CHAPTER 13 – "Consequences"
I woke up feeling like I'd been hit by a truck.
It didn't hurt exactly—there were no physical injuries. But my entire body felt heavy, as if every muscle had been pushed past its limits and was now demanding payment.
I opened my eyes slowly. Sunlight streamed through the window, bright and comforting.
No moon.
I took a deep breath, letting that realization sink in.
I survived. I made it.
I sat up in bed and turned to look out the window. The sun was rising, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. A new day. Normal. Human.
But there was also… a strange emptiness. Like something was missing. The presence of the moon, the constant pressure, was gone, and now there was only… silence.
I dragged myself to the bathroom and turned on the light.
My reflection in the mirror looked exhausted. Dark circles under my eyes. Messy hair. But no physical marks. No evidence of what I had been through.
I held my hands up in front of my face. They trembled slightly—fatigue, not fear.
I closed my eyes. Breathed. And tested it.
Shift.
My eyes snapped open—amber burning back at me in the mirror.
I held it for five seconds. Then let it fade.
Brown again. Human again.
The control is still there. Good.
The kitchen was busier than usual for a Saturday morning.
My entire family was already awake—which told me no one had slept much.
My mom was making coffee, but not her usual amount. There was a full pot on the counter, steam rising, the strong smell filling the kitchen.
My dad sat at the table with a mug, studying scattered papers—notes, diagrams, something that looked like an old map.
And Marcus sat across from him, coffee in hand, staring out the window toward the forest beyond.
They all turned when I walked in.
"Good morning," my mom said, smiling, though concern was clear in her eyes. "How do you feel?"
"Exhausted," I admitted, dropping into a chair. "But okay. I… I managed."
My dad leaned forward, something like pride shining on his face.
"You did more than manage," he said warmly. "You kept control all night. During your first full moon. That's… extraordinary, Daniel."
Marcus nodded, taking a sip of coffee. "Most Lupaztlán struggle for years to reach that level of control. You did it in weeks."
"It doesn't feel extraordinary," I muttered. "It feels… exhausting."
"It's both," my mom said gently, setting a mug of coffee in front of me. "And today? School?"
I paused, the mug halfway to my lips.
School. Where Scott would be. And Stiles.
"Marcus told me," I said slowly, "that they know. About you. And Stiles put the pieces together about me."
Marcus nodded. "The kid's smart. Very smart. He figured out who you were almost immediately."
My stomach tightened. "Are they going to… avoid me now? Because they know what I am?"
My mom came to sit beside me, her hand finding mine.
"Or," she said softly, "they'll need a friend who understands."
[McCall House – 10:00 AM]
Scott woke up to the sound of something tapping against his window.
He groaned, every muscle protesting as he sat up. Everything hurt. Like he'd run a marathon, fought a bear, and then been thrown off a cliff.
But he was alive.
And—his mind processed slowly—he hadn't hurt anyone.
Another tap on the window.
"SCOTT!" Stiles' muffled voice. "Open the window before I fall!"
Scott dragged himself out of bed, every step agony, and opened it.
Stiles practically tumbled inside, all awkward limbs.
"DUDE!" He straightened up, a huge grin on his face. "You survived!"
"You're surprised?" Scott asked, collapsing back onto the bed.
"Honestly? A little." Stiles dropped into the computer chair. "But, like, happy-surprised! You did it! You controlled it! You didn't kill me!"
"I thought I would," Scott admitted quietly. "When I felt the change starting, when everything went… wild… I thought I was going to lose it and hurt you."
"But you didn't." Stiles leaned forward, his expression serious now. "The anchor worked, Scott. I worked. We worked."
Scott managed a small smile. "We worked."
There was a moment of silence. Then Scott spoke again, hesitant.
"That guy. Marcus. He said he was… Lupaztlán?"
"Bone Wolf," Stiles confirmed, clearly having done a lot of research since last night. "Werewolf–berserker hybrid. Created by druids using Aztec magic like a thousand years ago."
"And Daniel…"
"He's his nephew. Also got attacked by Peter. Almost died. The Lupaztlán lineage woke up and saved his life."
Scott processed that, memories of the past week rearranging themselves in a new light.
"That's why he helped us," he said slowly. "The research. The chains. The anchor advice. He knew what was coming."
"But he couldn't say anything," Stiles added. "Without revealing what he was. Without exposing his whole family."
"He could've warned me," Scott said, hurt creeping into his voice. "About everything."
"And would you have believed him?" Stiles asked gently. "If some guy you barely knew walked up and said, 'Hey, you got bitten by a werewolf, you're gonna turn on the full moon'?"
Scott went quiet. "…No."
"Exactly. He helped the only way he could." Stiles paused. "And it worked. You're here. In one piece. You didn't kill anyone. That's a win, man."
Scott looked down at his hands—human now, though he remembered the claws, the fur, the change.
"Do you think he'll want to talk to us?" he asked eventually. "Now that we know?"
Stiles grinned. "Only one way to find out. School on Monday."
"MONDAY?!" Scott groaned. "I can barely move!"
"Welcome to the life of a teenage werewolf," Stiles said cheerfully. "Now get up. Your mom made breakfast and she's gonna get suspicious if you stay in bed all day."
I spent the rest of Saturday at home, recovering.
My mom insisted I eat—a lot. Apparently, Lupaztlán regeneration burned calories like a furnace, and I was running on empty.
Marcus spent the afternoon with me, not training, just… talking.
About his first full moon. About the mistakes he made. About how it took years to achieve real control.
"You did better than I did," he admitted at one point, sitting with me in the backyard as the sun set. "On my first full moon, I fully transformed. Complete combat form. My family had to physically restrain me."
"But you learned," I said.
"Eventually." He smiled. "And you'll learn faster. Because you already understand something that took me years to accept."
"What?"
"That it's not about fighting the wolf," Marcus said. "It's about working with it. You and the wolf are the same person. Not enemies. Partners."
I let that sink in, feeling the truth of it.
"Monday," I said eventually. "School. Scott and Stiles will be there."
"You're nervous."
"Terrified."
Marcus laughed. "Good. That means you understand the risks."
"What advice do you have?"
He thought for a long moment.
"Listen more than you speak," he said finally. "Let them come to you. Don't force it."
"And if Stiles has questions?"
"He'll have a thousand." Marcus smiled. "Be honest. But careful. Don't reveal everything at once."
"And Scott?"
Marcus' expression softened. "Scott needs someone who understands. Be that person. He's alone, scared, and has no idea what's happening to him. You can help."
At that moment, my dad appeared at the back door, his expression serious.
"There's something you need to know," he said, joining us. "Chris Argent."
My whole body tensed. "The hunter?"
"Marcus left tracks," my dad continued. "In the forest. To and from the warehouse. Big. Heavy. Wide-spaced."
"Damn," Marcus muttered.
"Argent will investigate," my dad said. "Probably already is. And when he does, he'll find evidence of something big. Something that isn't a normal werewolf."
The implication hung heavy in the air.
Hunters knew there was something in the forest now. They didn't know what yet.
But they would.
Monday came too fast.
I woke up early—not by choice, but because my body was so used to training at 5 a.m. that it refused to sleep in.
I lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, my heart beating faster than it should.
They know. Scott and Stiles know what I am.
How will they react? Will they treat me differently? Be afraid of me?
Eventually, I forced myself up, showered, got dressed.
Jeans. Plain T-shirt. Denim jacket. Normal. Human.
I went downstairs and found my mom in the kitchen, making breakfast.
"Ready?" she asked gently.
"No," I admitted. "But I'm going anyway."
She came over and hugged me tightly.
"You'll be fine," she whispered. "You're strong. Stronger than you think."
"And if they hate me?"
"Then they're idiots," she said firmly. "And you deserve better friends."
That made me smile despite everything.
The Beacon Hills High parking lot was starting to fill up when I arrived.
I parked farther away—avoiding crowds, giving myself time to breathe.
And then I saw them.
Stiles' blue Jeep pulled into the lot, music blasting from the windows.
He parked not far from me. The passenger door opened and Scott stepped out, moving slowly, visibly sore.
Our eyes met across the parking lot.
A frozen moment. Neither of us moving.
Other students passed between us, oblivious to the tension, to the importance of that moment.
Is he coming over? Should I go to him?
Stiles decided for us.
"DANIEL!" he waved wildly. "Get over here!"
Scott tensed but didn't back away.
I took a deep breath. And walked.
When I reached them, the silence was almost tangible.
"Hey," I said. Too formal. Awkward.
"Hey," Scott echoed.
More uncomfortable silence.
Stiles looked between us, incredulous. "Seriously? You two? We literally survived a full moon together and you're doing this?"
"I don't know what to say," I admitted.
"Me neither," Scott said at the same time.
Stiles sighed dramatically. "Okay, I'll start. Scott, this is Daniel. Daniel, Scott. You're both supernatural. You were both attacked by Peter Hale. You both survived your first full moon. DONE. Introductions complete. Now be friends."
Despite everything, I laughed. And Scott did too.
The tension cracked, just a little.
"Your uncle," Scott said, his voice softer now. "Marcus. He… helped. Friday night."
"I know. He told me."
"You went through it too? The first full moon?"
"Yes," I said. "But different. Lupaztlán don't transform involuntarily."
"Lucky," Scott said, bitterness in his voice.
"No. Just… different." I met his eyes. "It's still hard. It still hurts. I still fight it every day."
Something shifted in his expression. Like he'd expected me to say it was easy.
"You fight it?" he asked.
"Every day," I repeated. "Every interaction. Every strong emotion. Every time someone scares me or pisses me off. I have to fight not to change, not to let my eyes shift, not to show what I am."
Scott was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded slowly.
"Thank you," he said softly. "For that. For… being honest."
The bell rang, breaking the moment.
"Lunch," Stiles declared. "Back table in the cafeteria. Relative privacy. You two are gonna actually talk."
"Okay," Scott agreed.
"Okay," I echoed.
We walked toward the building together, the three of us, and something in my chest loosened.
Maybe it would be okay.
The morning dragged.
History with Mr. Harris was particularly ironic—he was lecturing about territorial wars and resource conflicts.
The irony wasn't lost on any of us.
Scott sat three rows ahead, clearly struggling to stay awake. His head dipped every few minutes before he jerked back up.
Stiles sat beside me, scribbling notes that probably had nothing to do with the lesson.
Between classes, I saw Jackson pass Scott in the hallway.
He "accidentally" shoved him harder than necessary.
"Watch it, McCall," Jackson sneered. "You look dead."
Scott growled—literally growled—low but audible.
Jackson stopped, confusion crossing his face. "What was that?"
Stiles stepped in immediately, placing himself between them.
"Nothing! He's just sick! Really bad cough! Super contagious! You don't want it! Come on, Scott!"
He dragged Scott away, but not before I saw Scott's eyes flash gold for a split second.
He's losing control. In public.
That's dangerous.
When lunch finally arrived, the three of us met at the most isolated table in the cafeteria—the back corner, away from most traffic.
Food trays sat in front of us, but no one really ate.
Scott spoke first.
"You knew," he said. Not accusing. Just stating a fact. "From the beginning."
"Yes," I admitted.
"How?"
I chose honesty. If we were going to be allies—friends—it had to start with truth.
"Because I'm Lupaztlán," I said. "My whole family is. We're born this way. It's hereditary."
"And when Peter attacked me," I continued, "the lineage woke up. It had been dormant my whole life, but the attack… activated it. Saved my life."
Stiles leaned forward. "'Bike accident.' That was Peter."
"It was. He thought I was easy prey. Almost worked."
"But you survived," Stiles said. "And became… this."
"I didn't become anything. I always was. Just… asleep."
Scott was quiet, processing. Then he said, his voice heavy with hurt:
"You could've warned me. About the full moon. About everything."
I took a deep breath. "And how? 'Hey Scott, you got bitten by a werewolf, you're gonna turn on the full moon'?"
"Would you have believed me?" I asked gently.
Scott went silent. Then, reluctantly: "…No."
"And I had to protect my family," I continued. "If hunters found out what we are, if they traced us…"
"Hunters," Stiles said, understanding dawning. "Like the Argents."
I nodded. "Exactly. My species was hunted almost to extinction. Druids, hunters, other supernaturals. Everyone wanted us dead."
"I couldn't risk exposing my parents. My uncle. They sacrificed everything to keep me safe."
Scott finally looked directly at me.
"So you helped the way you could," he said slowly. "Without revealing yourself."
"I tried. The research with Stiles. The chains. The advice about emotional anchors. It was all I could do without exposing us."
"It worked," Scott said, something softening in his voice. "I didn't hurt anyone. I didn't kill anyone."
"Because you're strong," I said sincerely. "And you had Stiles. He was your anchor. That's… powerful."
A moment of understanding passed between us. The tension, the mistrust, began to fade.
We weren't strangers anymore. We were…
Allies. Maybe even friends.
"So!" Stiles broke in, clearly unable to hold back any longer. "Powers! You have bone armor?!"
I laughed despite myself. "Seriously?"
"OBVIOUSLY seriously! That's awesome! And terrifying! Awesomely terrifying! Can I see it? Just a little?"
"Stiles," Scott warned.
"What? I'm curious! It's a condition!"
I glanced around—the cafeteria was crowded, but our table was isolated. Still…
"Not here," I said. "But… maybe someday. Somewhere private."
"YES!" Stiles slammed the table. "This is amazing!"
Scott shook his head, smiling. "You're impossible."
"It's part of my charm."
[Forest – Area Near the Warehouse]
Chris Argent knelt on the forest floor, studying tracks.
He'd come alone—leaving Kate and the rest of the family at home. This was reconnaissance, not a hunt.
Yet.
The tracks were… wrong.
Too large. Too deep, indicating excessive weight. And spaced in a way that suggested long, unnatural strides.
He took photos with his phone, documenting everything.
There were multiple sets of tracks. Some looked normal—probably Derek Hale, he suspected. The last known Hale in Beacon Hills.
But the others…
Chris followed the deeper trail, using a stick to push aside undergrowth.
A broken branch. Fifteen feet off the ground.
Something big had passed through here. Big enough to snap a branch at that height.
Farther on, he found marks on a tree. Deep. Parallel.
Scratches. Claws.
But not werewolf claws. Wrong. Too deep. Too wide.
His phone buzzed. A text from Kate.
"Find anything?"
Chris hesitated, then replied.
"Yes. You need to see this."
"On my way."
He kept investigating, taking more photos, collecting hair samples snagged on bark.
Twenty minutes later, Kate arrived.
She moved through the forest with predatory grace, hunter training evident in every step.
"Show me," she said without preamble.
Chris guided her through the tracks, the broken branches, the claw marks.
Kate examined everything methodically, occasionally kneeling for a closer look.
Finally, she stood and looked at Chris.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"It's not a werewolf," Kate said with certainty. "At least not a normal one."
"Have you ever seen anything like this?"
Kate was silent for a long moment. Then:
"Once. In the archives. Very, very old ones."
"What archives?"
"Family. Europe. 1600s." She knelt again, touching one of the deep tracks. "There's a name. Latin. Lupus Osseum."
Chris frowned. "Bone Wolf?"
"Something like that." Kate stood, brushing dirt from her hands. "Supposedly extinct for centuries. Hunted to death by druids and hunters working together."
"Supposedly," Chris echoed.
Kate smiled—a dangerous expression Chris knew all too well.
"Looks like Beacon Hills just got interesting, little brother."
"Kate—" Chris started, warning in his tone.
"Relax," she cut in. "I'll just observe. For now."
She looked toward the town, eyes narrowing.
"Let's see what else is hiding here."
[School Exit – 3:30 PM]
The day ended and I found myself in the parking lot with Scott and Stiles.
The afternoon was sunny and warm—completely different from the cold night of Friday.
"Your uncle," Scott said as we walked toward our cars. "Marcus. He offered help. If I need it."
"If you need it," I confirmed, "he knows a lot. Centuries of family knowledge. He can help in ways Derek can't."
"Derek is trying," Scott said, a little defensive.
"I know. And he's good," I said honestly. "But Marcus has experience with control, with transformations, with all of this that Derek… never had time to develop."
Scott considered that. "Like a private tutor?"
"Something like that."
Stiles snorted. "Private werewolf tutor! Except you're a bone-wolf. Bone-wolf tutor! That sounds wrong but also amazing!"
"You're impossible," Scott said, smiling.
"It's literally impossible for me not to be amazing."
We laughed—the three of us—and something warm settled in my chest.
Friends. I have friends who know the truth.
Scott grew serious. "Thank you," he said. "For last night. For trying to help even when you couldn't say it directly."
"Always," I said sincerely. "We… we have to look out for each other, you know? Us supernaturals. Because no one else will."
"Us," Scott repeated. For the first time truly accepting it. "Yeah. Us."
An unspoken promise passed between the three of us.
We'd back each other up. Protect each other's secrets. Be allies in this strange, dangerous world.
Allies.
And maybe, eventually, real friends.
[Forest – Dusk]
Kate Argent was alone now, Chris having returned to town.
She walked through the area where the tracks were densest, phone in hand, taking her own photos.
Not for documentation. For comparison.
When she returned to the family arsenal, she would check the archives. The really old ones. The ones her father kept locked away because "no one needed to know about those extinct things."
But if they were extinct, why keep the files?
She smiled as darkness crept in.
The hunt was getting interesting again.
Beacon Hills had werewolves—she knew that. Derek Hale, most likely. And now apparently a new beta as well.
But this… this was different.
Lupus Osseum. Bone Wolf. Lupaztlán.
The words echoed in her mind, memories of dusty files she'd secretly read as a child.
Creatures created by druids. Stronger than werewolves. More dangerous.
And apparently not as extinct as everyone thought.
"Welcome to Beacon Hills," she murmured to the forest. "Let's see how long you survive."
She turned and headed back to her car, already planning.
Observation first. Understand what she was hunting.
And then…
Well.
Then would come the fun part.
[Moreno House – Night]
We ate dinner in relative silence, all of us processing the day.
Eventually, my dad broke it.
"How was it?" he asked. "With Scott and Stiles?"
"Good," I said—and it was true. "Better than I expected. We… talked. Really talked. And I think… I think it's going to be okay."
My mom smiled, relieved. "I told you."
Marcus was quieter, staring thoughtfully at his food.
"What?" I asked.
"Chris Argent," he said. "Was in the forest today. Examining tracks."
My stomach tightened. "Yours?"
"Yes. And he probably found enough evidence to know it wasn't a normal werewolf."
"But he doesn't know what it is," my dad added quickly. "Not yet."
"Kate knows," Marcus said darkly. "Or will soon. She's more dangerous than Chris. More impulsive. Less rational."
"And now?" I asked.
"Now," Marcus said, "we act like nothing has changed. You go to school. We work. We live our lives."
"And when they find out?"
"If they find out," my mom corrected gently.
"When," Marcus insisted. "Kate is persistent. She'll investigate. And eventually, she'll find something."
Heavy silence.
"And when she does?" I pressed.
Marcus met my eyes. "Then we deal with it. Together. As a family."
"But for now," my dad said, "caution. Always caution."
I went to my room afterward, exhausted but restless.
I sat on my bed and checked my phone. A message from Stiles.
"Hey! Study group tomorrow after school? (Code for: supernatural talks without being overheard)"
I smiled and replied.
"I'm in."
Another text, this one from Scott.
"Thanks. For today. For being honest."
I replied simply:
"Always."
I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
A week ago, I was alone. Hiding everything. Terrified of being discovered.
Now…
Now I had allies. Friends who knew the truth.
But I also had hunters investigating. Kate Argent, specifically—someone known for shooting first and asking questions later.
A week ago, I survived my first full moon.
Now I had to survive what came next.
I closed my eyes, letting exhaustion finally pull me under.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges.
But for today—for this night—I had done something that felt impossible.
I told the truth. And I wasn't rejected.
I had friends who knew what I was.
And against all odds, against all fear…
Maybe everything would be okay.
Let's see how long the peace lasts.