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—a 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.