Chapter 7: The Alpha's Interest
POV: Scott McCall
Two weeks of training had given Scott something he'd never experienced before: confidence in his own body. The constant fear of losing control during transformations had settled into manageable awareness, and he could shift partially without Derek hovering nearby like a supernatural paramedic waiting for disaster.
"Still feels weird though. Like I'm borrowing power that doesn't really belong to me."
The afternoon sun caught the lacrosse ball as it sailed toward the goal, and Scott's enhanced reflexes let him track its path with perfect precision. His stick met it at exactly the right angle, redirecting it past Jackson's guard with the kind of finesse that would have been impossible a month ago.
"Lucky shot, McCall," Jackson called, but his voice carried an edge that suggested luck had nothing to do with it.
Scott jogged back toward the center line, hyperaware of the way his teammates watched him. His improvement hadn't gone unnoticed—Coach Finstock was already talking about starting positions and scholarship potential, while Jackson's suspicious glares suggested a different kind of attention entirely.
"Great. Nothing draws positive attention like suddenly developing supernatural athletic abilities. I'm sure this won't cause any problems at all."
Practice ended with Coach's usual motivational yelling, and Scott was packing up his gear when he caught an unfamiliar scent drifting across the parking lot. Something wild and predatory, with undertones of smoke and old leather that made his wolf instincts snap to attention.
Derek emerged from the tree line at the edge of school property, his expression grim in a way that meant trouble. But he wasn't alone—another figure stepped out of the shadows behind him, moving with predatory grace that made Scott's enhanced hearing pick up the elevated heartbeats of nearby students.
"Red eyes. Alpha. The one who bit me."
Peter Hale looked exactly like Scott had expected and nothing like he'd feared. Instead of the savage monster from the preserve, Peter appeared almost civilized—expensive clothing, carefully styled hair, a smile that would have been charming if it didn't make Scott's teeth itch with wrongness.
"Scott McCall," Peter said, his voice carrying the kind of smooth confidence that made people trust him against their better judgment. "We really should talk."
Students were giving them a wide berth now, some unconscious instinct warning them away from the supernatural predators in their midst. Scott caught sight of Stiles and Allison hurrying across the parking lot, their expressions shifting from confusion to alarm as they recognized Derek.
"This can't be good. Alphas don't make social calls."
"Talk about what?" Scott asked, though his enhanced senses were already cataloging escape routes and potential threats.
"About your education. About the gifts you've been developing. About the fact that you're part of something much larger and more important than a high school lacrosse team."
Derek moved closer, positioning himself between Peter and the arriving teenagers.
"Scott, this is my uncle. Peter Hale. He's the Alpha who bit you."
"Uncle? Derek's uncle is the monster who attacked me in the woods? No wonder Derek has trust issues."
Stiles and Allison flanked Scott automatically, their bond letting them sense his emotional state even without direct contact. The moment they were in proximity, Scott felt the familiar settling sensation as their supernatural natures harmonized.
Peter's eyes tracked the subtle interaction with predatory interest.
"Fascinating," Peter murmured. "Even more connected than I'd hoped. Tell me, do you always move in perfect synchronization, or is that a recent development?"
"What do you want?" Allison asked, her voice carrying an edge that suggested she was prepared for violence despite her composed exterior.
"What I want, Ms. Argent, is to help you understand what you've become. What you're becoming. And what you're capable of achieving."
The use of Allison's last name made Scott's wolf bristle with protective fury. Peter knowing who they were, knowing their families, suggested surveillance that went far beyond casual interest.
"He's been watching us. Studying us. Planning this conversation."
"You see," Peter continued, settling onto the hood of a nearby car with casual disregard for property rights, "I didn't bite Scott at random. I was drawn to the preserve that night by an instinct I couldn't explain—an compulsion to find someone specific, though I didn't understand what or who I was looking for."
Derek's expression suggested he was hearing this information for the first time.
"What kind of compulsion?"
"The Nemeton," Peter said simply. "The ancient tree that serves as Beacon Hills' supernatural nexus. It guided me to Scott because it knew what his bite would trigger."
Scott felt Stiles and Allison's shock through the bond, along with a growing sense of unease about the implications.
"So I didn't get bitten by accident. I got bitten because some mystical tree wanted to activate a supernatural bond. That's either destiny or cosmic manipulation, and I'm not sure which is worse."
"You knew about the Triad," Stiles said, his voice tight with suspicion. "Before we even knew what we were."
"I suspected. And once I confirmed it..." Peter's smile took on a predatory quality. "Well, let's just say I've been doing research. Extensive research."
"Research into what?"
Peter pulled out his phone and showed them an image that made Scott's blood run cold. Ancient text, illuminated manuscripts, drawings of three figures whose eyes glowed with familiar colors.
"Historical Triads. Their abilities. Their accomplishments. Their... failures."
The word 'failures' carried weight that suggested stories Scott definitely didn't want to hear.
"He knows things. Things that Deaton hasn't told us, things that Derek can't teach us. And he's offering to share."
"What do you want in exchange?" Allison asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter with hunter instincts that had apparently awakened alongside her other abilities.
"Nothing too dramatic. Occasional access to study your bond. Small favors to be specified later. Think of it as a mutually beneficial research partnership."
Derek stepped forward, his protective instincts clearly warring with family loyalty.
"Scott, don't listen to him. Peter manipulates people—it's what he does. Whatever he's offering, the cost will be higher than he's admitting."
"But Derek," Peter said with mock hurt, "you're trying to train Scott as a normal beta when he's clearly anything but normal. How's that working out? Are you able to explain why his magic-using friend there can't control his spark? Can you tell the young hunter what she's actually becoming?"
The questions hit their marks with surgical precision. Derek's training methods were struggling with their unique situation, and Peter clearly knew it.
"He's right. Derek doesn't understand what we are any better than we do. But Peter's studied it. Peter knows."
"Don't you want to understand why Stiles' magic manifests as chaos?" Peter asked, directing his attention to the teenager whose eyes had begun flickering purple in response to emotional stress. "Don't you want to know what kind of supernatural creature Allison is transforming into? Don't you want to learn how to use your abilities together instead of fighting to control them separately?"
The offer was tempting in a way that made Scott's chest ache with want. Answers. Understanding. Knowledge that could help them navigate the supernatural world without constantly stumbling in the dark.
"But this is Peter Hale. The monster who nearly killed me. The predator who—"
A scream cut through the parking lot like a blade.
Not a normal teenage scream of surprise or delight, but something primal and terrified that made every supernatural creature in the vicinity freeze with recognition.
Lydia Martin stood in the school hallway, visible through the main entrance, her hands pressed to her temples as her mouth opened in a wail that carried harmonics no human throat should produce.
"Banshee," Peter whispered, his eyes lighting up with fascination. "Perfect."
The trio moved as one, their bond pulling them toward someone who clearly needed help. But as Scott reached the entrance, he heard Peter call after them.
"Think about my offer, Scott. Because that girl's scream means someone's going to die. And without proper training, it might be one of you."
The hallway around Lydia had cleared like she was radioactive, students backing away with the kind of instinctive fear that suggested they could sense something wrong even if they couldn't identify it. She stood near her locker, swaying slightly, her usually perfect composure shattered as she stared at something only she could see.
"Death vision. She's seeing someone die."
Scott's enhanced hearing caught fragments of her whispered words—names he didn't recognize, locations that sounded familiar but wrong, and underneath it all, a countdown that made his blood run cold.
"Lydia," Allison said softly, approaching with the kind of caution usually reserved for wounded animals. "Lydia, can you hear me?"
"Three days," Lydia whispered, her voice carrying echoes that belonged in empty churches. "Three days and someone dies. Someone close. Someone..." Her eyes focused on the trio with terrifying clarity. "Someone who matters to you."
When Allison touched Lydia's arm to steady her, both girls gasped as power arced between them.
For a split second, Scott felt the electric shock through his bond with Allison—not painful, but startling in its intensity. And in that moment, Lydia's eyes flashed the same purple as Stiles' spark.
"She's connecting to us. Whatever she is, whatever abilities she has, they're trying to link with our bond."
The vision hit all four of them simultaneously—a flash of memory that belonged to none and all of them. Eight years old, standing in a forest clearing, but there were four children instead of three. A blonde girl with serious eyes and perfectly styled hair, reaching out to join their circle before—
Nothing. The memory cut off abruptly, leaving them staring at each other in confusion.
"Lydia was there. She was part of the original ritual, but something happened before she could complete it."
Lydia collapsed.
Scott caught her before she hit the floor, his werewolf reflexes faster than conscious thought. Her breathing was shallow but steady, and her heartbeat suggested unconsciousness rather than anything immediately life-threatening.
"Call 911," Allison said, but Stiles was already pulling out his phone.
In the chaos that followed—paramedics arriving, teachers trying to manage crowd control, parents being notified—none of them noticed Peter and Derek disappearing into the evening shadows.
The hospital waiting room smelled like disinfectant and fear, two scents that Scott's enhanced senses found particularly unpleasant in combination. Lydia had been unconscious for three hours, and the doctors were attributing her collapse to stress and exhaustion despite having no medical explanation for what had actually occurred.
"They can't exactly put 'supernatural vision' on a medical chart."
Stiles paced near the windows with nervous energy that made the fluorescent lights flicker intermittently. Allison sat beside Scott, their fingers interlaced in a way that provided comfort and stability through the bond.
"She knew us," Allison said quietly. "In that vision, she was part of whatever we did as children."
"But she wasn't part of the blood pact," Stiles added. "Something pulled her away before she could complete the ritual."
Scott's phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: The girl is awakening because your bond is calling to her. She was meant to be the fourth corner. Think carefully about what that means. - P
"Peter. He's still watching, still manipulating. And now he knows about Lydia's connection to us."
"What are you going to do about Peter's offer?" Allison asked, apparently reading his emotional state through their link.
"I don't know. Part of me wants to tell him to go to hell and leave us alone. But..."
"But he knows things we need to know," Stiles finished. "Things that could help Lydia, could help all of us understand what's happening."
"And the cost?"
Scott looked at his friends—his pack, his soul-bound family—and felt the weight of decisions that would affect all their futures.
"Whatever Peter wants from us, it's not going to be simple favors. Alphas don't offer help without expecting something significant in return."
Before he could voice his concerns, a nurse approached with news that Lydia was awake and asking for them specifically.
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