorbing power for the last two months. It wasn''t the most potent, but it wasn''t the weakest either.


    Derek lay face-down, which spared her from having to move him much to locate the wound on his back. She carefully lifted his leather jacket, remarkably unscathed, revealing a T-shirt soaked in blood shredded beyond recognition. She pushed the ruined fabric aside and recoiled slightly. Fragments of cloth littered the wound, but she had no time to remove them now. She placed the amulet at the edge of the wound, her hand trembling slightly as she silently recited the activation incantation.


    Derek inhaled sharply, groaning in pain. He was conscious again, but she knew he didn''t have the strength to move on his own. Clenching her jaw, she realized she needed to bring the car as close as possible. Digging the Camaro''s keys out of Derek''s jacket pocket, she cautiously scanned the area for the monster. Seeing nothing gave her little comfort¡ªits absence could mean anything. Stepping through the protective circle, she sealed it behind her and clutched the strongest of her amulets as she made her way quickly and quietly to Derek''s car. With her left arm still immobilized, it took her nearly fifteen agonizing minutes to haul the injured man into the car. She finally settled him into the driver''s seat, hoping he''d gather enough strength to drive away before the Alpha returned to finish the job.


    "Derek, listen to me, don''t fall asleep," she urged, gripping his chin firmly with her right hand, forcing him to look at her. "You''ll heal, but you need to get home. Leave, now. I''ll handle everything else. Just get home," she whispered frantically, praying he could understand her through the fog of pain clouding his eyes.


    Suddenly, the Alpha''s howl pierced the night, cutting through the silence like a blade. Charlotte''s heart skipped a beat as she saw the creature emerge between two parked cars, its massive frame looming in the dim light. For a brief, irrational moment, she hoped the creature wouldn''t damage her beloved Chevelle, then remembered her own life was at risk. She sank deeper into the passenger seat, gripping Derek''s hand tightly, panic rising within her.


    She watched in horror as the monstrous werewolf tore the battery from beneath the hood of a nearby jeep with terrifying ease. The screech of metal grated on her nerves. She shut her eyes for a second, and when she opened them, the beast had vanished.


    Breathing heavily, she climbed out of the car, silently pleading to all the deities she had never believed in to give Derek the strength for this one task. She found no prayer for herself, though, and knew she had to return to the school to save her students.


    She pulled out her phone and tried calling the police station, but there was no answer¡ªa troubling anomaly. Scrolling through her contacts list, she wracked her brain for someone she could call for help, but no one came to mind. Just then, Derek, with what little strength he had left, fumbled for his phone and handed it to her.


    "Diana Harris... she''s a cop, call her..." he muttered weakly, his voice barely more than a whisper, drained by the pain that tore through him with each breath.


    Charlotte didn''t have time to ask how Derek knew the officer. She quickly found Diana''s number in his contacts and dialed. The voicemail kicked in almost immediately.


    "A couple of teenagers are trapped at Beacon Hills High School." She stammered, her voice shaky with uncertainty as she struggled to explain the nature of the threat. Was it something human, or something far worse? Her gaze flickered to Derek, who, through the agony of each breath, whispered one word: "Truth."


    With that simple cue, she swallowed hard and continued, her pulse quickening. She had called the police officer''s private number, so there was hope the call wouldn''t be officially logged. "They''re being hunted by a werewolf. Big and furious... They need help, as soon as possible," she said, her voice stronger this time before she hung up abruptly.


    She left the phone on the passenger seat and steeled herself, then headed back into the school to aid her students.


    She burst into the school corridor just as the boys emerged from one of the classrooms. Sliding to a stop beside them, they all collided, startled by her sudden appearance.


    "We''ll have to take the route without windows," Stiles announced once he caught his breath.


    "Every single room in this building has windows," Scott pointed out, making him realize the flaw in his plan.


    "The route with fewer windows?" Charlotte suggested, still unfamiliar with the school''s layout.


    "The locker room," the teenage werewolf declared with certainty.


    Without hesitation, the students dragged her along, practically shoving her into the men''s sports locker room.


    "Call your dad," Scott ordered, urgency clear in his voice.


    "And tell him what?" Stiles retorted.


    "Anything! A gas leak, a fire, whatever. If that thing sees the parking lot full of police cars, it''ll take off."


    "And if it doesn''t? What if it goes full Terminator and kills every cop, including my dad?" Stiles shot back, his voice thick with doubt. Charlotte froze for a moment, realizing she hadn''t considered that possibility. Diana might have an advantage over the sheriff, though¡ªat least she knew the truth about what they were facing.


    "They''ve got guns," Scott stated, as if that alone could fix the situation.


    "And Derek had to be shot with a wolfsbane-laced bullet just to slow him down," Charlotte added, her voice laced with concern for the sheriff''s deputies, who were oblivious to the supernatural threat stalking them. And she herself called them.


    "Then we need to... We need to find a way out and run for it."


    "There''s nothing around the school for half a mile," Stiles said, showing an unusual and disheartening sense of practicality.


    "What about your car?" Scott asked Charlotte, a flicker of hope in his eyes.


    "It''s an idea... it might work. If we can reach it. But we''ll have to take Derek with us," she agreed, praying that Derek had slipped away from the school by now, which would at least relieve them of one concern.


    "Fine, whatever," Stiles muttered, neither boy offering any resistance.


    They made their way to the locker room exit, but Scott suddenly stopped his friend''s hand halfway to the door handle.


    "I think I heard something," he whispered, his voice tight with fear. "Quiet... Hide."


    Without warning, Stiles lifted Charlotte off her feet as though she weighed nothing and shoved her into one of the lockers, her legs dangling above the floor like a rag doll. He ducked into the locker beside hers, too preoccupied to notice Scott''s hesitation. But after a moment, Scott followed suit, deciding he didn''t have time to come up with a better plan.


    They heard the cloakroom door creak open, followed by the unmistakable thud of heavy footsteps. Charlotte''s tension eased slightly, realizing the steps belonged to someone wearing shoes¡ªclearly not the Alpha. However, her momentary relief was shattered when Scott shouted, causing her to tumble out of her locker and brace herself to fight. She took a step back at the sight of the janitor.


    "Quiet!" Stiles squealed as he crawled out of his hiding place.


    "Quiet, my ass! Are you three trying to kill me?" the janitor barked, clearly irritated. He didn''t seem to recognize Charlotte as a teacher, which didn''t surprise her under the circumstances. With no resistance, she let him shove her and the students out of the cloakroom. "Get out!"


    But before the man could finish his sentence, something yanked him back into the room they had just fled. It happened so quickly that the three of them froze, staring in disbelief at the door behind which the janitor had just vanished. They might have stood there, paralyzed by shock, if not for the sudden, horrifying sight of the man''s silhouette appearing in the small window, blood smearing the milky glass.


    Scott rushed forward, desperate to help the caretaker, whose screams of terror and pain echoed through the corridor, but the door handle wouldn''t budge. Stiles grabbed him and pulled him away, and without another word, they all fled down the hallway, knowing the janitor was already beyond saving.


    Hoping that the Alpha would be distracted long enough for them to reach the car and escape, they made it to the front door. But their hope quickly evaporated when they realized the gates were locked and immovable. The boys investigated and found that the creature had barricaded them with trash containers. With no other choice, they moved on.


    "I''m not dying here. I''m especially not dying in school!" Stiles panicked, his voice rising with each word.


    "We''re not going to die," Charlotte responded, her tone calm and firm, aiming to reassure the terrified boy.


    "Then what''s it doing? What does it want?" Stiles panted, still trembling with fear.


    "Me. Derek says it''s stronger with a pack," Scott explained, his eyes wide with the weight of the revelation.


    "Great, a psycho-werewolf who''s into teamwork," Stiles muttered sarcastically. "That''s just perfect."


    They were making their way through a glass-enclosed corridor when Charlotte felt an ominous gaze on her. She halted, and Scott, sensing the shift, followed her lead. It was he who first spotted the Alpha, perched on the roof on the opposite side of the courtyard. For a moment, the creature stared at them before it started moving¡ªracing toward them on all fours.


    "Run!" she shouted, and they bolted just in time. A second later, the Alpha crashed through the glass wall, landing exactly where they had stood. They sprinted as fast as their legs could carry them, making it to the stairwell and rushing down without slowing. Charlotte, though physically fit, could feel the burning in her lungs as exhaustion crept in.


    They finally stopped in the basement, hidden behind a wall. Here, there were no windows, but Charlotte couldn''t shake the feeling that they were trapped, with limited avenues for escape. A low growl echoed through the narrow corridor, and Scott peeked around the corner to see the Alpha advancing toward them. He motioned for them to keep moving.


    "We have to do something," Stiles said, halting.


    "Like what?" Scott asked, his voice laced with desperation.


    "Kill it. Hurt it. Inflict some serious emotional damage. Anything!"


    Fate seemed to give them a break as they stood next to the steel door of the boiler room. Stiles, thinking quickly, pulled the keys to his useless jeep from his pocket and devised a plan. He ordered Scott and Charlotte to hide around the corner while he tossed the keys inside the boiler room as a distraction.


    The Alpha, in a frenzy, charged toward the sound, completely missing the boy, who slammed the door shut just as the beast crossed the threshold. Charlotte grabbed a nearby bench, and with Scott''s help, they wedged it between the door and the opposite wall, trapping the rampaging Alpha inside.


    For the moment, they were safe, able to catch their breath. But Charlotte still wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and the enraged creature. Stiles, however, had other ideas. He climbed onto the bench, peering into the small window on the door.


    "What are you doing?" Charlotte hissed, grabbing the back of his jacket.


    "I want to get a look."


    "Are you crazy?" Scott squeaked, his voice filled with alarm.


    "It''s trapped. It can''t get out," Stiles said confidently, shining his flashlight through the window. "That''s right. We got you," he taunted through the door.


    "Shut up!" Scott snapped, glaring at him.


    "No. I''m not scared of this thing," Stiles announced with venom in his voice. But when a huge paw smashed into the window, he recoiled in terror. "I''m not scared of you!" he shouted, now standing at a much safer distance. "Because you''re not going any¡ª" A disturbing clatter came from the neighboring room, cutting short his words, followed by the sight of ceiling debris falling through the glass.


    A moment later, heavy footsteps echoed above them, followed by the creak of shifting tiles. The suspended ceiling collapsed, and without a second thought, the three of them bolted, racing out of the basement corridor as fast as they could.


    After a few moments, Scott paused.


    "Wait... Do you hear that?"


    "Hear what?" Stiles asked, confused.


    "The phone ringing... I know that ring! It''s Allison''s phone!" Scott gasped, panic flooding his voice. Charlotte pressed her eyelids shut, feeling an impending migraine. Didn''t these kids have better things to do at this hour? Homework, watching inappropriate content, or simply sleeping soundly¡ªanything that wouldn''t add to the ever-growing pile of her worries.


    Scott quickly persuaded Stiles to call Allison, and Charlotte had to admit it was the fastest way to locate her¡ªthough it also meant the murderous Alpha could do the same.


    "Stiles?" came Allison''s puzzled voice on the other end.


    "It''s me," replied Scott, his voice tense. "Where are you?"


    "In the school, looking for you. Why weren''t you at my place?" she asked, reminding him of their missed date.


    "Where are you right now?" Scott pressed, urgency rising in his tone.


    "On the first floor..."


    "Where? Exactly?"


    "The swimming... the swimming pools."


    "Get to the cafeteria. Now," Scott''s voice held such authority that Allison didn''t hesitate to comply.


    They raced into the trophy room just as Allison arrived, freezing when she saw them, clearly taken aback by the presence of her teacher. But before she could ask anything, Scott cut her off.


    "What are you doing here? Why did you come?"


    "Because you asked me to..." she replied, confused.


    "I asked you to?"


    In response, she held up her phone, showing a message supposedly from Scott.


    "Why do I get the feeling you didn''t send this message?" she asked, her voice tinged with rising fear.


    "Because I didn''t."


    "Did you drive here?" Stiles interrupted, cutting into the tense exchange.


    "Jackson did," she answered.


    "Jackson''s here too?" Charlotte interjected, her stress levels rising. At this rate, half the school would be gathered here, and she''d have no way of saving any of them.


    "And Lydia," Allison added, shooting Charlotte a wary glance. "What''s going on? Who sent that text?"


    Before anyone could respond, Allison''s phone rang again. She picked up just as Jackson and Lydia burst into the trophy room. Lydia had the phone pressed to her ear, while Jackson followed close behind with a disturbingly blank expression. They both froze, startled to see the teacher with their schoolmates. But there was no time for questions, as a deafening clatter and heavy footsteps echoed above their heads, drawing their attention.


    "Run!" Charlotte commanded, and they all bolted after her, dodging chunks of falling ceiling by mere seconds. None of them dared to look back, though they could feel the hot breath of death on their necks, its growl echoing in their ears.


    They dove into the first room they could find, slamming the door shut and throwing themselves at the benches and chairs to barricade the entrance.


    "Scott, wait, not here!" Stiles protested, not helping with the barricade. Charlotte glanced at him and immediately understood what he meant, but she lacked the strength to speak.


    "What was that? Scott, what was that?" Allison''s voice quivered, thick with fear¡ªso palpable that Charlotte could almost taste it, though the Darkness stubbornly refused to awaken, mocking her when she needed it most.


    "What happened to the ceiling?" Lydia''s voice cracked, hysteria creeping in.


    "Just help me," Scott growled through his terror, his panic feeding into everyone else''s. "Chairs. Stack the chairs..."


    Ignoring Stiles'' desperate shouts of "Guys, hold on!" and "Listen to me! It''s Stiles! Wait!", the teenagers continued to pile more furniture against the door, panic rising.


    "Hello!" Stiles yelled louder, finally breaking through the chaos.


    The group stopped, turning toward him, all panting heavily, their faces etched with fear.


    "Okay, nice work, great job, everyone," Stiles said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Now, what do you think we should do about the twenty-foot wall of windows?" He theatrically waved his hand toward the massive panes of glass, emphasizing their rather glaring oversight.


    In fact, they found themselves in a room with an entire wall made of windows, obscured by blinds, but still nothing more than a fragile sheet of glass. They had no way out and were trapped, but the beast could easily reach them if it wanted to.


    "Can someone please explain what''s going on? Because I''m freaking out, and I''d at least like to know why..." Allison exhaled, her terror palpable to everyone in the room, even those without heightened senses. She clutched Scott''s sleeve, but he didn''t respond, didn''t even look at her.


    Charlotte rolled her eyes, glancing over at the group of teenagers. The huntress heiress was behaving the most chaotically. Even Lydia was quieter¡ªwhich, for some inexplicable reason, irritated the witch. Scott pulled free from Allison''s grasp, stepping away and leaning heavily on a bench. He was clearly trying to plan, but was too unnerved to think straight. Jackson, growing more anxious, looked expectantly at Stiles, as if waiting for him to explain what exactly they had stumbled into. It was as if they had instinctively turned their expectations toward the boys, ignoring Charlotte entirely, despite her presence.


    "Someone''s killed the janitor," Stiles finally spoke, his voice husky as he attempted to buy Scott more time to calm down.


    "What?" Allison let out a squeak and stood frozen in place, as if her feet were glued to the ground.


    "The janitor''s dead," Stiles repeated, casting a pleading glance toward Scott and Charlotte, hoping for support. Unfortunately, the young werewolf remained lost in his internal struggle, and Charlotte was too drained from using her magic to keep Derek alive. She couldn''t help but wonder if he had regained consciousness and escape¡ªone less burden on her mind for the moment, at least.


    "What''s he talking about? Is this some kind of joke?" Allison''s voice trembled, and though her words sounded skeptical, it was clear she didn''t find any of it funny.


    "Who killed him?" Jackson asked, his nerves fraying visibly.


    "No, no, this was supposed to be over. The mountain lion..." Lydia began, her voice shaking as her long-suppressed fear finally surfaced.


    "Don''t you get it? That wasn''t a mountain lion," Jackson growled, frustration and fear intertwining in his voice.


    "Who is it? What does he want?" Allison''s voice shot up an octave, her panic intensifying. "What''s happening? Scott!" she cried, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she looked to him for answers. Charlotte clenched her fists, feeling the temptation to slap some sense into the girl, wishing she would stop screaming before the crazed werewolf caught wind of her.


    "I don''t know!" Scott finally exploded. "If we go out there, he''s going to kill us."


    "Us? Kill us?" Lydia''s grip tightened on Jackson''s hand, her fear palpable.


    "Who? Who is it?" Allison asked again, this time directing her question to Stiles, as it was clear Scott was too overwhelmed to answer.


    Scott remained silent, casting a desperate look toward his friend, his back still turned. Then, in a voice both rushed and confident, Scott blurted out, "Derek. It''s Derek Hale."


    Both Stiles and Charlotte''s jaws dropped, their expressions mirroring disbelief. The other three teenagers stared at Scott in shock, and even he seemed surprised by the words that had just escaped his lips.


    "Derek killed the janitor?" Jackson asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. Admittedly, Derek had always made him uneasy, but never enough to suspect him of murder.


    "You''re sure?" Allison echoed, her voice tinged with confusion. She glanced at Charlotte, recalling the time the teacher had driven her home with Derek in tow. How could their friend be a killer? Such things didn''t happen in real life. "Is that why you''re here?" she asked Charlotte, now convinced they were a couple. The witch stared back at her, wide-eyed, unsure of how to respond.


    "I saw him," Scott said, his voice more certain this time.


    "The mountain..." Lydia asked, trying to make sense of it all.


    "No, Derek killed them!" Scott interrupted, his patience fraying as he avoided the gaze of both his best friend and his teacher.


    "All of them?" Allison''s voice trembled, though her initial panic seemed to have subsided slightly, giving way to shock.


    "Starting with his own sister," Scott''s voice dropped, and Charlotte''s hands clenched into fists, her teeth grinding together at the thought.


    "And the bus driver?" Allison asked, still struggling to process the revelation.


    "And then the guy in the video store. It''s been Derek the whole time. He''s in here with us..." Scott''s voice faltered, his words sending a shiver through the room. Jackson shot an incredulous look at Charlotte, but she merely shrugged, unsure of what to say. The truth was bound to surface eventually, but for now, the lie seemed to have a calming effect on the students. She decided not to dwell on it; survival was her priority.


    "And if we don''t get out... he''s going to kill us too," Scott finished grimly, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.


    "Call the cops," Jackson Whittemore demanded, turning toward Stiles.


    "No," Stiles responded curtly.


    "What do you mean, no?" Jackson''s voice rose, incredulous.


    "I mean no. Want to hear it in Spanish? ''?No!''" Stiles shot back, his sarcasm thinly veiling his unease. "Derek killed three people. We don''t know what he''s armed with." The sheriff''s son was clearly backing up Scott''s story, likely thinking the same thing Charlotte was.


    "Your dad is armed with an entire sheriff''s department," Jackson snarled through gritted teeth, barely containing the swirling mix of anger and fear. "Call him."


    "I''m calling," Lydia suddenly announced, a phone appearing in her hand as if she''d conjured it from thin air. Her voice, while calm, belied the nervous tremor in her fingers as she tapped in the emergency number.


    "Hold on... Lydia, just wait..." Stiles moved toward her, intending to stop her, but Jackson grabbed his arm, holding him back.


    "Yes, we''re at Beacon Hills High School," Lydia said into the phone, her tone smooth. "We''re trapped in here, and we need you to..." She paused, her expression shifting as she listened to the person on the other end. Her throat tightened as she swallowed hard. "But..." Abruptly, she pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at it in disbelief. "She hung up on me."


    "The police hung up on you?" Charlotte couldn''t contain her shock. How could an officer ignore a call for help? Hopefully, Diana Harris had listened to her earlier message.


    "She said they got a tip-off about prank calls claiming a break-in at the high school," Lydia explained, repeating the dispatcher''s words. "She said if I call again, they''ll trace it and have me arrested."


    "Then call again," Charlotte urged, realizing it might be their only shot at survival.


    "They won''t trace the cell phone," Stiles interrupted, shaking his head. He knew police protocols all too well. "They''ll send a car to your house before they send someone here."


    "What the... What is this? Why does Derek want to kill us?" Allison asked, her voice shaking as she sought answers instead of solutions. She directed her question at Charlotte, but when the teacher remained silent, she pressed her lips together and turned to Scott. "Why is he killing anyone?"


    Stiles and Charlotte both turned to Scott, hoping for some sort of explanation, but none came. The others followed suit, instinctively sensing that Scott had some unspoken authority over the group. Perhaps it was something innate, something they all felt under their skin¡ªthat he was different, stronger, with a better chance of surviving this nightmare. Though they may not have known he was a werewolf, the presence of the supernatural had a way of leaving an impression.


    "Why are you all looking at me?" Scott snapped, clearly frustrated, unsure of what to say or do.


    "Was he the one who sent her the text?" Lydia asked, her voice laced with suspicion.


    "No... I mean, I don''t know," Scott stammered, avoiding her gaze.


    "Did he call the police?" Allison pressed, joining Lydia in her line of questioning.


    "I don''t know!" Scott shouted back, his patience wearing thin. His voice cut through the tension, and Allison recoiled slightly, her eyes widening in shock at his outburst. It wasn''t the reaction she had expected, and Charlotte noticed a flicker of satisfaction in Jackson''s mischievous smirk.


    "We could use a moment to regroup," Charlotte intervened, pulling Scott and Stiles aside from the other three teenagers. Her voice lowered as she addressed them. "Great, congratulations on throwing Derek under the bus." Her tone was quiet, but the frustration in her words was palpable. If it weren''t for Scott''s heightened werewolf senses, he might have missed the subtle sting in her voice. As it was, he could feel her anger clearly.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "I didn''t know what else to say. I had to say something," Scott defended himself. "And if Derek''s dead, it doesn''t matter..."


    "He''s not," Charlotte stated firmly, her confidence undeniable. But Scott wasn''t listening; his thoughts had already drifted to a new line of worry.


    "Oh God, I totally bit her head off."


    "And she''ll totally get over it," Stiles reassured him, noticing that Charlotte looked far more inclined to bite off Scott''s head herself than offer any comfort. "We''ve got bigger things to deal with. Like, getting out of here alive."


    "But we are alive. And it could have already killed us," Charlotte interjected. "It''s cornering us, pushing us against the wall."


    "What? Like it wants to eat us all at the same time?" Stiles asked, not quite following.


    "No. Derek said it wants revenge," Scott replied, seeming to finally regain some composure and think through the situation. Charlotte felt a flicker of relief¡ªthe more rational thought they could muster, the better their chances of survival. Given that only the three of them knew the full extent of what was happening, their odds were already slim.


    "Revenge against who?" Stiles pressed, eager to piece together more information.


    "I don''t know. Allison''s family?" Scott suggested, unknowingly closer to the truth than he realized.


    "Maybe that''s what the text was about. Someone had to send it..." Stiles mused, still trying to connect the dots.


    "So, while loping through the woods, it stops to pull out its Blackberry?" Scott replied, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice.


    "Hey, hey, hey. I''m the sarcastic one in this friendship," Stiles chuckled indignantly.


    "Okay, assheads," Jackson shouted, careful to avoid eye contact with Charlotte. "New plan: Stiles calls his useless dad and tells him to send someone with a gun and decent aim. We good with that?" The group fell silent, exchanging uncertain glances.


    "He''s right..." Charlotte admitted quietly, though she hated the idea of putting more people in danger. She knew it was their best shot at surviving the night. "Tell the truth if you have to, but call him."


    "I''m not watching my dad get eaten alive," Stiles whispered, his voice trembling. Charlotte knew why¡ªthe boy only had his father. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, trying to offer him some comfort. Stiles shook his head and moved away from the group, but just as he did, Jackson grabbed him.


    "That''s it. Give me your phone," Jackson demanded, reaching for Stiles'' arm. But in an unexpected move, Stiles swung around and punched him square in the jaw.


    "Jackson! Are you okay?" Allison rushed to his side as Lydia stayed back, watching the scene unfold with narrowed eyes. Despite the pain, Jackson was smiling, clearly pleased by the turn of events. Scott didn''t notice, stepping in to stop Stiles from taking another swing.


    The group stood in shock, exchanging confused glances. The sheriff''s son, however, seemed to surrender, pulling his phone from his pocket and dialing his father''s number.


    "Dad? Hey, it''s me... and it''s your voicemail," Stiles muttered, his voice tight with anxiety. "Um... I need you to call me back. Like now. Like right now..." A sudden bang echoed against the door, making everyone jump and instinctively huddle closer together. "We''re at the school. Dad, we''re at school," Stiles added, his voice cracking. If his father received the message, there would be no mistaking that this wasn''t just a prank¡ªit was deadly serious.


    The door shook violently. Lydia screamed in terror, burying her face in Jackson''s shoulder, while Allison remained silent, pressing her back against Scott, who stood protectively behind her. Stiles swallowed hard, glancing at the trembling door, and slid his phone back into his pocket. Charlotte frantically searched her pockets, praying she hadn''t used up all the mountain ash. Unfortunately, only a small remnant remained in the jar¡ªnot nearly enough to protect them.


    "The kitchen. The door out of the kitchen leads to the stairwell," Stiles suddenly announced.


    "Which only goes up," Scott interrupted.


    "Up is better than here," Stiles shot back, and without hesitation, they all bolted toward the staircase.


    Charlotte could hear the furniture they''d used to block the door splinter as the Alpha smashed through, but by then, they were already fleeing. They burst out of the stairwell onto the first floor, scrambling to find the nearest shelter. The first unlocked door led them into Adrian Harris''s chemistry classroom. Scott immediately jammed a chair under the door handle¡ªa comical attempt at security given the monster they were dealing with, yet it was all they had.


    Charlotte collapsed onto the floor, panting heavily, her chest rising and falling in time with the labored breathing of her students. There was no chance the Alpha wouldn''t hear them¡ªit surely knew exactly where they were by now. A growl echoed down the hallway, causing everyone to freeze, instinctively pressing themselves against the wall, hands clasped over their mouths to muffle their breathing. Scott squeezed his eyes shut, trying to gauge how far the creature was.


    As the Alpha passed the room and moved away, Scott finally broke the silence. "Jackson, how many people can fit in your car?"


    "Five, if someone squeezes onto someone''s lap."


    "Five? I barely fit in the back!" Allison exclaimed, incredulous.


    "It doesn''t matter. There''s no getting out without drawing attention," Charlotte interjected, cutting off the debate before it escalated.


    "What about this?" Scott asked, pointing toward a metal door in the room''s corner. "It leads to the roof. We could use the fire escape to get down to the parking lot in seconds."


    "But that''s a deadbolt," Stiles pointed out, deflating the hope that had briefly sparked. But only for a moment¡ªScott''s mind was already racing toward a solution.


    "The janitor has a key."


    "You mean his body has it," Stiles corrected grimly.


    "I can find it. I can track him by scent... by blood," Scott said. Charlotte wondered how much of this strange conversation the others were truly processing, and how bizarre Scott''s words must have sounded to them.


    "That''s a very bad idea..." Charlotte interjected, her voice laced with concern. "Do you have another one?"


    "I''m getting the key," Scott declared, more confidently this time, as he began pushing his way between Charlotte and Stiles, who were blocking his path.


    "Are you serious?" Allison stepped forward, stopping him. She must have been listening closely, Charlotte thought. How much had Allison actually heard and understood? And what did she know about her own family''s involvement?


    "It''s the best plan. Someone has to get the key if we want to get out of here," Scott insisted.


    "You can''t go out there unarmed," Allison protested, her voice tight with fear.


    Scott glanced around the room, then grabbed a pointer off the teacher''s desk, ending in a comically oversized Mickey Mouse hand. Everyone stared at him, dumbfounded, and Stiles exhaled deeply, looking away.


    "It''s better than nothing," Scott explained, though no one seemed convinced.


    "There''s got to be something else..." Stiles muttered, visibly shaken by the idea of his friend venturing out alone.


    "There is," Lydia''s voice cut through the tension, soft but steady. It was the first time she had spoken since they''d fled their previous hiding spot. She pointed toward a locked cabinet full of dangerous chemicals. Charlotte frowned, not immediately understanding what the girl was suggesting. They certainly would not find rowan powder in a chemistry classroom.


    "What? Like, throw acid on him?" Stiles quipped, confused.


    "No, like a firebomb. That cabinet has everything you need to make a self-igniting Molotov cocktail," Lydia explained. Charlotte couldn''t help but smile to herself¡ªshe had been right about Lydia all along. The red-haired student was far smarter than she usually let on. Amid all this terror, with limited knowledge of the real danger, Lydia had thought up a solution while everyone else was panicking. Charlotte, on the other hand, scolded herself internally for not coming up with the idea first. Instead of thinking of a solution, she had been too focused on supernatural methods.


    "Self-igniting..." Stiles trailed off, still confused.


    "Molotov cocktail," Lydia repeated slowly and clearly, seeing the baffled expressions on her classmates'' faces. "What? I read about it somewhere," she added, trying to maintain her image, though her confidence faltered slightly.


    "Well, we don''t have the key to that cabinet either," Stiles sighed.


    Without missing a beat, Jackson rolled his eyes and, without a word, smashed the glass with his elbow, his leather jacket cushioning the blow.


    Lydia swiftly set to work, preparing the explosive mixture with precision. After a short while, she handed the finished bottle of liquid to Scott.


    "No. No," Allison suddenly spoke up, her voice breaking the grim silence she had maintained until now. "This is insane. You can''t do this. You can''t go out there."


    "And we can''t just sit here waiting for Stiles''s dad to check his messages," Scott countered, trying to reason with her.


    "You could die! Do you get that? He''s killed three people."


    "And we''re next. Someone has to do something," Scott replied, his tone firm. He turned toward the door, intent on leaving, but Allison grabbed his arm.


    "Scott, stop. Remember how you told me you''d know if I was lying? That I have a tell?" she asked, and Scott nodded.


    "You have a tell too. You''re a terrible liar, and you''ve been lying all night." Tears brimmed in her eyes, her voice trembling with emotion. Jackson smiled to himself, pleased that no one was paying attention to him. "Please don''t go. Don''t leave us," she pleaded, her voice soft, almost breaking. But her words didn''t sway Scott. He gently pulled his arm free from her grip and stepped back.


    "Lock the door behind me," he said to the others, trying to walk away. But before he could, Allison pulled him into a long, desperate kiss.


    Charlotte rolled her eyes at the scene. She seriously wondered what demon had persuaded her to work with these exasperating teenagers. Taking a decisive step forward, she interrupted the moment.


    "Scott, let''s go," she declared, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. They looked at her in surprise. "I''m not letting you go alone, and they''ll have a better chance of surviving as a group than you will by yourself out there." She gestured toward the corridor. "Two pairs of eyes are better than one. We''ll watch each other''s backs."


    Stiles locked the door behind them as they left, and the remaining group gathered nervously around one of the benches. Allison and Lydia sat huddled on either side of Jackson, while Stiles leaned against the wall just inside the door, his expression distant.


    "I don''t get this. I don''t understand why he''s out there, why he left, and... he almost didn''t accept Mrs. Benoit''s help. I can''t... I can''t get my hands to stop shaking," Allison muttered to herself, staring at her trembling hands, no matter how hard she tried to steady them.


    "It''s okay," Jackson murmured gently, taking her hands in his and locking eyes with her. His voice was unexpectedly soft, filled with a calm reassurance. Stiles shifted uncomfortably, though he remained silent, while Lydia''s eyes widened as she observed the exchange.


    "Everything''s going to be fine," Jackson added, his lips curling into a soft, satisfied smile.


    Unable to watch any longer, Lydia averted her gaze and looked around the room. Her eyes fell on the bottles of chemicals on the table, the same ones she had used earlier to make the Molotov cocktail. Two of the bottles, large and made of brown glass, caught her attention¡ªthey were nearly identical.


    "Jackson, you handed me the sulfuric acid, right?" she asked, her tone suddenly sharp. "It has to be sulfuric acid. It won''t ignite if it''s not."


    "I gave you exactly what you asked for," Jackson replied coldly, his demeanor suddenly shifting, his eyes narrowing as he glared at her.


    "Yeah... yeah..." Lydia hunched her shoulders, avoiding his gaze. "I''m sure you did..." she mumbled, her voice barely audible as Jackson turned away, dismissing her concern without a second glance.


    However, Lydia''s reassurance did little to calm her nerves, and Stiles, too, eyed the containers on the bench with growing concern.


    "What''s Mrs. Benoit actually doing here?" Allison suddenly asked, breaking the tense silence.


    "The same as us? Trying to survive?" Stiles replied, his voice taut with stress.


    "Yeah, but why is she here with you guys? Derek''s not her boyfriend, right?" Allison pressed, recalling the night at Lydia''s party when the two had driven her home. They had spoken little, but she distinctly remembered them being together.


    "Derek is..." Stiles stammered, his mind racing as he looked closely at Allison. "Did you see them together?" When she nodded, his throat tightened. He realized that if he didn''t come up with a good explanation for why Charlotte was hanging around them, it could lead to serious consequences, both with the law and beyond.


    "Mrs. Benoit..." he started, but then quickly corrected himself. "Charlotte is my cousin. She had car trouble, and we were supposed to help her... and we ended up running from a serial killer," he finished, proud of the excuse he had concocted. He hoped it would clear up any doubts Allison had about the strange situation.


    Stiles was anxious about Allison having seen Charlotte with Derek. He knew it could''ve been any day when Derek had pulled the teacher into their chaotic world. But if they survived the night, he vowed to get answers from Charlotte without holding back.


    Suddenly, a loud, guttural roar shattered the strained silence, causing all the teenagers to flinch in terror. The girls and Stiles instinctively covered their ears, while Jackson dropped to his knees, clutching his neck in agony. A pained scream tore from his throat.


    Stiles noticed the fresh scratches on the back of Jackson''s neck but was too stunned to move as Allison and Lydia rushed to help him up.


    "I''m fine..." Jackson groaned, breaking free from their grip, clearly more terrified than he was willing to admit. "Seriously, I''m okay."


    "It doesn''t sound okay," Allison remarked, her worried eyes fixed on him.


    "What''s on the back of your neck?" Stiles finally found his voice, reaching out to inspect. But Jackson shoved his hand away quickly.


    "It''s been there for days," Lydia explained, her tone cold, and her expression suggested there was tension between her and Jackson. "And he won''t tell me what happened..."


    "As if you actually care," Jackson growled back, his eyes narrowing.


    "Can we not argue for half a second here?" Stiles interjected, his voice laced with discomfort.


    "Where''s Scott? He should be back by now," Allison asked, worry creeping into her voice.


    Suddenly, they heard movement behind the door, followed by the sound of a faint click. Allison turned, her heart racing, and saw the faint outline of a face through the glass.


    "Scott?" she called out, rushing toward the door and frantically fumbling with the handle to open it. But before she could pull it open, the figure had already vanished, leaving her panicked and making a great deal of noise.


    "What is he doing?" Lydia asked, her terror mounting as she watched Allison''s increasingly hysterical attempts. "Stop it!" she shouted, the sharpness in her voice causing Allison to freeze in place, wild-eyed.


    "Do you hear that? Listen!" Lydia urged, turning toward the window, her face full of sudden hope.


    And then, cutting through the silence, came the unmistakable sound of police sirens in the distance, growing louder with every passing second. Help had finally arrived.


    Exiting the room, they waited with bated breath for the reassuring click of the door lock. Scott and Charlotte cautiously moved down the dimly lit corridor, confident that they had safely secured the others inside the chemistry lab. Scott led the way, focusing intently on detecting the scent of blood, while Charlotte followed close behind, gripping a flask of explosive liquid tightly in one hand, her other hand pressed against her side.


    The nocturnal atmosphere within the school heightened Charlotte''s unease far more than anything she had experienced during the day. In the daylight, it was the people who unsettled her¡ªexplosive teenagers brimming with hormonal intensity, and the teachers, some genuinely called to the profession while others seemed to have landed there by default, all carrying an undercurrent of discontent. But at night, the feeling was different. Anxiety took root in her chest, fear of the unknown gnawing at her, intensified by the enveloping darkness that could hide many threats, capable of shifting one''s fate in an instant, extinguishing hope.


    As the witch followed Scott, she couldn''t shake the feeling that danger was breathing down her neck. The teenage werewolf led them to the stairwell, descending to the ground floor of the school, from which they had fled at full speed recently.


    The corridor near the cloakrooms was streaked with blood, and it didn''t take a werewolf''s keen senses to know that the janitor''s body had been moved. They headed toward the gymnasium with the basketball court. Scott sniffed the air, tracking every scent he could pick up, and finally motioned for them to go under the bleachers.


    It was an intriguing setup, one Charlotte hadn''t encountered before. Wooden benches perched on a metal frame that folded flush against the wall, leaving ample space when retracted. They slipped beneath the bleachers, passing between the supports. The darkness limited Charlotte''s vision, but it also sent adrenaline surging through her veins, helping her tap into the hidden layers of magic where the Darkness lay dormant.


    A sound echoed behind them, making them freeze. They listened, but it didn''t repeat. Charlotte glanced at Scott just as he flinched. A dark droplet had fallen on his face. He wiped it away and stared at his fingers. Blood.


    Their heads snapped upward simultaneously. There, draped across a metal rack like a grotesque trophy, hung the body of the janitor. Blood dripped steadily from his lifeless form. Charlotte''s grip tightened around the flask''s neck, and a small, stifled gasp escaped her lips.


    Scott kept his composure, his eyes zeroing in on the keys hanging from the janitor''s belt. But they dangled just out of reach. The only option was to climb the nearby scaffolding.


    Charlotte, her hands occupied with the flask, couldn''t assist. The task fell to Scott, who approached the metal column and hoisted himself up. Despite his best efforts, he was a few centimeters short of reaching the keys. They dangled tantalizingly just out of his grasp.


    Suddenly, a metallic groan reverberated through the room, followed by the resounding creaks of a long-neglected mechanism. The stands moved, slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed. Charlotte''s heart raced as she realized the danger¡ªthey were about to be crushed if they didn''t escape immediately. "Scott!" she shouted, stepping forward, torn between the urge to run and her worry for him. Panic gripped her as she watched him stretch toward the keys, refusing to give up.


    In a heart-stopping moment, Scott snagged the keys just as the stands sped up. He leapt down beside her, and without a moment to spare, they bolted forward, barely escaping the deadly mechanism.


    They tumbled out from under the bleachers at the last possible second. The flask nearly slipped from Charlotte''s grasp, but Scott caught it just in time. They scrambled to their feet, a strange tension filling the air¡ªa tension that hadn''t been there before.


    They looked up and saw the source. At the far end of the gymnasium, a hulking monster stood, its red eyes glowing ominously as it watched them. Slowly, deliberately, it moved toward them.


    "Come on," Scott whispered, picking up Charlotte''s flask, preparing to throw it. "Come here," he murmured, swinging and hurling it at the beast. The glass shattered against the Alpha''s head, but to his horror, no ignition followed.


    "Dammit," he hissed, barely scrambling away as the Alpha closed the distance with alarming speed, clipping Scott''s legs and sending him sprawling to the floor.


    Charlotte huddled against the wall, frantically searching her pockets for something¡ªanything¡ªthat could help. Desperation clawed at her chest as she watched the monstrous werewolf drag Scott across the gym floor. The beast leaned over him, one massive paw pressing Scott''s head into the ground. Charlotte knew the Alpha wouldn''t kill him¡ªnot yet. He needed Scott for his pack. But the uncertainty of what the Alpha intended gnawed at her.


    A deafening roar shook the walls, louder even than Scott''s earlier amplified cries through the speakers. Terror gripped her, forcing her eyes shut. When she opened them again, the Alpha had vanished, leaving Scott alone and confused in the middle of the room.


    Suddenly, Scott''s body contorted, muscles tightening with brutal force. His spine arched, his body bending unnaturally as if undergoing a violent exorcism. The Alpha had triggered Scott''s transformation. Charlotte felt an icy wave of dread¡ªher once-kind student was morphing into a lethal killing machine. Her instinct screamed at her to flee, knowing she had only moments before Scott would turn.


    When Scott finally stood, fully transformed into his werewolf form, he found neither his teacher nor the Alpha. He stood alone, his mind clouded with bloodlust and the murderous commands of his Alpha. He moved with predatory intent, driven by the sounds and scents of his prey. His footsteps echoed as he reached the chemistry room door, knowing his victims were just behind it.


    As he reached for the handle, something struck him from behind. A figure had leapt onto his back, legs locking around his waist, hands gripping his head with a vice-like force. Small but firm fingers dug into his temples. Through the door, he heard Allison''s voice, unaware of the danger just outside.


    "Where''s Scott? He should be back by now." Allison''s voice sounded concerned.


    "Scott," came a voice much closer¡ªright next to his ear. "Get a grip on yourself." Strange waves of calm began spreading through his body, though they couldn''t fully douse the bloodlust. "Focus, these are your friends..."


    Beneath his eyelids, Scott envisioned a beautiful girl with dark hair and warm brown eyes, her smile pulling him from the darkness. His erratic heartbeat gradually slowed, the violent urges in his mind softening into memories of her. Waves of unnatural tranquility filled his thoughts, blending with recollections of her face.


    "Yes, just like that... Relax... You don''t have to do this," the witch whispered into his ear, her hands still pressing firmly on his temples. She was channeling magic directly into his mind, soothing the rage. Charlotte had braced herself for resistance, half-expecting Scott to throw her against the wall, making her his first victim. But to her surprise, Scott''s restraint exceeded even her cautious hopes.


    Suddenly, there was a clattering sound, and Charlotte looked over his shoulder. Scott had retrieved a key and was attempting to unlock the chemistry room door. But as he turned the key, it snapped in the lock, rendering the door unusable¡ªneither allowing him entry nor permitting his friends to escape.


    Despite Charlotte still hanging off his back, Scott seemed to have forgotten her presence. He stepped away from the door, moving backward and distancing himself from those he had been driven to attack moments before.


    He stopped near a bend in the corridor and dropped to his knees. Only then did Charlotte cautiously release her grip on him, her hands slipping from his arms and waist. She could feel the tension leaving his body, his face slowly shifting back to its human form. She knelt beside him, gently brushing his hair away from his sweat-dampened forehead. Scott''s breathing came in ragged gasps, his eyes avoiding hers as if ashamed.


    With her right hand, Charlotte stroked his hair, while her left pressed painfully against her side. She winced, knowing she had no choice but to remove the bandage and sling that had supported her injured arm. It had been a makeshift solution, but without it, she couldn''t have helped Scott return to his human state.


    "Scott," she whispered, her voice soft, filled with relief. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Scott, it''s all right. We''re safe. You''re safe. You will hurt no one..."


    Her words trailed off as the distant wail of police sirens grew closer, their arrival signaling the end of one nightmare, but perhaps the beginning of another.


    The flashing lights of several sheriff''s department cars parked outside the school illuminated the dark surroundings. One group of officers hovered around the five teenagers and their teacher, while another swept through the building, searching for any remaining clues.


    "You''re sure it was Derek Hale?" Sheriff Stilinski asked, standing slightly apart from his son, Stiles, Scott, Charlotte, and Officer Harris.


    "Yes," Scott confirmed, his voice steady, though it was the second time he''d said it.


    "I saw him too," Stiles added, his gaze averted, avoiding both his father and Charlotte. "What about the janitor?"


    "We''re still looking for him."


    "You looked under the bleachers?" Scott pressed.


    "There was nothing there, Scott. We pulled out the bleachers just like you asked," Diana confirmed.


    "I''m not making this up."


    "And I believe you. I do," the sheriff reassured him.


    "No, you don''t. You have that look. Like you want to believe me. But I know you don''t," Scott''s voice grew tense, frustration creeping in.


    "I hear you. And we''re going to look over the whole school, I promise," the sheriff said, his tone firm yet calm.


    Just then, the sheriff and Officer Harris were called away, leaving orders for the boys to stay put.


    "Dude, we survived," Stiles said, spreading his arms in a forced gesture of triumph, a shaky smile on his face. He glanced nervously at Scott, trying to ignore Charlotte, who watched them with an unprecedented coldness. "We outlasted the Alpha. That''s still good, right? Being alive?"


    "We were in the chemistry room, and it walked right by us. You don''t think it heard us? You don''t think it knew exactly where we were?"


    "Then how are we still alive?" Stiles asked, confusion flickering across his face.


    "Because it wants me in its pack. But first, I think I have to get rid of my old pack."


    "What? What old pack?" Stiles didn''t understand.


    "Allison, Jackson, Lydia... You."


    Stiles fell silent, his eyes staring off into the distance, processing Scott''s words.


    "The Alpha doesn''t want to kill us..." Stiles began, still lost in thought.


    "How the hell is that not the worst part?"


    "Because when he made me shift... I wanted to do it. I wanted to kill you. All of you," Scott admitted, his voice laden with guilt. He turned an apologetic look toward Charlotte, but his gaze quickly moved past her, landing on something behind her.


    Charlotte followed his line of sight and froze. Sitting in one ambulance was Allan Deaton, the local veterinarian, being bandaged by a paramedic. His presence left them stunned, and the boys immediately approached him, their faces a mixture of disbelief and relief. Charlotte stayed behind, leaning against the hood of her car, watching them from a distance.


    "Oh, there you are," Deaton said warmly as the nurse stepped away.


    "How did you..." Scott began, but trailed off, unable to finish the thought.


    "Get out? Not easy..." Deaton forced a smile. "And from what they''ve told me, I''m alive because of you. I think I owe you a raise."


    "We''ll let you talk to him later. The EMTs need to finish checking him out," Sheriff Stilinski interrupted, gently steering the boys back to where Charlotte was waiting. But Scott''s attention quickly shifted when he spotted Allison nearby.


    "Allison! Are you all right?" he called out, rushing to her and grabbing her arm gently.


    "My dad''s on his way," she replied, not meeting his gaze, tears shimmering in her eyes.


    "Do you need me to do anything? Want me to come back with you¡ª"


    "No, I don''t," she said coolly, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her jacket.


    "Okay..." Scott hesitated, uncertain of what to do next.


    "And I also don''t know what happened to you in there. I don''t know what you were thinking... Maybe you weren''t. But right now... I don''t feel like I trust you," she confessed, her voice trembling, almost sobbing.


    "I can explain," Scott interjected, pleading.


    "I don''t care."


    "Okay. Don''t say anything else. Please," he begged, his voice breaking slightly.


    "Scott," she started, but he cut her off before she could continue.


    "Stop. Please. Don''t say anything. Stiles'' dad is taking me home. I''ve got to make sure my mom isn''t freaking out. And then, I''m going to get a new phone first thing in the morning..."


    "Scott..."


    "I''ll get a new phone, and I''ll give you a call..." Scott''s voice faltered, sensing that, despite surviving the night, his life was unraveling.


    "Don''t," Allison finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.


    "What?"


    "Don''t call. Just don''t," she said, big tears rolling down her cheeks, glistening in the light of the moon and streetlamps.


    The sheriff pulled Charlotte aside near her car, deciding it was time to speak privately with the only adult involved in the incident. Up to this point, she had watched the exchange between the teenage couple, rolling her eyes in disbelief. She never imagined that the daughter of Hunters could behave so irrationally, panicking at every turn. Even Lydia had maintained her composure. Frankly, Charlotte felt ashamed of Allison''s behavior.


    "Do you confirm everything the kids said?" Sheriff Stilinski asked, his tone direct.


    "No," Charlotte replied confidently. "I can''t confirm everything, especially the identity of the attacker, because I didn''t recognize him. And I don''t know how or why the kids ended up in the school in the first place."


    "Okay, then let''s start from the beginning. What were you doing here at this hour?"


    "To be honest, I was working on essays. I''ve been grading a new project I assigned, and I got a bit behind. I only realized how late it was when I heard a noise in the corridor."


    "And that''s when you met the kids?"


    "Yes, they were running as if a monster were chasing them. The glass in the hallway suddenly shattered, and I saw someone following them. I joined them, and we locked ourselves in the chemistry room. The girls panicked, so I focused on calming them down and keeping them under control. I know the boys were talking, but I can''t quite recall what about... Everything happened so fast."


    "And what did the attacker look like?" the sheriff asked, pulling a piece of paper from his briefcase.


    "He was... tall," she said, chuckling with a hint of nervousness. "He was much taller than you or the boys, even considering my height.".


    "Could it have been this man?" Sheriff Stilinski asked, handing her a photo that, if not for the glare of lights, would have revealed Derek Hale''s face.


    "Well... he didn''t have torches for eyes, but I don''t think it''s the same man," she said, scrutinizing the picture closely, more for show than certainty. "Do these lines indicate the suspect''s height?" she asked, gesturing at the height markers, and the sheriff nodded. "I''m sure the person who attacked us was taller."


    "Thank you," Sheriff Stilinski sighed, visibly weary, before politely dismissing her. "You''re free to go home now."


    Just as Charlotte was about to climb into her Chevelle, Officer Diana Harris caught up with her.


    "You''re the one who called me, right? From Derek''s phone..." Diana asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.


    Charlotte nodded.


    "It wasn''t him, was it?" Diana pressed, and Charlotte gave another nod. A sigh escaped Diana, concern flickering in her eyes. "I won''t be able to steer suspicion away from him. He''s going to end up on the wanted list," she muttered, her worry clear.


    Catching Charlotte''s puzzled expression, she offered a small, almost sheepish smile. "We go way back¡ªold school friends. Practically known each other forever, though, truth be told, we haven''t even had coffee since he came back. So, you can imagine my surprise when his number showed up on my voicemail..." She tilted her head, her tone light but edged with a seriousness beneath. "Think I can count on you to keep an eye on him?" She asked, though her gaze carried a hint of sarcasm, as if the favor was more serious than the smile that accompanied it.


    A surge of conflicting emotions washed over Charlotte, but after a moment''s hesitation, she nodded in agreement, accepting the responsibility of watching over the elusive werewolf. Diana Harris intrigued her. Standing at around one meter seventy, with large grey eyes behind glasses that reminded Charlotte of her own reading pair, Diana possessed a strikingly athletic physique¡ªperhaps even more formidable than Kate Argent''s. Clad in form-fitting black leggings and a matching T-shirt, her toned muscles were clearly defined, and a burn scar peeked out from beneath the sleeve, marring her otherwise flawless skin. Her wild, curly brown hair, reminiscent of a lion''s mane, framed a face that exuded both fierceness and approachability.


    Despite the commanding presence Diana carried so effortlessly, it was her warm smile and easy demeanor that ultimately broke through Charlotte''s reservations. There was an undeniable strength beneath the officer''s casual air, but it was the genuine kindness in her eyes that convinced Charlotte to trust her.


    "I''ll monitor him... assuming he''s still breathing," Charlotte said dryly, watching Diana''s eyes widen in horror.


    "Just one favor in return," Charlotte continued with a smirk. "If you ever decide to go on a werewolf hunt... send me a text first," she quipped, handing Diana her phone number.


    February 3rd, 2011 - Thursday - After Midnight


    Charlotte walked home, more terrified than she had been even when facing the murderous Alpha. The events of the night had left her shaken, unsure of what to expect. The black Camaro was no longer in the school parking lot, which at least meant Derek had gathered enough strength to drive away. But whether he had got home was still a mystery.


    When she pulled into the driveway beneath the garage, she found the door locked with a deadbolt and no sign of the Camaro. Anxiety churned in her stomach as she got out of her car and approached the garage. It was only when she got closer that she spotted the familiar black car inside. She found Derek slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious.


    By some miracle, she had revived the werewolf just enough that he could help her a little in transporting him into the house and even upstairs to their shared bedroom. He collapsed onto the bed, facedown, unconscious once again.


    Charlotte moved quickly, retrieving her first aid kit. The sight of him lying motionless sent another wave of fear through her, but she forced herself to focus. She started with his leather jacket, struggling to remove it from his limp body. His shirt, however, was beyond saving. Without hesitation, she cut it open, exposing the deep wound in his back. Blood had soaked through, and the torn fabric of his shirt had embedded itself into the gash. She carefully used tweezers to extract the remnants, her hands steady despite the racing of her heart.


    The injury was severe¡ªa fist-sized hole in his back, dangerously close to his stomach but, miraculously, not near his spine. She silently thanked fate for that small mercy, though she wasn''t entirely sure if werewolves could heal from spinal injuries.


    With the wound now clean, Charlotte bit her lip as she studied it. It was difficult to assess the full extent of the damage, but the bleeding had slowed, which gave her some relief. However, that could also be a bad sign¡ªwerewolves healed quickly, but if something had interfered with his ability to regenerate, it could mean trouble. To help speed up the process, she stitched the wound. She wasn''t a trained medic, but over her long life, she had gained enough experience to handle this.


    As she worked, her exhaustion grew. Each stitch felt heavier, the weight of the night''s events pressing down on her. But she persisted, knowing Derek''s survival depended on it.


    When she finally finished, the wound was closed, though it was far from perfect. Her body felt drained, both physically and emotionally. She slumped onto the other side of the bed, too tired to even clean herself up. Derek''s blood stained her clothes, but she didn''t care. The adrenaline that had kept her going had faded, and within moments, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, barely aware of the man lying injured beside her.


    Pain radiated through Derek''s entire body, an aching numbness that seemed to pulse with every shallow breath. It was this discomfort that ultimately pulled him from unconsciousness. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was Charlotte lying beside him. His brows furrowed in confusion, trying to piece together what was wrong with this image. In just a moment, he noticed that blood covered Charlotte''s body, causing him to wheeze sharply as the air was knocked out of his lungs. Red streaks marred her face, now peaceful in sleep. She was breathing, which brought him a slight sense of relief, but panic quickly followed. Was she injured?


    He tried to recall what had happened, but the relentless pain clouded his thoughts. With effort, he raised his hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, only to realize that her hair was matted with something sticky. It took him another moment to realize that his hand, too, was covered in dried blood, which blended almost perfectly with her auburn locks.


    His touch must have stirred her, for she blinked awake and smiled softly upon seeing him.


    "You''re alive," she said, her voice filled with obvious relief.


    "Uh-huh," he muttered, his eyes still scanning her face, then moving down to inspect her entire form. "You too..."


    "I''m not the one who was mortally wounded," she murmured, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she realized the state they were both in, both still wearing their blood-soaked clothes from the previous night. "I wasn''t hurt at all." She paused, glancing down at herself. "I think we should get cleaned up."


    It took over an hour for Charlotte to fully update Derek on the events of the night before. He still couldn''t stand on his own for more than a few minutes at a time, so she propped him up on a stool in the shower. Only after she was certain he was settled safely back in bed, she took the time to clean herself up.


    As she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, the state of her appearance startled her - dried blood clumped her tangled hair, makeup had completely smeared, and her clothes were ragged and filthy. Her normally smooth complexion looked pale, and the freckles on her nose¡ªusually concealed by a thin layer of foundation¡ªwere now on full display. She barely recognized herself.


    When she emerged from the bathroom, feeling slightly more human, she checked on Derek again. He was fast asleep, his body slowly recovering. Satisfied, she went downstairs to the kitchen to prepare something to eat. Realizing she hadn''t eaten in over twenty-four hours, she suspected Derek hadn''t either.


    The simple act of cooking grounded her, allowing her scattered thoughts to find focus. But with clarity came the reality of their situation. Scott had lied to his friends and the authorities, and now she was harboring a fugitive in her home¡ªa man suspected of multiple murders. She sighed quietly, stirring the pot on the stove. There was no avoiding it; she would have to trust Derek''s childhood friend, though she was reluctant to bring anyone else into this mess.


    Still, the thought that someone within the justice system understood the supernatural forces at play offered a small measure of comfort. At least there was someone out there working to protect Beacon Hills, someone who knew the truth about the world they lived in. And for now, that would have to be enough


    February 4th 2011 - Friday - School Closed


    Around lunchtime, the doorbell rang, snapping both Charlotte and Derek out of their afternoon slumber. Derek, still recovering slower than he cared to admit, remained upstairs, listening intently in case it was the police coming for him. Charlotte, despite her own exhaustion, rushed down the stairs, nearly stumbling and risking injury, but regaining her balance just in time.


    "Diana..." Charlotte called out loudly as she opened the door, hoping to reassure Derek. The officer, standing on the doorstep, smiled warmly at the sight of the redhead.


    "Sorry for the intrusion," Diana said, stepping inside, "but the sheriff ordered us to play detective, going door-to-door asking if anyone''s seen the suspect. I decided to pay you a personal visit, especially since one of your neighbors claims to have spotted a mysterious black Camaro outside your house recently."


    "No problem. Come on in..." Charlotte welcomed her into the kitchen. "Fancy a cup of tea?"


    "No, thank you. I just wanted to check in and make sure you''re all right..." Diana hesitated for a moment, suppressing a chuckle. "And to deliver a message from Stiles." She smiled, barely able to contain her amusement. "Congratulations, Stiles has promoted you to be his cousin," Diana said, barely able to contain her amusement. "Apparently, the kids at school were getting a bit too curious about your sudden appearance, so Stiles came up with an explanation."


    "Ah... well..." Charlotte muttered, unsure whether to celebrate this new alibi or worry about the implications of Stiles'' quick thinking.


    Diana continued, blushing slightly and seeming a bit embarrassed. "He also wanted me to tell you he''s declared himself an honorary member of your ''supernatural fan club.'' Apparently, he thinks he''s got the inside scoop on you and Derek, and for now, he''s kept it under wraps. At least until the next full moon..." she trailed off, laughing softly.


    "How much do you know?" Charlotte interjected, her tone sharp with curiosity and a touch of wariness. "About the werewolves..." she clarified.


    "I know enough," Diana responded, her voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm. "I know they exist, and Derek is one, as was most of his family..." Diana paused, clearly weighing how much to reveal. "Derek and I go way back, actually. We''ve been close since primary school¡ªhis family lived practically next door to mine, and Laura used to babysit me sometimes." Her voice wavered as she recalled the memories. "I was at their house the night of the fire... So yeah, I know quite a lot. I also picked up on Scott''s ''furry'' secret, though that only clicked for me yesterday."


    "And you believe me when I say Derek is innocent? That it wasn''t him at the school?" Charlotte asked, her voice searching for reassurance.


    "Yes," Diana answered confidently. "Derek wouldn''t have killed Laura. I don''t believe he could kill anyone." She seemed entirely unfazed by the deeper complexities of Derek''s werewolf nature. "But unfortunately, there''s not much I can do about the APB that''s out for him¡ªat least not until fresh evidence comes to light."


    As they stood in the kitchen, the crackle of Diana''s police radio interrupted both women. Charlotte didn''t recognize the codes coming through, but Diana''s expression shifted to focus. Standing quickly, she apologized and made her way toward the door, promising to help as soon as she could. Just as she stepped outside, she called over her shoulder, a little louder than necessary:


    "Get well, dumbass."


    Diana clearly directed the remark at Derek, who, despite still recovering, had been eavesdropping from upstairs.

 1.8 Lunatic

    On a Saturday evening, Scott and Stiles wandered beneath the almost perfectly round glow of the moon, the full moon just a day away. Stiles, the leaner of the two, carried a rucksack slung over his shoulder, the clinking of glass bottles faintly audible with each step. Scott, broader and more reserved, trailed behind, casting wary glances at their surroundings as they ventured past an antiquated, long-abandoned playground at the reserve''s edge. The odd light of a working streetlamp bathed the eerie scene, guiding them deeper into the woods.


    "Where are we going?" Scott asked, uncertainty creasing his face, the atmosphere evoking memories of the B-grade horror flicks Stiles loved to watch.


    "You''ll see," Stiles responded with a cryptic smile, pushing onward.


    "We shouldn''t be here. My mom''s still freaking out about what happened at school."


    "Be glad she''s not the Sheriff. Trust me, there''s no comparison," Stiles retorted, his tone light but his pace unwavering.


    "Can you at least tell me what we''re doing out here?"


    "When your best friend gets dumped..." Stiles began, his voice tinged with faux wisdom.


    "I didn''t get dumped. We''re taking a break," Scott interrupted, as if trying to convince himself more than Stiles.


    "When your best friend gets told by his girlfriend that they''re ''taking a break''..." Stiles corrected with emphasis, pulling a bottle of Jack Daniels from his rucksack. "You get your best friend drunk."


    They settled near a makeshift campsite, igniting a fire in a metal barrel. The bottle made its way between them, each boy taking turns swigging from it. Stiles succumbed to the alcohol''s effects faster than his werewolf friend, who sat stoically, immune to its influence. Within an hour, Stiles sprawled on the ground, while Scott remained upright, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames.


    "Dude, she''s one girl. There are plenty more girls in the sea," Stiles slurred, his voice thick with intoxication.


    "Fish in the sea," Scott corrected automatically, his attention still on the fire.


    "What? Why''re you talking about fish? I''m talking about girls. I love them all," Stiles sighed deeply, his eyes drifting toward the stars overhead. "Especially the ones with strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, about five foot three..."


    "Like Mrs. Benoit?" Scott quipped, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.


    "Who? No! She''s a redhead... and a bit taller... I''m talking about..." Stiles trailed off.


    "Lydia," Scott finished, this time without the playful edge. Stiles'' affection for Lydia had always been obvious.


    "Exactly... How''d you know I was talking about¡ªwait, what was I talking about?" Stiles blinked, confused, then shifted focus. "Hey, you don''t look happy. Drink."


    "I don''t want anymore."


    "You''re not drunk?" Stiles asked, astonished, his inebriated mind struggling to process Scott''s sobriety.


    "I''m not anything," Scott replied flatly.


    "Maybe it''s like not needing your inhaler anymore. Maybe you can''t get drunk... Am I drunk?" Stiles asked, almost in disbelief.


    "You''re wasted," Scott laughed, though uneasily.


    "Yeeeaaahh... Dude, I know it feels bad. But you gotta remember. As much as breaking up hurts... being alone is even worse... Wait, hang on..." Stiles paused, his brow furrowing as he thought. "That didn''t come out right. I need another drink." He reached for the bottle, but before his hand could grasp it, it was gone.


    They had company. Two older men emerged from the shadows, snatching the boys'' alcohol.


    "Well, look at the little bitches getting their drink on," sneered the larger man, a hulking figure with a cruel smile. His name was Reddick. His companion, Unger, slightly smaller but resembling a cave troll, let out a laugh that echoed like a hyena''s cackle.


    "Give it back," Scott growled, his voice low with warning.


    "What''s that, little man?" Reddick mocked.


    "I think he wants a drink..." Unger giggled unpleasantly, his face twisted in a sneer.


    "I want the bottle," Scott repeated, his voice filled with fury. Whether it was the approaching full moon, the intruding company, or Allison''s bitter silence over the past few days, something inside him was snapping.


    "Scott, let''s just go," Stiles urged, now fully sobered by the situation.


    "You brought me here to get drunk, Stiles," Scott said, keeping his eyes locked on the two men in front of them. His gaze carried a threat they could read, but neither man was smart enough to heed it, faced with a teenager half their size. "I''m not drunk yet."


    Reddick rolled his eyes in mock pity, taking a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle. He didn''t notice Scott rising from the ground until the boy was standing directly in front of him.


    "Give me the bottle," Scott said again, now face-to-face with the towering man. Reddick only smiled and shook his head, his refusal obvious.


    The anger in Scott surged, and his eyes flashed an unnatural amber. His voice dropped several octaves. "Give me the bottle of Jack." Behind his back, Stiles noticed Scott''s fingernails lengthening into claws.


    "Scott..." Stiles warned, sensing that his friend was dangerously close to ripping out the man''s throat.


    Reddick took an instinctive step back, sensing something primal and menacing in the air, like he had just found himself locked in a cage with a predator. He glanced at Unger, but his companion had also stopped laughing and retreated a few steps, uneasy. Reluctantly, Reddick held out the bottle, and in a flash, Scott snatched it from his hand. The werewolf''s eyes returned to their usual brown, but the simmering rage remained.


    With a swift motion, Scott hurled the bottle through the air, sending it smashing against a nearby tree. The sound of glass shattering reverberated through the woods. The two uninvited guests backed away hastily, disappearing into the trees.


    With nothing left to drink, Scott and Stiles gathered their belongings and headed toward the nearby car.


    "Please tell me that was because of the breakup," Stiles muttered, his voice shaky. "Or, better yet, because tomorrow''s the full moon."


    Scott didn''t respond. He opened the passenger door of the Jeep for Stiles, his brow furrowed in thought as a strange feeling nagged at him. He glanced around, scanning the darkened forest, but saw nothing between the trees.


    "Going home now. Yeah?" Stiles asked, fumbling with his seatbelt. A silent thank you passed through him that his friend couldn''t get drunk, as he realized he hadn''t considered how they were supposed to get home if they both ended up intoxicated.


    ***


    February 7th 2011 - Monday - Full Moon


    "...A beautiful Monday morning. Beacon Hills High School is back open after being closed Thursday and Friday. Police search continues for alleged killer Derek Hale..." Melissa rushed to the radio and turned it off, grimacing slightly at the news.


    "We should probably set this to buzzer," she remarked, crouching beside her son''s bed. She stared at the spot where his face should have been, but instead, only saw a lump under the duvet, the teenager having buried himself as soon as the alarm went off. "You alive in there?" she asked, pulling the blanket away from his head.


    "No," Scott muttered from underneath the covers.


    "Not ready to go back to school?" she asked, straightening up a little.


    "No..."


    "Want to stay home another day?" Melissa continued, noticing how clearly distressed her son seemed.


    "No."


    "Want a brand new car?" she tried, finally getting a reaction. Scott peeked out from under the covers, his eyes meeting hers as she widened her own in exaggerated surprise, her mouth hanging open in mock excitement. "Me too," she added with a grin.


    Scott sighed heavily, dragging himself out of bed and trudging toward the bathroom like he was heading to a prison sentence.


    "This isn''t just about what happened at school, is it?" Melissa asked, her tone softening. "It''s the girl, right? You want to talk about it?"


    "Not with you," Scott snapped as he reached the bathroom doorway, clearly on edge.


    "Hey, I''ve been through a few breakups myself. Disastrous ones, actually," she offered gently.


    "I don''t care about your breakups!" Scott''s voice rose sharply, his frustration spilling over. "And I''m getting her back," he added, slamming the bathroom door behind him for emphasis.


    Melissa stood there for a moment, sighing softly to herself, knowing her son''s problems ran deeper than just the school or even his relationship. As a mother, she couldn''t help but worry, but she knew some battles he''d have to fight on his own.


    ***


    The area outside the school was already crowded. Pupils clustered near the entrance, chattering frantically about what had happened before the weekend. No one knew the full details, but the traces of the past events were still visible on the building. Several windows were sealed with yellow caution tape, and a higher-than-usual number of police patrols circled the area.


    A cherry-colored SUV, unmistakably belonging to the Argents, pulled up outside the entrance. Allison reached for the door handle, but it wouldn''t budge. The door remained locked. She sighed, doing her best to stay patient.


    "Dad, if you''re going to insist on driving me to school, you at least have to let me out of the car."


    Chris''s eyes roved over their surroundings, paying no heed to his daughter''s words. He needed to ensure everything was safe. In the passenger seat, Kate smirked mischievously.


    "Kate, what''s your opinion on homeschooling?" he asked his sister, still scanning the area.


    "Hmm..." She drew in a deep breath and grinned radiantly. "I''m more of a learning-by-doing kind of girl."


    "Kate, what''s your opinion on overprotective dads who keep ruining their daughter''s lives?" interjected a teenage girl from the back row, leaning forward between the front seats.


    Kate cast a glance at her niece, then shifted her eyes back to her brother. With a devilish smile, she reached over and pressed the button to unlock the doors, her gaze defiantly fixed on Chris''s.


    "Thank you," Allison whispered to her aunt before she hopped out of the car, casting one last, chastising look at her father, who watched her with concern as she moved away.


    "Chris¡ª"


    "Don''t," he interrupted. "Your expression says it all. Yes, I underestimated the danger. Yes, we should have acted sooner. Yes, I should have listened to you. Anything else, or does that about cover it?"


    "All I was going to say is that you need to stop for gas. But yeah, that about covers it," Kate replied, pointing at the dashboard, though her attention was elsewhere. Her gaze had been drawn to the teachers'' parking lot, where a redheaded figure was making their way toward the school. "I''ll be back on my own. I need to pay someone a visit..." She shot her brother a knowing look and reached for the door handle.


    Chris''s hand darted out, gripping her arm before she could exit. "Just leave it be. We should focus on the Alpha."


    "You knew... Did you tell him?" she snapped, jerking her wrist out of his grasp. Her anger flared as she realized he had already started the car and was pulling away from the school. If she didn''t want to make a scene and leap out of the moving vehicle, she had no choice but to relent.


    She wouldn''t be seeing the Witch today.


    ***


    "It''s just weird. Everyone''s talking about what happened the other night. And nobody knows it was us," Allison muttered as she and Lydia walked down the corridor together.


    "Thanks to the protection of minors... and Mrs. Benoit''s connections, no one knows about her either," Lydia replied in a low voice, adjusting her hair with a practiced movement.


    "Do you think I made the wrong decision?" Allison asked, her voice filled with uncertainty.


    "About wearing a leather jacket with that dress? Absolutely," Lydia replied without even glancing at her.


    "You know what I mean," Allison growled, already growing slightly irritated.


    "Hello, Scott locked us in a classroom and left us for dead. He''s lucky we''re not pressing charges or sending him the therapy bills," Lydia laughed bitterly, though she continued to avoid looking directly at Allison.


    "Are your parents talking about sending you to see someone, too?"


    "Sweetheart, I''ve had a psychiatrist since I was six," Lydia replied dryly, rummaging through her bag. After a moment, she pulled out a small yellow pill bottle. "Here, try this. Start with half a pill."


    They passed Stiles, who was sitting outside the secretary''s office. As they did, the Sheriff emerged from the principal''s office, flanked by his deputy and two men in suits.


    "We''re watching his house. He might show up there," Stilinski said to his men, his expression serious. When he spotted his son, who had just risen from the floor, he excused himself from the others and approached Stiles.


    "Don''t you have a test to get to?" the Sheriff asked, raising an eyebrow.


    "What''s going on? Did you find Derek yet?" Stiles asked, guilt gnawing at him. He felt conflicted¡ªangry at both Derek and the history teacher, but also at himself. He couldn''t shake the feeling that he should stop trusting her, not after discovering her connection to Derek. And yet, he still wanted to talk to her. She, on the other hand, stubbornly avoided him.


    "We''re working on it. Now go take your test," Stilinski replied, though his tone was less stern and more reassuring.


    "Dad, listen..." For a moment, Stiles wanted to spill everything¡ªthe truth about the werewolves, that Derek wasn''t the one trying to kill them. "It''s important. You need to be careful tonight, especially tonight..." His voice grew more urgent as he looked into his father''s eyes, fear welling up inside him. He couldn''t bear the thought of something happening to his dad.


    "I''m always careful," Noah smiled gently.


    "Dad, you''ve never dealt with anything like this before. Not like this," Stiles pressed.


    "I know. That''s why I brought in people who have. State detectives. Now go," Stilinski insisted.


    Reluctantly, Stiles turned to leave, knowing that if Harris had already started handing out tests, he''d be in a lot more trouble than just a poor grade. But the feeling of unease remained, gnawing at him as he walked away.


    Scott walked into the classroom, and the first thing that caught his eye was Allison. He moved toward her, hoping to start a conversation, but she ignored him completely. Before he could gather his thoughts, the teacher appeared at his side.


    "McCall, please take a seat," the man instructed, and Scott quickly complied. "You have 45 minutes to complete the test. Twenty-five percent of your grade can be earned right now by simply putting your full name on the cover."


    Stiles, seated nearby, gave the teacher a look of disbelief but, with grim determination, signed his test immediately. The teacher continued, his tone laced with sarcasm. "However, as happens every year, one of you will inexplicably fail to put your name on the cover, and I''ll be left once again questioning my decision to ever become a teacher. So let''s get the disappointment over with." With that, he started the stopwatch. "Begin."


    Scott leaned over his test sheet, scanning the questions, but he couldn''t focus. His heightened senses overwhelmed him. The sound of pencils scratching paper, the rustling of erasers, the nervous tapping of fingers on desks, the clicking of pens, and even the uneven heartbeats of his classmates filled his ears, drowning out his thoughts.


    The smells were no better. Perfume mixed with the scent of sweat, creating a nauseating haze that made him feel sick. He tried again to concentrate, but another thought intruded, catching him off guard. Why would a girl that pretty go out with a loser like you? He glanced up, staring at Allison as she worked diligently on her test, completely oblivious to him.


    When he looked back down, the question had changed. It was no longer about Allison; it was a genuine question about the test subject. But the letters blurred before his eyes, and he couldn''t read it. Frustrated, Scott rubbed his eyelids, willing himself to focus. Then, as he squinted at the paper again, the words morphed into something far more disturbing: When the moon is full next time, will you kill: A. all of your friends, B. some of your friends, C. most of your friends, D. none of the above.


    His heart raced as panic surged through him. He scanned the room nervously, wondering if this was some kind of sick joke. The sounds around him grew louder¡ªsomeone coughing harshly, another person swallowing audibly. The pressure in his head built until it was unbearable.


    Unable to endure it any longer, Scott grabbed his backpack and bolted from the room, ignoring the teacher''s calls after him. Stiles, instantly alarmed, sprang to his feet and chased after his friend, knowing things had just taken a turn for the worse.


    "Scott?" Stiles called after him, but the corridor was empty, except for Scott''s backpack lying nearby. Picking it up, Stiles quickly pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed his friend''s number. Even without supernatural hearing, he knew Scott well enough that, before the phone even buzzed, Stiles had already moved ahead. Guided first by instinct and then by the sound of Scott''s phone ringing, he reached the men''s locker room.


    He hesitated for a moment, gathering his courage. The last time the full moon had approached, Scott had nearly killed him. Cautiously, Stiles entered, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he scanned the room. The sound of running water reached his ears¡ªone shower had been turned on. Scott''s t-shirt lay discarded on a bench. Swallowing nervously, Stiles gripped the shoulder strap of the backpack tighter and moved toward the showers, wishing he had a weapon¡ªmaybe a baseball bat¡ªfor protection.


    As he rounded the corner, relief washed over him. Scott stood under the icy stream of water, leaning heavily against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps as if he had just sprinted a marathon. Sensing Stiles, Scott turned off the water and faced him, his breathing shallow and uneven.


    "Stiles... I can''t..." Scott''s voice trembled, breaking with the strain.


    "What''s happening? Are you changing?" Stiles asked, his mind racing.


    "No... I can''t... I can''t breathe," Scott wheezed, his words rushing out in panic.


    Without hesitation, Stiles dug into Scott''s backpack, pulling out the inhaler that his friend still carried, even though he didn''t need it anymore. Long-standing habits died hard. "Use this," Stiles instructed, handing the inhaler to Scott. At first, Scott stared at it, puzzled. "Do it," Stiles urged.


    Scott grabbed the inhaler, inhaling deeply. Slowly, his breathing steadied, each breath coming easier than the last.


    "I... I was having an asthma attack?" Scott asked, still in shock as he realized he could breathe again.


    "No, you were having a panic attack. But thinking it was an asthma attack stopped the panic attack. Ironic," Stiles said with a small grin.


    "How did you know to do that?" Scott asked, his voice still shaky.


    "I used to get them after my mom died. Not fun, huh?" Stiles replied, recalling with a faint smile the help he''d received from Diana, their old babysitter. She still worked with his dad and occasionally checked in to make sure they had food and a clean house.


    "I looked at Allison, and it was like someone hit me in the ribs with a hammer," Scott muttered, ignoring Stiles'' explanation.


    ***


    Allison sat in the cafeteria during her lunch break, leaning over a book and nibbling on biscuits her mother had baked. Jackson joined her, and she greeted him with a warm smile. His gaze remained fixed on her, his expression unreadable.


    "You have something on your..." Jackson began, but when she looked up at him, he shook his head slightly, reaching out. "Here, let me," he said, stroking a smudge of chocolate from her bottom lip with his thumb. He then licked his finger, prompting a nervous laugh from Allison.


    "Thanks. Want a bite?" she offered, holding up the biscuit.


    He stared at her, his expression blank and strangely distant, as if startled by something. "What?"


    "Do you want a bite?" she repeated, more clearly this time, raising the biscuit to his eye level.


    "Oh. Um..." Jackson laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, his fingers brushing over the still unhealed scratches. "No, thanks."


    "You doing okay?" Allison asked, her concern growing at his clear unease. "I mean, since the other night?"


    "Better than I thought I''d be," he said with a forced smile, his expression tightening for a moment. "You still thinking about everything that happened?"


    "Mostly about Scott," she admitted, curling her lips in uncertainty. "I haven''t talked to him."


    "Probably a good idea," Jackson remarked, his tone a little too casual.


    "You don''t think I made a mistake, do you?" Allison asked, her voice soft, the weight of her emotions evident. It was as if she hadn''t heard his previous words, clearly struggling with her own feelings.


    "No," Jackson laughed, almost incredulous. "I think he got exactly what he deserved."


    Neither of them realized that Scott, sitting just outside in the corridor, was hearing every word of their conversation. And with each passing second, his anger was growing, bubbling inside him, ready to explode.


    After school, the boys had lacrosse practice. When Coach Finstock emerged from his cubicle, blowing his whistle to grab their attention, the team was already gathered in the locker room.


    "Okay, geniuses, listen up! Due to the recent pink eye outbreak... thanks, Greenberg," he added sourly. "The following players have made First Lineup on a probationary basis. Emphasis on probationary: Rodriguez, welcome to the first lineup. Taylor and... Oh, for the love of crap... I can''t read my own writing... Is that an ''S''?"


    Stiles perked up, rising from the bench, hopeful.


    "No, it''s something else... ''B''? Definitely a ''B''..." Stiles slumped back down, shoulders square in disappointment. "Rodriguez, Taylor, and Bilinski."


    Stiles froze, stunned for a moment, unable to believe his luck. Then he shot off the bench, shouting with pure joy. The other players looked at him with a mix of disbelief and pity.


    "Bilinski?" Coach Finstock squinted, realizing he might''ve made a mistake reading the name, but he didn''t care enough to correct it.


    "Yes?" Stiles responded eagerly.


    "Shut up," Finstock commanded, earning laughs from the rest of the team.


    "Yes, sir," Stiles mumbled, sitting back down beside Scott.


    "Stiles..." Scott whispered.


    "It''s Biles. Call me Biles, or I swear to God, I''ll kill you," Stiles replied, still riding the high of his newfound position.


    "One more thing," Finstock announced, "from here on out, we''re switching to Co-Captains. Congratulations, McCall."


    Everyone in the room met Finstock''s words with wide-eyed disbelief. Scott''s surprise quickly morphed into joy, while Jackson''s reaction was quite the opposite¡ªcold fury.


    "What?" Jackson growled, glaring at the coach.


    "What what? Jackson, this takes nothing away from you," Finstock explained, gesturing dramatically. "It''s about combining separate strengths into one unit. Your unit and McCall''s unit, making one big unit. McCall, it''s you and Jackson now. Whistle¡ªasses on the field!"


    "Can you believe this? You''re a Captain. I''m First Line. I''m First freaking Line!" Stiles exclaimed, thrilled, as they exited the locker room.


    "Don''t think we''re going to let this go," Brian, ever Jackson''s sycophant, muttered, patting him on the back. "He''s not going to be much of a Co-Captain in traction."


    "Yeah, because it''s not like Scott scores more than anyone else," Danny said sarcastically.


    "Is that the opinion of my best friend?" Jackson asked, incredulous.


    "My best friend''s opinion is: Who the hell cares who''s Captain? He''s a good player. And you need to seriously get a grip. Let it go," Danny replied, walking off toward the field, leaving Jackson seething in frustration.


    "Don''t worry, dude. We got it covered," Brian said, laughing as he gave Jackson another pat on the back, but Jackson angrily shook him off and stormed after Danny¡ªthe one person he still considered his best friend.


    "Are you not freaking out? I''m freaking out," Stiles muttered to Scott, his eyes fixed on Jackson''s every move.


    "What''s the point? It''s just a stupid title. And I could practically smell the jealousy in there," Scott shrugged, downplaying the situation.


    "You smelled envy? Like, with your nose?" Stiles stopped him, placing a hand on Scott''s shoulder, eyes wide.


    "It''s like the full moon''s turned everything up to ten."


    "Can you pick up on stuff like... desire?" Stiles asked, glancing toward Lydia, who stood nearby.


    "What do you mean, desire?"


    "Sexual."


    "Sexual desire?" Scott laughed, raising an eyebrow.


    "Yes. Sexual desire. Lust. Passion. Arousal," Stiles replied with an impatient chuckle, rolling his eyes at his friend''s reaction.


    "You mean from Lydia?" Scott asked, following Stiles'' gaze. Lydia was leaning against a door, engrossed in a conversation with the history teacher, presumably about homework.


    "No, in a broader sense, can you sense sexual desire?"


    "From Lydia to you?"


    "Fine, yes, from Lydia to me," Stiles admitted, clearly annoyed. "I have to know if I even have a chance with her. I''ve been obsessing over this girl since the third grade."


    "Why don''t you just ask her?" Scott suggested.


    "Because you asking saves me from utterly crushing humiliation. Thanks, Scott," Stiles growled sarcastically. "Just go over, ask if she likes me, see if her heart rate rises, pheromones or something. Anything. Please."


    "Fine," Scott muttered, cutting him off as he turned on his heel and walked straight toward the two redheads. Lydia and Mrs. Benoit were so engrossed in their conversation that they didn''t notice Scott approach.


    "I love you! You''re my best friend in the whole world!" Stiles called after him, his voice full of exaggerated affection.


    "Mrs. Benoit, Lydia... can I interrupt?" Scott asked, his words stumbling slightly under the stony gaze of the history teacher. As soon as her eyes fell on him, he felt a wave of resentment and anger from her, along with a strange weariness¡ªsomething he couldn''t immediately identify. Lydia, however, looked at him differently. Her green eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and Scott could sense the shift in her emotions.


    Mrs. Benoit noticed it too. Taking a step back, she assessed the situation.


    "Scott," she greeted him, her sharp gaze studying him. She could already see the signs of the full moon''s effects beginning to creep into his posture, though it hadn''t yet arrived. "Lydia, you can come see me tomorrow before class, and we''ll finish the conversation," the teacher said, before stepping away, leaving Scott standing there, face-to-face with Lydia.


    "Lydia, can I talk to you for a second?" Scott asked, his voice hesitant.


    "Of course," Lydia replied, placing her hands on her hips before pulling him into the coach''s office. Once they were inside, she closed the door behind them. "Is this about the other night? Do you need someone to talk to?"


    "I just need to ask you something," Scott said, his voice quieter as he shut the door.


    Lydia leaned against the coach''s desk, her sharp eyes studying him. She patted the countertop beside her, an invitation for him to sit.


    "Tell me... Does Allison still like me?"


    "Of course she does," Lydia answered after a brief pause, turning her face away from him. There was a strange lack of emotion in her eyes.


    "Really?"


    "She''ll always like you," Lydia said softly, pausing for a moment as if to let her words sink in. "As friends. Just friends."


    "Just friends..." Scott muttered, more to himself than to her.


    "If you ask me..." Lydia pushed herself away from the desk, raising an eyebrow as she met his eyes. "And of course, no one ever asks me... She made a big mistake."


    Her gaze lingered on his face, watching as his expression shifted¡ªfrom confusion to disbelief, and then to anger.


    "Ask me how I know that," she said, her tone daring him.


    "How?" Scott asked, his voice rough, his emotions barely held in check.


    "Because I know you locked us in there to protect us. Because I know that when a guy risks his life for you, you should be grateful," Lydia replied, taking a step closer to him.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    "Are you grateful?" Scott asked, his voice taking on a strange, almost animalistic edge. His lower lip drooped slightly, revealing his teeth.


    "I think you''d be pretty surprised," Lydia replied, rolling her eyes playfully. "At just how grateful I am." She emphasized each word as she took deliberate steps toward him, closing the distance between them. When she was right next to him, she smiled flirtatiously, her eyes meeting his, where she saw not only anger but something primal¡ªsomething that drew her in with an incredible, undeniable pull. "To be honest, Scott... I have so much gratitude, I''m not sure how to express all of it," she whispered, her voice dropping seductively. "But I could try..."


    Her hands slid into his hair, and suddenly her lips crashed against his. Scott pulled her toward him aggressively, the kiss filled with more force than desire, as if he could easily shift from passion to violence in an instant. It was fierce, almost dangerous, their lips colliding with intensity.


    The sharp sound of a whistle, the noise cutting through the moment, reaching Scott''s ears from the field, abruptly interrupted them. Reluctantly, he pushed Lydia away, saying nothing as he turned and walked out of the office, heading for the pitch.


    Lydia stood there for a moment, stunned. Then, with a flicker of a smile, she composed herself, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles from her dress before striding confidently toward the stands, ready to watch lacrosse practice as usual.


    "Hey. What happened?" Stiles asked, watching his friend sit down next to him on the bench.


    "What?" Scott responded, busying himself with his lacrosse gear, barely acknowledging his friend.


    "What do you mean, what? Did you ask her? Did she say anything? Did she say she liked me? Imply she liked me?" Stiles pressed, growing impatient.


    "Yeah," Scott confirmed, buttoning his gloves and still avoiding Stiles'' gaze. "Yeah, she likes you. In fact, she''s totally into you." He said it with a wicked grin, but Stiles was too lost in thought to notice, as he absorbed the information.


    Practice that day had been particularly brutal. Brian and the others, loyal to Jackson, took it upon themselves to "defend" their former captain''s honor, playing dirty against Scott. Their constant foul play was fraying his nerves. When Scott landed on the turf yet again, even Coach Finstock joined in on the laughter.


    "I guess some people don''t appreciate your new status, McCall," the coach teased, leaning over the fallen teen. "Who''s next? Come on!"


    None of the players stepped forward for the task. But before anyone could respond, Scott sprang up from the ground, standing tall, clutching his racquet. His movements were quick, almost too quick. Stiles, watching from the sidelines, froze in horror.


    "Any problem, Bilinski?" Coach Finstock asked, noticing Stiles'' alarmed expression.


    "N-no..." Stiles stammered.


    "Your turn. Play," Finstock commanded.


    Stiles was about to move, but Scott stood in his way, blocking him like a solid brick wall. The aggression emanating from Scott was palpable, even to Stiles, who instinctively jumped back, terrified of his friend''s shift in demeanor.


    "That''s the spirit! Respect must be earned! Earn it, McCall!" Coach Finstock shouted, egging him on. "Earn it!"


    Scott felt his eyes change, but he didn''t care. The world around him started turning red, and with it came a strange clarity¡ªhe could predict his opponents'' movements with eerie precision. When the whistle blew, he charged forward. He barreled into one defender, knocking him to the ground with a shoulder tackle. Scott slammed into the second defender with even more force, causing him to practically fly through the air.


    Scott moved onto the goalkeeper next. With brutal force, he swung his stick, striking Danny in the head. The blow sent him sprawling, completely out of the game. Only then did Scott hurl the ball into the goal with a ferocious finality.


    "Danny!" someone shouted as the entire team rushed to help their friend. Danny remained on the ground, disoriented, unlike the two defenders who were already recovering. Jackson was the first at Danny''s side, horrified to see blood trickling from his friend''s nose, despite his helmet. Danny''s vision seemed unsteady.


    "We didn''t hit him that hard!" Brian exclaimed, outraged, assuming Scott was retaliating for the earlier rough play.


    "Danny, are you all right?" Coach Finstock finally made his way through the chaos, calling for the school nurse, who arrived moments later.


    As the others clustered around Danny, Stiles disengaged from the group and approached Scott, who stood by the goal, unmoving.


    "What the hell is wrong with you? You just took Danny down," Stiles demanded.


    "So what? He''s twice the size of me," Scott shot back, his tone laced with aggression. Then, a predatory smile crept onto his face as the scent of blood filled the air.


    "Everyone likes Danny, which means everyone''s going to hate you," Stiles warned, his voice low and urgent.


    "I don''t care..." Scott growled, loud enough to catch Jackson''s attention.


    "Is he okay?" Lydia suddenly ran onto the field, stopping next to Jackson and casting a worried glance at Danny.


    "It looks like it''s just a bloody nose..." Jackson reassured her, but fell silent as he studied her face.


    "What?" Lydia asked, noticing his strange expression.


    "Your lipstick," he said coolly, and Lydia quickly pulled a mirror from her bag to touch up the smudged makeup.


    "Oh. Wonder how that happened," she laughed softly to herself.


    "Yeah, I wonder..." Jackson muttered under his breath, turning away. As he glanced around, he noticed Stiles watching the entire interaction, shock clear on his face.


    ***


    A meeting was underway in the Argents'' garage. Chris stood over a topographical map of Beacon Hills, flanked by two other hunters: Leveque, a student, and State Investigator Tyhurst, the man in the suit who had also been at the school earlier that morning. The hunters had their eyes and ears everywhere.


    "Another night of kicking through leaves in the woods?" Kate quipped as she entered the room, her smile radiant as she addressed the group.


    "I prefer to think of it as another night trying to keep innocent people from being killed," Chris corrected, his voice sharp. "A list that now includes my daughter."


    His eyes tracked his sister as she inspected the scope on a sniper rifle, her actions deliberate, practiced.


    "How do we know it won''t go after her again?" Tyhurst, the suited investigator, asked.


    "It won''t go after Allison," Kate responded with quiet confidence, her words more for herself than for the others. Yet, there was no mistaking the certainty in her tone.


    "It won''t have any target at all. Not on a full moon," Chris explained, his experience lending weight to his words.


    "Why not?" Leveque asked, puzzled.


    "Because, my young apprentice," Chris said patiently, "an Alpha is like any other werewolf on a full moon. It struggles under its sway. Which means tonight is our best chance to catch it¡ªwhen it''s unfocused." He punctuated his statement by driving his tactical knife into the map, its point landing squarely on the location of the burnt Hale house.


    "What if it had a reason to stay focused?" Kate interrupted, leaving her inspection of the weapon to saunter over to the table, her gaze locked on her brother.


    "Do you know something we don''t?" Chris asked, suspicion coloring his words as he eyed his sister.


    "I just don''t like surprises," Kate replied nonchalantly. "You''re the expert. You tell me."


    "What about Derek?" Leveque chimed in, his voice hesitant as he broke the tense silence. He still had told no one about the invisible force that had flung him against the wall during their last encounter with the werewolf, knocking him out for at least fifteen minutes.


    "He''s smarter than that," Kate remarked, knowing Derek all too well. "He won''t be out tonight. Not with cops everywhere."


    "But if for some reason he is..." Leveque trailed off.


    "If he is..." Chris began, but the sudden appearance of his wife cut his words off. She held a plate of freshly baked cookies, her eyes sweeping over the room with a cold, detached expression.


    "You''ll find him, kill him, and cut him in half," she said, her voice chillingly calm. After a beat, she smiled sweetly and held out the plate. "Anyone want a cookie?"


    ***


    Stiles parked outside his friend''s house just after dark. He was pulling a heavy sports bag out of the car when Melissa descended from the porch on her way to work for the night shift.


    "Hi, Stiles," she greeted him. "Scott''s not home yet. You want me to unlock the door?"


    "I had a key made."


    "Somehow that doesn''t surprise me," she muttered to herself. "Worries me. Doesn''t surprise me."


    Stiles tossed the bag onto the ground, rummaging through his pockets for his keys. A heavy metallic clatter sounded from the bag, drawing Melissa''s attention. An awkward silence settled between them.


    "What''s this?" she finally asked, her brow furrowing.


    "Uh..." Stiles hesitated for a moment. "School project," he replied with a confused smile.


    "Stiles... He''s okay, right?" Melissa asked, her concern for her son evident.


    "Who? Scott? Yeah, totally!" Stiles almost shouted, his grin overly wide and forced.


    "He doesn''t talk to me that much anymore," she said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. "Not like we used to."


    "He''s had a rough week," Stiles responded, shoving his hands into his pockets, trying to appear nonchalant.


    "Yeah, I get it," she smiled sadly. "Okay. I''m going to go, then. Take care of yourself tonight."


    "You too."


    "Full moon, you know," she said, pointing to the sky. Just above the horizon, the moon had risen, glowing in all its full glory.


    "What?" Stiles asked, his voice betraying his alarm that she might know more than she should.


    "There''s a full moon tonight," Melissa repeated, searching through her handbag for her car keys. "You should see how the ER gets. All the nutjobs come out."


    "Oh, right..." Stiles replied, his tone flat as he tried to mask his anxiety.


    "And not only that... I''ve got an increased number of injured lunatics. That''s actually where the word comes from," she added as she got into her old, battered car, leaving Stiles standing in the driveway, turning over her words in his mind.


    He waited until Melissa had driven away, then hefted his bag and headed inside. After struggling with the jammed lock, he finally made his way upstairs to Scott''s room. As soon as he crossed the threshold and switched on the light, he froze. Scott sat in the darkness, in an armchair, his face as still and expressionless as stone¡ªeerily reminiscent of Derek''s stoic demeanor.


    "Dude, you scared the hell out of me!" Stiles exclaimed, his heart racing. But Scott didn''t answer. He merely stared at him, his eyes unsettlingly intense.


    "Your mom said you weren''t home yet," Stiles added, tossing his bag into the middle of the room. It landed with a metallic crunch.


    "I came through the window," Scott replied, his voice unnervingly calm, like someone in a trance.


    "Okay... well, let''s get this set up," Stiles said, trying to push the awkwardness aside as he crouched over his bag. "Check out what I brought..."


    "I''m fine, Stiles. I''m just going to lock the door. Go to sleep early."


    "You sure about that? ''Cause you''ve got this serial killer vibe going on," Stiles pointed to his face, trying to lighten the mood. "I''m hoping it''s just the full moon taking effect because it''s starting to freak me out."


    "I''m fine," Scott repeated, still sitting motionless in the chair. His voice was flat, emotionless. "You should go now."


    The eerie echo of Scott''s words sent a chill down Stiles'' spine. It was all the confirmation he needed that something was very wrong.


    "All right, I''ll leave... if you take a look in the bag and let me show you what I bought. Maybe you use it, maybe you don''t. Sound good?" Stiles offered, still crouched beside his bag.


    Scott stared at him for a long moment before rising, moving slowly. He bent down, opened the bag, and pulled out several meters of thick chain. He held it in his hand, his face still devoid of emotion as he looked at Stiles.


    "You think I''m going to let you put these on? Chain me up? Like a dog?" His voice was quiet, but laced with threat.


    "Actually... no," Stiles muttered, and with the speed of a striking cobra, he whipped a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, grabbed Scott''s arm, and cuffed him to the radiator against the wall. He leapt back quickly, staying out of Scott''s reach.


    "What the hell are you doing?!" Scott yelled, jerking at the handcuffs, but they held fast.


    "Protecting you from yourself," Stiles announced, standing in the doorway, his voice steady. "And giving you some payback. For making out with Lydia." He barely finished the sentence before earning a murderous glare from Scott. Had Scott not been so enraged, he might have noticed the tears of anger and betrayal glistening in Stiles'' eyes.


    Three hours had passed when Stiles returned from the ground floor and stepped into Scott''s room.


    "I brought you some water," he announced, waving a bottle in the air before dramatically lifting a dog bowl with "Scott" written on it in his other hand. With exaggerated care, he poured water into the bowl and placed it just within Scott''s reach.


    As Stiles turned to leave, the bowl flew off the floor, bouncing off his back and sending water splashing everywhere.


    "I''m going to kill you!" Scott roared.


    Stiles stopped in the doorway, trying to rein in his frustration but failing. He turned back to Scott and growled, "You kissed her! You kissed Lydia! The only girl I''ve ever ¡ª And for the last three hours, I''ve been telling myself it''s just the full moon. He doesn''t know what he''s doing. He''ll be totally normal tomorrow. He probably won''t even remember being a complete scumbag, total bastard, son of a bitch, unbelievable piece of crap..."


    "She kissed me," Scott interrupted, his voice low and dangerous, his glare filled with fury.


    "What?" Stiles'' voice broke, his disbelief palpable.


    "I didn''t kiss her," Scott clarified, straightening slightly, a smug look creeping across his face. "She kissed me."


    Stiles swallowed hard, his lips trembling as he struggled to process what he was hearing. He hadn''t expected Scott to react this way, not under any circumstances. He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaning heavily against the hallway wall.


    "She kissed me. And she would''ve done a lot more. You should''ve seen the way she had her hands all over me. She would''ve done anything I wanted," Scott''s voice echoed from the room, dripping with confidence and that unsettling, primal growl.


    Stiles stood frozen in the corridor, trying to convince himself that it wasn''t really Scott speaking¡ªthere was something wrong, something off.


    "Anything!" Scott shouted, the sound of his voice reverberating through the house.


    Back in the room, Scott yanked at the handcuffs, his skin bruising as he strained against the restraints. But the pain didn''t register. His blood surged, boiling with anger and frustration, and he summoned every ounce of strength to break free, but it wasn''t enough. Not yet.


    "Stiles, please, let me out," Scott tried again, his voice softer, pleading. From where Stiles sat, just outside the door, he could see his friend''s worn sneakers peeking out from the edge of the window. "It''s the full moon, I swear. You know I wouldn''t do this on purpose."


    But Stiles didn''t move. He could hear the urgency in Scott''s voice, could feel the strain of his words.


    "Please, Stiles. It''s starting to hurt... It''s not like the first time... It''s the full moon... It''s Allison breaking up with me... And I know it''s not just a break. She broke up with me," Scott''s voice cracked, almost weeping. "It''s killing me... I feel so completely hopeless... Please, just let me out."


    "I can''t," Stiles whispered, the weight of his words barely audible, though he knew Scott would hear him perfectly.


    Meanwhile, the wind swept away the clouds that had been obscuring the moon, and its silver light spilled through the window into Scott''s room. As the glow touched his skin, the boy''s frantic struggle against his shackles intensified. He could feel his blood racing, almost boiling in the spots where the moonlight fell.


    The transformation surged through him uncontrollably. He screamed, a guttural sound that quickly turned into a deafening roar as his body shifted.


    Stiles, sitting just outside the room, tried to cover his ears, desperate to block out his friend''s agonized cries, but it was impossible. The screams reverberated through the walls, impossible to ignore. Then, suddenly, the noise stopped, replaced by an eerie silence that sent a shiver down Stiles'' spine.


    "Scott, are you okay?" he called out, his voice shaky, still rooted to the floor, too afraid to see what had happened inside the room. "Scott?" Silence was his only answer.


    Summoning his courage, Stiles crawled forward on all fours, peeking cautiously into the room. His heart sank. Scott was gone. The broken handcuffs lay on the floor, surrounded by dark bloodstains, and the window was wide open, the curtain billowing gently in the night breeze.


    Panic rising, Stiles rushed out of the house, heading for his car as fast as his legs would carry him. His fingers fumbled as he dialed the only person who could help him now¡ªthe Witch.


    ***


    After lessons, Allison spent time with her aunt. Thanks to the fact that Kate wasn''t much older than her, they had a great rapport, especially since the older woman had a relaxed, carefree approach to life.


    "Now, remember. No telling your father about this. He''d kill me," Kate announced, placing a stun gun shaped like a pistol into Allison''s hands. "And what would our hapless victim''s name be?" she asked, clapping her hands in gleeful excitement as she glanced at the teddy bear sitting in a chair.


    "Mr. Bear," replied Allison without hesitation.


    "Your teddy bear''s name is Mr. Bear?" Kate couldn''t believe it, her lips curling into a smile that nearly turned into laughter. Her amusement was contagious, making Allison giggle as well. "That''s the worst teddy bear name ever..."


    "I was five," Allison defended, her cheeks flushing slightly.


    "Well..." Kate sighed heavily, still grinning. "Shoot your unimaginatively named bear and put it out of its misery."


    Allison laughed, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. The tip of the taser shot out, hitting Mr. Bear square in the tummy, sending sparks flying.


    "That''s what I''m talking about!" Kate bent over, laughing in pure satisfaction, oblivious to the fact that the smile had faded from Allison''s face. "Now, if you had that the other night..."


    Kate turned around and noticed the look on Allison''s face. "Hey, what''s up? I thought you wanted to learn this," she said, walking toward her niece cautiously. The girl''s expression told her that tears might be nearby. "Honey?"


    "I just don''t know what happened," Allison mumbled, slumping down onto the bed, her voice shaky from the threat of tears.


    "With Scott?" Kate prompted, receiving a nod in return. "Listen, my gorgeous young niece..." She put an arm around Allison and sat beside her. "You''re going to break hearts left and right. He''s lucky to have gotten even a small taste of Allison Argent''s world."


    "But..." Allison sighed, her tears now spilling from her eyes. "It felt so right with him. And then he started acting so strange. Now I don''t know what to believe."


    "Honey, he is a guy. Don''t believe anything," Kate said with a snarl of disdain.


    "It''s just the whole thing with Derek Hale the other night, and Scott saying he didn''t know him, but then I saw them together..."


    "Whoa, wait a second. Back up," Kate interrupted, her demeanor suddenly shifting to alarm. "Scott knows Derek? Alleged killer Derek? Are they friends?"


    "No..." Allison pondered, thrown off by her aunt''s sudden intensity. "Not really. At least that''s what he said."


    "How about you tell me everything Scott said about Derek?" Kate abandoned her joking tone completely, focusing her full attention on her niece, which made Allison even more uncomfortable.


    "What do you mean by ''everything''?" Allison asked, attempting to get up from the bed, but Kate grabbed her arm and pulled her back, holding her close.


    "I mean everything."


    "But what does that have to do with¡ª"


    "Honey," Kate softened her tone, realizing her behavior was making Allison uneasy. "Every detail is important. It could help the police catch him. Tell me, please. Everything."


    "Well... so... at Lydia''s party, Scott felt bad and stood me up... and Mrs. Benoit and Derek offered me a lift..."


    "They were at a party organized by a schoolgirl?" Kate asked, clearly surprised.


    "No, I think they were just in the area. They gave me a lift home and drove on."


    "Are they a couple?" the older woman asked, intrigued.


    "I think so, in the sense that no one ever confirmed it in my presence, but that''s what it looked like. Well, and that''s why I think Scott lied when he said they weren''t friends with Derek. Because Stiles said Ms. Benoit was his cousin, and if she was Derek''s girlfriend, how could they not know each other? Well, and Stiles used to give him a lift from under the school somewhere..."


    "Interesting..." Kate muttered to herself, lost in thought.


    She questioned Allison for at least another hour. By the time the barrage of detailed questions finally ended, darkness had long since fallen outside.


    Allison took a deep breath, slightly unnerved by her aunt''s behavior. Deciding she''d had enough of being cooped up at home, she headed to the sports shop, hoping to find some solitude while still being among people. Ever since the night at school, she had been experiencing a strange anxiety that only eased when she was surrounded by others.


    The shop was large and well-stocked, and Allison''s attention was drawn to the archery section. She was examining an optical sight, designed for a compound bow, when she noticed Jackson watching her.


    "What are you doing here?" he asked as he approached, his eyes curious.


    "Just thinking I might get back into something I haven''t done in a while..." she replied with a broad smile. Jackson glanced at the sight she was holding, raising an eyebrow.


    "What about you?" she asked.


    "For Danny," he said, holding up the lacrosse helmet in his hand. "McCall hit him pretty hard on the field." Allison averted her gaze, biting her lip, and for a moment, an awkward silence settled between them.


    "Why do I get the feeling you could use someone to talk to?" Jackson observed, studying her face closely. Allison smiled at his words, a soft, sad smile.


    "Is it that obvious?" she asked, her eyes reflecting the vulnerability of someone who felt caged.


    "Maybe because I''m kind of feeling the same way."


    Realizing they couldn''t talk openly in a crowded store, they headed out to the parking lot and sit in Jackson''s car. It surprised Allison to see that it wasn''t his familiar Porsche, but a large SUV. Jackson explained his car was in for maintenance, so he''d borrowed his mother''s.


    "If I tell you something..." They leaned in toward each other between the front seats. The darkness and silence created an intimate atmosphere, one that Jackson seemed well aware of, though Allison appeared oblivious. "Will you promise not to laugh?"


    "I would never laugh at you," he replied with a small smile, gazing at her. She was undeniably pretty, though Jackson couldn''t help feeling like something was missing.


    "I don''t think it was Derek at the school."


    "Neither do I," Jackson answered, watching her closely. At his words, Allison sighed in relief, glad to know she wasn''t losing her mind. She gnawed on her necklace, which she had been nervously fiddling with.


    "Mrs. Benoit was visibly unhappy when Scott said Derek was the one..."


    "Stiles didn''t look too thrilled either," Jackson added, confirming her suspicions.


    "I think Derek is Mrs. Benoit''s boyfriend. If he were actually the murderer, she would''ve acted differently."


    "I know... And then, under the record rental shop, he picked her up. She went with him without any hesitation, and she saw what attacked us way better than I did. It wasn''t Derek. Is there something else?" he asked, noticing the lingering unease in her expression. "Just because you can''t trust Scott doesn''t mean you can''t trust anyone."


    "But that''s the thing. People close to me are lying¡ªpeople closer than Scott."


    "Who?"


    "My father..." Allison admitted, seeing the puzzled look on Jackson''s face. She explained. "It''s not like I don''t realize my family isn''t exactly normal. Not every teenage girl comes home to a garage full of Glocks and AK-47s," she said slowly, gathering her thoughts.


    "But..." Jackson prompted, sensing that she might end the conversation at any moment. He could feel it becoming increasingly intriguing.


    "I just have this weird feeling my dad knows more about what happened at the school than we do."


    "So maybe we can compare our versions of what happened and figure out something we''re missing," Jackson suggested. "When Lydia and I went to look for you, she had to use the bathroom, so I waited for her outside. That''s when I saw someone standing in the hallway... It might have been Derek, but I couldn''t make out any features. It was just this black shape. And here''s the weird part. The guy¡ªor whatever it was¡ªgot down on all fours. And then just took off."


    "On all fours? Like hands and knees?" Allison clarified.


    "No. Hands and feet. Like an animal. He moved like an animal."


    "So how do you know it wasn''t an animal?" Allison pondered.


    "Because when it was standing, it looked like a guy. Like a man."


    "Then... what was it?" she wondered aloud.


    Even if Jackson knew the answer, he didn''t get the chance to share it. Something suddenly hit the roof of the car, jolting them both out of their conversation.


    "What was that?" Allison gasped, her hand reflexively reaching for the door handle.


    "Don''t!" Jackson warned, stopping her, his fear clear¡ªmuch stronger than hers.


    ***


    Charlotte had been preparing dinner while simultaneously baking a cake. Cooking, almost like magic, was soothing her frayed nerves, and she needed to do something for herself finally. Derek sat at the kitchen table, reading. Thanks to the full moon, all his wounds had completely healed¡ªsomething they had stubbornly refused to do for nearly three days prior. Flour covered Charlotte''s hands up to her elbows when her phone, resting on the table, rang.


    The werewolf glanced up from his book and read the caller''s name aloud.


    "Stiles?" he murmured, raising an eyebrow. Seeing that Charlotte was in no position to answer the call, Derek picked up the phone and held it to her ear. It was a full moon, after all, and it wouldn''t have been surprising if two of her students had found themselves in trouble again. She and Derek had previously agreed to let the teenagers try to handle things on their own, to see how much they really needed adult intervention.


    "I''m listening," Charlotte sighed heavily into the phone, smiling at Derek in gratitude for his help.


    "Scott got away again... He tore his cuffs... He''s been all over the place today... He said if he got out, he''d kill someone... I don''t know what to do... I''m begging you, you have to help me! You have to stop him!" Stiles'' voice was frantic, his nerves so frazzled that he didn''t even realize he was addressing his teacher without the usual formalities.


    Charlotte frowned for a moment, raising a questioning glance at Derek. The werewolf simply nodded, helped her balance the phone between her ear and shoulder, and swiftly left the house, setting off to find the enraged teenage werewolf.


    "Stiles, calm down. Help is on the way. Where are you?"


    "I''m driving through the Preserve... I saw him run into the woods... And I heard on the police radio they found someone..."


    Charlotte paused, her mind racing. If Scott was truly in the state his friend described, no human should be anywhere near him.


    "Are the police there?" she asked, her voice firm.


    "I think so..."


    "Check that it''s not his doing. I''ll handle the rest," she said, washing her hands in the meantime. She easily ended the call and stood there, thinking. Derek could undoubtedly track the teenager by scent and, with any luck, might talk him down before he hurt anyone. The police report of a body found in the woods was concerning, but she sincerely doubted that her student was responsible.


    Derek quickly caught the familiar scent of the teenager, his heightened senses guiding him unerringly. In werewolf form, Scott was a storm of anger and bloodlust, much to Derek''s dismay. He sprinted as fast as he could until he reached the parking lot outside the sports shop, which bordered the woods. He spotted Scott just in time. Without hesitation, Derek rushed toward him, throwing him off the roof of a car where two people stood. He hoped they hadn''t seen Scott before he hurled him into the trees, sending him tumbling into a ravine that started just beyond the parking lot.


    Derek leaped right after him, knowing that if he lost sight of Scott even for a moment, he might not catch up again. The boy was impossibly fast. Derek shrugged his shoulders and cracked his neck, letting his control slip slightly as he shifted fully into his wolf form. When he wasn''t holding himself back, everything worked better¡ªhe stood a better chance against the younger werewolf.


    The full moon''s influence completely consumed Scott. He charged at Derek wildly, incapable of predicting his movements. Derek, in contrast, simply grabbed the boy''s arm and, using teenager''s own momentum, twisted it behind his back, immobilizing him.


    "Scott!" Derek shouted into his ear. "Stop!" But the kid fought back harder, so Derek shoved him directly into a nearby tree.


    Unfortunately, Scott was relentless. Within seconds, he was back on his feet, lunging at Derek again. This time, Derek used the boy''s momentum against him once more, rolling onto his back, planting his feet into Scott''s chest, and launching him behind him before immediately springing to his feet. Derek was growing annoyed. His wounds had healed, but they still throbbed faintly. He had hoped for a quiet evening, with a good book and the company of a beautiful woman. Instead, here he was, battling a frenzied teenage werewolf in the woods. He hated full moons.


    Scott attacked again, this time swiping viciously at Derek''s face with his claws. Derek didn''t block the blows¡ªhe simply dodged them with ease. When Scott lost his balance for a fraction of a second, Derek struck, kicking him in the ribs and sending him sprawling to the ground. The crack of breaking bones was audible, but Scott''s anger drowned out the pain. He charged again, but Derek easily lifted him and slammed him to the ground. Roaring directly into Scott''s face, Derek triggered a primal sense of fear in the boy, jolting him back to his senses.


    Derek straightened up, seeing that he had finally broken through Scott''s frenzy. He approached, locking his wolfish nature back into a cage of composure, his face returning to its human form. Scott was panting heavily, terrified, his golden eyes glowing and his fangs protruding beyond his lips. He stared at his fingers, which had become claws. Derek watched him closely, unsure if he''d have to fight again, as it seemed Scott didn''t yet recognize him.


    "What''s happening to me?" Scott asked, his voice carrying a wolfish echo.


    "Exactly what he wants to happen," Derek replied, now calm.


    He helped the boy up, and they began the long trek through the woods toward Scott''s house. By the time they arrived, Scott was barely moving, his ribs healing slowly as the adrenaline drained from his system. Derek escorted him all the way to his room, ensuring he was safe before finally leaving, his own exhaustion creeping in.


    The teenager sat heavily on the bed. Derek regarded him with a gaze that, if one looked closely enough, might show a hint of concern, though he said nothing. He turned to leave.


    "Wait..." Scott inhaled deeply through his nose, catching a familiar scent¡ªthe same one he''d picked up earlier when he approached Lydia and Mrs. Benoit. His eyes widened in surprise. However, when Derek looked back at him, Scott decided not to share this observation. "I can''t do this. I can''t be this and be with Allison. I need you to tell me the truth. Is there a cure?" His voice wavered, the question even more pressing than the discovery he''d just made.


    "For someone who was bitten?" Derek paused, thinking. "I''ve heard of one. But I don''t know if it''s true."


    "What is it?"


    "I once heard a myth... that you have to kill the one who bit you," Derek said, his voice carrying a strange weight, as if the words held deeper meaning.


    "Kill the Alpha?" Scott''s shock was palpable. Derek couldn''t quite tell if it was the idea of killing or the thought of who he''d have to kill that shook the boy.


    Derek merely nodded, the confirmation almost sending Scott into a panic. Sensing the boy''s turmoil, Derek approached him.


    "You help me find him, Scott, and I''ll help you kill him," Derek said quietly, his voice laced with menace, though it was directed solely at the Alpha. Strangely, the tone seemed to calm Scott, who glanced at Derek carefully. He took another breath, confirming the scent that had sparked his earlier curiosity.


    "What about your girlfriend?" Scott asked, catching Derek off guard.


    "What..." Derek muttered to himself, momentarily thrown, but he quickly brushed it off. "You''ve finally learned to use your nose? Good, you''re making progress... And as for Charlie..." He paused, considering whether the term "girlfriend," truly applied. "It''s none of her business. Her job is to protect the innocents. Getting rid of the Alpha will only help her do that."


    "You fooled me..." Scott muttered, knowing Derek would hear him.


    "Did I?" Derek raised an eyebrow, studying the boy. "When exactly?"


    Scott''s voice carried a quiet resentment as he said, "You told me to cut myself off from Allison... but you have someone yourself..."


    "Scott..." Derek sighed heavily. "What did you just say yourself? You can''t be with her because you''re not in control. I never said you should avoid girls for the rest of your life."


    Charlotte was right, he thought. Teenagers really struggled with seeing beyond their own perspective, incapable of grasping more complex nuances. With another sigh, Derek turned and finally left, leaving Scott alone with his thoughts.


    ***


    Stiles ended the call with the teacher and pressed harder on the accelerator. He was both furious and terrified; the fear gnawing at him, making his heart race. His anxiety spiked when he finally saw the flashing lights of police cars and an ambulance up ahead. Slamming the car to a halt, he jumped out and ran toward the scene, eyes locking onto the paramedics carrying a body on a stretcher. The sheet draped over the figure told him all he needed to know¡ªsomeone was dead, just like the man at the DVD rental shop.


    "Dad?" he called out, his voice edged with desperation. He knew his father was on the night shift, but there was no response. The other officers gave him puzzled looks, adding to his panic.


    His mind raced. What if Scott had gotten to his dad? What if, in a fit of uncontrollable bloodlust, Scott had attacked and killed him? Stiles'' stomach churned at the thought. Could Scott have been so furious with him he''d taken it out on his father?


    "Has anyone seen my dad?" he shouted when he spotted Diana, the woman who had once looked after him as a child and now worked with his father. But he didn''t wait for her response. He locked his eyes on the stretcher and rushed toward it. Diana had to hold him back forcefully, preventing him from yanking the sheet off the body, but not before he caught a glimpse of a hand sticking out from underneath¡ªa hand badly burned, almost charred.


    "Stiles, what the hell are you doing out here?" a familiar voice called. It was the Sheriff.


    At the sight of his father, Stiles let out the breath he hadn''t realized he''d been holding and practically threw himself into his dad''s arms, hugging him tightly. Relief flooded him¡ªhis fears had been nothing more than nightmares.


    The Sheriff, clearly confused by his son''s sudden embrace, hugged him back. Over Stiles'' shoulder, he smiled at Diana, signaling that everything was fine and she could return to her duties.


    None of the people bustling around the scene noticed the car parked in the shadows, or the two figures quietly watching from inside.


    "That''s Stiles?" Chris Argent asked his sister, seated beside him.


    "Another friend of Allison''s," Kate replied.


    "You going to tell me about that talk you had with her?" Chris asked, his gaze still on the scene.


    "You tell me something first. That night you came across the two Betas? One of them was smaller, right? Was he just smaller, or could he have been younger too?"


    "You have an idea who it might be?" Chris smiled knowingly, catching on to what Kate was suggesting. He narrowed his eyes, studying the Sheriff''s son, who was now deep in conversation with his father. His brow furrowed in thought.


    "I''m working on a theory... I think it''s time to pay the witch a visit," Kate muttered under her breath.


    Her brother glanced at her, sighed heavily, and turned the key in the ignition. He had been delaying this for a while, knowing the visit was inevitable. Chris had already checked out where Allison''s teacher lived, not out of immediate necessity but as part of a contingency plan¡ªone he now realized he couldn''t put off any longer.


    As they pulled up outside a small house on the edge of the woods, a palpable sense of unease gripped Chris. In stark contrast, Kate was practically gleeful at the prospect of meeting the enigmatic witch. While Kate''s upbringing was filled with stories that fueled her anger towards Charlotte Benoit, Chris held a more profound worry. He understood the potential danger that could arise if Kate confronted the witch on her own.


    Recognizing the gravity of the situation, Chris stepped out of the car alongside his sister, resolute that she wouldn''t confront Charlotte unattended. The door swung open to reveal a visibly surprised Charlotte, dressed in a worn black tracksuit and a matching hooded sweatshirt with rolled-up sleeves dusted in flour. Her face, partially obscured by oversized black-framed glasses, revealed a shock of red hair hastily pinned up, with a few rebellious strands cascading around her face. Despite her initial surprise, Charlotte didn''t seem afraid.


    The three of them¡ªChris, Kate, and Charlotte¡ªstood in an awkward triangle at the threshold. Chris, wary but determined, followed as Kate brazenly entered the house without waiting for an invitation. Charlotte sighed, offering Chris a resigned gesture to come inside as well. Kate, undeterred, ventured into the living room and plopped onto the sofa, with Chris trailing behind her. Charlotte, perched on the edge of an armchair, sat as if ready to flee at a moment''s notice, though her expression remained composed.


    "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Charlotte asked bluntly.


    "Well, Auntie, you won''t even offer us anything to drink?" Kate quipped with a hint of irony, her eyes sweeping over the petite woman before her. The stories passed down from her father had painted a vivid picture of the witch who had robbed her of her mother.


    "Perhaps I''d suggest that if you were the first to exhibit even a modicum of manners..." Charlotte muttered, more to herself than her unwelcome guests.


    "Thanks to you, I had no one to teach me," Kate retorted, her tone sharp.


    "So, you''re just here to talk about Luise?" Charlotte asked with a wry smile. "I think it''d be much more useful for you to talk to her yourself. I can give you her number..."


    "What the fuck are you talking about?" Kate almost shouted, leaving Charlotte wide-eyed in surprise.


    "Gerard told us Luise was dead," Chris explained calmly, prompting a grim, almost mocking laugh from the witch.


    "For him, she probably is. I''m not surprised he gave you his version of events, painting both of us in the worst possible light." She glanced between her guests. "I see you still remember something," she added, turning to Chris. "But you haven''t enlightened your sister..."


    "We''re not here for sentimental reasons," Kate snapped, her patience wearing thin. "I''m not here to talk about the mother who left me. We''re here to find out who the Alpha is, and your connection to the werewolves in this town."


    "I don''t know who the Alpha is," Charlotte admitted frankly. "I''m searching for him, too. The werewolves here, like you, are trying to stop him¡ªwith my help."


    Chris studied her, his expression unreadable, but he remained silent, allowing his sister to press forward. Unfortunately, Kate''s patience had run out. She rose abruptly from the sofa and made her way to the door. Chris followed at a more measured pace. As Kate exited the house, Chris paused and turned back to Charlotte.


    "She''s going to inform Gerard about you. Be prepared for that. I can''t intervene..." His voice carried a note of sadness, perhaps even sympathy.


    Charlotte nodded in acknowledgment, accepting the inevitable. She offered him a wistful smile before gently closing the door behind them, releasing a long sigh of relief. She couldn''t help but feel fortunate that Derek hadn''t returned yet from his mission to retrieve Scott.


    Upon finally returning home, Derek froze as soon as he crossed the threshold. A strange and unpleasant scent lingered on the ground floor, immediately catching his attention. With a growing sense of unease, he cautiously opened the door to the next room, searching for Charlie. There she was, in the kitchen, absorbed in a book with a mug of warm coffee in hand. He scrutinized her closely, his eyes sweeping over her for any signs of injury.


    "The Argents paid me a delightful courtesy visit," she explained, noticing the concern etched on his face and offering a reassuring smile. "They know who I am, so it was only a matter of time. But they didn''t stay long. Seems Kate''s not particularly fond of me."


    She turned away to prepare some tea, unaware of the fleeting shadow that passed over Derek''s eyes or the slight curl of his lips at the mention of the Huntress. Even if she had noticed, she would have likely attributed it to their recent encounter with Kate.


    "How did things go with Scott?" she asked, handing him a mug before moving into the living room, where she settled on the carpet in front of the fireplace.


    Derek followed her lead, choosing not to sit on the couch, which still carried the lingering scent of the Hunters. With a deep sigh, he leaned against the coffee table, studying Charlie''s face as if contemplating how to word his thoughts.


    "Just as you suspected, he''s stubborn and self-obsessed. But he finally realized that we''re..." Derek hesitated, unsure how to define the nebulous nature of their relationship. "Together."


    Charlie nodded, her smile warm and reassuring.


    "You know, we don''t need to define ourselves. We''re both adults, not exactly bound by any social framework," she said casually, taking a sip of her coffee.


    Derek nodded silently, not wanting to disrupt the fragile understanding they shared.


    "Scott asked me about a cure," the werewolf returned to the earlier conversation, instinctively reaching out to pull her closer to him.


    "And what did you tell him? Is there even a cure?" she asked, curiosity piqued as she studied his profile, now nestled comfortably against his side.


    "It''s just a rumor... But it gave him hope," Derek muttered. Sensing her expectation for more, he added, "Apparently, you have to kill the one who bit you."


    In an instant, she stiffened, pulling back to look at him, her eyes wide with disbelief.


    "Did you actually tell him that?" she exclaimed, her voice tight with concern. "You can''t be serious... You can''t burden a teenager with something like that¡ªhe''ll break under the pressure. He''s still practically a child. And it might not even be true," she scrutinized him closely. "You don''t even believe it''s true yourself."


    A heavy silence settled between them, thick with tension. Derek averted his gaze, unwilling to face the disappointment he feared in her eyes. She was right¡ªhe shouldn''t have given Scott false hope, a path that might lead nowhere. But he couldn''t bring himself to take away that hope entirely. He might not have experienced being bitten, but he understood all too well what it felt like to have your life torn apart by forces beyond your control.


    Sensing the inner turmoil in him, Charlie shifted onto her knees and moved closer. Her small hands, still faintly scented with flour and butter, cradled his face gently.


    "Derek," she whispered, locking eyes with him. "I need you to promise me you won''t let Scott take a life..." He tried to look away, but her grip tightened, holding him in place. "Promise me you''ll at least try to prevent it," she urged, her voice carrying a quiet desperation.


    In response, Derek wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer until her knees rested on either side of his hips. She pressed against his chest, her warm breath fanning across his skin as her nose nestled into the curve of his neck.


    "I promise," he whispered into her hair before placing a soft kiss atop her head.


    ***


    Jackson drove Allison back to her place. Despite the outward calmness of the girl, he felt a profound unease, attributing it to his own suspicions that remained unspoken. Upon pulling into his garage and stepping out of the car, something caught his eye.


    Examining the roof of the car, he noticed scratches and a peculiar object wedged just above the door. He scrutinized the mysterious item and, with considerable effort, extracted it from the car''s body. The small, slightly triangular object turned out to be a claw, noticeably too large for any creature other than a bear. Taking the find with him, he reevaluated it more closely in the better lighting of his room.


    A chilling realization struck him. Initially resistant to believe his own thoughts, he shook off his bewilderment. Retrieving a lacrosse glove from one of his drawers, specifically one belonging to McCall, taken from the field after the first game of the season, he placed it on his palm. Gripping the claw with his other hand, he aligned both finds against each other, confirming his improbable theory. The claw fit seamlessly into the hole at the fingertips of the glove, as if someone had purposefully punctured it.


    There could only be one interpretation...

 1.9 Wolf Bane

    February 8th 2011 - Tuesday


    Adrian Harris worked late into the evening, the fading light casting long shadows across his classroom as he carefully arranged the chemical teaching aids. His face bore the deep lines of exhaustion, accentuated by a heavy sigh that escaped his lips. It had been an especially grueling day. He slammed the locker door shut with more force than necessary, frustration spilling over.


    As he returned to his desk to pack away his notebook into his suitcase, he noticed an inconspicuous crumpled paper that hadn¡¯t been there before, and he felt drawn to it. Puzzled, he picked it up and unfolded it. A list stared back at him, filled with names, surnames, and addresses. A sickening chill crept down his spine as he realized that most of the names were crossed out¡ªDavid M. Harris, Lionel B. Harris, Grant S. Harris, Thomas M. Harris¡ªuntil he reached the last name. His own: Adrian R. Harris. Unmarked.


    His eyes darted to the slate on his desk, the words "Prof. Adrian R. Harris" glaring back at him. A wave of dread rolled over him. An unsettling silence hung in the air, thickening as he glanced toward the corridor door. Swiftly, he rolled up the list, stuffed it into his briefcase, and made for the exit. But halfway there, something stopped him. He froze, fear locking his limbs in place.


    "Please don¡¯t kill me," he whispered, his voice trembling.


    "Do you know who wrote that list?" A voice broke the silence, inhuman and eerily detached, reverberating through the empty classroom.


    "Laura. Laura Hale," Adrian responded quickly, a shiver coursing through him as he uttered the name.


    "Do you know why she was looking for you?" The voice pressed on. Harris kept his back to the unseen presence, unable to speak. "I know why. Turn around, Adrian." The command sent an icy wave of terror through him, his breath catching in his throat. "Turn around, and I''ll show you."


    He remained frozen.


    "Turn around!" The voice grew impatient, but he still did not move.


    "No. Please," Adrian pleaded, his voice barely audible.


    "Look at me. Look at what you''ve done." A chair flew across the room, slamming into the blackboard with a deafening crash. Adrian flinched, sucking in a sharp breath, his body stiff with terror. Footsteps approached him, and suddenly, another presence filled the room.


    "Get down!" A firm hand yanked him to the ground just as a second chair flew over his head, smashing into the wall where he had stood moments before.


    Both men glanced up just in time to see the door slam shut, the intruder gone as quickly as they''d arrived. Adrian clung to his rescuer, only realizing who it was when the flashing blue lights of a police car cast shadows around them. Derek Hale, his sister¡¯s childhood friend and the brother of the very girl the attacker had mentioned, had come to his aid.


    "This is the Sheriff''s Department. You are surrounded!" A booming voice blared through a megaphone from outside. "Nobody leaves the building!"


    Derek pushed Adrian aside and darted out of the room. Within minutes, he had made his way out of the school, but two police cars were already hot on his trail. One driven by the sheriff, the other by Diana¡ªher unmistakable mass of curly hair marking her out even from a distance. Derek steered toward the industrial district, knowing the late hour meant fewer witnesses.


    Recognizing the familiar figure of Derek disappearing into the night, Officer Harris immediately reached for her phone. She knew Hunters were listening to police radio frequencies and were likely aware by now that law enforcement had the elusive werewolf cornered. Time was running out.


    "Diana?" Charlie¡¯s voice crackled through the receiver, his surprise palpable. They had exchanged numbers long ago, never expecting they''d actually need to use them.


    "Our charming friend just paid the school a visit," Diana said, her voice tense but steady. "Now he¡¯s got the sheriff and me trailing after him, and the Hunters won¡¯t be far behind. Can you think of something to throw them off? The police aren¡¯t the biggest problem right now. We¡¯ll lose him soon enough."


    "I¡¯ll figure something out," came the quick reply, followed by the immediate click of the call ending ¡ª an unmistakable sign of Charlotte¡¯s resourcefulness in action.


    In the interim, Derek deftly navigated the maze of industrial structures, forcing both Diana and the sheriff to display near circus-worthy acrobatics as they maneuvered through the tight corners of the industrial streets, hemmed in by towering concrete slabs.


    Soon, her boss''s voice crackled through the police radio, "Repeat! The suspect is on foot! We''re in pursuit, headed northwest..."


    Diana''s ears pounded from the blaring police sirens, made worse by the incessant barking of her canine partner in the back seat. Yet, despite the chaos, she savored the thrill of the chase. Car pursuits were a rare indulgence in the usually quiet town of Beacon Hills.


    Skillfully, she overtook the sheriff''s vehicle, now trailing close behind Derek, ensuring she maintained enough distance to avoid obstructing his escape. Just as she braced herself for the full pursuit, an unexpected obstacle materialized¡ªa large cherry-red SUV emerged from the opposite direction. Diana instantly grasped the grim reality: the Hunters had joined the chase. With a quick swerve, she cut right in front of their vehicle, mimicking Derek¡¯s evasive maneuver, and expertly corrected her path to keep him in her sights.


    It wasn''t until she had to slam on the brakes, watching Derek dart into a building she couldn¡¯t follow into, that she realized additional forces had arrived. The game had escalated.


    Exiting her vehicle with purpose, she barked an order, "Release the dogs!" It was the safest option for both the fleeing suspect and her fellow officers. Without waiting for a reply, she flung open the rear door of her police car, unleashing Artemis, who shot off in pursuit.


    Diana had named her police dog¡ªa sleek, well-trained female German Shepherd she¡¯d raised from a pup. Everyone found it amusing that Diana named her Artemis. After all, in Roman mythology, Diana was the Goddess of the Hunt; in Greek, she was Artemis. At times, Diana mused that this playful naming might explain the almost supernatural bond she shared with her canine companion, an intuitive understanding that felt nearly telepathic.


    Moments later, a deep, muffled growl echoed from inside the building. The dogs fell silent, returning to the officers with their tails tucked between their legs.


    "What on earth?" Sheriff Stilinski muttered in surprise.


    Diana feigned confusion, though she had a solid understanding of what was happening inside.


    ***


    Meanwhile, the crimson SUV remained parked in the shadows as Chris Argent watched the police activity unfolding, phone pressed to his ear as he spoke with his sister.


    ¡°He¡¯s on foot. Just ran into the ironworks...¡± Chris relayed.


    ¡°Wait, wait. Did you say on foot?¡± Kate cut in, her grip tightening on the steering wheel of her car, which she had just been using to chase down a black Camaro.


    ¡°Yes, into the ironworks,¡± came Chris¡¯s reply.


    ¡°Running?¡± Kate repeated, her brow furrowing with confusion.


    ¡°Yes, running! He¡¯s on foot!¡±


    ¡°If he¡¯s on foot... who the hell¡¯s driving his car?¡± Leveque, Kate¡¯s companion, asked from the passenger seat, glancing out the rear window at the Camaro they were pursuing.


    Struggling to keep pace, Kate remained glued to the Camaro¡¯s rear bumper, determined not to lose it. She acknowledged Derek¡¯s reputation as a skilled driver, and she doubted many in Beacon Hills could handle a car like that with such precision.


    The black Camaro held three passengers. Behind the wheel, Charlotte¡ªher red hair tied back in a messy bun¡ªsteered with grim determination. Stiles, gripping his seatbelt tightly, sat in the passenger seat, while a visibly anxious Scott occupied the back.


    ¡°Holy God, who taught you to drive?¡± Stiles gasped after they barely made it through a sharp turn. Charlotte offered no response, simply pressing the gas pedal even harder. Kate was proving to be a relentless opponent, and while Charlotte would have preferred her Chevelle, they had to stick to the plan: impersonate Derek to draw the Hunters¡¯ attention away.


    ¡°Slow down!¡± Scott shouted from the back seat, his voice edged with fear.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re grasping the concept of a car chase,¡± Charlotte growled back, ignoring his plea.


    ¡°If you go any faster, you¡¯ll kill us!¡± Scott protested again, his voice rising.


    ¡°If she slows down, they¡¯re going to kill us!¡± Stiles shot back, gripping the seat for dear life as Charlotte pressed the pedal to the floor, sending the car into a deeper surge of speed.


    Scott, glancing nervously out of the rear window, felt a strange sense of foreboding creeping over him.


    ¡°They¡¯re gone,¡± he said, surprised. Stiles, reacting quickly, grabbed the walkie-talkie he had swiped from his father earlier that evening.


    ¡°All units, suspect is on foot, headed north, last seen on Hancock...¡± a voice crackled through the walkie-talkie, cutting into the tension in the car. Charlotte cursed under her breath, the sound shocking both boys into silence. Without a word, she made a sharp turn, accelerating even further as they raced toward the industrial sector of town.


    ***


    Derek breathed a sigh of relief as he evaded the pursuing police. Steering into another dimly lit alley, the familiar swish signaling an incoming gunshot abruptly shattered his brief sense of reprieve. Despite his swift attempt to shield his eyes, the Hunters¡¯ tactics unfolded too quickly. The ensuing white flash enveloped him, his vision blurring instantly.


    Blinking rapidly, his eyes stinging and struggling to regain focus, Derek discerned a figure on a nearby ramp¡ªChris Argent, armed with a crossbow. Another bolt shot out, landing dangerously close to him and bursting into a cascade of white sparks. This time, however, Derek expected the attack. He shielded his face with his arm and darted for cover behind a nearby forklift.


    Desperation etched across his features as he scanned the alley, searching for an escape route or any glimmer of salvation. At the alley''s end, the headlights of a fast-approaching car caught his attention.


    His own Camaro screeched to a halt beside him, the passenger door swinging open.


    ¡°Get in!¡± Stiles shouted from the back seat, revealing a petite red-haired figure gripping the steering wheel with determination.


    Derek caught a glimpse of Chris, now switching from a crossbow to a rifle. As the werewolf dashed toward the car, Chris fired, but the shot only grazed the car¡¯s paintwork. The Camaro roared to life, speeding out of the steelworks area as the sound of police dogs echoed in the distance. Chris, hearing the dogs approach, melted into the shadows.


    ¡°What part of lying low don¡¯t you understand?¡± Scott¡¯s accusatory voice greeted Derek as he climbed into the car. It was only then that he fully grasped the gravity of his situation, realizing that the witch wasn¡¯t alone¡ªStiles and Scott were in on this, too.


    ¡°I had him,¡± the older shapeshifter growled, more to himself than to them.


    ¡°Who? The Alpha?¡± Stiles¡¯ head popped up between the front seats, uncomfortably close to Derek¡¯s face.


    ¡°He was right in front of me!¡± Derek shouted, his frustration spilling over. ¡°And then the fucking police show up¡­¡±


    ¡°Hey, hey, hey, they¡¯re just doing their jobs,¡± Stiles cut in, instinctively defending his father. He immediately regretted it, noticing the murderous glare aimed in his direction.


    ¡°Thanks to someone who decided to make me the most wanted fugitive in the state,¡± Derek snapped, fixing his gaze on Scott, who was hunched over in the back seat.


    ¡°Can we seriously get past that?¡± Scott stammered, clearly uncomfortable. ¡°Yes, I made a dumbass mistake. I get it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay!¡± Stiles interjected, exasperated. ¡°How¡¯d you find him?¡±


    Derek shook his head, saying nothing, his eyes trained on the passing trees as the car slowed down to avoid attracting attention.


    ¡°Can you try to trust us for half a second?¡± Scott asked, a hint of frustration in his voice.


    ¡°All of us,¡± Stiles added, spitting a little in the process. Derek shot him a disgusted look. ¡°Or just them¡­ you don¡¯t have to¡­¡± Stiles stammered, shrinking under Derek¡¯s glare. ¡°I think you trust Charlie anyway¡­ I mean, you¡¯re together¡­¡± He babbled on, earning increasingly deadly stares from the older werewolf. ¡°You can trust Scott too¡­ After all, he is a werewolf¡­ We¡¯re helping you¡­ I¡¯ll just¡­ be quiet,¡± he finally mumbled, sinking back into his seat.


    ¡°The last time I talked to my sister, she was close to figuring something out. She found two things. The first was a guy named Harris.¡±


    ¡°Our chemistry teacher?¡± Stiles popped his head back up between the seats in disbelief, only for Charlotte to nudge him in the back of the head, forcing him to sit back down.


    ¡°Why him?¡± Scott asked, genuinely confused.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Derek muttered, clearly frustrated with himself.


    ¡°What¡¯s the second thing?¡± Charlotte asked, her brow furrowing as she kept her eyes on the road, trying to make sense of where this was leading.


    ¡°A symbol,¡± Derek sighed, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He handed it to Charlotte, who took a quick glance before returning her focus to the road, her grip tightening on the wheel. Then, he passed the paper to Scott.


    The teenager sighed heavily, examining the photocopy. It wasn¡¯t an original drawing, but he recognized it instantly.


    ¡°What? You know what this is?¡± Derek asked, his eyes narrowing as he noticed Scott¡¯s heart rate spike.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen it. On a necklace¡­¡± Scott muttered in response. His mind immediately connected the symbol with the Beast of G¨¦vaudan. Derek turned to him, expectant. ¡°Allison¡¯s necklace¡­¡± Scott finally admitted, his grip tightening on the paper.


    Charlotte¡¯s knuckles whitened as she gripped the steering wheel even harder. The situation had just become significantly more complicated.


    ***


    February 9th 2011 ¨C Wednesday


    "This is going to be impossible, you know?" Scott muttered the next morning as he and Stiles made their way into the school.


    "Just ask her if you can borrow it," Stiles replied, his tone casual.


    "How?" Scott asked irritably, fully aware that starting any conversation with Allison felt impossible after days of silence between them.


    "Simple. You ask. ¡®Hey, Allison, can I borrow your necklace?¡¯" Stiles suggested, shrugging nonchalantly. "Then maybe throw in, ¡®I''ll see if there''s anything on it or in it that will lead me to the Alpha werewolf I need to kill in order to get back together with you?¡¯"


    "You''re not helping," Scott growled, his eyes scanning the hallway to make sure no one overheard their conversation.


    "Just talk to her," Stiles insisted.


    "She won''t talk to me," Scott reminded him. "And what if she only takes it off when she''s, like, in the shower?"


    "That''s why you ease your way into it," Stiles explained. "Get back on her good side, remind her of the good times. Then you ask for the necklace..." He trailed off, noticing the blissful smile that had suddenly spread across his friend''s face. Stiles gave Scott a light tap on the shoulder. "You''re thinking about her in the shower, aren''t you?"


    "Yes," Scott admitted with a heavy sigh.


    "Stay focused," Stiles advised, gripping Scott''s shoulder and turning him back to reality. "Get the necklace, get the Alpha, get cured, get Allison back," he listed, each step punctuated. "In that order, got it?" He made sure Scott was paying attention before heading off to class, leaving Scott standing in the middle of the corridor.


    "Get the necklace," Scott murmured to himself, repeating the plan.


    ***


    Jackson finally decided it was time to consult a doctor about the scratches Derek had inflicted. Though he tried to maintain an air of indifference, genuine concern gnawed at him, especially after everything he''d learned about McCall. Yet, there was a peculiar thrill in this new knowledge¡ªan understanding that opened doors to possibilities he''d never considered before.


    And so here he was, lying on his stomach on the hospital bed, allowing Dr. Fenris to examine the persistent wounds. These scratches should have healed by now, but they¡¯d flared up again after the incident at the DVD rental shop.


    "What did you say scratched you?" the doctor asked, his voice as indifferent as his expression. He was an older man, his hair fully gray, devoid of any particular charm but known to be an excellent specialist.


    "Just... an animal," Jackson answered after a brief hesitation, unsure of how else to respond. "Can you hurry this up? I''m missing first period," he added impatiently.


    "Have you been having trouble sleeping?" the doctor pressed, leaning closer as he studied the inflamed marks.


    "Kind of. I¡¯ve been having dreams," Jackson admitted reluctantly, puzzled by the doctor''s line of questioning but compelled to continue. "Nightmares, about a fire... It¡¯s always this house. I can hear screaming... What does this have to do with anything?"


    "Nothing, I hope," Dr. Fenris sighed, picking up a pair of curved pincers that immediately set Jackson on edge.


    "What is that?" Jackson asked, his voice betraying his rising alarm.


    "Just taking a closer look," the doctor responded calmly.


    "Hey, I don¡¯t have much time," Jackson said, trying to sit up, but the doctor gently pushed him back down, causing him to flinch.


    "Hold still, please."


    "I thought you were just going to look," Jackson protested, his voice growing louder with frustration.


    "Yes, but to do that," the doctor said, opening a drawer that rattled with metallic instruments, "I might need to dig a little deeper."


    From the corner of his eye, Jackson caught a glimpse of the instrument the doctor now held, and his heart raced. It looked like a pair of pliers or scissors, but far more ominous.


    "What... what are those?" Jackson stammered, his voice trembling.


    "Hold still, please," the doctor repeated, gently pressing Jackson¡¯s head back down. He touched something at Jackson¡¯s neck. "That didn¡¯t hurt, did it?"


    "No... It was just cold."


    "Good. Because this part might sting just a little."


    Jackson felt a sharp sting, followed by an odd tugging sensation beneath his skin. His body trembled uncontrollably, his teeth clenched tightly as he tried to stay still.


    "Hold still, please," the doctor commanded again, but Jackson couldn¡¯t stop the violent shaking as the pain escalated.


    "Hey. Hey, that hurts!" Jackson shouted, his voice raw. "A lot."


    "You¡¯ve got something under your skin," the doctor explained, his tone oddly soothing, though it did nothing to ease Jackson''s growing panic. "Just a moment longer."


    "Stop!" Jackson cried out, no longer able to restrain himself. The pulling sensation returned, this time accompanied by a searing pain that made him scream. From the corner of his eye, he saw drops of blood fall to the floor, mingling with what looked like the purple petals of some bizarre flower.


    Jackson¡¯s screams echoed in the sterile room, but he remained almost frozen, terrified that even the slightest movement would intensify the agony.


    "Almost done," Dr. Fenris murmured, as he pulled something out of Jackson¡¯s neck¡ªa rope-like object entwined with tendrils, sprouting young stems of some kind of plant. More purple petals scattered to the floor, tainted with blood.


    Jackson couldn¡¯t bear it any longer. He lifted his head to look at the doctor, but instead, his eyes met the piercing blue gaze of Derek Hale. Derek stood there, clad in his signature leather jacket, his expression wild, his eyes glowing electric blue, a manic smile stretching across his face.


    "Hold still," Derek said in a low, menacing voice, pressing Jackson''s head back down with his hand. Jackson squeezed his eyes shut, crying out as the pain threatened to overwhelm him.


    After a moment, Jackson opened his eyes, the pain gone. He leaped off the hospital bed, his eyes darting anxiously around the treatment room, scanning for any sign of danger. Everything appeared as it had before¡ªno sign of the young man, no blue flakes, no blood. It was as if nothing had happened.


    "You can put your shirt back on now," Dr. Fenris said, his tone suddenly much more sympathetic than before. "The scrapes on your neck are nothing to worry about."


    "I''m good to play in my game tonight?" Jackson asked, his voice still carrying a slight tremor.


    "Absolutely. But I¡¯ll need to prescribe an antibiotic. Have you eaten any unusual herbs recently?"


    "Like what?" Jackson asked, genuinely surprised, unable to recall anything of the sort.


    "Well, you¡¯ve got aconite poisoning," the doctor explained.


    "What the hell is aconite?"


    "It¡¯s a purple flower. Sometimes called monkshood or..."


    "Wolfsbane," Jackson interrupted.


    "So you¡¯re familiar with it?" Fenris asked, clearly surprised. It wasn¡¯t exactly common knowledge.


    "No," Jackson replied, instinctively rubbing the back of his neck where the scratches lay. "I have no idea how I knew that."


    He quickly dressed and left the treatment room. As he walked past the nurses'' station, he spotted a friendly-looking, dark-haired woman tapping away at a computer. An idea formed in his mind. Flashing her a charming smile, he approached.


    "Good morning..." he greeted, his smile widening as she looked up from her screen, her warm brown eyes meeting his with a welcoming smile of her own.


    "Morning," she responded, still smiling.


    "Would you mind if I looked something up on your computer real quick?" Jackson asked smoothly.


    "I bet a handsome face like yours doesn¡¯t hear no very often," she laughed, but after a moment, she narrowed her eyes slightly, as if trying to place him. He smiled, feigning modesty at the compliment, though she was right¡ªhe rarely heard no. "Wait, aren¡¯t you one of Scott¡¯s friends?" she asked.


    "Yeah," he replied casually, leaning in. "A good one, actually."


    The nurse, who Jackson now realized was McCall¡¯s mother, glanced around the corridor to make sure none of her colleagues were watching.


    "Just be quick, okay?" she whispered, getting up from her desk and walking toward the cantina just behind the reception desk.


    Jackson slid into her seat and quickly began typing. His fingers danced across the keyboard as he searched for "wolfsbane." He skimmed the first few pages that appeared in the browser, his eyes flicking over the old engravings and text. A sly grin crept across his face, and after a moment, he even chuckled quietly to himself.


    He deleted the search history, stood up, and left without so much as a word of thanks.


    Melissa, noticing the boy had disappeared, returned to her station and cast a curious glance at the computer screen. But there was nothing¡ªjust the main desktop staring back at her. She looked up, scanning the area for any sign of him, but Jackson was already gone.


    Jackson arrived at the school just in time for the break between second and third period. As he strode through the bustling corridor, he carried himself with an air of newfound confidence. For the first time in a while, he felt a clear sense of purpose, a goal fixed firmly in his mind¡ªone he was determined to achieve.


    His eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on Scott, who was at his locker, punching the code into the padlock. Jackson approached with purpose. The locker door swung open, only to slam shut again with a sharp clatter. The sudden noise made Scott flinch, his brown eyes immediately locking onto Jackson¡¯s piercing blue gaze.


    "I know what you are, McCall," Jackson announced with a mischievous grin, though his tone was disturbingly casual, almost as if he were greeting an old friend.


    "Wha... What?" Scott stammered, utterly taken aback, his confusion plain as he tried to grasp the situation.


    "I know what you are," Jackson repeated, stepping closer, his grin widening.


    "Uh, sorry... but I have no idea what you''re talking about," Scott mumbled, his heart pounding in his chest, the sound almost deafening in his own ears.


    "Yeah, you do," Jackson said, his smile never faltering. "And here¡¯s the thing. However you came to be what you are... you¡¯re going to get it for me too."


    "Get what for you?" Scott struggled to keep his face neutral, trying to imitate the unreadable expression he had learned from Derek. He couldn¡¯t afford to give anything away.


    "Whatever it is. A bite, a scratch?" At those words, Scott felt a lump form in his throat, making it hard to swallow. The glint in Jackson¡¯s eye told him everything¡ªhe had just confirmed what had previously only been suspicions. "Sniffing magic fairy dust under the moonlight?" Jackson added with a smirk, clearly enjoying himself. "I don¡¯t care. You¡¯re going to get it for me..." He let his voice trail off for dramatic effect, grabbing Scott by the chin and turning his face toward Allison, who was deep in conversation with someone across the hall. "Or she¡¯s going to find out too."


    Without waiting for Scott¡¯s response, Jackson released him and sauntered off, a wide, self-satisfied smile stretching across his face. His steps were light, almost carefree, as if he had already won.


    The teenage werewolf glanced behind him in horror, taking a deep breath. His eyes darted frantically down the corridor, searching for some solution to the unfolding crisis. Spotting Stiles, he rushed over and grabbed him, pulling him aside with a sense of urgency.


    "Jackson knows!" Scott practically growled. "Jackson knows about me!"


    At those words, Stiles shot up, moving almost comically fast as he yanked Scott along.


    "How the hell did he find out?" he blurted out, his voice full of disbelief.


    "I have no idea," Scott replied, his face a mixture of panic and confusion. Both of them were on edge, their arms flailing as they rushed, as if the rapid pace could somehow ease their anxiety. They had no clear destination, but Stiles couldn¡¯t stand still in his state of agitation.


    "Did he say it? The word?" Stiles asked, his attempt at whispering ruined by the adrenaline coursing through him. "Did he say, ''I know you''re a werewolf''?"


    "No. But he implied it pretty freaking clearly," Scott retorted, his voice rising with frustration.


    "Okay, maybe it¡¯s not as bad as it seems. He doesn¡¯t have any proof, right? And if he wanted to tell someone, who¡¯s going to believe him anyway?" Stiles tried to offer some comfort, but the shakiness in his voice suggested he wasn¡¯t fully convinced himself.


    "How about Allison¡¯s father?" Scott shot back, eyes wide with worry.


    "Okay, it¡¯s bad. Very bad. It¡¯s as if we were on Alderaan and could actually spot the Death Star¡­  Def Con 1 bad..." Stiles muttered to himself, fully realizing the severity of the situation. But Scott stared at him blankly. "Dude... you still haven¡¯t watched Star Wars?" Stiles asked, incredulous.


    "I need a cure. Immediately," Scott¡¯s voice cracked as his panic escalated.


    "Does Jackson know about Allison¡¯s father?"


    "No, I don¡¯t think so..." Scott muttered, running his fingers anxiously through his hair.


    "Where¡¯s Derek?"


    "Hiding. Like we told him. Why?"


    "I¡¯ve got another idea. It might take a little finesse, though."


    "Remember, we¡¯ve got the game tonight. Quarterfinals. And it¡¯s your first game," Scott reminded him, though his tone was laced with desperation.


    "I know, I know," Stiles said with a chuckle that didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes. "Do you have a plan for Allison?"


    "She¡¯s in my next class," Scott shrugged helplessly, clearly out of ideas.


    "Get the necklace," Stiles said, patting his friend on the shoulder to instill some confidence before heading off to his own class.


    "Get the necklace..." Scott mumbled to himself, heading toward his classroom as the first bell rang, calling the students back inside.


    Upon entering the classroom, Scott¡¯s eyes immediately sought Allison, the pretty brunette seated near the window. Her gaze reflected a deep sadness, and the vacant seat next to her seemed to beckon him. Just as he was about to sit down, a short girl with reddish-blonde hair intercepted him.


    "Try another row, sweetheart," Lydia said sweetly, leaning provocatively toward him.


    Exasperated, Scott muttered under his breath before settling into the seat just behind Lydia, still close to Allison, but not as close as he¡¯d hoped.


    "You didn¡¯t have to do that," Allison whispered to her friend, her tone carrying a quiet reproach.


    "You need an ex-boyfriend buffer for a little while," Lydia replied with a smile, her voice laced with playful mischief.


    "Allison," Scott leaned forward, desperate to catch his ex-girlfriend¡¯s attention. He was so eager he almost tipped out of his seat. Lydia watched him with an amused grin, clearly enjoying the scene.


    "See what I mean?" Lydia turned to Allison, who tried her best to ignore Scott¡¯s voice, though it was clear she wasn¡¯t entirely indifferent to it.


    "Allison?"


    Finally, Allison couldn¡¯t resist any longer and turned toward him.


    "Hey," she whispered, her voice subdued. "Class is starting," she added, her tone drained of emotion. But Scott, straining to catch her subtle cues, could still detect the lingering scent of sadness on her.


    "I know, and I¡¯ll shut up," Scott replied, clutching his phone. He had just come up with an idea¡ªsomething that might win her over, even if just a little. "I¡¯m sending you some stuff I had on my phone. Thought you might want it."


    She nodded slightly, though it was clear her enthusiasm had faded. Her response wasn¡¯t out of excitement, but more a hope that it would get him off her back.


    "Okay, let¡¯s get started," Mrs. Ramsey, their English teacher, called out as she strode to the front of the class. "Get your books out. I¡¯d like to return to our discussion from yesterday..."


    Allison glanced at her phone as Scott¡¯s message popped up on the screen. She opened it, her brow furrowing. It was a collection of photos¡ªpictures they had taken of each other back when things were still good between them. She couldn¡¯t help the slight curve of her lips as a faint smile formed, but she quickly suppressed it, her expression hardening into an angry, tear-filled glare directed at Scott.


    "A more in-depth analysis of Iago and how he preyed on Othello¡¯s jealousy..." Mrs. Ramsey continued, dusting chalk off her hands.


    Allison, unable to stay any longer, grabbed her books and abruptly left the classroom, not sparing a glance or word for the teacher. She stormed out, her heart heavy, and Scott immediately bolted after her, leaving his belongings behind in the hall.


    "The subject seems to resonate with some," Mrs. Ramsey commented with calm detachment, clearly accustomed to the dramatic outbursts of teenagers after years of teaching.


    As the werewolf emerged into the corridor, he called out after the girl, her quick steps echoing down the hall. She halted and turned toward him, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears, though her jaw was tightly clenched.


    "Why¡¯d you send those?" she asked, her voice trembling ever so slightly. Scott was certain that without his heightened senses, he wouldn¡¯t have caught it. "Are you trying to make me feel even worse for breaking up with you?"


    "No. I thought you¡¯d like them. I thought it would remind you of us..." he replied quietly, hesitantly.


    "Are you trying to hurt me? Get back at me?" Her voice cracked, and the tears now clung to her lashes, on the verge of spilling down her pale cheeks, flushed with emotion.


    "No," he responded in disbelief, completely at a loss how she could think so little of him.


    "Please, don¡¯t talk to me," she whispered, her voice soft and pleading. "I need more time before I can be just friends. Okay? Please," she added, seeing his inability to respond. Without waiting for an answer, she walked away quickly, leaving him standing alone in the corridor, his heart sinking under the weight of failure¡ªnot just in getting the necklace, but in everything else as well.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    He returned to the classroom with slow, heavy steps, his head hung low in sorrow.


    Struggling to make it through to his lunch break, Scott finally caught up with Stiles. After exchanging the usual routine of buying each other lunch, they found a vacant table and settled in, engaging in conversation.


    "Did you get her to give you the necklace?" asked the skinny guy.


    "Not exactly," muttered the werewolf, still uncertain about the events that had transpired during the English lesson.


    "What happened?"


    "She told me not to talk to her. At all," Scott replied, his gaze fixed on his plate as he lost his appetite.


    "So she¡¯s not giving you¡­"


    "No, she¡¯s not giving me the necklace," Scott growled, unsure if he was angrier at himself, at Stiles, or perhaps even at Allison.


    "Did you find out anything else?"


    "Just that I know nothing about girls and they¡¯re completely psychotic," he shrugged, leaning back in his chair with a look of resignation.


    "Okay. I came up with a Plan B in case something like this happened," Stiles sighed heavily, munching on curly fries.


    "What¡¯s Plan B?" asked the black-haired boy, his voice tinged with calm resignation.


    "Just steal the stupid thing," Stiles stated bluntly, spreading his arms wide before grabbing the bottle on the table.


    "Couldn¡¯t we try getting to Harris?" Scott suggested.


    "My dad gave him a 24-hour protective detail, and the jerk won¡¯t even talk to Charlie," muttered the scrawny boy as he sipped his water. "All we¡¯ve got is the necklace. Steal it."


    "Stiles," whispered Scott, suddenly alarmed as he noticed Jackson¡¯s unblinking gaze fixed on them from across the cafeteria. "He¡¯s watching us."


    The husky werewolf glanced toward the far end of the room, spotting the lacrosse team captain sitting with Lydia and Allison. While the girls were engrossed in their own conversation, Jackson stared intensely at the two boys without wavering.


    "Act normal," Scott growled, seeing Stiles freeze mid-motion, clearly unnerved by the scrutiny.


    The skinny guy shrugged and shook his head, leaning back in the chair, visibly tense. Meanwhile, Jackson bit into his green apple, the crisp crunch cutting through the ambient noise of the cafeteria, causing the sensitive werewolf to wince.


    "Scott? Can you hear me?" The quiet words echoed in his mind, but Scott caught them easily, summoning all his willpower not to glance in the direction from which the voice came. "You can, can''t you?"


    "What''s wrong?" Stiles whispered, noticing his friend stiffen.


    "Jackson''s talking to me. He knows I can hear him," came the uneasy reply, making the husky boy immediately glance at the school''s lacrosse star. "Look at me," Scott nervously instructed, but his own eyes remained locked unnaturally on his plate. "Talk to me. Act like nothing''s happening."


    "You trying to pretend you can''t hear me?" The voice, amused, rang out again.


    Scott forced a fake smile toward Stiles and nodded.


    "Say something," he urged through clenched teeth. "Talk to me."


    "I... I don''t know what to say," Stiles blurted, waving his hands in a flustered panic. "My mind''s a blank."


    "Your mind''s a blank?" Scott asked in disbelief. "You can''t come up with something to say?"


    "Not under this kind of pressure!" his friend croaked. "And FYI, he''s not sitting with them anymore," he added, turning his attention to the table where the girls, indeed, now sat alone.


    "Where the hell is he?" Scott muttered under his breath, scanning the canteen anxiously.


    "Looking for me, McCall? I''m right here," the voice echoed with cruel laughter. "What else can you do? Can you see better? Are you stronger? More powerful? I knew there was no way you suddenly got that good at lacrosse. Which means you¡¯re actually a cheater, aren¡¯t you? Can you even play lacrosse?" Jackson''s words struck with precision, each one calculated to throw Scott off balance.


    "Yes," growled the werewolf softly, hands clenching around his tray, unaware he was responding to the taunt. Stiles observed him with growing concern.


    "I¡¯ll bet my new co-captain is going to score a bunch of shots tonight, aren¡¯t you? And while you¡¯re pretending you¡¯re not a lying cheat, I¡¯m going to ruin your life if you don¡¯t give me what I want," Jackson continued, relishing how his words slowly unraveled Scott''s composure. "You know where I¡¯m going to start? With her..."


    Scott¡¯s gaze instantly drifted to Allison, sitting with Lydia, laughing, seemingly indifferent to the pain of their recent breakup. His hand clenched dangerously around his water bottle, trembling.


    "I¡¯m going to destroy any chance you have left with her. And once I¡¯ve done that..." Jackson''s voice grew darker, each word deliberate.


    "Scott," Stiles whispered, trying to pull his friend back from the brink, though he couldn¡¯t hear the poisonous words himself. He could see perfectly what they were doing to Scott¡¯s self-control. "Don¡¯t listen. Don¡¯t give him that kind of power over you."


    "I¡¯m going to do everything you never got a chance to do," Jackson pressed on, knowing he had to maintain the pressure to get the reaction he desired. Even from across the room, he could see Scott''s hands tremble. Stiles watched, fear flashing in his eyes. "And she¡¯s going to beg for more. I bet she likes to get loud. Maybe she¡¯s even a screamer. How are you going to feel, Scott? When she¡¯s screaming my name?"


    The tray in Scott¡¯s hands shattered with a loud clatter, sending food scattering across the table. The sudden noise drew the attention of Lydia and Allison, who looked over, puzzled. Scott noticed their gaze and raised an anguished look in return. His eyes shifted toward Jackson, who sat with a subtle, satisfied smile curling at the corners of his mouth, clearly reveling in Scott''s unraveling.


    With a deliberate slowness, Jackson lifted the apple to his lips, biting into it once more, the skin crunching under his perfectly even white teeth.


    ***


    To intensify Scott''s torment, Jackson invited Allison for a pool session during their shared break, aiming to make his threat more tangible by winning the girl''s favor.


    They swam in adjacent lanes, engaging in friendly races. Surprisingly, Jackson found himself enjoying the time spent with Allison, even without considering his ulterior motive.


    "You beat me again," she laughed as they both touched the pool wall.


    "I have an unfair advantage," he grinned broadly. "See these cheekbones? Aerodynamically suited for speed in the water," he joked, drawing her attention to a feature he knew many girls at school admired.


    Meanwhile, Scott sat on the bleachers, his stomach twisting into tight knots as he watched Allison laugh at Jackson''s jokes. Her bag sat in front of him, and he carefully scanned the surroundings to ensure no one was watching him. He had to find the necklace.


    "So, you''re coming to the game tonight, right?" Jackson asked.


    "I was sort of thinking no," Allison admitted, sighing, her expression faltering.


    "But you have to. We win this, and we''re into the semi-finals." He looked her in the eye. "It¡¯s not because of Scott, right?" he asked, incredulous.


    "I was thinking it might be a little weird," she hesitated.


    "But he''s fine with it. He actually asked me if you were coming. He said he hoped you didn¡¯t feel weird about it."


    "He did?" Allison was surprised, and Scott, who overheard them while rummaging through her bag, was surprised too.


    "Yeah. He¡¯s a good guy. You can¡¯t hate him too much," Jackson continued smoothly, his manipulation as effortless as ever. "I mean, it¡¯s obvious he¡¯s not mature enough yet to date someone like you. But then, you can¡¯t blame him for trying."


    Allison laughed at the compliment, playfully splashing water at Jackson before jokingly pushing his head underwater. Scott, witnessing the scene, clenched his jaw, furious not only at what he was watching but also at his failure to find the necklace.


    Jackson exited the pool area with a smug look, satisfied with the progress of his plan. An hour of swimming had not only relaxed him, but further convinced him of the perfection of his strategy.


    "Jackson!" a voice called from behind. He turned to see Lydia approaching him through the crowded hallway, clutching her phone in one hand and waving it in front of his face when she reached him.


    "This little text? Not funny," she said, her voice dripping with disbelief.


    "I wasn¡¯t trying to be funny," he replied coolly, his expression unflinching. "If I were, I¡¯d have put a ''haha'' at the end. See? No ''haha.'' Just a period."


    Lydia, incredulous, read the message aloud. "''Lydia, please give back my spare house key at your earliest convenience as we are no longer dating.''" She scrutinized his face, momentarily wondering if the boy before her was someone else entirely.


    "You didn¡¯t lose it, did you?" he asked, his tone impersonal and detached, something Lydia wasn¡¯t used to hearing directed at her.


    "What the hell is this?" she demanded, her voice lower now, uncertain about the surreal situation unfolding.


    "In preparation for some big changes, I¡¯ve decided to drop the dead weight in my life," Jackson explained, sounding as if he were reciting from a well-rehearsed script. His gaze drifted away, his lips curling into a cold smile. "And you¡¯re just about the deadest."


    "Are you breaking up with me?" Lydia asked, shock coloring her words.


    "Dumping, actually. I¡¯m dumping you," he clarified, still riding the high of his good mood, showing no remorse. He was ready to walk away but was stopped when she grabbed the sleeve of his leather jacket, her face twisted in disbelief.


    "Dumped by the Co-Captain of the lacrosse team," she growled in his face, heavily emphasizing the title. "I wonder how many minutes it¡¯ll take to get over that," she spat, her voice dripping with sarcasm.


    Jackson merely shrugged, mockingly pressing two fingers to his lips and blowing her a kiss before turning to leave.


    "Oh wait... Seconds!" she shouted after him, her anger palpable. As she checked to see if anyone else had witnessed their conversation, her gaze met the somber eyes of the history teacher. Someone observed her humiliation, but since it wasn¡¯t a fellow student, it didn¡¯t sting as much. She knew the red-haired teacher wouldn¡¯t share what she had seen.


    ***


    After school, Stiles rushed into his room at nearly full speed. He had a lot to do and very little time to spare. In a matter of seconds, he was at his desk, dropping his backpack to the floor without a second thought.


    "Hey, Stiles!" he heard his father call from the other room.


    "Yoo...?" he started, spinning around in his chair, but immediately fell silent, lowering his voice in disbelief. "Derek?"


    There, standing in the middle of his room, was Derek Hale. In broad daylight. In the sheriff''s house. A man wanted by the police throughout the county¡ªif not the entire state¡ªstood casually in Stiles'' bedroom. Derek raised a finger to his lips, signaling for silence, then swiftly gestured for Stiles to move toward the door and block his father''s entry.


    Stiles clumsily got up from his seat and staggered to the entrance, awkwardly leaning against the doorframe, his arms flailing in a desperate attempt to appear nonchalant. He came face to face with his father, who, after years of living with his son, was hardly fazed by Stiles¡¯ erratic behavior. However, something else seemed to puzzle him.


    "What did you say?" the sheriff asked, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.


    "Yo, D-Dad?" Stiles forced a casual tone as he laughed, though his nerves were barely contained.


    "Listen, I¡¯ve got something I need to take care of, but I¡¯ll be there tonight. You know, for your first game!" The sheriff looked at his son with a distracted smile, unsure how to express pride because his son was finally going to play¡ªafter so long of just warming the bench.


    "My first game..." Stiles echoed, his smile a little crooked as he tried to push the thought aside. "Uh, it¡¯s great! Awesome. Uh, good!" He hoped his dad would take the cue to leave, as he had hinted earlier, but the man remained where he was, still smiling.


    "I¡¯m so happy and so unbelievably proud of you," the sheriff said, his voice serious. For many years now, it had just been the two of them, looking out for each other. And yet, Noah often felt like he hadn¡¯t been the father Stiles deserved¡ªworking irregular hours, rarely being home.


    "Thanks. Me too. I¡¯m happy and proud of myself," Stiles quipped, smiling as his father finally turned to leave. He had almost closed the door when Noah paused.


    "They''re really going to let you play this time?" he asked, double-checking with a hopeful tone.


    "Yes, Dad. I¡¯m First Line. Can you believe that?"


    "I¡¯m very proud." The grin on Noah''s face hadn¡¯t been that wide in a long time.


    "Me too. Again, I¡¯m..."


    Before he could finish, Stiles pulled back from the door, seeing his father stepping forward to embrace him. He gratefully sank into his dad¡¯s broad shoulders. With everything going on with Scott, it had been a while since they¡¯d really talked. He missed it, missed the connection, but he also knew this was not the time to catch up on lost moments.


    "Huggie, huggie, huggie..." he muttered under his breath, inwardly laughing at the absurdity of the situation.


    Noah finally caught on to his son¡¯s eagerness to be left alone and, with a chuckle, said his goodbyes. The moment the sheriff was out of sight, Stiles shut the door with a sharp thud, relief washing over him.


    Stiles burst into the room and Derek immediately slammed him against the wall, seizing him by the collar of his shirt.


    "If you say one word..." Derek growled, his voice a low, menacing threat.


    "Oh, what? You mean, like, ''Hey, Dad, Derek Hale''s in my room. Bring your gun!''?" Stiles shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Despite the tension, he felt a sliver of security knowing the werewolf couldn''t harm him without facing severe consequences from the Witch. Derek, momentarily at a loss for words, simply glowered. "Yeah, that''s right. If I¡¯m harboring your fugitive ass, it¡¯s my house, my rules, buddy," Stiles declared, giving Derek a patronizing pat on the shoulder.


    Derek''s glare could have cut through steel, but after a moment, he gave a curt nod and, with a sharp jerk, straightened the teenager''s shirt collar before stepping back.


    Stiles let out a nervous laugh, awkwardly patting Derek¡¯s leather jacket in return. But as he moved toward his desk, he recoiled in horror when Derek took a sudden, brisk step forward, clearly relishing in the discomfort he was causing.


    "Oh, my God!" Stiles squealed, his voice an octave higher than usual, almost like a frightened four-year-old.


    "Scott didn¡¯t get the necklace?" Derek asked, ignoring the dramatics as Stiles finally settled in his seat.


    "No. He¡¯s still working on it. But there¡¯s something else we can try," Stiles replied, meeting Derek¡¯s intense gaze, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. "The night we were trapped at the school, Scott sent a text to Allison, asking her to meet him there."


    "So?" Derek''s brow furrowed, waiting for a point.


    "So, it wasn¡¯t Scott," Stiles pointed out, his voice slow and deliberate.


    "Can you find out who sent it?" Derek¡¯s voice remained clipped, growing impatient.


    "No, not me... But I think I know somebody who can," Stiles said, turning to his backpack and pulling out his phone. After a brief exchange over a phone call, he hung up.


    "What now?" Derek demanded, his impatience palpable.


    "Now we wait," Stiles shrugged. "In the meantime, you want to tell me what you¡¯re actually doing here? Shouldn¡¯t you be at Charlie¡¯s?"


    Stiles earned another murderous stare for his remark. Derek clearly disliked the overly familiar way the teenager referred to his teacher, but there wasn¡¯t much he could do about it, especially since she herself had suggested the boy call her that. After all, they were supposed to be pretending to be cousins.


    "Your father¡¯s men were hanging around. I preferred not to expose her," Derek muttered, though he wasn¡¯t entirely sure why he was explaining himself.


    With that, the conversation fell into silence. Stiles busied himself on the computer, while Derek¡¯s attention wandered to a book on a nearby shelf. He picked it up¡ªit looked well worn, too thick for a typical teenager¡¯s taste. As he opened the cover, he saw the title page: Arthur Conan Doyle''s The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, with a dedication written underneath: For Diana, Paige. His fingers tightened on the cardboard binding, and a low growl escaped his throat, unconscious but filled with suppressed emotion. Stiles, noticing the sound, glanced over and immediately saw the book in Derek¡¯s hands.


    "Oh yeah, I need to give that back to Diana. Finished reading it a couple of weeks ago," Stiles said with a smile, thinking fondly of his former babysitter.


    Just then, the doorbell rang, pulling Stiles away to answer it. Meanwhile, Derek sank heavily into the armchair by the bed, his gaze still fixated on the familiar handwriting inside the book. It had been nearly a decade since he¡¯d last seen it. He knew, at some point, he¡¯d have to deal with his old friend, especially considering how much she''d already helped him. Charlotte had been constantly nudging him to at least call Diana and say thank you, but he hadn¡¯t been able to summon the courage. The thought of reconnecting with the deputy threatened to drag up too many memories¡ªones he¡¯d been trying to bury.


    Stiles returned, now accompanied by another young man¡ªdark-haired, deeply tanned, with a friendly face that was currently twisted into a look of disbelief.


    "You want me to do what?" the new arrival asked, his tone hovering between indignation and surprise, yet maintaining a calm composure.


    "Trace a text," Stiles repeated matter-of-factly.


    "I came here to do lab work. You know, like lab partners?" the boy, Danny, replied.


    "And we will! ...Right after you trace the text," Stiles sighed, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.


    "And what makes you think I know how?" Danny shot back, eyes narrowing slightly.


    "I-I looked up your arrest record," Stiles said, chuckling smugly.


    "I was thirteen. They dropped the charges," Danny pointed out, exasperated.


    "Whatever," Stiles mumbled.


    "No, we¡¯re doing lab work," Danny insisted, pulling a chair over and sitting down beside his jittery friend. He started unpacking the books, clearly determined to stick to the plan. Straightening in his seat, he sighed heavily.


    As Danny worked, he noticed a presence behind him. Glancing up, his gaze landed on a man¡ªolder than both of them, handsome and well-built¡ªwho sat engrossed in a thick book. The man¡¯s eyes flicked up just briefly, offering them both a dark, brooding glance before returning to his reading.


    "Who¡¯s he again?" Danny whispered to Stiles, his voice low.


    Stiles turned, as if momentarily startled by the question, and for a second, it looked like he had forgotten Derek was even there.


    "Uh, my cousin..." Stiles paused, trying to think. "Miguel."


    The man regarded the teenager in disbelief, his expression growing darker. Even Stiles shifted uncomfortably at his own slip-up.


    "...Is that blood on his shirt?" Danny asked, his voice tinged with concern. The unease radiating from Derek was palpable, but there was also a strange curiosity in Danny''s eyes, drawn to the air of mystery surrounding the werewolf.


    Stiles'' eyes widened, and he quickly turned to verify Danny¡¯s observation. Sure enough, Derek¡¯s T-shirt had faint bloodstains smeared across it, practically invisible unless you knew to look for them.


    "Yeah," Stiles stammered. "Yes. Well, he gets these horrible nosebleeds," he added, tension mounting in his voice. "Hey, Miguel..." Derek lifted his gaze from the book, his eyes dark with a restrained fury that suggested he was holding back from throttling Stiles on the spot. ¡°I thought I told you that you could borrow one of my shirts?¡±


    With a loud slam, Derek snapped the book shut and tossed it onto the bed with deliberate force. Without a word, he stood and strode toward the chest of drawers against the wall. Opening it, he rifled through Stiles'' clothes, though they both knew none would fit him¡ªDerek¡¯s frame was nearly double that of the lanky teenager.


    Facing the two boys, Derek pulled off his bloodstained shirt, his back turned to them as he searched through the drawer, fully aware of their gazes on him.


    "So, anyway," Stiles started, clearly uncomfortable but pushing through, "we both know you have the skills to trace that text, so we should probably..."


    "Stiles..." Derek¡¯s voice cut through the conversation like a knife.


    "Yeah?" Stiles quipped, turning back to his "cousin."


    "This..." Derek growled, lifting the shirt in his hands with obvious frustration, "doesn''t... fit!"


    "Then try something else on!" Stiles shot back, though he quickly realized that Derek¡¯s disheveled state was drawing far too much attention from Danny, who wasn¡¯t even pretending to focus on the task at hand. Inspiration struck, and a mischievous smile crept onto Stiles'' face. "Sorry. Hey, that one looks pretty good, huh?" he commented, as Derek tried on a shirt that clung tightly to his broad chest. Garish orange and blue stripes emblazoned the shirt.


    "What do you think, Danny?" Stiles turned to his friend, pretending to ignore the murderous glare Derek was sending his way. "The shirt?"


    "Er..." Danny stammered, clearly flustered. "It''s a nice shirt..." he replied, though he didn¡¯t seem at all convinced.


    "Think he should try on another one?" Stiles asked, clearly enjoying himself now.


    "It¡¯s... it¡¯s not really his color..." Danny finally muttered, his cheeks darkening with a blush.


    Frustrated, Derek ripped the shirt over his head, exposing his chiseled, sculpted abs. He could feel Danny¡¯s eyes on him, which only heightened his irritation. Stiles, however, seemed delighted as he watched his friend¡¯s jaw drop slightly in astonishment.


    "You might bat for a different team, but you¡¯re still playing ball, right, Danny-boy?" Stiles teased, elbowing his guest with a knowing grin, while Derek continued to sift through the drawer.


    "You¡¯re a horrible person," Danny muttered, focusing intently on the computer screen.


    "I know. It keeps me awake at night," Stiles chuckled. "Anyway, about that text..."


    "Stiles!" Derek growled sharply, and when they both turned to him, they saw that he had disheveled hair from changing shirts so many times. His eyes glowed faintly with barely restrained fury. "None of these fit!"


    Stiles didn¡¯t respond, instead raising his eyebrows at Danny expectantly.


    "I¡¯ll need the ISP," Danny said, clearly trying to refocus, avoiding eye contact with Stiles'' enraged "cousin." "The phone number, and the exact time of the text."


    Stiles, unable to contain his excitement, barely stopped himself from doing a victory dance in his chair as Danny got to work. Derek, meanwhile, finally pulled out a plain grey T-shirt from the bottom of the drawer, one that fit him¡ªmore or less.


    In less than fifteen minutes, Danny found the crucial information they were after. Derek loomed behind them, peering over their heads at the computer monitor.


    "There. The text was sent from a computer. This one." They all leaned in closer to the display. Stiles'' jaw dropped, and Derek''s brow furrowed.


    "Registered to that account name?" Derek asked, disbelief lacing his words.


    "No, no, no, no," Stiles muttered, shaking his head in denial. "That can¡¯t be right." It seemed too far-fetched to be possible, but then again, everything lately had been like that.


    All three stared at the screen. Danny, oblivious to the deeper implications, looked on as the other two tried to make sense of it. No matter how they rearranged the letters, the result was always the same: BEACON HILLS HOSPITAL ¨C MELISSA MCCALL.


    ***


    Allison jogged through the woods, trying to clear her mind from the chaos swirling within. Unable to find solace at home, she chose a jog, hoping the physical exertion would help her organize her thoughts. Ever since the incident at school the previous night, she had pushed herself to work out more frequently, determined to build stamina and reclaim some sense of control.


    With her headphones blaring music, she maintained a steady pace, unaware that she had veered off her usual route. Ahead, the charred remains of a house came into view, and only then did she realize she had wandered into unfamiliar territory. The building, once large and imposing, now stood as a skeletal structure, with only fragments of the walls and the front porch remaining.


    Intrigued, she stepped onto the miraculously surviving porch. Having read up on Derek Hale''s family, she recognized the ruins as what used to be his home. Curiosity piqued, she wondered what could have happened here six years ago. Could it explain Derek''s behavior? Could it confirm him as a killer?


    Pushing open the creaky front door, she ventured inside, finding a dilapidated corridor and a staircase leading to a mostly destroyed second floor. She instinctively headed toward what must have been the living room. This part of the house seemed to have suffered the least from the flames, as though the fire brigade had salvaged a fragment of it.


    The place exuded a melancholy aura. It felt like someone had attempted to live there after the tragedy, and the thought sent a shiver down her spine. Despite the devastation, some furniture had survived, adding an eerie touch to the abandoned atmosphere. As her gaze wandered, she noticed scratches on the floor. Brushing away the dust and leaves, she realized they resembled the size of a man''s hand¡ªbut they were much deeper than she would have expected.


    Suddenly, she felt a gaze on her. Startled, she looked up and screamed, realizing she was not alone.


    "Damn! You got some lungs on you!" Kate remarked, her voice laced with amusement as she emerged from the shadows.


    "Did you follow me here?" Allison¡¯s fear quickly morphed into suspicion.


    "Well, you can¡¯t blame me for being concerned about my favorite niece, now, can you?" Kate replied, confidently placing her hands on her hips as she eyed the younger girl. "What are you looking for?"


    "I don¡¯t know... Something. Anything," Allison shrugged, her voice tinged with uncertainty.


    "You mean answers to lingering questions, like..." Kate prompted.


    "Why he would want to kill us?" Allison interjected, referring to the house¡¯s former occupant.


    "Well, I mean, come on! Look at this place," Kate gestured broadly, her eyes scanning the charred ruins. "Could you imagine if your father and I were trapped in something like this? It might do some pretty interesting things to your head, don¡¯t you think?"


    "It wouldn¡¯t turn me into a psychotic killer," Allison responded, disbelief coloring her tone.


    "You don¡¯t have to be psychotic to be a killer..." Kate corrected. "You just need... a reason... and sometimes, even without one..." She gently ran her hand along a charred beam nearby, a soft, almost affectionate smile playing on her lips as she breathed in the lingering scent of burnt wood. "You might surprise yourself." She took a few steps closer to Allison, her smile widening. "What do you want, Allison?"


    "I want... I want to not be scared," Allison confessed, her voice rising with emotion. "That night at the school, I felt so weak, like I needed someone to come and save me. I hate that feeling. I want to feel stronger. I want to feel powerful."


    "Allison," Kate¡¯s voice softened as she approached her, her smile growing. "If you can give me just a little bit of time... be just a little patient... I think I can give you exactly what you want," she whispered in her niece¡¯s ear, her fingers brushing lightly over Allison¡¯s shoulder.


    Without waiting for a response, Kate turned and headed for the exit, pausing briefly to glance back, gauging the impact of her words on the teenager before disappearing into the shadows.


    ***


    In another part of town, Scott cautiously opened Allison¡¯s bedroom window, fully aware of her absence. He slipped inside and scanned the room, considering where the necklace might be hidden. Carefully, he began exploring the bedside tables and dresser drawers, though he stopped short when his hand brushed against a drawer filled with underwear. Determined to respect her privacy, he hurried on to check the shelves and their contents, but the necklace continued to elude him.


    Frustration gnawed at him as he sat down at her desk, absentmindedly flipping through a few textbooks. His eyes fell on something familiar¡ªa receipt from the bowling alley. A smile tugged at his lips as memories flooded back, but his expression quickly changed when he noticed a note scribbled on the back: First date with Scott! He felt a pang of longing, stirring the hope that perhaps they could still salvage their relationship.


    Setting the receipt back in place, Scott''s gaze landed on an old, leather-bound book nearby, with a chain dangling between its pages. He opened it cautiously and found the elusive necklace nestled within. As he examined the marked page, he noticed several circled words¡ªlegend, mythical monster, and Loup-garou. Intrigued, he glanced up the latter term on his phone, alarmed by what he discovered. Allison was dangerously close to unraveling the truth. The French phrase described precisely what he was¡ªa werewolf.


    The sound of the garage door opening jarred him from his thoughts. Someone was home. Moving quickly, Scott closed the book, ensuring everything on the desk appeared undisturbed. Pocketing the silver pendant, he made a swift escape back through the window.


    As he descended from the roof and landed beside his bike, a voice called out.


    "Scott..."


    He froze and looked up to see Allison¡¯s father, Argent, watching him from a short distance away. The man¡¯s expression shifted from a furrowed brow to a surprisingly genial smile.


    "Come inside, Scott. She should be home in a few minutes," Argent invited, turning toward the house. "She sometimes goes for a run after school."


    "Actually, I should get going¡ªI¡¯ve got a game tonight," Scott replied, trying to excuse himself, uncertain how to refuse.


    Argent ignored his attempt to leave, grabbing two beer bottles from the fridge. "Would you like something to drink? I¡¯m in the mood for a beer," he offered, handing one to Scott and opening the other.


    "You don¡¯t have to test me anymore," Scott sighed. "Your daughter already dumped me."


    "No test. I¡¯m sorry," Argent responded sympathetically. "High school romances burn bright, fade fast... Go ahead."


    "I¡¯m good, thanks," Scott declined, pushing the bottle away. ¡°It tastes awful."


    Argent¡¯s expression darkened slightly, creating an uneasy tension. "I was curious about something," he began, leading Scott into the lounge. "How do you know Derek Hale?"


    "Derek who?" Scott feigned ignorance, his heart pounding.


    "Allison mentioned she¡¯s seen you talking to him. Don¡¯t you think that¡¯s a little concerning, Scott? You talking to an alleged murderer?" Argent pressed, leaning casually against the fireplace.


    "It¡¯s not like I¡¯m the only one who knows him..." Scott muttered defensively.


    "But you¡¯re the only one that¡¯s talking to him."


    "Not really! You could say the same about anyone Derek might ask for directions," Scott shot back, his frustration mounting. "I talked to him, but before I knew he was a murderer. Why are you acting like I¡¯ve done something wrong?"


    Argent, sensing the tension rising, crouched down next to Scott, his voice calm yet firm. "You don¡¯t have to be afraid of me. You know I¡¯m just looking out for my daughter, right?"


    Unbeknownst to them, Allison had just returned and overheard their conversation, quietly hiding behind the door.


    "Will you believe me if I say I think about it too?" Scott stood abruptly, addressing Argent directly. "It¡¯s all I think about. When we were at the school the other night, every decision I made, everything I did, was to make sure she was safe!"


    Argent stood as well, his expression softening as he recognized the conviction in Scott¡¯s voice. "You should go. You don¡¯t want to be late for your game."


    Scott nodded, trying to read Argent¡¯s intentions, but remained silent as he made his way to the door and left the house.


    ***


    In the dimly lit chemistry classroom, illuminated only by the soft glow of a single lamp atop the teacher¡¯s desk, Adrian Harris sat hunched over, his posture betraying the weight of regret. His head bowed low, as if it was too heavy to lift. Across from him stood two figures: Sheriff Stilinski, his demeanor stern, and Officer Diana Harris, Adrian''s sister, her face etched with a mixture of sorrow and anger.


    "It was six years ago..." Adrian began defensively, his voice thick with remorse. "I was still... dealing with my demons back then. But I''ve been sober since, Di, you know that." He turned to his sister, his eyes pleading for understanding.


    "Listen, I¡¯ve got my son¡¯s first lacrosse game tonight," Sheriff Stilinski interjected, his voice tinged with impatience. "Let¡¯s just stick to the details, huh?"


    Adrian shifted in his seat, reflecting on the past. "I met her in a bar. We had a lot of drinks¡ªa lot. She was asking me all sorts of questions, about what I do. Do you have any idea what it¡¯s like to have someone interested in chemistry after staring at blank faces day after day?" He avoided his sister¡¯s gaze, his face awash with guilt.


    "Get to the point," Diana urged, her voice taut with dread, as if she already knew what was coming.


    "I talked. I told her everything. It was fascinating stuff¡ªhow you could melt the lock off a bank vault, how you could dissolve a body and get away with murder..." Adrian¡¯s voice held a strange, almost forgotten passion, one that made his sister recoil slightly.


    Diana swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper as she asked, "How you could start a fire... and get away with arson?"


    Adrian hesitated, then nodded somberly. "And a week later, the Hale House burns down," he whispered, as if revealing a dark, hidden secret.


    The sheriff sighed heavily, his gaze flicking to Diana, who stood frozen, her hand pressed to her mouth, stifling the sobs that threatened to escape.


    "You know, you could have said something," Stilinski remarked, his voice heavy with disappointment.


    "And be an accomplice?" Adrian countered, still avoiding his sister¡¯s eyes. "That would have ended my career. Diana would¡¯ve been left alone. Probably in some orphanage."


    As Diana struggled to regain her composure, the sheriff took a deep breath and refocused. "How old was the woman?" he asked, giving Diana time to collect herself.


    Adrian pressed his lips together, his silence speaking volumes.


    "I see..." Sheriff Stilinski muttered, the realization dawning on him and on Diana. The woman had either been much younger than Adrian or had appeared so.


    "You don¡¯t know her name or where she was from?" Stilinski pressed, trying to piece together the puzzle.


    "No," Adrian said, shaking his head emphatically. "And that''s the same thing Laura Hale asked me. I¡¯ll tell you what I told her." He leaned over the desk and sketched something quickly on a piece of paper.


    "What¡¯s that?" the sheriff asked, eyeing the drawing. The crude lines revealed that, unlike his sister, Adrian lacked any genuine talent for sketching.


    "The necklace the girl was wearing," Adrian explained. "This was the symbol on it. I asked her about it, and she said it was a family thing. You find the girl wearing that necklace¡ªyou¡¯ve found your arsonist."


    "Murderer," Diana corrected sharply, her voice thick with bitterness.


    Adrian looked at her, confusion flickering across his face. "Excuse me?"


    "It didn¡¯t end with the fire," Diana spat, her anger finally breaking through. "This girl is a murderer. Nine people died. One body was never found. One man¡¯s been catatonic for six years. And I¡¯ll carry a scar for the rest of my life that you can¡¯t even bear to look at." She rolled up her sleeve, revealing a burn-scarred arm, the memory of that night forever etched into her skin.


    Adrian''s eyes closed, unable to face the physical manifestation of his sister¡¯s pain. The reality of what he''d helped set into motion weighed down on him like a heavy chain.


    Sheriff Stilinski, sensing the need for comfort, gently placed his hand on Diana¡¯s back and guided her out of the room, leaving Adrian alone with the ghosts of his choices. The harsh truths that had just been laid bare seemed to echo in the stony silence of the room.


    ***


    Scott irritably shoved his phone back into his bag, pulling on his glove to prepare for the upcoming game. A surge of frustration coursed through him as he noticed Stiles had yet to arrive, despite his friend¡¯s assurances that he''d be there.


    "It¡¯s the bite that does it, isn¡¯t it?" a voice suddenly murmured near his ear. Scott looked up to see Jackson casually seated beside him, looking far too relaxed.


    "Yeah," Scott admitted, glancing around to ensure their conversation remained private.


    "Well, then, it¡¯s easy!" Jackson began, his tone flippant.


    "No, it¡¯s not. I can¡¯t be the one to do it, okay? It has to be¡ªit has to be an Alpha," Scott confessed, acknowledging that Jackson wasn¡¯t wrong in his assumptions.


    "Well, then, get him to do it," Jackson suggested, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.


    "I don¡¯t even know who ''he'' is! Okay, trust me¡ªthis whole thing is so much more complicated than you think. There¡¯s¡ªthere¡¯s others. There¡¯s Hunters," Scott explained, hoping that mentioning the Hunters might make Jackson reconsider.


    "Hunting what? What Hunters?" the blonde boy asked, clearly puzzled.


    "Werewolf hunters," Scott clarified.


    "Oh, my God. You¡¯ve got to be kidding me." Jackson laughed in disbelief.


    "No, jerk-off!" Scott retorted, his patience thinning with the boy he so disliked. "There¡¯s a whole family of them, and they carry assault rifles. Do you get that? Assault rifles." He quickly glanced towards the Argents in the stands, hoping they hadn¡¯t overheard him.


    Jackson followed his gaze and noticed a slightly grey-haired man and a young blonde woman sitting next to Allison.


    "Them?" Whittemore pointed his finger at them.


    "No," Scott lied, but the nervousness in his voice betrayed him.


    "Oh my God, that actually makes sense," Jackson muttered, a realization dawning on him as he caught Scott¡¯s wary expression. "Allison Argent," he emphasized, waiting for Scott to grasp what he was implying. When Scott¡¯s confusion persisted, Jackson sighed in exasperation. "Oh my God, you don¡¯t get it! You¡¯ve known her this long, and you never actually asked about her name, did you? Idiot!" Scott shook his head, still lost. "Do you know what Argent means in French?" Jackson pressed, waiting for a response. When none came, he triumphantly declared, "It means silver."


    "Now, this is what I like to see!" Coach Finstock¡¯s voice suddenly boomed from behind, causing both boys to jump. "Rivals turned allies," he announced, clapping them both on the shoulders. "You know there¡¯s no ''me'' in ''team,'' right, boys?"


    "...Yes, there is, Coach," Scott protested weakly.


    "Okay, smartass, how about this: No ''A'' in Econ if no win on field, huh? Good? Huh? Perfect. Good." Coach Finstock chuckled and sauntered off.


    "So, what are you gonna do?" Scott asked, trying to resume their conversation.


    "I¡¯m gonna give you a chance to give me what I want. Seventy-two hours, Scott. That¡¯s all you get. Seventy-two hours," Jackson stated confidently, as though it were a business transaction.


    "What if I can¡¯t?" Scott pressed, his frustration mounting.


    "Oh, come on, McCall¡ªthat¡¯s not a winning attitude!" Jackson retorted, a mocking grin on his face.


    The whistle blew, and Coach called everyone onto the field. Jackson stood, leaving Scott to his thoughts.


    At that same moment, Sheriff Stilinski finally arrived at the stands, accompanied by his deputy, Diana Harris. Their trained eyes quickly noticed something amiss¡ªStiles wasn¡¯t on the roster. While Noah¡¯s concern was mild, Diana¡¯s was more intense. Having once cared for Stiles and knowing his penchant for getting into dangerous situations, she felt an uneasy sense of dread. Her gaze swept across the stands, searching for Scott¡¯s mother, hoping to direct the sheriff her way. However, she found herself drawn to the Argents, particularly the blonde whose face sparked uncomfortable recognition within her.


    "Look, there¡¯s number 37, Jackson," Allison pointed out to her aunt, trying to engage her in the game.


    "Holy hotness. Oh, if I were in high school again¡­ or maybe just a substitute teacher," Kate sighed dramatically, eyeing the blonde athlete with an appreciative smirk.


    Diana observed this with growing disgust. She knew that face, and the realization was far from pleasant.


    "You¡¯re sick," Allison laughed, her youthful innocence starkly contrasting her aunt¡¯s flirtatious remarks.


    "You should be all over that!" Kate chuckled, her playful grin fading as her eyes sharpened, catching sight of something that piqued her interest. Leaning closer to her brother, seated beside her, she lowered her voice. "Chris, remember how we talked about a second Beta? A younger one?" He nodded in acknowledgment. "Can you get turned by a scratch?"


    "If the claws went deep enough, maybe..." Chris mused.


    "Wonder how deep those went," Kate murmured, her gaze locking onto Jackson, the faint but still visible scratch marks on his neck confirming her suspicions.


    Another whistle blew, signaling the start of the game.


    ***


    ***


    "Did you get the picture?" Scott asked over the phone, his voice tense as he readied for the game, unable to find Stiles anywhere. Frustration rising, he had decided to call.


    "Yeah, I got it, and it looks just like the drawing," Stiles responded, but before he could elaborate, Derek snatched the phone out of his hands. They were both sitting in Roscoe, Stiles'' blue Jeep, waiting for Charlotte to arrive.


    "Hey, is there something on the back of it? There¡¯s gotta be something," Derek''s voice was sharp. "An inscription, an opening, something..."


    "No, no, the thing¡¯s flat. And, no, it doesn¡¯t open. There¡¯s nothing in it, on it, or around it. Nothing. And where are you? You¡¯re supposed to be here. You¡¯re first line," Scott¡¯s panicked voice echoed through the earpiece. In the background, Coach Finstock¡¯s voice boomed angrily, and Derek glanced at his watch with a resigned look. "Where the hell is Bilinski???" Scott added hurriedly before continuing, "Man, you¡¯re not gonna play if you¡¯re not here to start..."


    "I know," Stiles said, taking the phone back from Derek. "Look, if you see my dad, can you tell him... tell him I¡¯ll be there. I¡¯ll just be a little late, okay? Thanks." He hung up the call with a sigh.


    Derek stared at him for a moment, perplexed. He hadn¡¯t expected that Stiles would sacrifice something so significant for him. Only a few hours ago, he¡¯d seen the boy¡¯s interaction with his father, had felt the weight of their emotions as keenly as the boy did now. And yet, Stiles had still chosen to be here, at his side.


    "You¡¯re not gonna make it," Derek said bluntly, his voice low.


    "I know," Stiles muttered in return.


    "And you didn¡¯t tell him about his mom either."


    "Not ''til we find out the truth," Stiles replied, his gaze shifting to the hospital sign looming ahead of them.


    A sharp tapping on the window interrupted their brief contemplation. Charlotte had finally arrived. Stiles was just about to step out of the car when Derek¡¯s voice stopped him.


    "By the way, one more thing..." But before Stiles could ask what Derek meant, the werewolf¡¯s hand shot out, grabbing his head and slamming it into the steering wheel.


    "Derek!" Charlotte''s sharp voice growled as she yanked open the driver''s side door, pulling Stiles out of the car. Stiles staggered back, leaning on her for support. "What the hell was that for?"


    "He knows exactly what for," Derek muttered darkly, his eyes fixed on the hospital entrance. "Go. Now." His tone left no room for argument, and with one last glance, he motioned toward the long-term care unit.


    As they entered the hospital, Charlotte followed closely behind Stiles. Once inside, she pulled out her phone, dialing Derek, who waited in the car. The tension in the air was palpable, and the lack of hospital staff, combined with the eerie silence, only amplified her growing unease.


    "Melissa¡¯s not here," she whispered into the phone.


    "Look, ask for Jennifer. She¡¯s been taking care of my uncle," Derek¡¯s reply came quickly, his voice tense. He could sense that something was wrong, the night''s tension thickening around him.


    Charlotte stepped into the room where Peter Hale should have been, only to find it completely empty. The bed remained untouched and the wheelchair was left abandoned in the room. A deep frown etched across her face as she exchanged a worried glance with Stiles.


    "He¡¯s not here either," she mumbled, her mind piecing together the terrifying reality of the situation.


    "What?" Stiles'' voice cracked with disbelief.


    "Derek..." she repeated, her face draining of color. "He¡¯s not here. He¡¯s gone."


    The gravity of her words hung heavy in the air. The vacant bed, the unused wheelchair¡ªit all pointed to one horrifying conclusion.


    "Charlie, get out of there right now!" Derek¡¯s voice roared over the phone, panic rising. "It¡¯s him! He¡¯s the Alpha! Get out!"


    His words were so loud, even Stiles could hear the warning reverberating through the phone.


    As they retreated from the hospital room, Stiles froze mid-step, his eyes locking onto something ahead. Charlotte, following closely behind, bumped into him, and together they turned to find a man standing in the corridor. He leaned casually against the wall, his posture deceptively relaxed as he watched them with a curious gaze. A gruesome burn scar marred half of his face, but his striking, large blue eyes commanded most of the attention. A smile played across his lips, almost friendly in its appearance.


    ¡°So, which one of you is Charlie?¡± He asked, his voice light. It didn¡¯t take him long to spot the phone in Charlotte¡¯s hand. ¡°For a second there, I thought Derek had switched sides. Good to know some things never change, even with time.¡±


    Charlotte instinctively urged Stiles to back away, positioning herself between him and Peter Hale. She moved to shield the boy with her own body. Just as Stiles turned to flee, a young red-haired nurse with a stony expression blocked his path.


    "What are you doing here? Visiting hours are over," the nurse said, her words seemingly innocent for a hospital employee, though the context suggested otherwise. Her demeanor made it clear she was working with the Alpha.


    "You and him..." Stiles began, panic seeping into his voice. "You¡¯re¡ªyou¡¯re the one who¡ªOh my God¡ªhe¡¯s¡ªOh my God, we¡¯re gonna die!"


    Suddenly, emerging from the shadows like a predator, Derek appeared, swiftly incapacitating the nurse with a brutal elbow to the face, knocking her out cold.


    "That¡¯s not nice. She¡¯s my nurse," Peter commented, his voice unnervingly calm.


    "She¡¯s a psychotic bitch helping you kill people," Derek snapped back. "Charlie, get Stiles out of here," he growled, not waiting for her to respond. His eyes flashed dangerously as his fangs bared, ready for the impending fight.


    "Oh, shit..." Stiles gasped, barely dropping to the floor as Derek leaped over him and Charlotte, launching himself at the Alpha.


    "You think I killed Laura on purpose? One of my own family?" Peter spoke with a chilling calmness, even as his nephew charged at him. He deflected the attack effortlessly, his red eyes gleaming as he grabbed Derek by the jacket and hurled him into the wall. Peter slammed him again, this time into the opposite side of the corridor. Derek crumpled to the floor, momentarily incapacitated.


    Seizing the moment, Charlotte grabbed Stiles, pushing him toward the exit as fast as she could. But Stiles was moving too slowly for her liking, and she had to guide him out of the hospital while looking over her shoulder, anxiety mounting. Once they were outside, she ducked behind the nurse''s reception desk, her heart pounding as she gathered the energy to intervene.


    Meanwhile, Peter loomed over Derek, seizing his jacket once more.


    "My mind," Peter began, gesturing absently toward the unconscious nurse, "was literally burned out of me. I was driven by pure instinct." He tossed Derek to the ground again and began rifling through the nurse¡¯s pockets, pulling out a set of car keys.


    "You want forgiveness?" Derek rasped, struggling to rise. He threw a punch at his uncle, but Peter caught it effortlessly. The Alpha retaliated by slamming his forehead into Derek¡¯s, a sickening thud echoing in the corridor.


    "I want understanding," Peter corrected coldly, delivering a vicious kick that sent Derek sprawling across the floor. "Do you have any idea what it was like for me during all those years? Healing slowly, cell by cell?" Peter''s steps grew more deliberate as he stalked toward his nephew, his voice laced with bitterness. "And even more slowly, coming back to consciousness. Yes, becoming an Alpha sped up the healing process, but I didn¡¯t choose it. Taking that from Laura... I didn¡¯t want to." As Derek stood once more, he swung at Peter, but the Alpha dodged the punch with supernatural grace, bending back effortlessly like Neo from The Matrix.


    Peter caught Derek¡¯s fist, his grip crushing the bones with a sickening crack. "I tried to warn you. I tried to tell you what was happening," Peter growled as he slammed Derek across the reception desk, where Charlotte had been hiding.


    Seeing the injuries Derek had sustained, Charlotte jumped into action, pulling her battered lover behind the desk, helping him crawl farther away from the maddened Alpha. They sought refuge in the morgue, though the choice of hiding place was grim, to say the least. They could only hope it wasn¡¯t a symbol of their fate. But soon enough, Peter found them.


    Leaning heavily against the wall of corpse storage fridges, Derek and Charlotte faced the Alpha. Blood dripped steadily from Derek¡¯s nose, and his hand gripped Charlotte¡¯s fingers so tightly it made her wince. She fought the urge to scream, wanting desperately to do something¡ªanything¡ªbut found herself entirely unprepared for this confrontation.


    "I was going to wait," Peter sighed, eyeing them both as if pondering his next move. "Make a more dramatic entrance, but..." He tapped a finger against the mirror hanging above the morgue table, causing it to tilt in its frame. They watched in shock as his scarred face transformed before their eyes, the disfigurement vanishing until nothing remained but smooth, healed skin. "When you look this good, why wait?" He smiled, a predatory gleam in his now-perfect features. His attention then shifted entirely to Derek. "You have to give me a chance to explain, Derek." He leaned in slightly, and instinctively, Derek positioned himself in front of Charlotte, shielding her with his body.


    The Alpha, however, didn¡¯t seem the least bit interested in her. His gaze remained fixed on his nephew.


    "After all, we¡¯re family."


    * * *

 1.10 Co-Captain

    February 9th, 2011 ¨C Wednesday


    Amidst the jubilant celebration following their victorious game, Scott found himself adrift in a sea of fervent teammates and exuberant fans, his eyes darting around as he desperately sought his friend Stiles. The crowd¡¯s enthusiasm made it nearly impossible to locate his best friend.


    As Scott scanned the buzzing surroundings, he accidentally bumped into someone, only to realize it was Allison. Their eyes met for a moment, a charged silence hanging between them, until Brian¡¯s loud interruption broke the spell.


    ¡°State! State! State!¡± Brian chanted excitedly, his energy infectious but poorly timed.


    Allison bit her lip, clearly weighing her words, before managing a nervous smile. ¡°Uh, you were pretty awesome out there.¡±


    Surprised, Scott blurted out an automatic response: ¡°Thanks. You too!¡± His eyes remained fixed on her, clearly not paying attention to the content of his own words.


    Allison raised an eyebrow, confusion flickering across her face. ¡°Wait, what?¡± she asked, thrown off by his response.


    Scott shrugged awkwardly, realizing his mistake. ¡°I mean, that¡¯s not what I meant¡­¡±


    Before the moment could grow more uncomfortable, Brian barged in again, still chanting, ¡°State! State! State!¡±


    Allison, sensing Scott''s growing embarrassment, threw him a lifeline. ¡°No, no, I did some pretty awesome cheering. You can thank me,¡± she said, balancing on her heels, nervous yet playful. ¡°I went from ¡®Go team, go!¡¯ to ¡®Defense! Defense!¡¯ without even taking a breath. I totally brought my A-game.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Scott asked, genuinely surprised by her support.


    But before they could continue the conversation, Brian interrupted once more with his boisterous cheers. This time, Scott shot him a deathly glare, causing Brian to freeze mid-chant, then back away like a scolded child.


    Allison gave Scott one last smile before turning to join her father. Scott watched as they made their way toward the car park, unable to tear his gaze away from her.


    The young werewolf seemed mesmerized, completely oblivious to another approaching figure ¡ª his co-captain, Jackson Whittemore.


    ¡°Ooooh¡­¡± Jackson sighed theatrically. ¡°Awww, isn¡¯t that just heartbreaking? Gosh, I bet it causes a lot of sleepless nights. You, your hand, and a packet of tissues¡­¡± He laughed in Scott¡¯s face, clearly enjoying himself, but Scott remained unfazed, refusing to rise to the taunt.


    ¡°You know what, though, McCall? I actually sympathize... which is why I¡¯m going to make this mutually beneficial. You give me what I want, and I¡¯ll help you get her back.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Scott¡¯s interest piqued despite himself; the offer was undeniably tempting, but deep down he knew he couldn¡¯t give in.


    ¡°Well, three days puts us just in time for the winter formal. Imagine you taking her instead of me. And think about all the things you¡¯d have to do to get her out of some tight little dress by the end of the night. See how this could work out for everyone? Three days, McCall. Have fun.¡± Jackson patted Scott patronizingly on the cheek before sauntering away, leaving him stewing in anger and confusion.


    Fuming, Scott trailed him toward the locker room, seeking solace in the form of a shower. Exhausted, sweaty, and unsure of how to handle his manipulative co-captain, Scott finally emerged from the steamy locker room, a towel slung low around his hips.


    As Scott passed Danny, who was already dressed in regular clothes and preparing to leave ¡ª perhaps heading off to a victory celebration ¡ª Danny unexpectedly made a comment to Scott.


    ¡°By the way, McCall? Apology accepted,¡± Danny said with a slight grin.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t apologize,¡± Scott retorted, caught off guard.


    ¡°Every time you got the ball tonight, you passed it to me,¡± Danny continued, his smile radiant and sincere, clearly unwilling to harbor any hard feelings.


    Scott chuckled, a warm smile creeping onto his face. ¡°Every time I passed the ball to you, you scored,¡± he replied, unsure if he was offering an excuse or simply praising his teammate¡¯s undeniable skill. It was impossible not to like Danny, after all.


    ¡°Apology accepted,¡± Danny repeated with a smile, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder before walking out of the changing room, leaving Scott completely alone, as the last remnants of the team had already filtered out.


    Now, as the empty room echoed around him, Scott grappled with the weight of his thoughts.


    As Scott hurriedly dressed, the rhythmic echoes of footsteps filled the otherwise silent locker room, breaking the stillness.


    "Danny?" Scott called out, raising an eyebrow as he assumed the friendly acquaintance might have forgotten something. Peering around a row of lockers, he felt a wave of relief wash over him when he saw Derek standing there. "Thank God! Where the hell have you been?" Scott motioned towards him, a weight lifting from his chest. "Do you have any idea what''s been going on?"


    But his words hung in the air as Derek¡¯s posture tensed, his attention shifting sharply behind him, sensing something sinister. Scott followed Derek¡¯s gaze, his heart dropping when he spotted Charlotte''s petite figure, standing with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Behind her, an all-too-familiar figure came into view ¡ª Peter Hale, Derek¡¯s uncle.


    Peter, once a catatonic patient confined to a hospital bed, now stood before them, looking remarkably restored. His face, once marred by grotesque scars, was now disturbingly smooth and handsome. In his hands, he casually twirled a lacrosse stick.


    "I really don''t get lacrosse..." Peter mused, his eyes focused on the stick before he shifted his gaze to Scott. "When I was in high school, we played basketball. Now that was a real sport. But I read somewhere that lacrosse has its origins in Native American tribes ¡ª apparently, they used it to resolve conflicts. Am I right?"


    Peter leaned the lacrosse stick against his shoulder, his eyes drifting into thought, as though reflecting on some grand philosophical truth. The witch standing beside him rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated by the dramatics that seemed to run in the Hale family. Scott expected an outburst or a show of anger, but he was surprised when Peter calmly set the lacrosse stick against the wall, contradicting the aggression that seemed to linger in the air.


    "Hmm... I¡¯ve got a bit of a conflict of my own to resolve, Scott... and I need your help to do it," Peter said softly, fixing his unsettlingly gentle blue eyes on the younger werewolf. Despite his recent escape from the hospital, Peter carried himself with an unsettling grace, dressed immaculately in a leather jacket over a button-down shirt.


    "I''m not helping you kill people," Scott spat through gritted teeth, his voice hard. Peter smiled at the defiance, but the expression quickly faded as his gaze flickered toward Derek.


    "Well, I don¡¯t want to kill all of them¡­" Peter began, his voice calm but dangerous. "...just the ones responsible. And that doesn¡¯t have to include..." He paused, turning to Derek for assistance, as though momentarily forgetting a key detail.


    ¡°Allison,¡± Derek sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the situation. Scott could see the conflict playing out in Derek¡¯s eyes ¡ª Derek was trapped, and Peter knew it.


    "You¡¯re on his side?" Scott¡¯s voice rose in disbelief, his gaze fixed on Derek, trying to make sense of the betrayal. "Are you forgetting the part where he killed your sister?"


    "It was a mistake..." Derek said flatly, his eyes locked on Peter, though his jaw clenched, the tension betraying his calm facade.


    "What?" Scott¡¯s voice cracked, disbelief flooding his tone.


    "It happens," Derek stated solemnly, hoping Scott would understand the gravity of the situation. With Peter¡¯s watchful gaze on him, he couldn¡¯t afford to say more.


    "Scott, I think you¡¯ve got the wrong impression of us," Peter interjected smoothly, his voice laced with an unnerving calm. "We just really want to help you reach your full potential."


    "By killing my friends?" Scott asked quietly, his eyes shifting to the witch instead of Peter, trying to gauge her reaction. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw fear flash in her eyes, but it quickly vanished, replaced by cold indifference.


    "Sometimes the people closest to you are the ones holding you back the most," Peter said, his voice low and steady, unnervingly calm. His words sent a chill through the room, the air thick with tension as the hairs on the backs of their necks stood on end.


    "If they¡¯re holding me back from becoming a psychotic nut-job like you, I¡¯m fine with that," Scott snapped back. He noticed a subtle nod from Charlotte, but before he could process it, Peter stepped forward, raising a hand toward Scott¡¯s face.


    "Maybe..." Peter murmured, examining his fingers as they morphed into sharp claws. "...you could try seeing things from my perspective..."


    Without warning, Peter lunged, his claws extending as he grabbed Scott by the throat, sinking his claws into the young werewolf¡¯s flesh with a chilling smile.


    Scott¡¯s eyes rolled back as if retreating deep into his skull. Before Charlotte could react, the teenager collapsed, sprawled across the cold, unyielding floor. Her hands reached for his head, cradling it with uncertainty, her mind racing, unsure of how to help. Derek stepped forward, but a simple, commanding gesture from his uncle, Peter halted his movement, forbidding any interference.


    Charlotte, frozen in place, her hands resting on Scott''s temples, watched in shock as her eyes flickered an unnatural green. Alpha Peter, now satisfied, stepped back, his lips curling into a smug smile. He turned and left the locker room, confident of the outcome, without so much as a glance at his nephew, leaving Derek to grapple with his own helplessness.


    Derek knelt beside the unmoving pair, his gaze fixated on them, aware that he couldn¡¯t disturb whatever was happening. Scott¡¯s eyes suddenly snapped open, glowing a bright gold. They stared blankly ahead, filled with a strange, unearthly awareness ¡ª  as if witnessing visions only he could perceive. And indeed, he was.


    Distorted images unfolded before Scott¡¯s mind in a slow, disjointed sequence.


    A darkened room, shrouded in thick, choking black smoke. A man and a woman, their hands covering their mouths, coughing violently, their screams muffled by the overwhelming haze...


    Unger and Reddick ¡ª Scott recognized them from the woods ¡ª appeared through a dirty basement window, pouring liquid from large canisters over a house. The pungent scent of petrol mixed with something more insidious... wolfsbane...


    A man struggling to lift a child into a ventilation shaft, the small body barely squeezing through the narrow passage...


    Hands desperately grasping a door handle, trying to wrench it open as dark, oily smoke suffocated everything in sight...


    A head of brown, curly hair obscuring the view of a door left ajar, a faint line of mountain ash scattered behind it...


    A red-haired nurse carefully laying Peter¡¯s scarred body on a bed, his one visible blue eye blinking from beneath bandages...


    The full moon¡¯s light lazily filtering through a window, casting Peter¡¯s face in an eerie, pale glow...


    Peter, lying in bed without his bandages, stirred by the moonlight, compelled to rise. The nurse, Jennifer, standing in the doorway, watching in stunned fear, as he obeyed its call...


    Footsteps in the woods, twigs snapping underfoot. A girl with dark hair and striking green eyes ¡ª Laura Hale ¡ª peered through the shadows, her gaze piercing the darkness to see a silhouette, a man wearing hospital pajamas. His face, half-disfigured by scars, turned toward her.


    ¡°Peter?¡± she whispered, startled, taking a hesitant step forward. But he didn¡¯t see her ¡ª his eyes were vacant, his lips parting to reveal razor-sharp fangs...


    Scott''s mind reeled at the vision of Laura¡¯s mangled body, half-hidden, discovered while searching for his inhaler...


    The memory of digging up Laura¡¯s grave with Stiles flashed before him, the scent of wolfsbane still clinging to the soil, viewed from above, as if observed by unseen eyes in the treetops...


    Laura¡¯s lifeless, empty eyes stared up at them from her grave...


    The witch¡¯s hands finally withdrew from Scott¡¯s head, and her body trembled violently. Derek''s strong arms caught her just in time, preventing her from collapsing to the floor.


    "I''ll take you home," Derek murmured into her ear, his voice low and soothing. "It¡¯s over; you¡¯re fine."


    "Scott..." she protested weakly, her voice laced with concern. She knew they couldn¡¯t leave him like this.


    "He¡¯ll be fine," Derek growled, lifting her into his arms. He spared only one glance at the unconscious Scott before striding out of the locker room, carrying Charlotte with him.


    Moments later, Scott¡¯s eyes fluttered open, and he gasped as though surfacing from deep underwater. He sat up, dazed and disoriented, his surroundings coming into focus. The locker room was eerily empty. No sign of Peter, Derek, or Charlotte ¡ª the mysterious witch whose role in all of this remained a puzzle.


    Staggering to his feet, Scott moved toward a bench and sank onto it, elbows resting on his knees, his head cradled in his hands. His mind raced, piecing together the surreal fragments of what had just occurred.


    ¡°Dude, we have a huge problem!¡± Stiles burst into the locker room, nearly tripping over himself in his haste, his eyes wide with alarm.


    ¡°Trust me... I know,¡± Scott muttered without even glancing up, his voice heavy with exhaustion.


    ***


    Silver moonlight filtered into the room through the partially drawn curtains, casting pale beams across the floor. Allison lay on her stomach in bed, her eyes wide open, unable to quell the torrent of thoughts racing through her mind, much less surrender to the pull of sleep. Her body remained still, yet her mind buzzed like a restless swarm of bees.


    As she reluctantly closed her eyes, a shadow seemed to descend over her. Scott appeared by her side, tenderly brushing her hair aside before placing a delicate kiss on the nape. The warmth of his presence was undeniable, but when Allison rolled onto her side, she found herself alone in the room once again.


    Yet his touch lingered. His fingers traced over her shoulder, so light they were like feathers drifting across her skin. She could still feel his breath, warm and intimate, caressing the bend of her arm. But no matter how real it felt, Scott was not there. She shifted again, now lying on her back, her breath quickening with frustration. With her eyelids squeezed tightly shut, she tried to force the thoughts of him from her mind, willing herself to forget his touch, his warmth.


    But he returned, his presence more vivid than ever. Towering over her, he leaned down, his lips trailing a line of kisses down her neck, brushing along her jaw, her cheek, and finally resting upon her chin. Slowly, he moved to claim her lips, and as she lifted her head to meet his kiss¡­


    Abruptly, she sat up in bed, engulfed in darkness once more. Her breath came in quick gasps, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her hand moved instinctively to the soft skin of her neck, as if checking whether those kisses had been real or merely a figment of her imagination. But in that moment of disorientation, something else caught her attention ¡ª something was missing. Her fingers brushed over her cleavage, and she froze. She realized her pendant was missing, the one she had worn since the day it was given to her.


    A chill ran down her spine. She rose gracefully from the bed, moving as though possessed by an invisible force, and flicked the light switch on, flooding the room with a soft, golden glow. A frantic search followed ¡ª under pillows, over both bedside tables, and across her desk. She even rifled through the pages of a book she had recently read, thinking perhaps she had tucked the necklace away within them. But no. The pendant had disappeared. Her motions grew more erratic, more desperate, as she yanked open drawers, her hands trembling. She felt as though a vital piece of herself had been torn away, leaving her vulnerable, exposed.


    Deep down, however, she knew the necklace wasn¡¯t in the room.


    Descending to the garage, Allison harbored a flicker of hope that perhaps she had left it in the car. Her search was methodical but tense as she examined lockers and cup holders with increasing urgency. Still, the chain eluded her. She cursed under her breath, running her hands through her hair, when suddenly the garage door groaned as it swung open, the sound slicing through the silence and sending a jolt of fear down her spine. In an instant, she slid down into the seat, her body curling into itself in an attempt to disappear.


    Her father''s large SUV pulled into the garage. After a moment, Chris and Kate stepped out, their conversation filling the air.


    "It hasn¡¯t been an issue since we lived here," Chris remarked, his tone calm yet insistent.


    "All I¡¯m saying is that firing those things so close by is bound to draw attention," Kate replied, her concern clear despite the smile that played on her lips. The two made their way toward the gun cabinet.


    "These things have saved my life more than once," Chris declared, holding something up for Kate to see. "Besides, I know how to be inconspicuous when I need to be." With that, he tossed the object into a nearby dumpster with a nonchalant flick of his wrist.


    "This, coming from a man whose weapon of choice is a crossbow," Kate scoffed. "You know, these extra skills are something you could be teaching your daughter¡­"


    "Not yet," Chris sighed, his voice weighed down with exhaustion. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, signaling that this was not a new conversation.


    "Ever?" Kate pressed, her gaze drifting toward the small Mazda parked behind him.


    "Not yet," he repeated, this time with finality. He turned toward the front door of the house, his shoulders sagging with the weight of unspoken words.


    Kate lingered for a moment, setting her bag down on the table with a quiet deliberation. Chris paused, eyeing her with thinly veiled curiosity as she rummaged through the contents.


    "You coming?" he asked, taking a step forward as if to catch a glimpse of what she was up to. But Kate, with her ever-present smile, turned toward him and followed him inside, leaving the door to close behind them with a resounding thud.


    Only then did Allison dare to emerge from her hiding place, her mind buzzing with intrigue. She moved toward the table, her eyes sweeping over the objects strewn across its surface. Most of it was familiar to her ¡ª bullet molds, a hobby of her father¡¯s, though he could easily have bought factory-made ones. Scattered pieces of paper bore nothing of interest. But near Kate¡¯s bag, something gleamed in the light ¡ª a peculiar arrowhead.


    It wasn¡¯t like the sporting or hunting arrowheads she had seen before. This one was strange, resembling a pinecone or a delicate bauble, and it was heavier than it looked. Her brow furrowed as she examined it, turning it over in her hand. Curious, she reached into the dustbin and retrieved what her father had tossed away earlier.


    The discarded object was twisted and mangled, a piece of metal that seemed to have exploded from within. When compared with the strange arrowhead on the table, the similarity was undeniable. They had once been the same object.


    Allison¡¯s mind raced as she pieced together the fragments of the mystery, the clues that Kate had been subtly dropping ever since she arrived. She was so engrossed in her investigation that she failed to notice the soft creak of the house door, or the way Kate stood watching her with a knowing smile.


    ***


    February 11th 2011 - Friday


    The foliage beneath their feet rustled softly, punctuated by the crisp snap of twigs as they made their way through the dense forest. A petite girl with reddish-blonde hair, clad in a dress and heels, stirred up more noise than her companion, who moved with a practiced ease, seemingly at home in the wooded environment. The brunette, burdened by a large black sports bag, appeared just as out of place, dressed for anything but a hike, although they hadn¡¯t ventured far from the parked car.


    "Allison... when you said we had to stop for an errand before shopping... a five-mile hike through the woods wasn''t exactly what I had in mind," Lydia panted, her breath quickening as she struggled to keep pace with her friend.


    "It won¡¯t take long, and it hasn¡¯t been five miles," came Allison''s composed reply.


    "Can you at least tell me what we¡¯re doing?" Lydia pressed, growing increasingly frustrated.


    "You¡¯ll see."


    "You know, the human body only has to drop to 95 degrees to be hypothermic, right?" Lydia quipped, attempting to sound playful, though the faint tremor in her voice betrayed her discomfort. The biting wind found its way through her light jacket and dress, chilling her to the bone.


    "Before I forget, I wanted to ask if you''re okay with something...," Allison said abruptly, her tone tinged with something unsettling.


    "I¡¯ll say yes to anything if it means getting out of here."


    "Jackson invited me to the winter formal."


    "Did he?" Lydia¡¯s voice faltered, her uncertainty bleeding through.


    "Jackson invited me to the winter formal," Allison reiterated, walking ahead without turning to face her. "But I wanted to make sure you¡¯re okay with it first."


    "Sure. As long as it¡¯s just friends," Lydia answered, unable to completely mask the nervousness creeping into her voice.


    "Well, yeah. It¡¯s not like I would take him to the coach¡¯s office during lacrosse practice and make out with him or anything..." Allison¡¯s voice held an unexpected edge, a sharpness Lydia hadn¡¯t heard before. The brunette threw a glance over her shoulder, still moving forward, while Lydia faltered, her pace slowing as the weight of the remark hit her.


    "Uh..." Lydia stammered, her face flushing. "About that..."


    Allison came to a sudden halt and dropped the large sports bag she had been carrying.


    "We should be good here. It¡¯s isolated enough," she stated calmly, her gaze sweeping over their surroundings.


    Squatting down, she unzipped the bag, revealing its contents ¡ª a bow and a quiver of arrows. Lydia¡¯s eyes widened with curiosity, but her gaze quickly shifted, taking in the thickly wooded area that now felt eerily remote. A nervous laugh bubbled from her lips.


    Allison reached into her pocket and pulled out the strange arrowhead she had discovered the night before in the garage. She carefully attached it to one arrow she had prepared in advance.


    "What does that do?" Lydia asked, watching her companion with growing curiosity.


    "We¡¯re about to find out..." Allison murmured, her eyes narrowing in concentration as she scrutinized the arrowhead to ensure everything was secure. Satisfied, a small smile tugged at her lips as she stood up, bow in hand.


    Positioning herself with her legs spread wide, Allison squared herself to face a tall tree a few yards away. She notched the arrow, drew the string back to her cheek, and took a moment to aim, calculating the angle because of the arrowhead¡¯s weight. Then, with a swift release, she let the arrow fly.


    The arrowhead struck the tree with a sharp thud, and in an instant, brilliant white sparks burst from the point of impact, scattering through the air. Allison¡¯s brow furrowed as she studied the result ¡ª whether it was some kind of blinding projectile or perhaps a signal arrow, she couldn¡¯t quite tell, but it definitely leaned toward the former.


    "What the hell was that?" Lydia gasped, her initial shock giving way to anxious curiosity. She stared at the brunette, who still gripped the bow tightly in her hands.


    "I don¡¯t know..." Allison admitted, her eyes locked on the arrow embedded in the trunk. A faint trail of smoke curled up from the tree bark, the aftermath of the small explosion caused by the arrowhead¡¯s contact with the tree.


    "Well, that was fun!" Lydia laughed nervously, though the chill in the air and the subtle stirrings of fear made the laughter feel forced. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. "Any more lethal weapons you wanna try out?"


    Both of them directed their gazes forward ¡ª Lydia, with her focus fixed on the target, while Allison''s eyes wandered beyond, scanning the trees before drifting toward the misty distance. The silence between a sudden sound, a rustling of branches and leaves in the nearby undergrowth, interrupted them.


    "What was that?" Lydia whispered, her voice barely audible.


    "Quiet..." Allison immediately hushed her, her voice low but commanding. It was too late. The noise stopped, leaving them enveloped in an eerie silence. "Hold this," she said, handing the bow to Lydia without breaking her gaze on the trees.


    "Why? Why?" Lydia asked, her voice betraying her rising anxiety.


    "Because I thought I heard something," Allison murmured, her tone steady but cautious.


    "So... what if you heard something?" Lydia pressed, her fear bubbling to the surface.


    "Don''t worry ¡ª it¡¯s probably nothing." Allison¡¯s words echoed those she had repeated to herself countless times. She was tired of the fear that had gripped her since the events at school, manifesting in every corner of her life. She needed to summon courage, to drive out the cold, creeping unease that had settled in her chest.


    "Well, what if that nothing is something, and that something is dangerous?" Lydia couldn¡¯t hold back the anxious thoughts racing through her mind.


    "Shoot it," Allison instructed calmly, her voice barely above a whisper, gesturing toward the bow she had just passed to Lydia. With that, she stepped into the shadows of the trees, disappearing from view.


    Left alone, Lydia stared at the weapon in her hands, disbelief washing over her. Her gloved palms were trembling, her breath catching in her throat as she clutched the bow tighter, unsure of what to do next.


    Meanwhile, Allison had slipped off the path, moving swiftly and quietly through the thick underbrush. She paused abruptly at the sound of rustling nearby, her senses heightened. She took a slow step back, holding her breath, then pivoted sharply, a taser already in her hands ¡ª the same one her aunt had given her. Without hesitation, she squeezed the trigger, sending two electrodes flying straight toward the figure in the bushes.


    Scott.


    The electrodes struck his chest, and he collapsed with a muffled moan, his body convulsing as the taser''s current coursed through him. Writhing on the forest floor, he struggled against the spasms gripping his muscles.


    "Scott?" Allison gasped, her shock turning into frantic action as she rushed toward him. She moved to reach for the electrodes, but his voice interrupted her.


    "Finger... trigger... finger..." he wheezed through gritted teeth.


    Allison suddenly realized she was still clenching the taser''s trigger, the current still flowing into him. "Oh! Oh, God," she cried, immediately releasing the device and letting it drop to the ground.


    Scott¡¯s body relaxed as the painful electricity subsided, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He lay still for a moment, surrounded by fallen leaves.


    "Oh, God. I¡¯m so, so, so sorry," she whispered, kneeling beside him, her hands hovering over his body, unsure of how to help.


    "No, it¡¯s my fault. Totally my fault," he managed, his voice shaky but reassuring.


    "Are you okay?" she asked, her concern clear as her eyes searched his face.


    "Yeah... I¡¯m fine," he muttered, though another shiver ran through him.


    "I didn¡¯t know it was you. If I¡¯d known it was you, I..." she trailed off, guilt flooding her voice.


    "Still would¡¯ve pulled the trigger?" he teased, a weak smile tugging at the corner of his lips.


    "No! Of course not. I¡¯m seriously, really, really sorry," she insisted, a nervous laugh escaping her as she unhooked the electrodes from his shirt. He squirmed under her touch, but said nothing. Together, they worked to untangle the taser''s wires, though Scott''s body gave another uncontrollable spasm, causing the device to slip from his hands. Allison caught it quickly before it hit the ground.


    "Are you sure you''re okay?" she asked again, her voice softer, full of concern.


    "Yeah. I think so," Scott muttered, though he still looked dazed.


    "What were you doing here, anyway?" she asked, a note of suspicion creeping into her voice. Realizing how odd the situation was, she added, "Were you... following us?"


    "No. Not at all! Your dad told me you run this trail sometimes, and I was hoping to catch you alone."


    "...By following me?" she asked, laughing at the absurdity.


    "Nooo... yes," he admitted with a sheepish grin and a sigh.


    "What for?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.


    Reaching into his jacket pocket, Scott pulled out something small and shiny. "I found this at school," he said, opening his hand to reveal the chain and pendant she had been searching for the night before.


    Allison let out a deep sigh of relief, her face lighting up. "Thank God!" she exclaimed, taking the pendant from him. "I was starting to think it was stolen."


    "No! No, just lost. Definitely not stolen by anyone," he said quickly, trying to reassure her.


    As she fastened the chain around her neck and adjusted her hair, Scott watched her, momentarily forgetting to breathe. When she glanced back at him, his heart stuttered in his chest.


    "Thank you for finding it. And for bringing it," she said, her smile radiant.


    "You don¡¯t think I¡¯m a total stalker now, do you?" he asked playfully, wrinkling his nose in mock embarrassment.


    "No, I just think you''re weird. Like always," she laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she looked at him.


    Without thinking, she reached out and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. Maybe just a little too long. Eventually, the memory of their broken relationship surfaced, and she pulled away, avoiding his eyes as she walked off.


    When she returned to where Lydia was waiting, her friend was trembling, clearly rattled, as she attempted to draw Allison¡¯s bow. Lydia let out a sigh of relief the moment she saw her friend approach, quickly relinquishing the weapon. "Thank God you¡¯re back," she muttered.


    ***


    Jackson seethed with fury, desperately searching for an outlet for the turbulent emotions roiling beneath his skin. A combustible mix of anger and anticipation churned within him, failing to coexist peacefully, fueled by the relentless jealousy that had plagued him since McCall''s sudden rise to the first team and subsequent appointment as co-captain. Co-captain! Jackson couldn¡¯t fathom how Coach Finstock could give such a prestigious role on someone he deemed a loser¡ªespecially a position that Jackson believed was rightfully his.


    Inside the cabin of his Porsche, heavy-metal music blared at full volume, shaking the windows as it thundered through the car. Unbeknownst to him, the deafening noise masked the strange sounds emanating from the engine. The car decelerated rapidly; the dashboard lighting up like a Christmas tree with a dazzling array of warning lights.


    Fortunately, Jackson found himself near a seldom-used parking lot in an industrial zone. Maneuvering with skill, he brought the Porsche into the lot, applying the handbrake and leaving distinctive tire marks in a dramatic display of circles on the concrete. If anyone had been watching, they would undoubtedly have been impressed¡ªthe scene could easily belong in The Fast and the Furious.


    When the car finally came to a halt, the engine sputtered, coughed, and then died, unresponsive to Jackson''s increasingly frustrated commands. Enraged, he slammed his fists against the steering wheel, accidentally setting off the horn. His frustration only deepened; what was meant to be a relaxing drive had turned into yet another disappointment.


    "Fuck!" he yelled as he stepped out of the car, slamming the door with a force that reverberated through the otherwise empty lot. His eyes swept over the desolate area surrounding the abandoned factory. No buildings. No pedestrians. No one. He shouldn¡¯t have expected anything different. Leaning heavily against the Porsche, he rested his elbows on the roof, burying his face in his hands.


    The sound of an approaching vehicle broke through his thoughts. Lifting his head, Jackson saw a large red SUV pulling up beside him. His stomach dropped when he recognized the car. It belonged to Allison¡¯s father. Panic surged through him¡ªMcCall¡¯s revelations during the last game had unnerved him, and now that fear clawed at him again. He hated it.


    "Car trouble?" the grey-haired man asked with a smile that, to Jackson, seemed more than a little forced. It was a smile Jackson knew well¡ªone he¡¯d worn many times himself.


    "It¡¯s okay. I¡¯m just gonna call a tow truck," Jackson replied, eyeing the older man warily as he pulled on a pair of leather gloves and approached the Porsche.


    "Oh, I know a few things about cars. It could be something simple," Argent responded, his tone friendly as he opened the hatch where the engine was located¡ªat the rear of the Porsche, unlike most other cars.


    "I don¡¯t know¡­ I mean, it¡¯s a pretty expensive car, and they do all that warranty crap if you mess with it yourself, right?" Jackson tried to dissuade the man, his discomfort growing. Something about Argent unnerved him.


    "Well, I won¡¯t tell if you won¡¯t," Allison¡¯s father replied with an easy smile. "It¡¯s Jackson, right?" He glanced up at the teenager, still standing a few feet away. "Come on, I¡¯ll show you what to look for."


    Argent tugged Jackson closer by the shoulder, leaning over the engine as he did so. His eyes flicked to the boy¡¯s neck, and before Jackson could react, Argent pushed back the collar of his leather jacket. The boy tensed, instinctively pulling away, but the older man¡¯s grip held firm.


    "Oh, sorry," Argent muttered, though his voice carried a weight that made the apology seem anything but casual.


    "What?" Jackson asked, his unease intensifying.


    "Your neck. You hurt yourself?" There was genuine regret in the man¡¯s tone, as if he already knew the answer.


    "No..." Jackson reflexively touched his neck, where the nearly healed marks still lingered. He straightened up, avoiding eye contact with Argent, who was still holding him by the back of the neck, examining the wounds with a practiced eye. "I mean, it¡¯s just¡ªjust a scratch."


    "It looks like more than a scratch. Have you seen a doctor about it?" Argent¡¯s voice was calm, but Jackson could sense the probing intent beneath the surface.


    "Yeah, he said it¡¯s nothing."


    "You might want to get a second opinion. ¡®Nothing¡¯ isn¡¯t exactly how I¡¯d describe it. How did it happen? They look a lot like claw marks." Argent¡¯s eyes bore into him, but Jackson jerked away, breaking the man¡¯s hold.


    "I think I should probably just call a tow truck," Jackson said hurriedly, reaching into his pocket for his phone.


    "Any reason you¡¯re so reluctant to tell me what caused those marks?" Argent¡¯s voice remained friendly, though his persistence was becoming more unsettling.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    "No," Jackson replied curtly.


    "So..." Argent¡¯s tone dropped, becoming quieter, almost gentle. "What happened?"


    The question lingered in the air, fraught with tension. Jackson felt the weight of it pressing down on him, but he remained silent, torn between fear and frustration.


    The teenager was about to respond when a blue jeep pulled up beside them. Scott and Stiles were inside.


    "What''s up?" called out Stiles from the driver¡¯s seat, his tone light but curious.


    "Everything okay?" asked Scott, leaning out of the open window, his dark eyes scanning the scene.


    "Hey, Scott," greeted Argent with a broad smile. "Your friend here is having a little car trouble. We were just taking a look."


    "There¡¯s a shop down the street. I¡¯m sure they have a tow truck," Scott said, nodding in the direction they had come from¡ªthe only route available, as locked gates blocked the road further down between the industrial buildings.


    "Want a ride?" Stiles asked, glancing at Jackson with a mischievous grin. Scott opened the door, offering the blond a seat in the back.


    "Come on, Jackson. You''re way too pretty to stand out here alone," teased Stiles. Though he didn¡¯t particularly like Jackson, both he and Scott weren''t about to leave him stranded.


    Scott gave his co-captain a pointed look, silently warning him to keep his cool, though Argent remained unbothered, his expression unreadable. Jackson let out a nervous laugh, hesitating for a moment as he moved toward the Jeep. Just as he was about to slide in, Argent leaned over the Porsche¡¯s engine and, unnoticed by the teenagers, pocketed a small device he had discreetly removed.


    "Hold on, boys!" Argent called out, walking to the driver¡¯s side of the Porsche. He inserted the key into the ignition and, with a turn, the engine roared to life, purring as if nothing had been wrong. "Told you I knew a few things about cars." Without waiting for a thank you, he walked away, leaving the boys in stunned silence.


    Relief washed over them, and all three teenagers let out the breaths they hadn¡¯t realized they were holding. No one moved until Argent disappeared from view.


    "What? Are you following me now?" Jackson snapped, his frustration bubbling over as he turned to Scott, his voice aggressive, his emotions barely under control.


    "Yes, you stupid, freaking idiot! You almost gave everything away back there," Scott retorted, his own anger flaring.


    "What are you talking about?" Jackson demanded, confusion creasing his brow.


    "He thinks you''re the second Beta!"


    "What?" Jackson¡¯s eyes widened in disbelief.


    "He thinks you''re me!" Scott yelled, his irritation with Jackson¡¯s ignorance boiling over. He clenched his fists and punched the side of the Jeep, the impact reverberating through the vehicle. Any harder, and he might have left a dent¡ªor worse, struck Jackson.


    Meanwhile, Stiles climbed out of the Jeep, approaching the escalating argument.


    "Dude. My Jeep..." he protested, pointing at the vehicle with a reproachful look.


    "I could hear your heartbeat from a mile away! Literally!" Scott shouted, his anger not abating. "Now he knows something¡¯s wrong, and now I have to keep an eye on your stupid ass so he doesn¡¯t kill you too." His fists clenched again, but instead of hitting Jackson, he turned back toward the Jeep, fighting the urge to lash out.


    Stiles, ever the peacemaker, quickly intervened. "How about we step away from Stiles''s Jeep?" he suggested, trying to diffuse the tension.


    "This is your problem, not mine, okay?" Jackson shot back, his voice dripping with venom. "I didn¡¯t say anything, so you¡¯re the one that¡¯s gonna get me killed. Okay?" He shoved Scott hard, sending him stumbling back against the side of the Jeep. "This is your fault!"


    "Can we stop hitting my Jeep?" Stiles almost cried, throwing his arms up in frustration, but his words fell on deaf ears as the two continued to scuffle. Stepping in, Stiles grabbed both of them by the fronts of their shirts, pulling them apart, his face a mix of exasperation and concern.


    "When they come after you, I won¡¯t be able to protect you," Scott said, his voice strained as he tried to rein in his anger. "I can¡¯t protect anyone," he added, quieter now, glancing at Stiles with a troubled expression.


    "Why are you looking at me?" Stiles asked, his confusion evident.


    An awkward silence fell over them as they exchanged cautious, calculating looks.


    "You know, now you have to do it," Jackson said urgently, his eyes flashing with desperation. "Get me what I want, and I¡¯ll be fine protecting myself."


    "No, you won¡¯t!" Scott shot back, gritting his teeth. "Just trust me¡­ all it does is make things worse."


    "Oh, yeah, really?" Jackson sneered, his voice thick with envy and contempt. "You can hear everything you want and run faster than anyone else. Sounds like a real hardship, McCall."


    "Yeah, I can run fast, except half the time I¡¯m running away from people trying to kill me!" Scott countered, his frustration spilling over. "And I can hear things, like¡ªlike my girlfriend telling people she doesn¡¯t trust me anymore, right before she breaks up with me. I¡¯m not lying to you, Jackson! It ruins your life."


    "It ruined your life," Jackson said with a sly grin. "You had all the power in the world, and you didn¡¯t know what to do with it." He reached into his pocket and jingled his car keys, taking a few steps away from the group. "You know what it¡¯s actually like? It¡¯s like turning sixteen, and someone buys you a Porsche when they should¡¯ve started you out with a nice little Honda. Me? I drive a Porsche."


    With that, he got into his car, the engine revving loudly as he sped off, tires squealing against the dusty lot. A cloud of dirt rose in his wake, leaving Scott and Stiles standing there, watching the sports car disappear into the distance.


    ***


    The sheriff sat at the kitchen table, a mountain of papers spread before him, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he focused intently on his work.


    Stiles burst into the room like a whirlwind, yanking open the fridge and grabbing a carton of milk. He took a long sip directly from it, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, savoring the minor act of rebellion. Victorious in his minor crime, he was about to leave when he noticed his father, submerged in the sea of documents, sprawled across the table.


    "What¡¯cha doing?" Stiles asked with an air of innocence that barely masked the mischief lurking beneath.


    "Work," Noah replied without looking up, his attention still glued to the paperwork, half-hidden behind the stacks of notes and reports.


    "Anything I can help with?" Stiles offered, his tone playful but curious.


    "You know, if you poured me an ounce of whiskey, that would be awfully nice," came the sheriff¡¯s distracted response, still buried in his work.


    Without missing a beat, Stiles vanished into the lounge, returning moments later with a bottle and a glass from the bar. As he approached the table, his eyes flitted over the documents with growing interest. He couldn''t resist the urge to reach out, but before his fingers could make contact with one of the papers, his father was quicker, tapping him lightly with the pen in his hand, like shooing away a meddlesome fly.


    "You know I can¡¯t discuss that with you," the sheriff sighed, clearly resigned to the fact that he wasn¡¯t about to shake his son¡¯s attention. "Not too much," he added, still without looking up, while Stiles unscrewed the cap on the bottle.


    The teenager paused for a moment, bottle in hand, a plan already forming in his head. He glanced at his father, then down at the pile of papers, and finally back at the bottle. His expression shifted as he carefully began pouring whiskey into the glass. The liquid splashed against the bottom, but the sheriff remained engrossed in his notes, oblivious to the sound.


    A sly grin crept across Stiles'' face as he poured more, and more until the glass was nearly brimming with the amber liquid.


    "Here you go, Dad," Stiles said, handing over the generously filled glass with all the nonchalance he could muster. "To the bottom."


    "Thanks," Noah muttered absently, not noticing the weight of the glass as he took it in hand. He raised it to his lips, taking a large sip, and then another, all the while still fixated on the papers before him.


    Stiles watched with satisfaction as his father unwittingly drank deeply, none the wiser to his little scheme. The sheriff, enveloped in his work, hadn¡¯t even realized the full extent of his son¡¯s playful mischief.


    When the sheriff finally set the glass down on the table, it was completely empty. Folders and loose sheets of paper littered the surface of the table, and Stiles stared at them with barely concealed fascination.


    "You know, Derek Hale would be a whole hale of a lot..." Noah''s speech was slurring, his tongue struggling to cooperate with his foggy brain. "Hale of a lot..."


    "Hell of a lot?" Stiles prompted, smirking.


    "Hell... Yes..." Noah raised his hand in triumph, smiling warmly at his son. "He¡¯d be a hell of a lot easier to catch if we could just get an actual picture of him."


    "How do you not have a picture of him?" Stiles quipped, fully aware of the irony. Given that mug shots were a standard procedure, and he had practically helped put the werewolf in jail himself. His father pulled out a photograph and placed it in front of him.


    "It¡¯s the weirdest thing... Every time we try to get a mug shot, it¡¯s like two laser beams are pointing at the camera."


    The photograph indeed showed Derek, but only someone who had seen him before could tell. The familiar leather jacket and dark hair were there, but two large glares and several smaller green-yellow flares completely obscured Derek¡¯s face. Stiles studied it, noticing that Derek had flashed his wolf eyes just as the picture was taken. A clever move. Stiles had to give him credit for that.


    "Nice," he muttered under his breath.


    "Oh my god..." the sheriff groaned, rubbing his face as he removed his glasses and leaned back in his chair. "Ohhh, God, that ounce hit me like a brick. And I¡¯ve said way too much, and if you repeat any of that..." He pointed a warning finger at Stiles, his eyes narrowing.


    "Dad!" Stiles protested, feigning indignation. "It¡¯s me! I¡¯m not gonna say anything. Come on!" He grabbed the bottle still sitting on the table amidst the papers. "Want some more?"


    "Absolutely not... Not a drop..." The sheriff hesitated, then added, "Maybe a drop, a little bit." He handed the glass back to his son with a resigned nod.


    Stiles poured a bit more whiskey into the glass, though he tried not to look at the way it quickly filled to the brim. Instead, his attention shifted to the folder lying open on the table. A photograph of a dead deer, its side marked with a spiral burn, caught his eye.


    "See, the thing is, they''re all connected..." Noah¡¯s voice broke the silence. "The bus driver that got killed? He was an insurance investigator assigned to the Hale House fire." Stiles straightened in his seat, now fully engaged as he leaned closer to his father¡¯s side of the table, reading over the notes.


    "Terminated under suspicion of fraud," Stiles read aloud.


    "Exactly..." Noah muttered, nodding.


    "Who else?" Stiles pressed.


    "The video store clerk who had his throat slashed? He was a convicted felon... history of arson."


    "What about the other two guys, the ones who got killed in the woods?"


    "Priors all over their records, including..."


    "Arson?" Stiles finished, his voice quiet as the pieces clicked into place. His father nodded solemnly.


    "So, maybe they all had something to do with the fire..." Stiles mused, leaning back in his chair, mirroring his father¡¯s gesture. He reached for the bottle again, intending to pour more whiskey.


    "No," Noah stopped him, his tone firm. "That¡¯s enough."


    "Dad, come on! You work really hard, all right? You deserve it," Stiles coaxed with a grin. Unfortunately for the sheriff, who was already too far gone, the false sincerity in his son¡¯s words went unnoticed.


    "Oh, my God... I¡¯m gonna have such a hangover..." Noah groaned, massaging his temples.


    "You mean you¡¯re gonna have such a good night¡¯s sleep," Stiles corrected with a laugh as he poured the whiskey into the glass. He muttered to himself under his breath, "I¡¯m gonna have an eternity in the lowest circle of hell..." making sure his father didn¡¯t overhear his confession as he refilled the drink.


    After another hour had passed, Stiles carefully took the glass from his father¡¯s hands, preventing it from slipping and breaking.


    "Stiles, there are just so many questions..." the sheriff sighed heavily, propping his head up on his hands, the weight of the case and his exhaustion pressing down on him.


    "Like what?" Stiles asked, trying to keep his tone casual despite the tension building in the air.


    "Like... if Derek wanted to kill everyone involved in the fire, then why start with his sister? She had nothing to do with it. And if he killed Laura, why is Diana still alive..."


    "What?" Stiles¡¯ eyes widened, surprised by his father''s last statement.


    "Diana was in that fire... She was the only survivor. That''s why I had to take her off the case. There''s also Peter Hale, but he''s still unconscious..." Noah paused, his words heavy with the burden of unsolved mysteries. "So... why did Derek kill his sister?"


    "Good question," Stiles muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, feeling the unease rise in his chest.


    "And why make it look like some kind of animal did it?" Noah continued, his voice carrying the weight of yet another unsolved piece of the puzzle.


    "Another good question," Stiles whispered, more to himself than to his father, as he struggled to fit the pieces together.


    "Something else is strange..." The sheriff leaned back, rubbing his temples. "When that cougar showed up in the parking lot, I checked with animal control... Wild animal reports have been up seventy percent over the last few months. It''s like they¡¯re going crazy, running out of the woods..." He trailed off, lost in thought.


    "Or something¡¯s scaring them out," Stiles murmured under his breath, barely audible as he cast a last glance at the scattered files. His hands moved instinctively, sorting through the papers, packing them back into their respective folders. His jaw clenched, and the muscles in his cheeks twitched nervously.


    "You know, I miss talking to you..." Noah¡¯s voice softened, and he looked at his son with a mixture of nostalgia and affection. It felt like only yesterday that he and his wife had been choosing a name for their unborn child, like just moments ago, he had held Stiles in his arms for the first time. But now, sitting beside him was a sharp-witted teenager, already taller than him, and it felt like time had slipped away too fast. "It¡¯s like we never have time anymore..."


    "Dad, you know, I have to make a phone call. I¡¯m sorry," Stiles said abruptly, rising from the table, pulling his phone from his pocket. "I¡¯ll be right back."


    "I do... I miss it..." Noah muttered, his voice quieter now, watching his son move away once again. "And I miss your mum," he added, the pain clear in his words, though he hadn¡¯t meant for Stiles to hear it.


    "What¡¯d you say?" Stiles asked, his voice cracking slightly as he pulled the phone away from his ear.


    But Noah didn¡¯t respond. Instead, he reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels still sitting on the table, his hand moving slowly, intending to pour himself another shot of whiskey. Before he could, though, Stiles stopped him mid-motion, gently placing his hand over his father¡¯s.


    "Thanks," Noah whispered, offering a small, weary smile. He turned his gaze back to the pile of documents in front of him, staring blankly as if lost, unsure of what to do next.


    ***


    Scott rushed into his bedroom, threw his backpack to the floor, and slammed the door shut behind him. Only after the door clicked did he pull out his phone, anxiously playing with the voicemail recordings that echoed through the room.


    "Scott, it''s Dr. Deaton. Getting a little concerned about how much work you''ve been missing. Please give a call when you..."


    "Shit..." he muttered under his breath, quickly skipping to the next message.


    "Scott, it''s Charlotte Benoit. I''m calling about school stuff. I noticed you didn¡¯t turn in your homework today. I know you¡¯ve got a lot on your plate, but I can extend your deadline by a maximum of 48 hours."


    "Shit..."


    Just as he was about to play another message, a knock sounded at the door.


    "Not now, Mom..." he sighed heavily, assuming it was her. But the knock came again, more insistent. Frustrated, Scott crossed the room and swung the door open. "I said, not now¡ª"


    To his surprise, it wasn¡¯t his mother standing in the hallway. It was Allison, her face tense and confused.


    "Sorry, your mom let me in," she mumbled.


    Scott stood there, frozen, staring at her in disbelief, his mouth slightly ajar. For a moment, he couldn¡¯t quite process the fact that Allison was standing in his house, in his hallway. It felt like a dream.


    "Can we talk?" she asked, finally releasing the breath she had been holding.


    He nodded, gesturing for her to come into the room. Allison stepped inside, and he motioned for her to sit on the bed. When she did, Scott joined her. They both sat awkwardly for a moment, embarrassed by the silence that stretched between them.


    "Do you want me to say something first?" Scott finally asked, unable to endure the quiet any longer.


    "No," Allison quickly denied.


    "Okay..." he hesitated. "Do you want me to leave you alone for a few minutes?" he suggested, trying to make sense of the situation.


    "Why would I want that?" Her question caught him off guard.


    "I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s just that, um... you came in here and said you wanted to talk, and we¡¯ve been sitting here for like ten minutes, and you haven¡¯t said anything yet. And it¡¯s starting to freak me out."


    "Sorry," she said with a disarming smile. "It¡¯s just... it¡¯s a little hard to start. I didn¡¯t want to bother you with this. I called Jackson, but he¡¯s not answering his phone."


    "He¡¯s not?" Scott felt a swirl of emotions. He should have been angry that Allison had tried to reach out to Jackson first, but he was relieved that Jackson hadn¡¯t answered. Still, the worry gnawed at him¡ªconcern for his co-captain¡¯s safety crept in despite everything.


    "I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s the best person to talk to anyway," Allison continued. "I feel like sometimes he pretends he¡¯s listening, but really, he¡¯s just waiting for me to stop talking so he can start again."


    "That sounds about right," Scott muttered, not hiding his agreement.


    "And I definitely can¡¯t talk to Lydia about this. It¡¯s going to sound ridiculous... I guess I don¡¯t want you to laugh at me."


    "I would never laugh at you," Scott said earnestly. Allison looked into his eyes, and after a moment, nodded, believing him.


    "It¡¯s about my family," she began, drawing a deep breath.


    "Okay..." Scott tensed, anxiety flooding his mind as he braced himself for what might come next. Was she about to reveal that her family hunted werewolves?


    "A little while ago, I caught them in a lie. It was small, but still..." she said, her voice laced with frustration. "When my aunt, Kate, arrived, she had car trouble. My dad said it was a flat tire, but my aunt said she needed a jump start."


    "Maybe it was just a little miscommunication," Scott offered cautiously, not wanting to stir up more tension.


    "That¡¯s what I thought at first," Allison continued, "but then I found glass on her car, like the window had been smashed in." Scott nodded slowly, trying to mask the fact that he knew exactly what had happened that night. "And lately, I¡¯ve been overhearing some really strange conversations."


    Scott stiffened, his gut twisting with dread. He knew exactly where this was going.


    "And I think some of it has to do with Derek and Ms. Benoit."


    "Are you sure?" Scott swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak.


    "Yeah. And this is where it¡¯s really going to start sounding unbelievable... and you have to promise not to laugh or look at me like I¡¯m crazy," she said, her voice faltering slightly. "Because I think... I think..."


    "Scott! Coming home late tonight," Melissa¡¯s voice rang out from the hallway. Scott heard Melissa¡¯s voice ringing out from the hallway, causing both teenagers to jump nervously as the door to his bedroom swung open. It felt as if they had been caught doing something inappropriate. Melissa smiled at them warmly, and it was then that Scott noticed something unusual¡ªhis mom was wearing heels and a dress, a rare sight.


    "What¡¯s wrong? The hair? Makeup?" she asked, her voice tinged with nervousness as she caught her son¡¯s gaze.


    "No, nothing. You look beautiful," Scott stammered, seemingly at a loss for words.


    "Amazing," Allison chimed in with a broad smile, though her eyes glittered with curiosity.


    "Amazing¡­ Why do you look amazing?" Scott asked, confused by her appearance.


    "Because, amazingly, I¡¯m having dinner for once with a member of the male gender who¡¯s above the age of sixteen," she explained, her smile broadening, clearly pleased.


    "Who?" Scott rolled his eyes, his tone edging toward disbelief.


    "A medical rep who came into the hospital today. We just started talking. Next thing I know, I¡¯m saying yes to dinner." She gestured excitedly, her hands flitting about as she recounted the events. "I regretted skipping my gym visit last week," she added with a slight squirm.


    "What medical rep?" Scott asked, the question coming out in a slow, almost exasperated drawl. At that moment, the front doorbell rang.


    "That medical rep. God, I¡¯m not ready..." Melissa exclaimed, rushing out of her son¡¯s room. "Get the door, talk to him. Be nice!" she called as she hurried away.


    Scott turned to Allison, his expression a mix of disbelief and worry. Allison simply nodded, encouraging him to comply with his mom¡¯s request.


    With a sigh, Scott ran down the stairs, passing framed photos from his childhood that lined the walls. His eyes lingered for a moment on the older photos, where his father still appeared¡ªa rare topic of conversation between him and his mother. As he reached the door, a strange sensation crept up the back of his neck, freezing him mid-motion. The doorbell rang again.


    "Scott! Get the door!" Melissa¡¯s voice came from upstairs.


    But Scott remained rooted to the spot, staring at the doorknob, unmoving. A wave of fear rippled through him, paralyzing him in place. His heightened senses picked up a steady, unnerving heartbeat from the other side of the door. His hand twitched involuntarily as the bell rang once more.


    "Scott, for the love of God¡ª" Melissa''s voice trailed off as he heard her heart racing lightly, the familiar sound oddly comforting.


    Just as Scott reached for the lock, the doorknob turned on its own. His hand hovered in midair, but before he could touch it, the door swung open to reveal¡­


    An empty porch. Scott blinked, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. He turned back to look at his mother, who was descending the stairs.


    "What are you doing? Aren¡¯t you going to invite him in?" she asked, her face peeking around the corner.


    Scott turned back to the doorway, only to be greeted by¡­


    "Hello there," Peter Hale said, his smile wide and unnervingly cheerful. He stood in the doorway, elegantly dressed and neatly combed, and his blue eyes twinkled with what could only be described as childlike amusement. But the smile did nothing to calm the storm of terror raging in Scott¡¯s chest.


    Scott moved to slam the door shut, but it didn¡¯t budge. Peter¡¯s hand had stopped it effortlessly, his strength far beyond that of the teenage werewolf.


    "Really? Slam the door in my face? Come on, Scott, take a second to think that through," Peter said smoothly, his voice dripping with condescension.


    "I¡¯ll tell her," Scott replied, his voice trembling despite his attempt to sound firm.


    "That I used to be a catatonic invalid with burns covering half my face? Good luck with that," Peter mocked, his tone icy.


    "If you hurt her, or even touch her..." Scott¡¯s threat faltered, the tremor in his voice betraying the helplessness he felt.


    "Scott, if I can interrupt your Top Five Most Impotent Sounding Threats for just a moment..." Peter''s voice carried an almost amused tone as he said, "Try to remember, I¡¯ve been in a coma for six years. Don¡¯t you think I¡¯d like to have dinner with a beautiful woman?" Scott wasn¡¯t fooled, even though his sincerity seemed genuine for a fleeting moment.


    "Just a second, sorry!" Melissa¡¯s voice called out from inside. Peter''s eyes flicked over Scott¡¯s shoulder, softening for a moment, his expression momentarily becoming almost handsome, as if even the sinister gleam in his eyes had vanished. But the moment passed, and as soon as she was out of sight, his face returned to its cold, calculating mask.


    "Or, maybe you think I¡¯ve come up with a different idea?" Peter continued, stepping across the threshold, forcing Scott to retreat. "Like how it might be easier to convince you to join the pack... if your mother is part of it too. Or maybe even your friend, Stiles." The Alpha took another step forward, his presence overwhelming as Scott instinctively backed away. "You need to understand how much more powerful we are together, Scott. You, me, Derek... and even that little witch of his," Peter added with a twisted smile at the mention of the red-haired teacher. He wasn¡¯t sure what effect biting her would have, but with Derek at his side, he already had her under his control¡ªsomething no other Alpha could boast of.


    "Did you know that some of the most successful military operations during World War II were the German U-boat attacks? Do you know what they called them?" Peter leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Wolf packs. Did you know that? Or are you failing history as well?"


    "I know the Germans lost the war," Scott said quietly, a trace of defiance in his voice. But the growl that should have accompanied his words was nowhere to be found. His gut twisted at the mere thought of challenging Peter, the werewolf who had bitten him¡ªthe Alpha who should have been his leader, but wasn¡¯t. Still, deep inside, Scott knew he couldn¡¯t let this happen. That thought alone gave him the courage to stand his ground, to protect the ones he loved, including the teacher who had helped him navigate his new life.


    "I think you¡¯ll find most historians would argue that was a failure of leadership..." Peter concluded with a wry smile. "And trust me, we don¡¯t have that problem here."


    "Mrs. Benoit said an incompetent leader is just as bad as one who tries to instill fear instead of loyalty," Scott muttered. He knew Peter had heard him¡ªthose piercing eyes flashed ominously in response.


    "I''m ready," Melissa announced, breaking the tense silence between Scott and Peter as she approached the door, her bag slung over her shoulder. "I''m sorry again," she added with a small smile.


    Peter''s expression shifted effortlessly, almost as if he had flipped a switch. He now radiated warmth and charm, the very image of a gentleman. Scott couldn''t help but think that if this version of Peter¡ªthe one who played the role of a polite, well-mannered man¡ªwere the real one, he might have even considered joining his pack. But the bitter truth remained: if Peter had truly been that man, Scott wouldn¡¯t be a werewolf right now.


    Peter extended his arm to Melissa, like a true gentleman.


    "Mum..." Scott blurted out, snapping out of his thoughts as the adults prepared to leave.


    "Yes, sweetheart?" Melissa asked, turning back to look at him. Her gaze was full of curiosity and concern, a silent plea not to ruin her first date in a long time.


    "Have a good time," Scott finally managed, struggling to keep his voice steady. He wanted to beg her to stay, to protect her from the danger she was walking into, but he couldn¡¯t tell her the truth, and nothing else came to mind.


    Both Peter and Melissa smiled warmly at him before they turned and walked out, disappearing into the deepening twilight.


    Scott rushed back to his room, momentarily startled to find Allison still sitting there, as if he''d forgotten she was waiting for him.


    "If you just stay, I swear... I''ll be right back. I just¡ªI just have to, um..." he stammered, pacing frantically around the room, looking for something with no coherent plan. "I wouldn¡¯t be doing this if it wasn¡¯t totally, incredibly important," he insisted, catching the way her lips tightened, and the disappointment flickered in her eyes.


    "It¡¯s okay," Allison responded, her voice quiet and resigned, as though this was exactly what she had expected all along.


    "No!" Scott objected, sitting down beside her, his eyes locked on hers. "I want to talk to you. There''s actually nothing I want to do more right now. Can you please stay? Please? I¡¯ll be right back."


    Allison hesitated, her uncertainty hanging in the air, but then she nodded, albeit slowly. Scott breathed a sigh of relief, thanking her before bolting out of the room, leaving her alone once again.


    She shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable, though the tears welling up in her eyes made it hard to sit still. The silence of the house pressed in on her as time dragged on.


    Annoyed by the prolonged wait, Allison glanced at her phone, checking the time. She sighed, rising from the bed, her movements slow and defeated. The screen of her phone lit up with a new message from her aunt: "We need to talk."


    Her heart sank further. The last thing she wanted was to go home and face her family, especially with everything she had been keeping inside. The thought of confronting them now, while still grappling with her own doubts and fears, felt overwhelming. She sank down to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest.


    Time passed, and she moved restlessly, her thoughts swirling. She wandered in and out of the bathroom, checked her phone over and over, and grew increasingly frustrated with herself, with her family, and with Scott.


    Eventually, the waiting became unbearable. Her frustration boiled over, and she stood up, exhaling sharply. Without a second thought, she walked to the door, her heart heavy with disappointment. She left Scott¡¯s room, closing the door quietly behind her as she left.


    ***


    Peter escorted Melissa to the car, a vehicle that had once belonged to his nurse. With an air of practiced chivalry, he opened the passenger door for her and helped her inside before slipping into the driver''s seat himself.


    Since regaining his senses and being "discharged" from the hospital, Peter had discovered a deep love of driving. After settling his business with Scott, he often indulged in long drives around Beacon Hills and its outskirts, savoring the freedom. He hadn¡¯t realized just how much he had missed the simple joy of being behind the wheel.


    As they drove, Melissa watched the passing neighborhood with growing unease. Peter, however, seemed completely at ease, occasionally casting curious glances in her direction, studying her as if trying to read her thoughts.


    "Everything okay?" he finally asked, his voice smooth and composed.


    "I don¡¯t know... I just feel like maybe we missed the turn for the restaurant?" Melissa replied, her concern genuine. It felt like they were heading further away from the town center, not closer. The look of fear on her son¡¯s face as she had left the house lingered in her mind, feeding her growing sense that something wasn¡¯t quite right.


    "Hm..." Peter furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "I¡¯ll pull over. We can map it on your phone."


    "Okay," she said, smiling nervously as she rummaged through her purse for her phone. Meanwhile, Peter parked the car at the curb behind a dark blue Chevrolet Chevelle¡ªa vehicle he had likely noticed outside the hospital earlier that day.


    As Melissa fiddled with her phone, checking the route, Peter watched her intently. His gaze lingered a bit too long, making her uneasy. She laughed softly, glancing up at him.


    "What?" she asked, looking away from the phone and meeting his eyes.


    "I was just noticing that you have the most incredible skin," Peter whispered, his voice low, as though this newfound observation entirely consumed him. His gaze never wavered, and he seemed oblivious to the discomfort his comment caused. "Flawless," he added, recalling the horrific burns that had once ravaged his own face, a reminder of the fire that had taken his family.


    "Hm..." Melissa muttered, a little thrown off by the odd compliment. "That¡¯s a new one on me," she said, feeling embarrassed as she turned her attention back to her phone.


    "Do you mind?" Peter asked suddenly, his hand halfway raised toward her face, drawing her focus back to him.


    Melissa froze for a second, unsure of how to respond as Peter¡¯s fingertips brushed against her cheek, trailing gently along her skin. He seemed fascinated by the small crow''s feet at the corners of her eyes¡ªsigns of her warmth and joy. A sudden shudder ran through her, one she couldn¡¯t control, and in that moment of unease, her phone slipped from her hands and fell to the floor.


    "Oh... I¡¯m sorry," she stammered, quickly leaning down to retrieve it, breaking the strange, intimate moment.


    Unbeknownst to her, Peter¡¯s eyes had flashed a bright red, his pupils dilating as his teeth lengthened and sharpened into wolf-like fangs. He found himself entranced, teetering on the edge of letting his predatory instincts take over. For a brief second, he was close¡ªso close¡ªto biting her.


    But then something slammed into the side of the car, jolting both of them upright and snapping Peter out of his trance. The abrupt impact broke the strange atmosphere that had settled between them, and the adults straightened in their seats, the unsettling moment they¡¯d shared now abandoned.


    Melissa checked the side mirror, but there was nothing visible. Unsettled by the noise, she got out of the car to investigate. Years of single-handedly raising Scott had ingrained in her the habit of taking charge when something needed doing. When she spotted the familiar blue Jeep that had collided with Peter''s car, her anger flared.


    "Are you kidding me? Stiles!" she yelled, seeing her son¡¯s best friend''s Jeep seemingly unscathed. She could only hope Peter¡¯s car had fared the same.


    "Mrs. McCall?" Stiles called out as he clambered out of his vehicle, his face a mixture of surprise and guilt. "Wow, this is¡ªthis is just crazy. What a coincidence, huh?" he laughed nervously, trying to diffuse the tension with his usual awkward charm.


    A short woman emerged from a nearby house, her puzzled expression matching the scene. She glanced at her own car, parked just a few meters away, which was thankfully untouched. She stood quietly, observing the growing commotion.


    "Nicely done, Scott," remarked Peter, who had gotten out of the car and was now exchanging a knowing look with the werewolf hidden nearby. The look in Peter''s eyes showed a silent appreciation for the strategy at play. "Really, not bad," he added, casting a glance at the Witch¡ªCharlotte Benoit¡ªwho was now part of the scene.


    "I mean, I don¡¯t know what happened! You guys just came out of nowhere..." Stiles babbled, his voice growing more frantic as he noticed the fury on Melissa¡¯s face, completely ignoring the approaching Alpha.


    "Came out of nowhere? We were parked on the side of the road, Stiles!" Melissa snapped, her anger boiling over.


    "How crazy is that?" Stiles chuckled nervously, his voice far too high-pitched for the situation.


    "I think we should call the police," Charlotte interjected coolly. "They¡¯ll need to file an accident report. And Stiles is clearly under the influence of alcohol. I¡¯ll have to report it to the school," she added, turning to Stiles, hoping her words would sink in.


    Melissa, only just noticing the redhead standing by, gave her a polite smile. Recognition flickered in her eyes¡ªshe knew Charlotte as Scott¡¯s teacher.


    "I don¡¯t think that¡¯s necessary," Peter said calmly, stepping closer to the group, his voice disarmingly soft.


    "Are you sure?" Charlotte¡¯s gaze sharpened as she looked at Peter, her tone skeptical. "The kid was either drinking or on something. It¡¯s not something we should just ignore."


    "I think I¡¯m feeling a little whiplash..." Stiles groaned dramatically, rubbing his neck and striking a theatrical pose.


    "There¡¯ll be something wrong with your neck when I strangle you with my own hands," Melissa growled, casting a dark glare at him.


    As the argument between Melissa, Stiles, and Charlotte heated, Peter, uninterested in the squabble, decided it was time to take his leave.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re there, Scott, and I¡¯m impressed.¡± He pitched his voice low enough that only Scott could hear it, and his words were meant for the young werewolf lurking nearby. Charlotte, sensing something, strained to catch his words, knowing that if a werewolf was nearby, Scott would have no trouble picking up on Peter¡¯s message. "It¡¯s too bad most teenagers aren¡¯t that smart. Take Jackson, for instance."


    The mention of Jackson chilled Charlotte. She knew Peter had something planned, and it was terrifying to think he might use Derek as part of it¡ªDerek, who had pulled away from her long ago. "Thinks he knows all about us," Peter continued with a smirk. "You know how they say ''Knowledge is power''? Not in his case."


    Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte spotted movement between the parked cars across the street. Her gaze sharpened, and she realized it was Scott. He must have understood Peter¡¯s thinly veiled threat and was rushing to protect his co-captain, Jackson.


    Deciding to act, Charlotte discreetly stepped away from the escalating argument, her mind racing. She shot a quick, subtle signal to Stiles, showing that he shouldn¡¯t let Melissa drive off with Peter under any circumstances. Stiles caught her hint, his expression turning serious for once as he nodded, determined to keep Melissa from leaving with the dangerous Alpha.


    ***


    The reverberating echoes of heavy rock and metal music pulsed through the locker room doors at Beacon Hills High School. Method of Mayhem''s "Fight Song" blasted from the iPhone speakers, perfectly matching the intensity of a teenager engrossed in a weightlifting session. Jackson, drenched in sweat, continued to push himself, adding more weights to the bar as he fought through the burn.


    Suddenly, the music cut off, yanking him out of his workout-fueled trance. He dropped the dumbbells onto the concrete floor with a loud clang.


    "What the hell?" Jackson growled, irritated by the abrupt interruption. He rose from the bench, heading toward where he had left his music player. "Hey!" he shouted when he noticed someone unfamiliar seated beside his speakers.


    "I like your taste in music," came a soft, almost casual response. The voice sent an involuntary shudder down Jackson¡¯s spine, though he quickly chalked it up to exhaustion. "Haven¡¯t heard this one in a long time." The man remained facing away as he picked up his phone, plugging it into the speaker slot.


    The haunting opening chords of "Lose Your Soul" by Dead Man¡¯s Bones filled the room¡ªan eerie contrast to the previous track. Jackson recognized it immediately, knowing it was a band fronted by Ryan Gosling, one of Lydia¡¯s favorite actors. When the man finally turned to face him, Jackson''s heart sank¡ªDerek Hale.


    "I¡¯m not scared of you!" Jackson shouted, trying to mask the tremor in his voice as he grabbed a nearby lacrosse racket for a semblance of protection. But both knew that the words were more for Jackson¡¯s own reassurance than a real declaration of defiance.


    Derek rose slowly from the bench, his movements deliberate. He approached Jackson, who, despite his physical stature, visibly trembled. The fear was palpable, radiating off the blond boy even as he tried to summon bravado.


    "I¡¯m not afraid," Jackson repeated, his breathing heavy, as if he had just run laps around the field.


    Derek¡¯s bitter smile barely reached his eyes. "Yes, you are. I can see it in you. I bet you haven¡¯t had a single day in your life where you weren¡¯t afraid of something. But... you won¡¯t have to be anymore." His voice softened into something almost inviting. "Not when you¡¯re one of us."


    For a moment, Jackson¡¯s lips curled into a smile, but it wasn¡¯t one of warmth or camaraderie. It was dark, twisted with malice and arrogance¡ªa smile that unnerved Derek, not out of fear, but because it was so out of place. It wasn¡¯t Scott¡¯s familiar friendly grin or even Stiles¡¯ lopsided smirk. This smile dripped with venom, as if Jackson relished the idea of something sinister.


    Derek commanded, ¡°Come with me,¡± turning and heading toward the door with the confidence of someone who knew he would be followed. Without hesitation, Jackson trailed after him, abandoning the locker room.


    Neither of them noticed Kate Argent lurking just around the corner of the hallway, her eyes gleaming with predatory satisfaction as she watched them. A self-satisfied smile curled at the edges of her lips, like a hawk circling its prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.


    The man led Jackson to his sleek black Camaro, and together they drove deep into the woods, heading toward the old, charred remains of the Hale house. It had been several days since Derek had last set foot there, and the air around the dilapidated structure seemed heavy with memories and regret.


    "This is it? This is the place?" Jackson asked, his voice trembling under the weight of Derek''s presence. He couldn¡¯t shake the unsettling tingling at the back of his neck, where the bite marks had yet to fully heal. Every step closer made his skin crawl.


    Derek nodded in response, his face unreadable. His expression, usually a window to his intentions, was now a mask of emotionless calm. There was something unnervingly dead in his eyes¡ªnone of the familiar intensity or purpose Jackson had seen before. It was as if all the life had drained from him, making the teenager even more nervous.


    "Is it safe? I don¡¯t want rafters falling on my head," Jackson hesitated, but his question was met with silence. Derek didn¡¯t bother to answer, and Jackson swallowed nervously, taking a tentative step onto the creaking porch. The wood groaned beneath his weight, and he could feel the tremor in his own hands as he reached for the doorknob. "What¡¯s in here?" he asked, casting a fearful glance back at Derek, who stood right behind him.


    "Everything you want," Derek said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Just go in there."


    The door creaked open, and Jackson felt Derek¡¯s firm hand land on his shoulder, holding him in place, ensuring there would be no escape. "It¡¯s gonna be all right," Derek muttered, his tone eerily calm. "Trust me."


    With a gentle but insistent push, Derek guided Jackson inside and closed the door behind them.


    "This house..." Jackson whispered, his eyes scanning the charred walls, a strange sense of familiarity creeping over him. Memories¡ªones he couldn¡¯t explain¡ªflooded his mind. "This is the same h-house..."


    "What¡¯d you say?" Derek asked, narrowing his eyes. He had heard the words clearly, but they made little sense. Jackson had never been here before¡ªhe would have known if he had.


    "I¡¯ve dreamt about this place," Jackson murmured, still staring at the stairs, his fingers absently brushing against the scratches on his neck. "I¡ªI remember the stairs," he gestured, pointing toward the twisted banister. "And these¡ªthese walls. Everything. It¡¯s all here."


    "You¡¯ve been here?" Derek¡¯s suspicion deepened, his brow furrowing. He would have recognized Jackson¡¯s scent if he¡¯d ever set foot in the house.


    "No, never," Jackson shook his head, his voice trembling. "I¡¯ve only dreamt about this place," he muttered, running his hand along the stair railing. But as he caught sight of the anger rising in Derek¡¯s face, he immediately went quiet. The shift in Derek¡¯s demeanor was palpable¡ªdangerous. "...There¡¯s no one else here?" Jackson asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Something told him that whatever was happening it was about to get much worse. "Nobody¡¯s coming?"


    Derek shook his head, his jaws clenched tight. Fury simmered beneath the surface, and his claws extended from his fingers. Derek knew that following his uncle Peter¡¯s orders would lead to trouble, but he felt trapped in the inescapable web he was caught in. If he didn¡¯t act, Peter would kill Charlotte, Scott, and who knows how many others.


    "Please don¡¯t," Jackson pleaded, backing away from the looming threat, stumbling down the stairs in his desperation. "I¡¯ll stay quiet, I swear. I¡¯ll never tell anyone anything. I¡¯ll leave Scott alone. Please, don¡¯t do this," he begged, his voice breaking into sobs, his fear now laid bare. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision, and he couldn¡¯t see whether Derek¡¯s resolve was weakening.


    "I don¡¯t deserve this," Jackson whimpered, the tears spilling freely now as his fear turned into panic. His vulnerability was raw, his bravado completely shattered.


    "I think you do, though," Derek muttered, trying to steady his own shaking hands, though he felt the weight of his words.


    "No!" Jackson wailed, his voice cracking as his emotions spilled over.


    "Look around!" Derek roared, his voice finally erupting with the pent-up anger he had been holding back. "Wouldn¡¯t there be someone here trying to save you? There¡¯s no one. There¡¯s a reason for that. No one cares that you drive an expensive car. No one cares that you¡¯ve got perfect hair. And no one cares that you¡¯re captain of the lacrosse team!" His voice rose with each sentence, the bitterness of every grievance dripping from his words, each one like a blade cutting deeper into the truth Jackson had tried so hard to avoid.


    "Excuse me," a resonant voice echoed around them. Both Jackson and Derek snapped their heads toward the stairs, where Scott now stood, his presence commanding attention. "Co-Captain." With effortless grace, Scott descended, landing between Jackson and Derek, his eyes flicking with concern toward his schoolmate. Jackson, startled by Scott''s transformed face, flinched, but Scott¡¯s attention had already shifted back to Derek, who was now fully in his werewolf form, growling, his readiness to strike clear but held at bay.


    "Move," Derek growled, his patience wearing thin.


    "No," Scott replied firmly.


    "Fine. I''ll kill you too," Derek shrugged, his electrifying blue eyes flashing with deadly intent.


    Just as the tension reached a boiling point, Charlotte rushed in between them, shouting, "Cover your eyes!" Her words were perfectly timed with the release of drawn chords and arrows that whizzed through the air.


    Without hesitation, the teacher threw herself in front of the most vulnerable¡ªJackson¡ªshielding him with her body. In the next instant, Derek¡¯s weight crashed onto her back as he dove to protect them both.


    Scott, however, had failed to heed Charlotte¡¯s warning. The blinding flash disoriented him, leaving him stranded in the middle of the corridor. A staccato of machine gun fire erupted, the bullets laced with aconite. Derek scooped Charlotte off the ground, his other arm securing Jackson, and shielded them from the deadly gunfire.


    "Run!" Charlotte commanded, her words laced with a subtle compulsion spell aimed at Jackson. "Quickly!"


    Jackson obeyed without hesitation, sprinting into the night. Charlotte''s heart sank when she spotted Scott slumped against the wall, bleeding, smoke rising from his wounds. Desperation crept into her eyes as she looked at Derek, silently pleading for guidance. She hadn¡¯t expected things to escalate like this¡ªshe believed words would be enough to defuse the situation.


    "Charlie," Derek growled into her ear, his grip on her tightening. "Get Scott out of here. Run. I''ll divert their attention."


    "They¡¯ll kill you," she objected, her voice low but filled with dread. There were no more options left, and she was well aware of that.


    "They want Peter. They¡¯ll use me as bait. I¡¯ll survive," Derek muttered, his voice full of determination. He pushed away from the wall, helping the injured Scott to his feet. With a last command, he urged, "Run!"


    Following Jackson¡¯s lead, Charlotte helped Scott, glancing back only once to see Derek in his full werewolf form, leaping through the front door into a hail of bullets. His roar echoed through the night, challenging the hunters.


    Jackson ran without looking back, fear driving him forward. Moments later, Scott stumbled out of the ruins of the Hale house, heavily supported by Charlotte, who struggled to keep the much larger teenager upright. They moved as quickly as they could, putting distance between themselves and the danger.


    The gunfire had ceased, and Charlotte feared it meant the hunters had captured Derek. Scott''s steps grew heavier, and he faltered, losing more blood with each staggering step. Charlotte, her arm still wrapped around him, grabbed her phone. She hesitated, unsure whom to call. Stiles was busy, and his father couldn¡¯t be involved. Peter was out of the question.


    She leaned Scott against a tree, her heart pounding. Closing her eyes, she blindly selected a contact, hoping for the best. When she opened her eyes, she realized she had called the vet. A bitter chuckle escaped her lips as she stole a glance at the injured teenager.


    "Well, you''re full of surprises," she murmured.


    Scott¡¯s lips moved soundlessly. He moistened them with his tongue, an ominous sign of his deteriorating condition. Charlotte leaned over him, still holding the phone to her ear.


    "Allison..." Scott mumbled weakly as Charlotte finally got through to Dr. Deaton.


    Within fifteen minutes, Deaton arrived. Together, they loaded the delirious teenager into his car and sped toward the clinic. In the healing room, Deaton worked methodically, extracting the aconite-laced bullets from Scott¡¯s body.


    "He¡¯ll be fine," Deaton assured Charlotte as he finished cleaning the last of the wounds.


    Charlotte focused on wiping the blood from Scott¡¯s skin as he gasped for breath, slowly regaining consciousness.


    "I wouldn¡¯t get up just yet..." Dr. Deaton cautioned as Scott stirred, trying to rise.


    "Where am I?" Scott asked groggily, his words slurred as his eyes rolled around the room, struggling to focus.


    "It¡¯s all right, Scott," Deaton reassured him. "I¡¯ve given you something to speed up the healing process."


    "But... you¡¯re a vet..." Scott croaked, his dry lips cracking as he finally focused on the man before him.


    "That¡¯s very true," Deaton smiled warmly. "And ninety percent of the time, I¡¯m mostly treating cats and dogs."


    "Mostly?" Charlotte raised a skeptical eyebrow, the tension in her face relaxing for the first time since the confrontation.


    "Mostly," Deaton repeated with a knowing smile, his calm demeanor sending a slight chill down Charlotte¡¯s spine. There was always more to the vet than met the eye, and today was no exception.


    ***


    The heavy metal door, worn by the ravages of time, swung open with a clatter and a creak, revealing a shadowy, dust-filled corridor. The air was thick, and the space exuded a foreboding atmosphere, reminiscent of the forgotten tunnels deep beneath New York. Kate strode forward with confidence, her movements fluid and deliberate. Behind her, Allison followed hesitantly, her eyes darting around as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings with growing apprehension.


    "What is this place?" Allison asked, her voice barely a whisper, the tension clear in her tone.


    "Let¡¯s start with the basics," her aunt replied, her tone casual as she glanced back at her niece. After a few long, echoing steps, they reached another door. Kate paused, turning to face Allison with a knowing look. "You know how every family has its secrets?" she asked, watching Allison¡¯s expression closely. Satisfied with her niece¡¯s reaction, she turned the handle and pushed the door open. "Ours is a little different."


    Allison leaned forward, peering over Kate¡¯s shoulder to catch a glimpse of the room beyond. The scene that greeted her was unsettling¡ªa dark, damp cellar illuminated by the faintest glimmer of moonlight filtering through a small, barred window. The light cast eerie shadows on the floor, giving the space an even more sinister edge.


    Kate stepped inside, momentarily blocking Allison¡¯s view. But what she could see made her heart race. Against one wall stood a bay of wrought iron fencing, behind which a crumbling wooden staircase rose from the floor, the stairs themselves charred and blackened¡ªremnants of a fire. Realization struck Allison hard and fast¡ªthey were standing beneath the ruins of the Hale house. The thought sent a chill down her spine, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady her trembling body.


    Despite the fear gnawing at her, curiosity pushed her deeper into the basement. Just then, Kate flicked on a spotlight, illuminating something previously hidden in the shadows.


    Allison¡¯s breath caught in her throat as her eyes met the glowing, unnatural blue of Derek Hale¡¯s eyes. But this wasn¡¯t the Derek she had known. He snarled viciously at them, his rage palpable. If Allison hadn¡¯t felt her aunt¡¯s gaze on her, she might have instinctively taken a step back, even though Derek was chained to the iron bars. Fury twisted his face¡ªhis eyebrows knotted, his forehead creased with anger. Allison hadn¡¯t been this close to him before, but she was certain his eye color was not natural. The deep, guttural growls that emanated from him sent shivers through her, reminding her of a wild animal trapped and desperate.


    The growls reverberated in her own chest, unsettling her even further, though he seethed with attention fixed entirely on Kate. His gaze burned with raw hatred. Allison turned her head slightly to look at her aunt, and what she saw made her gasp. Kate¡¯s face was alight with satisfaction, her smile dangerously close to gleeful. The cruelty in her eyes, coupled with the near-ecstasy she seemed to derive from Derek¡¯s suffering, sent a fresh wave of nausea through Allison.


    "Isn¡¯t he beautiful?" Kate asked, her voice dripping with a twisted admiration. She moved closer to Derek, trailing a finger over his bare chest. The touch sent him into another fit of rage, his roars echoing through the small, dank space.


    Allison stood frozen, her mind spinning. The Derek she knew was gone, replaced by this caged, furious creature¡ªand her aunt, once trusted, now appeared as monstrous as the werewolf she tortured.