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CHAPTER TWO;
TRANSITION
"I don't even understand lacrosse." Clara bitterly thought to herself as Allison dragged her towards the outside bleachers. Lydia was leaning against the metal railings with her arms crossed over her puffy jacket and her red hair flowing past her shoulders due to the oncoming wind. Since her beloved was not eating each other's tongues or attached at the hip, she assumed Jackson was already out on the field. The lacrosse field was relatively large for such a small school with over twenty players.
Once the duo climbed up the pads of the bleachers, Lydia turned towards them. "Finally, took you two long enough."
Clara ignored the urge to hissed something unsavory to the smaller women, but decided that since her first day had been pretty good so far, it would be better not to end in one such a sour note. Lydia grappled on both of the women's wrists and drew them to the other side of the stands on the fourth row. Once all three ladies had found vacant areas and placed their bags around their legs, Allison's curious eyes immediately started scanning the foreign land around her. Her visual search didn't last long when her brown eyes landed on her admirer from English.
The unnamed man seemed to also be completely enamored with her as well since he was ignoring his own surroundings and couldn't tear his gaze away. Allison gave an encouraging smile, before finally crawling back into reality. She leaned over to Clara, "Did you catch his name?"
"Nope, afraid not. I talked to his friend though." A playful grin blossomed on her face, "But I'm sure he wants to get to know you too. Tell me, Argent, are you already starting to fall in love with him?"
Allison's face turned beat red. "I don't even know him, I just think he's ―"
"Good looking, an attractive outcast, the resemblance of a puppy ―"
"No!" The girl vehemently denied. "I just think he's nice."
Clara good-heartedly scoffed, hoping that her new friend knew the more she denied, the more teasing and accusations she would get in the future. Still yearning for one more jab, she leaned over and quipped, "Seriously cute though."
The two of them girlishly giggled, before returning their attention to the practice that was about to start. Just as she was criss-crossing her legs and getting more comfortable with sitting on a hard bench, something abrupt and repugnant swiftly filled her nostrils. She grimaced, the combination of male hormones, thickening sweat, and a wet canine adding for a peculiar stench. In the midst of her processing thoughts, she became frozen; hesitantly and subtly, she sniffed a bit more into the air. Definitely the smell of a werewolf with the constant transitioning from human smell to animal smell to human.
Shocked wasn't really her choice of wording; werewolves could be bred or born anywhere in the United States and were even scattered across the globe really. There were also wandering packs that either stayed in one particular region or went cross-country every so often. It was more surprisingly that she didn't noticed before. She had gone all day in various classrooms with different pods of people and never caught a whiff. Now, the smell that was once striking was vanishing and becoming quite faint.
The Coach, a spiked brunette that held more insanity than sanity in his eyes, blew his whistle around the field. On cue, other lacrosse players started spreading about on the grass. From the opposite end though, where Allison's diligent admirer was positioned as goalie, collapsed onto his knees and clutching the sides of his helmet. She could hear moans of pain coming through his clenched teeth as he struggled with the storm raging in his head.
"Don't tell me ―" A panicked idiom popped into her mind, suspicions rising in her system. No, no, couldn't be.
Glancing around the increasingly growing crowd, she swiped through everyone until she spotted the exact individual she was looking for; the spazzy and erratic kid who was nice enough to lend her a pen. "I'll be right back." She finalized to the two girls next to her, before casually skipping down the metal steps. Sitting on the sports bench, the only one not participating, the buzz-cut kid was just waiting for someone to interact with him.
Smoothly sliding across the bench and sitting close next to him. Clara leaned in with a tempting and seductive smirk purposefully stretched across her lips. She didn't know this boy well, didn't even know his first name, but judging from the way he goes into a hypnotic and paralyzing trance every time she came within a ten feet radius.
"Hello." She greeted cheekily.
Staring at her with bugged eyes, he clumsily grabbed his water bottle and attached his mouth to the open tape, rapidly swallowing long gallops of liquid. As he continued to drown himself in water, he made a not-so-subtle glance at Clara, as if checking to see if she was still there. Clara noticed this, of course, and rose her eyebrows, giving him a small wave.
Finally disconnecting himself from the inanimate object, Stiles gasps the fresh air for a couple of seconds, recollecting himself, before actually using his words. "Why are you talking to me?"
"Do you not want me to?"
"No, no! I mean, I don't mind, like at all! I'm just curious, I mean, a super hot new girl doesn't just sit with you everyday." The boy rambled on impulse, before widening his eyes even more when he realized how embarrassing his inability to contain his thoughts were.
But Clara didn't mind at all the bluntness, especially when it was complimenting her, "What's your name?"
He gulped nervously, "Stiles."
She grinned, before scrunching up her nose and smiling, "Your cute, Stiles. Tell me, Stiles, what's your friend's name? You know the one who kept having eye sex with the new girl, Allison?"
"Oh, him? That's Scott ― my best friend, my partner in crime, mi amigo." He awkwardly trailed off. "And your Clara Lennon, right?
"Yep, resident new girl and completely ignorant to Beacon Hills." Clara clicked her tongue against the inside of her cheek. "What do you guys do for fun around here?"
"Oh! Well, there's bowling, a Blockbuster, some convenience stores that have ninety-nine cent slushies." Realizing that he was coming out of ideas and Clara was just blinking at him waiting for more, he wearily added, "And just Lydia Martin's parties."
Groaning quietly, Clara muttered. "Everyone seems interested in Lydia Martin."
"Yeeeah." Stiles responded in a sing-song voice, most likely fantasizing about the princesses' strawberry blonde curls flowing wildly in the wind.
Reverting her attention back onto the lacrosse fields, players in their jerseys and pads were lined up one behind the other. The next runner up sprinted halfway towards the field, before whipping the ball towards the goalie. Scott, who was still recovering from his episode due to Coach's whistle, was unfairly smacked in the head, causing him to crumble to the ground even more. The entire team, plus the wacky Coach who didn't even try to hold it back, began hysterically laughing at the poor boy. Clara shook her head, finding it more cruel than funny to laugh at the poor boy. Judging from the way his teammates reacted, Scott must have been receiving this treatment for a while.
However, the mop-headed boy seemed more determined not to take it anymore. He shook off the abuse and got on his feet, jumping up-and-down slightly to get some adrenaline going. Clara could see the need to prove something either to himself, to his laughing team and mentor, or to the pretty girl in the bleachers who couldn't take her eyes off of him. Another player, more cockier than before and probably hoping that he could make a fool out of the goalie, did the same pattern; he swiped the ball into his net, ran half-way across the field, and narrowly swung it towards the goal.
Much to the shock, and secret glee from Clara, Scott caught it without moving from his position. Everyone was taken back, from his team to some of the bystanders in the crowd. Stiles' previous frown turned Joker-like as he gave a little cheer. He turned to her, excited, "Did you see that?"
"I saw it." She answered, smiling at his excitement and Scott's sudden accomplishment.
Shot after shot, one after the other, each lacrosse player tried to sneak their ball past Scott, but every time, he caught it more flawlessly than the last. People in the bleachers weren't even rooting for just their friends or the other players, they were anxiously watching Scott to see what perfect moves he possessed. Stiles grew more animated and enthusiastic as practice went on, going from little cheers to jumping up and down while flailing his body parts around. Clara remained at her seat, concealing whatever proud emotions she had for the awkward boy who was finally proving something to everyone, and settled for light clapping.
Even Scott himself couldn't' hold back his joy. Still rented in the goalie, clasping his stick loosely, he was having mini-jumps of enthusiastic highs from his surprisingly performance. The whole mania of the event dimmed into instant nervousness once Jackson, the lacrosse captain who had invited her, pushed his way to the front. Everyone became silent and still, the anticipation so strong Clara could feel it in the marrow of her bones. The self-pride that was once plastered across Scott's tan face transitioned into doubt and discouragement.
"Oh boy." Clara mumbled, pressing her interlocked hands against her pursed lips.
Everyone watched intensely as Jackson ran up the filed with his hands tight on the stick. He jumped up and threw the ball, it soaring through the air. Effortlessly like all the other times, Scott swooped down with his own stick and caught the ball square in the net. People stood up from the strands and erupted into cheers, all equally impressed with the teenager's absolute skill. Stiles went into his own fit, standing up from the bench and going into a delirious spazz filled with odd movements, and excited salutes. Without even thinking about it, Clara jumped off from the bench as well, applauding the boy with her loud clapping and wide smile.
Jackson was the only remaining in his own bubble of disappointment, rage, and jealousy. He scanned over the crowd, noticing how everyone and even his girlfriend, were cheering for the amateur turned professional. With a piercing stare and anger contouring his entire expression, he caught Clara's gaze from feet away. She shrugged brazenly, her own way of saying 'better luck next time', and gave a wink.
This was going to be a very interesting school year for her.
☾
After spending the previous night in a relatively nice motel room with functioning lighting, a television, and hot water, the apartment that was rented out for her was, in her mind, considered a downgrade. To start off, the location wasn't particularly welcoming either, it being on the outskirts of the neighborhood slums of Beacon Hills. She had claws, fangs, and an extreme amount of strength, but nevertheless she felt a prick of worry over walking down the street even in the broad daylight. The man who owned the complex, a large middle-aged man who wore a greasy wife beater and possessed an appalling sense of smell, didn't even bother to inquiry about her questionable, legal guardian or the fact she could possibly be underage and living in an apartment on her own. All he did was begrudgingly handed her the apartment key and firmly proclaimed that if she had noise complaints, to not bother him about it.
The place itself was about the same size of the motel, but the bathroom was tinier and there was more space considering Clara didn't bring all of her belongings from Maine with her. There was a twin size bed in the middle of the place with a stove and mini-fridge adjacent to the front door. The twin windows were blocked by bent, almost paper-thin blinders that looked unsecured from their handles. The former pack leader who had set her up with this apartment clearly didn't care much about the quality of it, just the necessity of her having a roof over her head.
Unfortunately, the water from the sink was only lukewarm and didn't offer much in terms of a relaxing time. The sink, however, gave little spurts of hot water for roughly fifteen minutes, before giving out to the cold once again. Currently, she was using that barely twenty minutes to wash her hair, bending over so that the pouring tap could reach the shampoo on the back of her hair and rinse it out. After all of it was out, she twisted the knob to turn the water off and used both hands to ring out her black strands. As she was backing away from the sink and patting down her soaking hair with a nearby towel, a loud knock came from outside the door.
"Coming!" She called out, wrapping her hair up in a towelette bun and drying off her hands with a dishtowel. The teenage girl walked over to the front door and swung it open, only to see a familiar face who wore a stupid and silly grin stretched across his face. "Tate?"
The tall man with dark, dirty-blonde hair and athletic build, a contrast to his usual playfulness, offered her a tight-lipped smile and opened his arms out wide. "Clara! My favorite girl, how are you?"
Attempting to hide the surprise within her, Clara broodingly crossed her arms and tried to act casual. "Not happy that you're here, Tate."
Much to her annoyance, the man freely walked past her and into her new apartment. "That's too bad, because I am here to take care of you from now on since there are no immediate relatives. I've got the paperwork figured out; I will be your new legal guardian."
She was sure she wasn't hearing him correctly. "Excuse me?"
He kept looking around at every inch of her apartment, touching everything and moving objects away from their rightful place. Despite the obvious dissatisfaction with the setting, he never let go of that stupid grin on his lips. "After you took off and ran, the police were going to send somebody to go after you and bring you back home. Predictably, after a week or so, your file was at the bottom of the pile at the precinct and you were no longer a concern. Foster care lost interest in you too, unsurprisingly. You became one of the many faces lost in the system. Hm, how tragic." The last sentence was made with a sarcastic quip. "But the precinct said that if I was able to find you, I could become legally responsible if I so chose and ― oh, look, I found you!"
"How?" Clara inquired through clenched teeth.
Tate scoffed, "Yousef promised to not tell any police officers where you were, he didn't say anything about not telling your favorite cousin."
They weren't cousins, biologically at least. Tate and Clara grew up together with the account of the former being three years older than her. Their parents were close family friends with their mothers in particularly having known each other since childhood. Being the only two families in a town of humans that knew about the existence of the supernatural meant you bonded quickly and tightly.
"Morella's older than you. Shouldn't she be the first in line to be my legal guardian?" The simmering brunette asked. Morella was two years Tate's senior and truth be told, always acted like an older sister to the younger werewolf.
A subtle frown coated him, "No one's seen her since after your parent's funeral. I checked her old hunting ground in Wisconsin on my way here and her landlord said she didn't renew her contract. She packed up and left overnight, according to him anyway. I have no idea where she's at."
Ignoring the bubbling nervousness at that statement, Clara pushed forward in her crusade. "And I can't leave alone, because ―"
"Because you're a minor, an underage teenager, and it's illegal. It's either I take care of you, or I drag you back to Maine and you get taken in by a most likely human family. Which one would you prefer?" He asked though judging from his tone, he made it seem like she didn't have much of a choose.
After a minute of contemplation, she sighed in defeat. "Fine, but I don't have enough room for you here."
Tate looked at her incredulously. "This place? There's probably rats stuck in the pipelines for Christ' sake. Truth me, sweetheart, I already have us a better place."
On the car ride to this 'better place' that Tate had secured, before moving here, Clara remained silent and stuck in her own thoughts. Tate wasn't bad by any definition of the world. Hell, she liked him and before her parent's ending, they hung out together a lot. Looking back on the last thirty minutes, she questioned why she was so adamant staying alone; she would have been isolated in her tiny apartment, not where to go and no one to turn to. Admittedly, somewhere in her brain she thought perhaps it was a good idea to remain alone, to have her own inseparable bubble and not leave it.
Whatever string of thoughts she had wrapped herself it faltered once the car parked in front of a beautiful cabin house. It was two-stores with wooden layering inside and outside. It was different from her old family home in Maine, still stuck in the forest, but less modern. Nevertheless, Clara found herself slowly falling in love with the cabin, of course without denying it to herself first.
Her bedroom of the second floor, which was actually a bedroom and not some excuse for one, was reasonably nice with marmalade colored walls and a white carpet. There was a single window which gave a view of the nature-heavy preserve outside. Her cardboard boxes were piled against the wall opposing her bed. Her clothes were scattered across the duvet, disappearing as she put them on hangers and hooked them to the railing in the closet.
The cellphone in her back-pocket began to loudly buzz. She held it up and read the blaring text message:
FROM: Allison
TO: Clara
Would you me doing me a tiny, itty-bitty favor?
Laughing, she responded:
Depends what is is, Argent.
Another loud buzz:
Can you please come to Lydia's party tonight? Around 8?
Groaning, she typed quickly:
Why???
Beeecause Scott and I are going together and if things go wrong, I don't want to be left on my own. Lydia's going to be too busy with Jackson and I'm not going to know anyone else!! Please? For me?
One day in and already developing a soft spot for the girl. Clara hated herself already just for imagining Allison typing these messages with a puppy-dog pout and unable to resist disappointing.
Fine....I'll be there fashionably late and not a minute sooner.
☾
Comparative to her old (and brief) apartment in the slums and her ominous cabin in the woods, Lydia's house was practically a mansion. She didn't know what her parents did for a living, but she now knew where the ginger possessed her superiority complex. Without using her wolf sense, she could still hear the pumping bass of the music and the disorderly of having a group of teenagers drunk in the same vicinity. Inhaling a deep breath, Clara straightened out her leather jacket and flattened down her white, flowy tank top. If she was entering the biggest party of the beginning school year, she wanted to make a lasting impression.
Stepping forward, she rung the doorbell next to the french doors. Seconds later, a perky and bubbly red-haired girl swung the door open. "Oh!" The noise slipped from her plumped, pink lips. She was dissatisfied. "It's you. I was expecting the kegger."
"Well, unfortunately, I didn't bring beer." She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a metal flask. "But I do have something a bit stronger if you'd like?"
Lydia cocked her head to the side, clicking her tongue inside her mouth as if she was pondering something. After a couple of seconds, she grinned slyly. "Maybe we can get along."
Smirking, Clara allowed herself in once Lydia made the entrance clear. The party wasn't in the house since it was probably too nice of a mansion to let unruly teenagers swarm and wreck the place. Almost all of the sophomores from school were here, either dancing and grinding to the blasting stereos, or drunkenly swimming in the crystal pool. Before she could even head over to the punch table, her mobile vibrated against his thigh. Groaning, she pulled it out and read over the incoming text.
FROM: Tate
TO: Clara
I know I already told you this at the house, but my guilty conscious wants me to remind you again that the full moon will be out tonight. Now I'm not saying you should come home so that I can lock you inside, which would be strictly for SAFETY PURPOSES ONLY, but I'm suggesting that you come home and you let me lock you up :)
"Jesus." She whispered, quickly typing out a response so Tate wouldn't suffer a stress-induced heart attack.
Thanks for your 'suggestion', but I've been doing this practically my whole life. I can handle it almost perfectly. Don't worry.
Not that I'm promoting underage drinking, but did you bring something to calm you down?
Werewolves couldn't get drunk (much to her disappointment), only buzzed really, but when it came to the full moon and trying to control her transformation, alcohol did soothe the nerves.
Yes I did. Now can I get back to party?
When she didn't receive another text, she assumed he would finally be leaving her alone for the night. Taking a small sip from her flask, enjoying the burning warmth down her throat, Clara made her around the rectangular pool. As she walked closer, she spotted the couple of the night Allison and Scott standing in front of the patio glass doors. She smirked once noticing their hands interlocked in a tentative hold.
"Hello love birds." She jokingly greeted them, pertaining even more amusement over their matching blushes. "Having a good night, so far?"
Allison, still fighting off the red, nervously gestured to her date. "Clara, this is Scott from our English class. Scott, this is Clara."
They shook each other's hands with the boy politely stating, "I remember you from lacrosse practice. Stiles couldn't stop talking about how you actually noticed his existed."
Clara privately took note of Scott's firm handshake, his intense aroma of both wolf and human. She easily remembered how Scott was at practice and how the scent seemed to follow him. If he was what she thought he was then she needed to keep an eye on him.
"Stiles was ― entertaining, to say the least." She softly chuckled, before gradually backed away from the gleaming couple. "I'll leave you two alone for your date and go see what they have at the punch table. See you two at the end of the night."
Instead of heading towards the outside picnic table, she opened up the glass doors and walked inside the house where a few people lingered. The kitchen was relatively empty with some stray platters of finger food and red cups of beer. She took one of the cups, two of the fruits on a stick, and began lazily looking around. If Scott was here, surely Stiles must be around somewhere. Judging from their interactions at the lacrosse field, he seemed beguiled with Lydia enough to be at her parties.
In a search for the buzz-cut boy, she ended up back at the front of the house near the marble doors and spiral staircase. Stiles was in a small group of people, talking among themselves as he probably allowed Scott his space to be with Allison. Just as she was approaching him to hopefully save her from this weariness, the doors to the connecting patio busted open. All heads turned as Scott, sweat beaming down his forehead as he hung his head low and winced as if in incredible pain.
As he stumbled towards the doors, Allison followed quickly behind. "Scott! Scott!"
Clara hurried outside to see Allison standing helplessly as her (possible) werewolf date vanished from sight in his speeding car. The brunette grasped the Argent girl's elbow, "What the hell happened with him?"
She shook her head rapidly, "I-I don't know, he just ― all of a sudden freaked out and ran off. He didn't explain anything, he just ran!"
Glancing up, she saw the full moon at reached its full peak, hanging high in the navy blue sky and menacingly glaring at her, taunting her. He was bit by a werewolf; there was no way around it. The new and strong scent of a new werewolf just turned, his own shock at his abilities on the field, and attending a party instead of taking precautions on the full moon. Definitely bit, quite recently in her estimations, but not born.
"Allison?" A masculine voice called from behind. Both women spun around to meet the person of the voice. She paused sharply when turning around, her heart beating faster once seeing a familiar individual. "I'm a friend of Scott's. My name's Derek."
Gently gritting her teeth together, she wondered, "Was he a stalker or Scott's genuine friend?"
He looked the same from the night prior except his dark v-neck was replaced by a white one and he was wearing an over exaggerated smile. Allison blinked, startled by his abrupt entrance. "I'm sorry? You're Scott's friend?"
Clara stepped more towards Allison, her eyes suspiciously crossed and her eyes sharper than normal. Finally, Derek seemed to actually acknowledge her presence. If he was surprised by her being here, and them just meeting for a second time, he didn't show it. "Nice to see you again, Clara. Didn't think you were going to be here."
"Same goes for you considering you don't go to high school." She snapped more than stated, before grabbing Allison's wrist and leading her past the leather-clad stranger, and towards her own car. No way in Hell was she going to let Derek, some random man who didn't even know, drive her or Allison home. Despite it being her first day in Beacon Hills, she already possessed a protective nature around her new friend. Maybe it was, because she was human or her first real friend in a long time. Or perhaps it was, because she wanted to keep Allison away from the supernatural corners of the world and didn't want her to see the beast within Clara.
☾
"Scott, you out there!" Clara yelled as she circled in the same spot in the forest. The black darkness had swarmed the entire sky and area, leaving her with only her night vision and super-hearing to find the missing teenager. She only figured that since he was going through one of his early transformations, he probably wouldn't stay in his house and would to run somewhere he could be a bit more free.
She skid down a small hill, hiding behind one of the hundreds of trees in the woods. Rustling came from a couple of yards away. She sniffed the air, disappointed that it wasn't Scott's, but now increasingly concerned that there were others searching for him. When she cautiously peaked around the bark of the tree, her suspicions were correct. A group of men, hunters going by their hiking attire and the weapons they were carrying, were slowly scattering across the empty loft of the woods. If Scott was out there somewhere, out of control and possibly dangerous due to the full moon, than these hunters would take him out without blinking.
Her face hardening, she wiped away the sweat on her palms and focused on the sounds of their steadying heartbeats. The hunters were calm, most likely professionals and experienced since they showed no sign of nervousness. Clara tightly closed her eyes and allowed her claws to tear through her skin and replace her ordinary nails. With fangs slowly prying out of her gums and the hunters edging closer, she decided she couldn't waste anymore time.
She sprinted past the tree she was hiding behind and ran towards the closest man. She grabbed the back of his neck and hauled him backwards, catching glance of him roughly landing on a nearby trunk. Quickly, she stepped onto the flat surface of the trunk and jumped on top of another hunter. They rolled across the ground, before Clara managed to get on top of the man, close his mouth using her hand, and harshly digging her knee into the man's left thigh. His cries of pain were muffled as bones cracked under her relentless offence. Finally, after he couldn't stand and the pain had made him pass out, she got off of him.
His hunting rifle was tossed just a couple feet away. As the other hunters, far away, were noticing that two of their buddies had disappeared into the darkness, Clara didn't hesitate to attack furthermore. She grabbed the man's abandoned rifle and began running faster than ever before. One of the men was pulling back his arrow in his crossbow, readying himself to fire, when Clara wildly swung the rifle upward. The butt of it hit him square in the face, knocking him to the ground while unconscious.
"You bitch!" The last man standing snarled at her, pointing his pistol at her angrily. She swooped up and yanked his wrist down, his stray bullet firing and heading somewhere offhandedly in the sky. She slammed her elbow down onto his arm, making him drop to his knees and yell out in fiery pain. Finally, she grabbed the back of his head and rammed it against one of the trees. Instantly, he fell to the ground and didn't make a word.
She dropped low to the ground, balancing herself on the heels of her feet and her bent knees. She leaned forward with one hand pressed to the ground, her now glowing yellow eyes scanning the forest in search for any more life forms. While she couldn't see any outlines, from a good distance away, she could hear the sudden cries of agony that came up the hill.
Clara climbed up the hill as quickly as she could and saw three backs of associated hunters standing feet away from a tearaway werewolf. As expected, it wasn't just some lost omega who stumbled upon the quiet town of Beacon Hills, it was Scott. Her eyes widened, watching the intense panic and confusion swarm his entire face. Growling, she darted towards the group and grabbed the first hunter she saw, pushing him down the slope of the hill. With the other hunter, she kicked him in the knee and followed suit of the previous one.
A pair of hands reached out and yanked back the third, throwing him away from Scott. Through golden eyes, she saw the familiar, and unexpected face, of Derek Hale. She decided that yes, he definitely was a stalker, but perhaps Scott's and maybe for a good reason. They gave a quick glance at one another, his normal brown eyes meeting her radiating yellow ones, before both reaching Scott. Derek tore out the arrow in his arm while Clara grabbed his sweaty shoulders and began shoving him towards the opposite end of the hunting party.
The three werewolf ran down the many hills of the preserve, flying past trees and getting a decent distance between them and the lingering hunters. Scott, who was leading the way, staggered helplessly and collapsed in front of a tree. Panting, he hysterically questioned. "Who were they?"
"Hunters." Derek answered, keeping a few gaze on Clara for a couple of seconds, before continuing. "Their kind have been hunting us for centuries."
"Us? You mean you!" He tired to stand up a bit more firmly. "You did this to me!"
"Is it really so bad, Scott? That you can see better - hear more clearly, move faster than any human could ever hope?" Derek explained, his voice the usual monotone, but a little incredulous that Scott wasn't seeing the beauty of the bite. Clara had to roll her eyes at that too. Sometimes she didn't see the beauty in it either. "You've been given something that most people would kill for. The bite is a gift."
"Stop putting thoughts into his head." Clara hissed, stepping more towards the older werewolf with crossed arms. "He just got attacked, you're overwhelming him."
Scott weakly looked up at her, "Did you do this to me?"
Disbelieving, she cocked her head towards him and snapped, "Hate to burst your bubble, but I don't often go around biting people. And you could always ― I don't know ― thank me for saving your dumbass."
The young omega's chest heaved up-and-down, trying to calm himself, before he mumbled. "I don't want it."
"You will, and you're gonna need me if you want to learn how to control it. So you and me, Scott ―" Derek reached over and roughly clasped Scott's shoulder, staring into his narrow eyes with unrestricted seriousness. "We're brothers now."
☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒
(OLD) AUTHOR'S NOTE: Took a long ass time. Tate is played by Paul Wesley.
EDITED (AND REWRITTEN) ON AUGUST 18th, 2016