Wednesday Feb 23rd, 2011. Beacon Hills Forest….

Black.

The night was black. Overpowering in the way it swallowed up the clouds that once rolled across the blue sky like tumbleweeds, or the way it fell down from above like an airborne infection, dulling even the faint green glow of the trees that surrounded Stiles and his father. Unbelievably black. The flashing lights and cacophonous boom of the police sirens paled in comparison to the dark of the forest he peered into.

So cold. So visibly vacant– yet undeniably full with things that found a home in the consuming dark of the forest. Unseen by his recently boosted senses, but felt. Felt in his entire being, rising the hair on his arms, tickling the roots of his nails and teeth that wanted to become…..more.

Ever since he'd failed to sniff out Lydia on the previous evening with Scott. His mode of being had reflected what he found when peering into the forest. Hell, it was like looking into a mirror. A mirror that reflected something deeper than his superficial appearance– one that had changed considerably since the last Full Moon. The feel of the forest reflected something even deeper than what he'd become. Something more in the moment and present since Lydia's absence and certain things….arriving.

Dread. Cold and still like a thick fog over his brain.

He'd been panicked when Lydia first abandoned the hospital. He could still feel the visceral and magical intensity of her cries. And then he'd failed to find her by the end of the night. Failed her again, after leaving her to lay where Peter Hale had brutalized her.

The nights were growing colder– much like his mood. Cold for even a naked sixteen year old WereWolf. But even more so, they were growing dangerous– something lurked around them all– roamed, like a Lion in a cage. Beacon Hills was it's cage, and from the news reports and what he'd heard on his fathers police scanner, everything was fair game. Everything was a meal to the Blue-Eyed Beast of Beacon.

And he knew better than anyone else, a killer with no motive is the most dangerous existence to a modern world. Like placing a feral house-cat on the streets of a small city. The killing is endless, quick and impactful. He could only hope that impact hadn't– won't, reach Lydia or his friends. Not when he'd finally gained the power to do something.

"Hey, you sure you're alright? Stiles…? Stiles!"

Stiles jumped at the sudden increase of his father's voice, ripping him from his harrowing ruminations.

"Wh-What?" He replied, unaware of anything his father said previously, instead settling with looking at the man. Not much different from the forest in many aspects.

The dark gloomy dread of the forest– the outside, their situation, it hit his father as well. Shown in the light bags under his eyes. His low cut brown hair hadn't been combed in days, and his breath and sheriff's jacket smelled faintly of scotch. He still resented goading his father into answers about the Hale house-fire with the putrid drink. Necessary at the time, but now a reminder of how bad things can get. How much worse than all the bodies, the new murders, and the attacked ambulance that sat a mere few feet behind them.

How bad could they get indeed….

"We're gonna find her, son." Sheriff Stilinski said, his old warm sternness and resolve flashed across his tired face as he placed his hand on Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles took a deep breath, abandoning the zipper of his blue hoodie that he fiddled with anxiously, "We have to...We have to find her."

His father nodded in agreement, they were on the same wavelength in that regard. Just like most things. "We just have to be patient, and focused. Now I gotta get to the EMT's and my Officers. Don't do anything stupid." He said, ending the sentence aiming a stiff finger at Stiles.

"Can't make any promises…" Stiles whispered before turning back to face the forest. His body screamed in protest everytime he turned away from it, as if something was watching.

"Be patient…..one thing I can't do if I keep smelling all this blood and perfu…." He froze, like a deer caught in the headlights.

The only thing moving were his eyes and nostrils, sucking in more healthy amounts of scent riddled air. His nose wasn't as good as Scott's– or Derek's for that matter, one of their many differences that he was still learning of. But, he knew that scent anywhere. That perfume. So familiar.

His eyes continued to scan the dark forest in a panic to find that source that he knew was roaming, alone and afraid somewhere inside. The urge to move was so strong– to follow the scent and find her. But he couldn't. Something held him in place, morphed the skin on his arms into gooseflesh, turned his toned back into a riverbed of sweat and tensed muscle.

The crunch of leaves and sticks to his right had his head spinning where his legs wouldn't.

In the shadows, a vague form moved. Unsure and afraid, like every step was made without sight. Without experience. The form continued to move, the faint smell of perfume grew, followed by the scents of fear and the flashing lights of the sirens illuminating her presence.

Her unbelievably fair skin that never seemed to tan– now marred with dirt stains and small scrapes. A matching level of disheveledness found in her strawberry-blonde bouncing coils of hair that held small twigs and leaves as if she were a naked vagrant.

Naked.

If he hadn't been so overwhelmed by the events of the past two months, he would've liquefied and turned into a puddle of teenage hormones right on the spot.

She fully emerged from the forest. Without a doubt, Lydia Martin. Secret scholar, outward beauty, inner arrogant asshole…with charm…maybe?

"H-Hello?....."

It seemed like all sound faded. Everyone in the forest clearing turned to face the girl that had previously been missing for days with no clothes in a forest that dropped below zero degrees at this time of year..

A bit of her usual personality returned to her scrapped up rosy cheeked face as she lifted her arms from her chest, "Well….is anyone gonna get me a coat?"

Maybe Stiles' previous notions about liquefying on the spot were still on the table. In fact, as time passed, the more of a possibility it had become, "Yea. We'll be right there." He replied, grabbing hold of his fathers coat without looking at him.

As he pulled against his fathers threads while also trying to move towards her, his hormone flooded brain failed to get his feet moving from their spots. His body was still frozen in place by something for some reason.

His father shrugged him off, sending him to the floor as the Sheriff took off his coat and jogged over to Lydia.

Stiles remained on the floor, reflexes taking hold of him and stopping his face from smashing into the cold dirt below him. Instead of rising back to his feet to check on Lydia, he found himself looking back to the forest– despite finding Lydia again, his eyes still searched. His nose still scented, his very being still coursed with adrenaline.

And then he'd found it.

Behind Lydia and his father. Behind the first few rows of looming colorless trees with bark that blended into the night. Many things blended into the night. But the eyes that held him to the floor did the exact opposite.

Inspiring wonder, fear, dread, confusion….and similarity.

Eyes that reminded him of the many news articles and reports on the police scanners. The random killer, the Lion in it's cage, the invasive….deadly species.

Deep blue slitted eyes that never left him, until they did. Like they were never even there…...