Red Belt
There's only one thing alive that can mangle a body like that, Stiles—or FBI Agent Stilinski—thought sourly. He rubbed a hand over his face in frustration, stubble scratching his calloused fingers.
"Animal attack," Agent Kinch suggested matter-of-factly, shining his flashlight on the body or, more accurately, what remained of it.
Stiles knew he should let the other agents draw their own conclusions and just follow their lead, but kneeling over a body in the middle of the woods at midnight had his intuition screaming. After accidentally dragging his best friend into the supernatural world back in high school, he worried that his two worlds would eventually collide on a case.
While the rest of his team investigated this alleged animal attack, he'd have to track down the supernaturals in the area and find out who really killed this poor girl. Stiles resolved to call Derek whenever he got back to his apartment. The Beta always had some obscure connection to the werewolf packs in the States, and after his sister moved to South America and Isaac to France, he probably made connections in those areas too. Hopefully, the lone Hale could point him in the right direction.
Medical Examiner Henrietta "Henry" Malkov knelt over the body, an intense gleam in her eye Stiles didn't like. She spread her hand over a series of slash marks, her red-painted nails shining like claws, and she slowly followed the wounds down the girl's shredded torso to her hip.
"What you got, Henry?" Kinch asked.
"Something else made these scratches," the ME mumbled, "No animal in this area could create marks like these."
"You think someone made it look like an animal attack?" Agent Darcy, the third member of Kinch and Stiles' team, speculated, and Henry nodded.
"I'd guess someone possibly attached several sharp objects to a pair of gloves and hacked away at this poor girl."
Stiles knew he should say something. In recent weeks his team started catching on that his silence meant he knew more than he let on.
"Like wielding a set of claws," he hummed, "But why go through all the trouble? Why not just shoot or stab her like a normal person?"
Kinch raised an eyebrow. "I'd hardly think a normal person would result to murder in the first place, Stilinski."
Stiles shrugged. If his FBI team ever set foot in Beacon Hills, they might think differently, especially if they ever found out about his high school excursions.
"I'm just saying," he replied nonchalantly, "why go through all the trouble to make it appear like an animal attack when nothing living around here would come even close to a match?"
Darcy sputtered a few theories, but Stiles had already tuned him out, opting instead to check the lunar cycles on his phone. As he feared, a full moon had commanded the sky last night, and the chances of this being a normal homicide plummeted. His number one suspect right now just became a newly bitten werewolf, and his need to call Derek rose to Priority One.
"I'll know more once I do a full autopsy," Henry stated.
The FBI agents watched as Henry's medical team loaded the body into the back of the ME's van and drive away. They had parked further down the strip, forcing them to trek down the empty country road in the middle of the night.
Stiles felt his heart hammer in his chest as he glanced up at the waning gibbous moon. Too many nearly lethal hikes into the wooded Hale Preserve after dark had trained his senses to stand on constant alert, and right now it took everything in his power not to drop everything and book it.
Something supernatural killed that girl, and he needed to find it before it could kill again. As a federal agent, he owed it to humanity to track the culprit down. And as a member of the McCall Pack, he owed it to the other supernatural creatures living in the area to keep their secret safe.
Kinch shouldered the youngest member of his team, and Stiles floundered slightly before regaining his footing.
"Penny for your thoughts, Stilinski?"
Stiles shook his head. "Just trying to the pieces together, boss. Seriously, animal attack? Seems kinda much, don't'cha think? We sure it's not a bear, or a cougar, or something?"
"I thought you liked the crazy theories, Stilinski," Kinch answered with a light smirk, running a hand through his close-cropped brown hair.
"My hometown had tons of wild animal attacks," he retorted somewhat defensively, "Everybody said that nothing big lived near Beacon Hills, and suddenly we got a wild mountain lion prowling the streets, tearing into anybody still out after dark."
Darcy laughed, "You superstitious or something?"
"I have the worst luck in the universe," Stiles deadpanned, "I'm just hoping it didn't follow me across the country."
"You're a weird duck, Stilinski," Kinch chuckled and shook his head, "But I'll check with the local park rangers or whoever's in charge in the morning. Just because no one's seen a big animal in this area in the past doesn't mean something hasn't roamed into here recently."
"Thanks, boss."
There. Now he had his coworkers entertained with his wild animal theory. And until they could completely rule out the chances of their culprit having four paws and a tail, he had some time to find out what really happened.
When they reached their vehicles, Darcy shined his flashlight on his black Challenger and cried out in dismay. Jagged claw marks streaked along the entire left side. Both tires on that side bore slash marks and sunk, flat and unable to bear the car's weight.
"My baby!" the redhead agent moaned, running up to inspect the damage.
Kinch shined his flashlight on his own truck, a red Ford F-150, and saw that it shared the same fate. Something had rendered both vehicles completely useless, and Stiles' blood pressure just skyrocketed.
He walked up to Kinch's truck and rubbed his fingers along the scratch marks. Evenly spread apart, they matched both the width of a human hand and the slashes on their victim. Stiles' mind catapulted him back to Beacon Hills, investigating the latest supernatural threat drawn in by the Nemeton. The claw marks closely resembled a werewolf's, but they could just as easily match another werecreature's or a kanima's.
One thing for sure, a full moon craze didn't cause this. Whoever attacked their cars knew exactly what they were doing. Stiles hoped and prayed that they didn't have another Alpha Peter situation on their hands.
At this point, he didn't care if Kinch and Darcy overheard his call. This damage just happened, meaning whoever did this either stuck around to watch them panic or, more likely, to hunt them down and make sure they didn't leave this forest alive.
"Darcy, call headquarters and see if they can give us a lift," Kinch ordered, running his hand through his hair in a nervous gesture.
Stiles took a few steps away from them and dialed Derek's number, keeping his team within his sight at all times. The dial tone rang three times before the beta picked up.
"Stiles? Do you have any idea what time it is?" the werewolf growled.
"Uh, hey, Sourwolf. I know you probably wanna rip my throat out right now, but before you do, do you know of any packs in the Eastern Tennessee area?"
"Yeah, the Verano Pack lives in that area. Why?"
Stiles fingered the double-banded silver ring on his thumb. He still hated Scott's tattoo, but it still signified the McCall Pack. The two bands of the ring physically marked him as a member of the pack even after the scent faded away.
"Uh, how would describe them?"
"Pretty traditional, I'd say. Why?"
"Oh, uh, no reason." Stiles absently wondered if Derek could his rapid heartbeat through the phone. Then again, the older wolf had put up with a lot of junk from him and Scott. He could probably smell the lie from a thousand miles away.
"Stiles," Derek sighed tiredly, "What'd you do this time?"
"Nothing! Just," he paused and side-eyed the two slashed cars and panicking FBI agents, "they wouldn't purposefully hunt people right?"
"Stiles!" Derek snapped seriously, "What's going on? Are you in danger?"
A redundant question, the young agent thought. Danger followed him around like Liam followed Scott after the Bite--like a lost puppy.
"Maybe," he drawled and explained the situation. Derek remained silent until he finished and even a few beats later.
"You still carry wolfsbane bullets?" he asked.
"And some in a pepper spray can. I left my bat at home though," he joked before the beta could heave another #tired-older-brother sigh.
"I'll catch the next flight over and call my contacts in that area. Just try to survive the night. You still have the howl recordings?"
As one of the only humans in the McCall Pack, Stiles obviously couldn't recreate the various howls the others used to communicate over long distances, so they recorded a few of Scott's. And with a phone call to Danny, he tweaked the recordings to give them a unique, purely Stiles, effect.
"Yep."
"Use them to call for help if necessary. If anyone comes, use the family name. If it doesn't get you help, it might at least buy you time."
Aka, if the Hale name doesn't make you instant buddies with the local wolves, they'd totally torture you but keep you alive long enough for someone to come save you. Group therapy sessions and puppy piles to follow if they choose option two.
"Will do. Thanks, Sourwolf."
Stiles hung up just in time to see Kinch marching in his direction. He stuffed his cell back in his pocket, and the older agent raised an eyebrow.
"What's that about?"
"Oh, ya know, just calling the missus to later her know I'm missing date night," Stiles snarked back.
Kinch glared, but the action rolled right off his back. Death glares lost their effect back in high school, when he spent most of his time running with werewolves and fighting both supernatural and human threats every other Thursday.
Something in the tree line snarled loudly, and the three agents whipped around to face it. Stiles reached for the gun on his left thigh, the one holding wolfsbane bullets in its chamber. Please, just once, let a normal, hungry cougar come out and not some werecreature with a human blood fetish.
"That didn't sound human, boss," Darcy mumbled.
Stiles frowned, his eyes constantly scanning the tree line, and he wished he had time to call Lydia. He could really use his genius banshee girlfriend right now.
A vaguely human shape stumbled out of the darkness, and Stiles tensed. As it stepped into the light, he heard Kinch swear. He could sympathize though. His first introduction to the supernatural didn't go much better.
"Hands in the air!" the older agent ordered as three guns trained on the humanoid thing.
Thick hair along the jaw? Check. Sloped nose? Check. Sharp incisors? Triple check. Stiles sighed.
Werewolf.
The stranger growled in response, flexing his hands to sprout claws from his fingertips, and his eyes glowed blue.
Great, Stiles thought, Another Peter situation. At least he had blue eyes though, so no risk of the three of them turning into werewolves from a bite.
"Hands where I can see them!" Darcy yelled, but the werewolf ignored him. Shining blue eyes locked on to the ginger agent with predatory glee, and Darcy's hands shook.
Stiles glared. "Hey!" he called, drawing the attention away from his team.
The werewolf stepped towards him, and Stiles cocked his gun.
"You don't wanna do that, buddy."
The wolf sneered and spoke, startling the other two agents. "You can't kill me. Not with just a gun."
The tension bled out of Stiles' shoulders at the familiarity of a supernatural threat staring him in the face. No more hiding.
"But a bullet coated in wolfsbane would do the trick, wouldn't it? You with the Verano Pack?"
The werewolf snapped his jaws angrily, showing off his pointer teeth. "I don't need them."
Stiles made the connection, his mind going a mile a minute after Derek's description of the Veranos. "They threw you out, didn't they? Didn't want a real killer in their ranks. Right, omega?"
The wolf lunged, and Stiles fired, hitting his mark in center mass. He howled in pain, but Stiles knew they needed distance. Wolfsbane took time to kill.
"Run!" Stiles ordered, shooting with one hand and fumbling with his phone in the other as they raced down the road.
He quickly found the Help howl and pressed play, cranking the volume as high as possible.
"What're you doing?" Kinch yelled, trying to keep pace with the younger agent.
"Making a call!" Obviously.
Afraid that the recording wouldn't carry, Stiles attempted to mimic it himself. Tense seconds ticked by before a deeper howl echoed back.
"Finally," he gasped. The injured wolf slowed and growled as Stiles skidded to a stop, forcing the other agents to do the same.
"Imma rip you apart! Limb from limb!"
"You better have a plan, Stilinski."
The werewolf lunged, claws extended, until something slammed into him. The two bodies rolled into a ditch, and the familiar snarls and growls of werewolves tearing into each other filled the night air.
"Another one?" Darcy moaned as the two werewolves stumbled back into the road.
Their attacker whimpered, curling one hand around his middle. He glared over the other one's shoulder, but one loud roar sent him limply fleeing.
Stiles held his breath as the other werewolf slowly turned around, and red eyes glared back. Black hair curled back into his jaw, and the red glow faded as a human face greeted him.
"Normal people don't carry bullets laced with wolfsbane. State your business in Verano territory, hunter," a deep, Hispanic voice stated evenly.
Stiles gingerly lowered his gun to the ground and stood with both hands up and palms forward. "Just self-preservation, Alpha Verano. As a human member of the McCall Pack and brother to Derek Hale and True Alpha McCall, you can understand my caution." He took the risk and extended his right hand to ask for a handshake. "The name's Stiles."
The alpha took it and nodded approvingly at the firm handshake before admiring the double-banded ring. "Carlos Verano. Hale and McCall? I didn't know Derek had any living brothers."
Stiles grinned at the confusion and slid off the ring, showing the other the Hale triskelion etched inside the ring. "Long story. Thanks for the save."
"Not a problem," he replied and handed back the ring, seemingly satisfied, "My pack and I will handle the omega if your bullets don't. He deserves a slow death, so I hope the wolfsbane does the trick."
"I appreciate it. Did you know him?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Carlos replied, "Braxton Tanner. He almost married my cousin, until my right hand caught him stalking the cheer squad at the local high school. I cast him out, and tonight I see with blue eyes. I should've killed him and prevented this mess."
"You tried to show him mercy," Stiles reassured him, "He made his own choice. Besides," he added with a knowing smirk, "sometimes death doesn't cut it."
Alpha Verano frowned. "What makes you say that?"
"You know Derek, right?" The alpha nodded, and Stiles grinned. "Ask him about his Uncle Peter. My girlfriend accidently brought him back to life."
"What?"
Stiles mouthed banshee, and Carlos nodded in understanding.
"Back up a minute," Kinch interrupted, and Stiles jumped. In all honesty, he'd forgotten about the FBI agents.
"Can someone please explain to me what on earth just happened?" Darcy asked, his voice laced with shock.
Stiles rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and shared a glance with the alpha.
"If you don't think they can keep the secret, I can--"
"No," he interrupted with a raised hand, "I've worked with these guys for a while now. They can handle it. Besides, with me around, something else will come--probably something worse than a blood-thirsty omega with my luck."
If Scott's deadbeat federal agent dad could keep his mouth shut, Kinch and Darcy could too.
The alpha raised his hands and shrugged. "If you say so. Your team, your rules. But if more feds start crawling around my territory, don't think you can't hide from me," he warned.
Stiles' grin turned sharp. "You have my word. But word of advice? Don't threaten the brother of a True Alpha."
Several howls echoed in the night air, members of the pack calling out for their alpha. Verano tilted his head, but his eyes never left Stiles.
"Duly noted," he agreed and turned, "Good night, Stiles. It seems you've got some explaining to do."
"Don't I know it," he grumbled under his breath and turned to face his teammates, while Carlos shifted and ran back into the night.
He met Kinch and Darcy's confused, and slightly terrified, gazes and chuckled awkwardly.
"So, uh, yeah, that happened."
"What did I just witness, Stilinski?" Kinch demanded.
Stiles took a deep breath, psyching himself up. He helped over half his pack get acclimated to the supernatural world after some disaster or another. Granted, most of them didn't share his human status. He could do this.
At that moment, however, a black suburban with federal license plates screeched to a halt beside them, and the three agents piled into the back, promising to explain the damage to their vehicles once they returned to headquarters.
Once settled, Kinch leveled a questioning glare on Stiles, who rose an eyebrow in reply before rolling his eyes.
Keeping his voice low, he began to explain. "Okay, so everything started in my freshman year of high school. The night before lacrosse practice, I took my best friend out to the preserve to find a body..."