NII—
" I think she was there. "
—
Once upon a time, Miya lived in a palatial villa in Kyoto.
The fragrance of the sandalwood incense that her father loved to burn wafted around her home, mixing with the scent of the hinoki wood that the beams had been fashioned from. Her room was large— larger than she cared for— and screamed of the wealth that she was born into. Imported trinkets, hand-painted screens all adorned in gold-leaf, all adoringly acquired and commissioned by her parents. For the express purpose of showcasing their status.
She spent many a childhood morning sprawled out on the engawa, basking in the morning sun like a spoilt house-cat— much to the displeasure of her mother. It was unladylike! Her mother would chide. Though back then, Miya cared little for her presentation and even less for the fine silk garments she sullied by romping around in the dirt. She was young, she was carefree— and that was all that mattered to her.
How the times have changed, she couldn't help but muse as she carefully painted her lips crimson.
Her residence in Beacon Hills was a medium-sized ranch-style property.
The furnishings were minimal, the windows, French, and the carpets were fuzzy— something she hasn't quite gotten used to, having grown up on tatami. There were three moderate-sized rooms, an updated kitchen with marble table-tops and an island (she wondered why, what was the need for an island, when most days she microwaved her meals or ordered takeout), and a backyard deck that she probably stepped out on maybe twice.
Very little identified it as a home. There were no pictures. Neither knickknack nor sentimental item to be found. In a way, the house on Pine Street wasn't truly home to Miya. Her true home— the home of her birth— had long since crumbled to dust. A distant memory in a time long past. A past she had little more than the memory of.
Though, there was one thing she had taken with her from the past. One thing, one ritual, from the halcyon days of her bygone youth.
A bottle of golden-hued Tsubaki oil sat on her dresser before her, a comb on a faded indigo silk handkerchief beside it. The heirloom boxwood hand-comb was finely toothed. Tiny cranes were etched lovingly into the handle with so much detail they seemed to be taking flight from the wood itself. The gold-leaf that had been worked into the comb had long since dulled with age.
With her eyes shut, she worked the comb through her hair as the scent of the camellias brought her back to another time.
She could remember the way her mother caressed her hair— it was much longer and much darker than it was now— feeling them smoothing her locks and dragging the comb through them gently. She recalled the way tinkling of the wind chime hung outside her room and the sound of the songbirds. She could the song her mother hummed and the smell of the perfumed sachets she kept tucked under her kimono.
" My precious Miyako... " Her eyes snapped open at the auditory hallucination. Suddenly she was back in Beacon Hills— acutely aware of exactly how alone she was. Her mother, her childhood, her home in Kyoto and Miyako were all long gone.
Miya slung her book bag over her shoulder and grabbed the keys to her rental car.
There was no time to reminisce about the old days.
She had a lacrosse practice to catch.
—
" Did you apologize to Allison? " Stiles's inquisitive gaze drilled into the new wolf's face. The latter was decidedly distracted as he plucked at the loose strings of his lacrosse stick.
" Yeah... " Scott breathed, his eyes far away. It was the Monday after the full moon and he felt as if the weight of the world was upon his shoulders.
" Is she giving you a second chance, or...? "
" ... Yeah... "
" Yeah? All right! So, " Stiles questioned excitedly, " everything's good? " Scott grimaced.
" No...? " Stiles' brows furrowed.
" No? " The human echoed. Gulping, Scott fiddled with a loose ribbon of tape that peeled off of his lacrosse stick, he stole a peek at his formerly injured arm. He winced at the memory of the crossbow bolt that had sunk into it days before.
" Remember... the Hunters? " His voice was low. " Her dad is one of 'em, " the wolf admitted. Stiles nearly choked on his spit.
" Her dad— "
" — shot me, " Scott finished, with a grim nod. Stiles's jaw dropped open. Blinking rapidly, he tried to wrap his head around the situation.
" Allison's father— "
" — with a crossbow. "
" Allison's father? "
" Yes! Her father! " Scott snapped. Realizing the depth of the situation he had got himself into, he gulped, pulse rising sharply. The panic on his face was visceral. " Oh my god— "
" Hey, hey! It's okay, alright? " Stiles tried to adopt a soothing tone, even though his racing heartbeat belied the true extent of his anxieties. " He didn't recognize you, right? "
" No... No, I don't think so... "
" Does she know about him? "
" Yes? No? " The furrow between Scott's brow was deeper than the Mariana Trench." I don't know! What if she does? This is gonna kill me, man..., " he whined.
" Okay, just focus on lacrosse. Okay? "
" Lacrosse, " Scott agreed reluctantly.
That might not have been the best move.
It might have been the nerves or the reality that his life would never be the same again or a combination of both but the Coach's snide comments and Jackson's shitty face just caused his blood to boil.
His heartbeat drummed loudly in his ears as he felt his teeth elongate and his eyes thrum with the tell-tale energy that signaled their change to a glow-stick yellow.
Scott had never felt such rage in his life. He felt the need to rip and shred and taste blood. He wanted blood. He wanted it badly.
But in the midst of his anger, one thing broke through: a particular scent tickled his nose; one that was both terribly familiar and invoked an inconceivable dread into the new wolf. It was carried in the wind, wafting around him like a poisoned cloud of sweet-smelling fear. His heart squeezed at the smell of it.
Maybe it was chance or maybe a higher power, but it was exactly the pause it provided that allowed Scott to snap out of his anger. The cold rush of terror doused his heated haze. It allowed him to be dragged off the field like a rag doll by a panicked Stiles.
Later, in the bowels of the boys' locker room, he reflected on the scent.
" I smelt something earlier, " Scott admitted to his best friend, thinking back on the sweet floral aroma, " back on the field. Before... " the wolf tried to search for to make his attempt at killing his best friend not sound so terrible, settling in the end for, " that. "
" Yeah, and? " Stiles rolled his eyes. " You're a werewolf in a high school filled with raging pubescents, literally what aren't you smelling right now? " He was more concerned by the fact that Scott— his pseudo brother— nearly took a chunk out of him moments ago.
The new wolf's mind raced as he thought back to the field. The scent hadn't been there the entire time, so it couldn't have come from someone on the field— no one on the team. It came from the bleachers... perhaps from a spectator? One who hadn't been there the entirety of morning practice?
He cast his mind back to anything he had heard, or what he could remember amid his frenzied haze.
" I have the papers you wanted, Coach. "
" I knew you were my favorite for a reason, Yamato! "
Yamato. Miya.
Miya Yamato.
" I think she was there, " Scott murmured. Stiles frowned.
" Who was where? " The boy asked.
A flash of blonde among the trees, the howl of the wolf in the dark night.
" Miya, " Scott breathed, " Miya Yamato. "
" Well, that clears everything up," Stiles bit back sarcastically, " Miya Yamato was somewhere. "
" No, Stiles, I mean, I think she was in there, " he gulped. " When I was bitten. I... I smelt her in the woods... "
" Holy shit. "
—
By the end of the day, Stiles still hadn't gotten over Scott's revelation. It just wasn't in the boy's nature to let things go.
" Move! Moooovvveee! " The pale boy hollered, running down the hallway, two thick files and a bunch of papers clutched in his bony hands. He rounded the corner, wide-eyes locking on his best friend's head of floppy brown hair, his pace increasing as he raced towards him like a bloodhound on a scent.
" Stiles? You literally almost trampled a freshman back— " The twitchy boy quickly cut the puppy-eyed boy off.
" Derek Hale just moved back here from New York, right? " Stiles didn't wait for a reply, slamming a file into Scott's chest before frantically sifting through the other, hands shaking from the amount Adderall he'd consumed earlier that day.
" I remember seeing on Miya's file that she's from New York— " he pulled out a transfer paper, flourishing it before Scott's face "— see! Look! Dalton School, New York! What if they know each other? What if they're working together?! "
Scott's mind raced, eyes widening as he processed Stiles's words.
The whole scenario was nothing short of ludicrous. Like some weird conspiracy theory off of Buzzfeed's Unsolved but just like those episodes the more his mind processed it the more plausible it seemed. After all, he'd somehow become a werewolf. If that was possible then maybe the unassuming and enigmatic Miya Yamato could be the evil that skulked the night.
" You— You've gotta find out, " he said, squeezing Stiles's shoulder empathically with a pleading look.
" Me? " Stiles squeaked, his voice too high. " You, Scott, You're the werewolf! Why can't you go talk to her?! " Scott spluttered, fumbling for a response.
" If, if she's in on it then... then she, uh, she wouldn't want to talk to me, you gotta do it, man. Play it cool! " While there was some truth in that, Scott just really didn't want to talk to Miya. The girl was extremely intimidating.
" Play it cool? " The scrawny boy echoed, eyes bulging and jaw dropped. " Play it cool?! How do I play it cool when, when, when I have to talk to, to— that! " Stiles cried, gripping Scott by the shoulders and spinning him around so quickly the latter's head spun.
Black faux snakeskin boots, a red gingham dress, and perfect loose curls— not a hair out of place— she stood at her locker touching up her red lipstick as an acquaintance of hers (a rather popular junior on the cross country team) conversed lightly with her.
Stiles swallowed drily at the sight of this... this Death Star. While Miya wasn't exactly capable of destroying planets (he hoped) she could decimate what little social standing he had; and in high school social standing was everything.
" Stiles! Just— " Scott groaned, his stress levels hitting an all-time high "— Please! " The anxious brunet let out a string of very colorful curses under his breath, glaring at his best friend.
" Fine! Fine! But if I get completely destroyed, I will skin you with a cheese grater! " Stiles promised before gingerly approaching the girl. A whispered mantra (don't be awkward, don't be awkward, do not be awkward) screamed under his breath like a prayer. Finally creeping up just behind the girl— oh, lordy, she smelt nice— Stiles had hyped himself enough that he was sure he could do it. He was sweating through his shirt but he could do it. He could do it. He wouldn't be awkward. It would be fine.
" Hey...! Mi...Miya! " It was not fine. Noticing a sour look on the brunette boy, who he had interrupted abruptly, he smiled tightly, adding: "And... dude... " belatedly.
Stiles awkwardly alternated between bracing his weight on the locker beside her with his shoulder, then his elbow, then his hand, before ditching the leaning altogether. He chuckled painfully. Painfully as if he wanted someone to come and end him. He never craved the sweet, sweet release of death more than right in that moment. Stealing a glance at the girl's put-out companion, he surmised that he'd be the first in line to do just that.
" Who are you? " The junior squinted at Stiles, obviously unamused. 'Who are you to come up to and talk to Miya... when you're a nobody.' Stiles could basically hear.
" The abominable snowman, " the sophomore couldn't help but bite back with a little sneer. The other boy opened his mouth to say something (probably rude) when the beautiful being that was Miya spoke up.
" There's no need to be rude, Kyle, " she chided in a gentle tone that could've stopped a raging beast in his tracks. " I will see you at lunch tomorrow if you're insistent on telling me about that meet, alright? I sense this may be important. "
The junior, now identified as Kyle, wasn't too pleased but couldn't challenge her (who could challenge Miya Yamato?), and thus left with a charming smile her way— and a poisonous glare Stiles's.
" So, what is it that you need? " Miya queried, flashing Stiles a brilliant smile that made him forget his name. For a moment he stood there gawking at the girl before she cleared her throat and snapped him back to reality.
" He-EY! Miya! " Stiles squeaked again, before abruptly choking on his spit. The girl in question looked on with a mix of curiosity and concern on her face as he coughed, slamming his fist into his chest a couple of times before clearing his throat loudly.
" You probably don't know who I am, but we have Chemistry—" his cognac eyes widened comically "— wait, no! I mean, not like that kinda chemistry— actual Chemistry. Like, Chemistry class— " The blonde girl cleared her throat again, cutting his ramblings short.
" Yes, Stiles? " Miya questioned her flawless features with mild perturbation, though she donned an elegant smile nonetheless. His jaw dropped.
" Oh my God, Miya freaking Yamato knows my name. " Miya was hit with a sense of deja vu as she thought back on her encounter with a certain curly blond lacrosse player, less than a few days prior.
" Yes, Stiles freaking Stilinski who is in my Chemistry and Economics classes, I do, " she jested playfully. Was it such a hard idea to grasp that she wasn't exactly oblivious? Had she played her role of pretty girl too well?
" Somebody pinch me— " he requested, then immediately went on to do just that"— ow! Okay! Not a dream! " Miya bit the inside of her cheek to stop the laugh that bubbled in the back of her throat. Faking a cough, she nodded, smiling encouragingly in an attempt to get him to continue.
" Was there something you needed, Stiles? "
" No! " Stiles spluttered. " Wait, I mean yes! " Miya couldn't stop a chuckle by then. Stiles's face burned a tomato red. " No! I mean, I just, I... I was wondering...? Did you... go? To the party last Friday? "
Miya tilted her head to the side. The action was so girlish and inexplicably cute that Stiles struggled to contain his squeal at the sight of it. Had he not been so in love with Lydia Martin, he was sure he'd have fallen in love with the blonde and the little pout that she sported.
" I stayed in that evening, " she shrugged. Her eyes glittered with a strange light as she bit back a smirk. " I tend to stay in on full moons. "
Stiles's reaction was visceral as he choked on his spit. Hammering on his chest, Miya viciously chomped down on her tongue to keep her look of concern from bleeding into the amusement that was coursing through her.
" Fu— full— " he wheezed "— full moon...? " Miya nodded.
" Yeah, people always go a little crazy on full moons, you know? That's where the word 'lunatic' is from. " She drew blood with how hard she kept her laughter in at the paleness of the boy's already pale complexion. " Is there anything else, Stiles? "
" No, no! " The boy replied quickly, though he nodded his head furiously. " No, I mean, yes! Yes! I just... wanted... " he eyes bugged as he searched for the words, a way to ask Miya without really asking Miya about Derek Hale. "What, what was it like...? " Stiles stammered pathetically. " In New York? That's where you're from right...? New... New York? "
" Yes, that's right, " she nodded, a tiny dent forming between her perfect brows, " it's funny though... I don't quite recall telling anyone that. " Stiles froze.
" Sureeee you have! " The boy giggled awkwardly in a high pitched tone. " It was big news last year! Big— " he squeaked, choking a bit on his spit, he pounded his chest with his fist twice, his left eye twitching nervously under her unwavering gaze "— big news! " Miya's frown deepened but she chose not to comment on the obvious lie.
" Hmm... well New York's... New York, " she shrugged. " Loud, busy, and full of people. " Stiles perked up.
" People? People like...? " Miya frowned lightly, not at all following Stiles.
" Like...? " He cleared his throat, leg bouncing a little as he shifted uneasily under her gaze.
" You know! Um... your friends? " The hazel-eyed boy questioned rapidly. " Family? Acquaintances? Neighbors? Classmates? Stalkers? Associates? " Miya's nose wrinkled.
" I don't quite understand what— "
" Do you know Derek Hale? " Stiles blurted out hastily. Realizing how borderline interrogative and not at all smooth that was, he bent over backward to cover his ass. " He's, um, a friend of, a, a friend! And, uh, he's a— he's a New Yorker so I—! I was, um, wondering... you know... if you know him...? "
A pensive expression came over her features as Miya appeared to ponder the boy's question. Stiles examined her face carefully for signs of deceit and falsehood. Ultimately, he found none... even if he missed the strange glimmer in her irises at the name Hale.
" I can't say I have met any Derek Hales... New York's a big city, much bigger than a town like Beacon Hills. "
" Right, of course, " Stiles conceded, head ducked as he sneaked peeks at the girl from under his unfairly long lashes. He gnawed harshly on the inside of his cheek as his mind raced to find a round-about way of asking what he really wanted to ask: 'ARE YOU A WEREWOLF?'
A beat of awkward silence passed as Miya looked at Stiles expectantly, and Stiles pointedly avoided eye contact with her— what if she Jedi mind controls me? can she do that? can werewolves do that?— before the girl cleared her throat lightly.
" Well, I'm... visiting, someone so I have to go now, but it was nice talking to you, Stiles! " And with that, she spun gracefully on her heel, closing her locker door with a charming smile before sashaying away.
" Yep! Great— great talk! I'll, uh, catch you later? " The boy called after her before rubbing his scalp and roughly dragging his hands down his face in frustration. " Stiles, you are an imbecile! An imbecile! "
—
The sun was sinking down the horizon when a certain werewolf returned to his decrepit home in the woods. After a day of loitering and keeping an eye on Scott McCall and the Argents, the wolf just wanted to eat his microwave burrito and catch a couple of hours of sleep in peace.
Too bad he had one more unexpected item on his agenda.
" Derek Hale... a funny little boy mentioned your name so I just had to make a house call and ask... " a teasing lilt bounced around the cold, burned walls of the Hale house, putting its sole inhabitant on edge " ... Are you the big bad wolf that has brought all this chaos to this quiet little town? "
Derek's hackles were raised, chin dropped and lips curled into a barely-there snarl. The intruder's slender figure was perched casually on the steps, a juicy red apple in hand. She cleaved a bite out of the fruit with chrome-colored fangs, not breaking eye contact with the Hale wolf the entire time in some power-move that grated on Derek's nerves.
" This town's never been quiet. Not for those of our kind," he retorted, shoulders squared and glowing blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. She didn't let his hostile nature affect her, in fact, her congenial smile twitched wider still at his directness. She could appreciate that in someone— even when she, by nature, preferred to dance around words.
" I suppose you're right there, this town has never been quiet per se... not for our kind anyways— " her eyes flashed a piercing silver "— but, you know, I have to confess... I never thought I'd see an alpha in this town. Not after what happened in here. " She gestured lazily to the charred remains of his childhood home.
Derek glared poisonously at the unspoken mention of his family. Scowling, the wolf didn't need long to decipher the meaning behind her riddles.
" The alpha," he stated curtly. She was there to interrogate him regarding the alpha. As if sensing his line of thought, Miya nodded— her smile never budging.
" Yes... whoever they are have caused quite a stir. Siring a new beta and all... " Her tone was light but the hard edge camouflaged behind her sweet smile spoke volumes on how lightly Derek needed to tread.
" I encountered whoever they are in the Preserve the other day. Our meeting was... cut short, unfortunately, but I got the distinct impression that they were reckless— " her eyes were a cold silver as she bore them into Derek's piercing blue pair " — which is a little troubling, don't you think? Could catch the attention of some unsavory people. " Hunters. Derek bristled. Argents.
It was obvious that the blonde had come to suss out his involvement in the sudden uptick of the werewolf population. She likely initially thought him to be the alpha but then realized he didn't have the eyes for it and assumed him a beta. Dangerously sharp and dangerous— he could practically hear the sirens going off in his head as he struggled to play her game of words.
" Yes. " the werewolf replied tersely. " And the new beta's control issues, especially, is... troubling. "
He knew she would note his impersonal way of referring to Scott as 'the' beta not 'our' beta, like he would've if he were apart of the alpha's pack. Indeed, she did. Eyes narrowing in the slightest upon his features to suss out any signs of deceit, the blonde nodded when she found none.
" It seems that we both have the same problem, " she suggested lightly, " and it's not with each other. "
There was a moment of silence in which Derek sized the girl up. Tall but not at all threatening. She erred on the lanky side, her wrists looking so small and fragile as if he could snap them like a twig, but the bright smile on her face gave him pause.
A close-lipped smile, a little crooked on one side belying a small dimple on her left cheek, may have been beautiful to anyone else but to Derek? It looked dangerous. The way it didn't reach her cold, calculating eyes. The way it looked sinister the longer he looked at it. The way it seemed like she was hiding her fangs. She was dangerous.
But what could he do? He was, for all intents and purposes, an omega, with too many problems to attend to. Going to war with this being did not have to be one of them.
" No, it's not, " the wolf finally agreed. His eyes no longer flashed a piercing blue, but his posture remained stiff— poised for attack or defense.
" That's good to hear. Now, I do hope that we'll be able to cooperate with each other— " her smile was cold as she made her aim known "— information is best when it's shared, after all. "
Derek could only nod mutely.
" Of course, " he signed his soul over to her.
—
Translations:
Engawa (縁側 or 掾側) — In Japanese architecture, an engawa strip of non-tatami-matted flooring, usually wood or bamboo. They may run around the rooms, on the outside of the building, in which case they resemble a porch or sunroom.
Hinoki (檜 or 桧) — is one of the most elegant types of wood in Japan. A type of cypress that is considered sacred and only grows in that part of the world. Hinoki has been used since ancient times in Japan as a construction material.
Tatami (畳) — a type of mat used as a flooring material in traditional Japanese-style rooms. They come in standard sizes (varying between regions).
Tsubaki (椿) — The Japanese camellia. A flowering tree indigenous to Japan and China, and a member of the tea family. Tsubaki oil is a fragrant oil, harvested from the seeds of the plant and traditionally used by Japanese women as a beauty product; moisturizing their skin and hair.