A Hunter's Game ⚓ Stiles Stilinski

A House in the Woods

STELLA POV

Panting heavily, I ran through the woods not stopping even though my muscles screamed at me to do so, and believe me, if my muscles had vocal cords-they would be strained.

I must have ran for about an hour now, and my legs collapsed underneath me as soon as I came across some abandoned house that was oddly placed out here in the woods. I gasped loudly, breathing suddenly becoming difficult as I listened closely, but didn't hear anything but the sound of crickets that could be deafening. The only thing that stood out was a scent that reminded me of Scott, and it most certainly isn't the amount of deodorant he put on.

I willed myself up and and limped to the the porch of the burnt house, crinkling my nose at the smell of ash and mold that seized through my nostrils. Cautiously I stepped inside, following the odd scent that caught my attention a second ago with a wary look on my dirt-ridden face.

My fingers traced across the walls, ash coating my fingertips as the slits in the walls cut my fingers, but they didn't heal. What the hell? My legs were wobbling uncontrollably and my back hurt like a bitch, and now my fingers are all oozing black?

Suddenly two hands grabbed me by the back of my neck and pushed me up against the wall, one hand pressed against my throat while the other supported my side."Why are you here, Stella? Here to cause more pain?" He growled, before pushing me harder into the wall, slight crackling audible from the wood breaking behind me. "I don't know what you're talking about or who you are-" I wheezed, my hands tingling slightly for a reason I don't have. "-but I need help. Look at my back." He gave me a weird look that was the opposite of a smile, before turning me around and lifting the back of my shirt up with a harsh expression looming over his face. His eyebrows furred slightly, before guiding me towards a moldy table that was covered in scuffs and a leg that was slightly shortly than the other. Getting a hint I laid down on my stomach with my head resting on my arms, a soft whimper escaping my lips as he placed his fingers next to the wound. He groaned slightly, the sound of hands hitting a face making my ears perk slightly.

"This is the only way you can live. As much as I hate that, I'm allowing it. Hold your breath." He told me, but before I could question him, a scream burbled out of my mouth, a reaction to the pain I was currently enduring which happened to be the angered man sticking his-claws into my wound, more than likely grabbing the bullet that was shot at me. Who is this guy?

The guy doesn't look familiar at all, so why would he know my name? It's not like I run around these woods at night yelling 'my name is Stella', so he must remember me from somewhere I may have met him.