The sun was setting by the time Scott McCall exited the grocery store, paper bags tucked under his arms, the wind carrying the scent of impending rain. His eyes flicked from side to side as a low growl tickled his ear—not from the wind, but something else. Something following him.
His heart rate spiked.
Footsteps. Soft. Measured. Predatory.
He sped up, clutching the groceries tighter, ducking behind parked cars and weaving through the lot. But the presence—the weight of eyes—remained on him. He rounded the corner, nearly sprinting toward where he thought he parked.
Then—
Wham!
He was tackled from the side, bags flying, milk spilling across the concrete.
"Seriously?!" Scott groaned, pinned to the ground, his hands restrained.
Above him, the piercing blue eyes of Derek Hale glinted in the dim light. He smirked.
"You're dead," Derek said simply.
Scott growled. "What the hell?! I could've been actually attacked!"
"That was the point," Derek replied, releasing him and standing tall. "You were. And you failed."
Scott stood and brushed himself off. "That wasn't fair."
"Neither is what the Alpha's going to do to you if you don't get it together," Derek snapped. "You want control? Then start training. Control comes through anger. Through dominance. You have to want it. You have to fight for it."
Scott stared, breathing hard. "You can't just—"
"And stay away from Allison," Derek cut in. "She's a distraction."
Before Scott could object, Derek plucked the phone from his pocket and snapped it in half with a loud crack.
"Hey!" Scott shouted. "That's my—"
"Now you won't be tempted to call her."
Scott fumed. "You think I can't stay away? Fine. Watch me."
Later That Night
Scott stood shirtless in Allison Argent's room, barely lit by the warm orange glow of her bedside lamp. His resolve to stay away had lasted… all of three hours.
Allison leaned closer, brushing her hand against his chest as she smiled. "You're acting strange."
"You think?" he muttered nervously.
They leaned in just as the sound of heels clicking approached down the hall. Scott panicked.
"Closet—now!" Allison whispered urgently.
Scott dove in, slamming the door shut just as Kate Argent walked in without knocking.
"Well, this is cozy," Kate said, glancing around.
"Just working on a project," Allison said quickly, flipping open a random book on her desk.
Kate smirked. "Homework? On your family?"
"Yeah," Allison nodded.
Kate reached into her coat and pulled out something small, silver, and old. She dropped it on the desk.
"A little something for your birthday," Kate said, her voice soft but laced with meaning. "Family heirloom."
Allison turned it over. It was a silver medallion engraved with a snarling wolf.
"It's from the French side," Kate said. "You should look up La Bête du Gévaudan sometime."
Scott, sweating in the closet, couldn't make out everything—just enough to realize he was definitely in the wrong house at the wrong time.
Kate eventually left. Scott slipped out with a whispered, "I'll text you," but as he got in his car, a low growl sent chills down his spine.
The Alpha.
Its shape was a blur in the shadows. Massive. It stalked toward him slowly.
Scott slammed the door and locked it.
The Alpha stepped forward, raising a single clawed finger and dragging it across the fogged-up window, carving a perfect spiral.
Scott froze, then tore away from the curb, his tires screeching in the night.
Beacon Hills – McCall Home
Scott burst through the front door, only to find Derek sitting on his couch.
"Did you follow me?!"
"When you saw the spiral," Derek said, standing slowly, "did it look like this?" He sketched it with his finger on the table's dust layer.
Scott nodded.
"That's his mark," Derek said grimly. "He's playing with you now."
"What does it mean?"
"I need to find out," Derek said, already heading for the door.
Next Morning – Beacon Hills High
Scott ducked down a hallway trying to avoid everyone, but his old friend wasn't about to let that happen.
"Hey!" Stiles Stilinski called, grabbing him by the hoodie. "Remember me? Best friend? Guy whose dad nearly got mauled because of you?"
Scott sighed. "Stiles—"
"You ignored every text, call, and scream I sent your way. Why?"
Scott hesitated. "It's complicated."
Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Complicated? Try life-threatening."
Scott finally confessed. "The Alpha left a spiral mark… on my car."
Stiles blinked. "Okay. You're forgiven. Let's figure this out."
Coach's Office – Lacrosse Field
Scott sat in a chair with a heart monitor strapped to his chest.
"This is the stupidest idea you've ever had," Scott said.
"Nope. That was letting you near Allison again," Stiles replied, grabbing a lacrosse ball launcher. "Control the heart rate. Control the wolf."
He fired.
Scott yelped.
Another shot.
His claws started to emerge.
"Stiles—"
"Breathe, man! Fight it!"
Finally, Stiles stopped the machine. Scott breathed heavily. Eyes glowing yellow.
From a distance, Jackson Whittemore watched, narrowing his eyes as he saw Scott rip the duct tape binding his wrists like it was tissue paper.
Beacon Hills Hospital – Evening
Malik leaned against the wall outside a patient room, arms crossed as he tried to filter the tangled scents within the building. The mix of antiseptic, blood, and sickened flesh muddled his senses. The Alpha had definitely come through here—more than once. But isolating it was another matter.
Just then, a blonde girl in a hoodie and leggings passed by. Something in her gait was off.
She collapsed.
Malik was at her side instantly, catching her before she hit the tile. Her amber eyes fluttered open in a haze of pain.
Without hesitation, Malik placed his hand on her forearm. His fingertips siphoning a sliver of her pain away. Her body settled, the seizure slowing. Nurses and an orderly rushed over.
"I got her," Malik said lowly as they lifted her gently.
She stared at him, confused, but grateful. She didn't understand what he'd done—only that her pain had suddenly receded. Malik gave her a soft smile.
"Take your meds," he murmured.
A hand clapped his shoulder. Derek.
"You good?" Derek asked.
Malik nodded, eyes flicking after the girl as she was wheeled away. "Yeah. Let's go."
Beacon Hills Hospital – Later That Night
Peter Hale's fingers twitched.