The stunned silence that followed Derek Hale's ultimatum hung thick and oppressive. Scott was frozen, his eyes open in a combination of fear and confusion. Who was this guy? How did he know all this stuff? Stiles, on the other hand, seemed to wilt, his customary sarcastic bluster abandoned for an unmistakable fear. He knew the last name "Derek Hale." He knew the awful, hushed history of the Hale family fire, of the terrible rumors that hung around the family like the stench of smoke.
Damien did not move, his gold-colored eyes locked on Derek, gauging the werewolf's raw power and searing intensity. He could smell the Alpha's one-track mind, his searing desire to catch what he was seeking. He could also smell the Alpha's deception, his instincts misguided on Damien as a prime suspect for the Alpha.
"What are you saying?" Scott finally managed to stammer, his voice reedy. "Who… who are you? And what Alpha?"
Derek's eyes, blazing with a familiar, smoldering fury, flashed from Damien to Scott, then back again, his face set in a mask of grim impatience. "Don't pretend like you don't know, McCall. Your scent is screaming out of control. Somebody bit you. And somebody murdered my sister, Laura. Somebody is the Alpha.". And I am going to determine who you are. And I am going to put a stop to whatever chaos you three have gotten yourselves into here." His eyes drilled into Scott. "You're drawing too much attention. If you don't get control, you're going to get yourself killed. Or worse."
He fixed his complete attention on Damien, his nostrils flaring, feeling the Lycan's huge, ancient power. "And you. You smell of something I've never smelt before. You smell like a natural Alpha, but. different. What are you? And what's your relation to the Alpha who bit him, or that cold, old smell I detected on you?"
Stiles, though shaken, managed to find a glimmer of his intelligence. "Look, Mr. Hale, sir, I believe there's been a little mix-up. We're just, you know, ordinary teens attempting to get our way through… uh… high school. And possibly some small supernatural mishaps. Nothing you should trouble your… brooding, deadly, werewolf self with.
Derek dismissed Stiles, his attention still fixed on Damien, then again on Scott. He could see the real confusion in Scott's eyes, the fear, and the overt holding back of information. He knew they were keeping something from him.
"Listen to me," Derek snarled, his voice falling to a menacing whisper, his eyes flashing red. "This is my territory. Whatever is going on here is my business. You will keep out of my way.". And if I discover you're in business with the Alpha, or these. *vampires*. in any capacity that endangers innocent individuals, I will take matters into my own hands." He swept his eyes across all three of them, his warning clear.
And then, with one last, lingering glance at Damien, Derek turned and exited the Sheriff's office as quietly as he had entered, leaving the door open, the cold of early morning seeping into the building.
Scott glared at the open doorway, his chest heaving, his heart pounding against his ribs. "What… what in the world just happened? Who was that man? How did he know about… everything?
Stiles slowly let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "That, Scott, was Derek Hale. The only surviving member of the Hale family. The ones whose house burned down years ago, killing his entire family. And who, according to local legend and my dad's slightly less public files, was either the victim or the cause of a whole lot of weird stuff. And clearly, he's… uh… still dealing with it. In a very Alpha-wolf-who-doesn't-know-who-the-Alpha-is kind of way." Stiles looked at Damien. "He thinks you're the Alpha, doesn't he? Or at least a really powerful contender."
Damien gave a slight nod. "His senses are acute. He detects a powerful, unfamiliar presence. He has been searching for the one responsible for the chaos. His instincts lead him to me."
Scott paced, threading a hand through his hair. "He's stalking the Alpha. And he believes it's. you? Or he believes we're in on it. What do we do? We can't inform him it's Peter, can we? Not if Peter's assisting us with the Darach, even though he's a monstrous mass killer."
Stiles bit his lip, considering. "No. Not at all. Derek and Peter… it's like combining nuclear waste with a black hole. Peter's cooperating, for the moment. And Derek is. well, Derek. If he finds out that Peter's the Alpha, it'll be war. And we'll be in the middle. We need Peter's intelligence against the Darach, and we have to take care of this Alpha business when the Darach isn't busy offering up people."
"Okay," Damien replied curtly. "His presence introduces another unknown factor. His pursuit of the Alpha is his own for now. Our priority is still the Darach."
The immediate panic of Derek's arrival faded, leaving in its wake a heightened sense of tension and secrecy. As the sun finally rose over the horizon, bathing the town in golden light, it seemed a cruel irony on their weary minds.
---
Later in the morning, the fluorescent buzz of Beacon Hills High School was a smothering blanket after the night's mayhem. Scott stumbled through the corridors, a zombie on adrenaline and the after-stench of supernatural terror. Sleep had been impossible. His body was sore, his senses were in hyper-drive, and the attempt to contain his Beta self from bursting through was like hauling a boulder up a mountain.
He hardly heard Mr. Harris's droning lecture in Economics, his thoughts running over Derek's dark words, the memory of the unpleasant werewolf burned into his brain. *"Your scent is out of control."* Scott did know. He could sense the wolf clawing its way to the surface, particularly when his feelings erupted. The terror at what he was, what he could do, was ever-present.
The sole bright spot, the sole thing that seemed even vaguely normal, entered his English class on that day.
The door groaned open, and a girl entered, her step assured, a pile of books pressed to her chest. She had dark, long hair, bright, inquiring eyes that took in the room, and a subtle perfume that, even in the school's many odors, soothed Scott's senses, a gentle, quiet buzz. She wasn't merely beautiful; there was a certain aura of quiet strength surrounding her.
Class, this is Allison Argent," the teacher said. "She's new to Beacon Hills, so please make her feel welcome.
Scott's breath caught in his throat. Allison Argent. The name sounded… right. He watched as she took an empty seat a few rows in front of him, her presence illuminating the drab classroom like a ray of sunshine. At least, for a moment, he forgot about werewolves, Darachs, vampires, and brooding Hales. There was only her: new face, new beginning.
Later, in the cafeteria, Scott spotted her at a table alone. Stiles, ever observant, nudged him. "Go on, dude. She's definitely checking out your lacrosse prowess. Or your messy hair. Either way, she's new, and you're, like, the only other person in this school with a functioning brain cell besides me."
Scott hesitated, his heart pounding. The thought of talking to her, of attempting something normal, felt both exhilarating and terrifying. What if his eyes flashed? What if his claws popped out? He was a werewolf now, a creature of the night, dealing with forces no human should ever encounter. How could he possibly connect with someone so… normal?
But as he watched her, a genuine smile played on her lips as she scrolled through her phone, and something in Scott urged him forward. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his heightened senses, trying to push the wolf down. This was a chance, a tiny flicker of hope for something good amidst the chaos.
He walked over to her table. "Hey. Uh, welcome to Beacon Hills High. I'm Scott."
Allison looked up, her smile widening slightly. Her eyes, a striking shade, met his, and Scott felt a jolt of connection, a strange sense of familiarity he couldn't explain. "Hi Scott. Thanks. It's… different here."
Yeah," Scott agreed, a nervous laugh escaping him. "Different is one word for it." He wanted to say more, to talk about the strange things that happen in Beacon Hills, but he bit his tongue. He had to keep his secret. He had to keep her safe.
Their talk was straightforward, naive, about settling into a new town and missing friends from home. But for Scott, it was a lifeline. In her company, the steady buzz of his werewolf senses died down, the fear of the Darach faded, and the burden of Derek's dire warnings was lifted, if only for a little while. It was a tenuous, hard-won normalcy.
Later that evening, the fragile peace was shattered. A frantic call came into the Sheriff's station, just as Scott and Stiles were trying to unwind after lacrosse practice. Another victim. Not a teacher, not a doctor. This time, it was a student from a rival school, found drained, ritually positioned near the outskirts of the Preserve. The Darach was escalating, striking closer, moving faster, and her malevolent purpose was becoming frighteningly clear.
And somewhere in the dark, Derek Hale prowled, the scent of an unknown Alpha growing stronger with every passing hour. He was getting closer to his prey, unaware that his target was far more complex, and far more entwined with Scott's world, than he could ever imagine.
---