The alley behind Ridgemont Plaza was supposed to be a shortcut.
Scott had walked it a hundred times when he still lived in Mystic Grove. But tonight, something felt wrong — a pressure in the air, like static crawling along his skin.
He should've turned around.
"Hey!"
Three guys stepped out from the shadows behind the dumpster — high-school-age, older maybe, cigarettes dangling from their mouths, baseball bats in hand.
Scott froze.
"Pretty boy," one of them sneered. "Got anything worth sharing?"
Scott said nothing, fists curling. His heart started to race — not from fear, but from something... deeper. Animal.
Another thug stepped closer. "Quiet type. Let's loosen your tongue."
The bat swung.
Scott moved without thinking. Dodged. The weapon slammed into the bricks where his head had been.
He didn't feel afraid.
He felt hungry.
Another swing — another miss. His body was responding on instinct, faster than it should, eyes starting to burn with heat and light.
One guy grabbed his shoulder from behind, and Scott spun — snarled.
For a split second, the attacker recoiled. "What the hell—"
Scott could feel his skin ripple. His jaw ached, his nails sharpened, pupils stretching wide.
No, not now...
And then —
A blur.
A crash.
The third guy went flying into the dumpster with a crack.
The others barely had time to blink before they were both slammed into the concrete, groaning and unconscious.
Scott whirled around, breath ragged.
The figure that stood between him and the bodies was tall, dark-clad, and calm. His eyes glinted like amber under streetlight. His presence was... familiar. Alarmingly so.
"You were about to shift," the stranger said.
Scott's voice came rough. "Who the hell are you?"
The man stepped closer. "Name's Derek. Derek Fang."
"Are you a—?"
"Yes."
Derek tilted his head, studying him. "But I didn't bite you."
Scott stared at him, heart still pounding. "Then who—?"
"My brother did," Derek said. "On a full moon. He was tracking something that shouldn't exist. He found you instead."
Scott's stomach dropped. "So you knew. All this time."
"I've been keeping an eye on you since your scent changed." Derek stepped closer, slow, not threatening. "I stayed away because I hoped you wouldn't trigger. But now... you're too close."
Scott's voice cracked. "He bit me. He turned me. Why didn't he say anything?"
"Because he's dead," Derek said, and something in his voice cracked — just barely. "Killed by something that shouldn't be able to kill one of us. Whatever it was… it's not finished."
Scott staggered back, hands shaking. "Why me?"
"I don't know." Derek's eyes met his. "But you're not alone anymore."
There was something primal in that look — not pity, not control. Recognition.
"You and I are brothers now," Derek said. "Blood remembers blood."
Scott swallowed. His body still felt like it was burning from the inside, but beside Derek, the heat settled slightly. As if something ancient inside him recognized its own.
"I don't know what I'm doing," Scott whispered.
"I'll teach you," Derek said. "Before the wrong people find out what you are."
He offered his hand.
Scott took it.
And in that moment — standing in an alley with blood on the ground and stars watching overhead — Scott Tyson took his first step toward the beast he was