"Sorry, Lahey, but I'm more of a cat person."
Vera Pérez is no stranger to the supernatural. Growing up alongside the Hale family has kept her fairly well-informed about the creatures that lurk in the darkness. However, she didn't become one of thos...
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( unleashed, pt. i )
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BEACON HILLS HIGH School is infamous for two things: lacrosse, and also their lack of an all-girls lacrosse team. Vera isn't sure if it's due to an absence of interest or the fact that the administration simply doesn't want to make a team, but Vera has been the only girl since her freshman year. Coach Bobby Finstock had agreed to let her try out when she'd shown up in his office irate and appalled there wasn't a team for girls. What she lacks vertically allows her to weave in and out of hulking male players like water slipping between rocks. Not to mention that all of her training with the Hales had made her quick on her feet. She'd made the team, made it again sophomore year, and is hoping for a third round this spring.
But one downside to the off-season for lacrosse is that all players are required to run cross-country. It's not that Vera minds running. It just seems more like a nuisance with an Alpha pack on the loose, virgin sacrifices occurring, and whatever demonic hell-born nightmare Beacon Hills can lure into town next.
"Pérez?" Coach Finstock calls from outside the women's locker room, which is empty except for her. All of the other female cross-country runners had already gone outside. The result is an echo that sends the man's naturally angry tone reverberating through the air, bouncing off the walls and hitting her eardrums more times than she'd like. "You still in there? I legally can't come in, so..."
"Yeah, Coach," she says, tightening the laces on her black sneakers. "I'll be out in a second."
"Hurry up," he urges. "Most of the team is already out there, and I don't need any harassment from the cross-country coach that my lacrosse players are slow."
Vera rolls her eyes at Coach's overly-competitive disposition and sets her foot on the ground from where it had been propped up on a bench, now satisfied that her shoes won't fly off as she's sprinting through the woods. She grabs her water bottle and heads out of the school through the back door.
The crisp air hits her as soon as she opens the doors to the outside world. This early in the morning, the sun has just started to rise, spilling warm colors across the terrain and making the grass shimmer from the dew collected on the ends of the blades. What isn't touched by the first rays of the sun is bathed in shadows. The exposed skin of her neck is covered in goosebumps due to her ponytail. She's grateful that she'd chosen to wear a long-sleeved shirt; the olive-green material, as well as her leggings, will keep her warm.
It's not difficult to find the other players once she reaches the practice trail. She first notices Dominic — he's a couple of inches shorter than most of the other guys, so locating him in a crowd is easy — and sighs in relief. Her friend has been running since he was in diapers. His mother often tells stories of chasing him down the sidewalk after he'd broken free from the baby gate, his chubby legs taking him faster than a toddler should be able to move. That talent has stuck with him throughout his career in sports. While his winters are occupied with ice hockey, his autumns are booked with cross-country and his springs involve track and field.
