The Witch Vol.1 - Werewolves

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 Bête du Gévaudan."
"The Beast of Gévaudan? 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 Lozère, La Bête 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.
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.