Never Trust A Shadow

One *Edited

O N E

"Stiles," whispered a velvety voice, sheathed in the endless parade of shadows in the corner. Bright scarlet eyes shone through the darkness, filled with a calm attentiveness on the teenager who slept soundly in his bed.

A man, soon to be known as Creature, discreetly withdrew from the threshold of his concealment. His movements were agile and calculated, like a cheetah sneaking up on its prey. However, Creature was not here to kill the boy. Instead, he was here to recruit him. See, Creature was a patient man. He never liked to rush things, especially when his livelihood was at stake. Nevertheless, he had to succeed tonight.

Creature stood stiff and solemn. His sharp mind whirled in apprehension. The more his eyes traveled down the boy's physique, the more uncomfortable he felt. The boy was, without a doubt, fiercely broken. How he was still alive, he did not know.

This indescribable pain seemed to radiate from the boy's petite frame, filling the entire room. It was suffocating. Which made Creature want to disappear— and get as far away as possible and never look back, but he knew he could not run, not this time.

Creature edged closer to the bed with some reluctance but could not refrain from wrinkling his nose in disgust at the faint stench of sweat.

Lord, does the boy shower?

Carefully, Creature bent at the waist to hover a few inches above the kid's ear. Then, he began to chant in a low humming voice, enticing him to wake.

But the boy did not.

His disobedience bothered Creature. He felt slighted and disrespected. No one disobeyed him. Ever. Not even the stubborn ones. Not to mention, the boy was a mortal. So he mentally could not fight Creature's control, no matter how resilient.

Unless he was not human?

Inhaling deeply, Creature returned to full height with clenched fists as he glowered at the boy. He narrowed his sharp eyes in suspicion.

Who are you, Stiles Stilinski?

Creature did not like to be surprised. He was a control freak and had to be ten steps ahead of everyone else. Or else he felt threatened.

Breathe, he murmured, attempting to soothe himself; you know what to do next.

I do.

Yes. . .

Creature released his fists at his sides and crouched back down, balancing his weight on the back of his heels. Next, he individually cracked his fingers, freeing any joint tension. A loose hand was necessary for this next part.

When Creature was ready, he raised back his right arm. Then, he struck the boy. The sound of leather against the skin was deafening.

Stiles lurched upright in bed, stunned. Next, he began to struggle to breathe, clawing at his constricting throat and chest. Creature, who hid in the shadows again, watched as Stiles' lungs filled with poison.

Stiles toppled off the bed and onto the hardwood floor with a thud a second later.

Ouch, Creature winced. It serves him right.