Hope Andrea Argent

Omega (Part 1)

The moon. Two, maybe three days from being full. Strangely, the image of the glowing sphere ripples as if made out of liquid.

Then the reflection breaks apart and Jackson Whittemore bursts up from the freezing cold water of a creek.

He sucks in gulps of air as he splashes about. Shirt ripped, it hangs in tatters from his pale body.

Then he seems to remember something. Hand moving to his side, he twists around to feel the skin at his lower back.

Where he was bitten by Derek, there was not a single scratch or drop of blood. It had healed.

He gazes on it with a kind of reverence, and then he looks up a smile spreading across his face.

Change Of View

Beneath the nearly full moon, down past the winter-bare branches of Beacon Hills's woods, not a blade of grass stirs in the peculiar quiet. Until deer burst out of the darkness.

Hooves pounding leaves to dust, the frightened animals scatter to reveal a dark figure behind them, moving with a speed that can only be described as supernatural.

Charging out of the woods and into shadowy streets, the figure races faster and faster down through the dark, puddle-strewn alleys of the town's industrial sector into a suburban backyard where a barking dogs races out, snapping against its chain and then bounding toward the street, looking as if to collide with oncoming cars. But then a foot touches down on the roof of a truck.

Scott McCall, not transformed, but still using his werewolf abilities as he lopes on his bare hands, seemingly racing for his life. But when his palms push off the ground, he blinks and he's pulled into a memory that only three days previously, the day after they beat the Alpha and Scott got a haircut.

He sees himself. Somewhere in daylight. Kissing Allison Argent. Lips moving from her mouth to her neck.

Scott's feet hit the ground, yanking him back to the present. But with another blink, he flashes again to the past.

Pressed tightly inside the car, Allison draws Scott closer. Hands pulling her shirt up, they kiss ever more urgently as glass explodes inside the car, raining down on them. Allison screams as something yanks Scott through the window.

Slamming to the hood of the car, Scott barely has a moment to gasp when a hand wraps around his throat.

It's Chris Argent, Allison's father, nearly strangling him with one hand while the other aims the barrel of a Desert Eagle at his head. Choking, Scott blinks back to the present.

He charges forward while the memory of Allison's frightened protests ricochet through his mind.

"No! Don't! Don't!" Allison begged, trying to pull her father back,"You can't. He saved our lives. Your life. You can't do this," She continued, but Chris wasn't listening to reason,"Let him go and--I'll do whatever you want. And--and I won't see him again. I promise, Ever again, Dad. Please!'

Finally withdrawing the gun, Argent releases Scott, looking at his daughter,"Never again!"

Blinking back to the present, Scott bounds off the roof of a garage and soars right through Allison's bedroom window. Tumbling across the floor, Scott rolls to a breathless stop at her feet. He peers up at her with a sly grin.

"How long have we got?" Scott asks her.

"They'll be gone for an hour," Allison replies, a smile spreading across her face.

And not a second later, they're falling lip-locked onto her bed, tearing at each other's clothes with the carelessness of a teenage couple far too much in love.