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 façade 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—a 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 façade. However, when she noticed Derek's gaze lingering on her own car—a 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle—her 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—a 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.