Peter Hale's POV
The stillness of the hospital room seemed to throb around Peter Hale, and he forced his breaths to match the shallow, empty rhythm of his feigned coma. Just beyond the cracked door, Melissa McCall passed by with her usual brisk steps, the clipboard in hand, focus intense. Peter's eyes lingered on her, a smirk creeping onto his face as an idea formed. If he used her, he could force Scott to submit, bend the young wolf to his will. Yet, memories of Scott's raw power and the merciless beating he'd taken just days before resurfaced. He felt a knot tightening in his stomach, a mix of fear and longing for a strength like Scott's. Each recollection was a stark reminder of his own vulnerability, leaving him questioning whether he could ever truly stand up to such ferocity.
Peter dismissed the idea of using Melissa. And thought that if he provoked Scott again, he would definitely kill him this time.
Peter smiled wickedly and thought, 'Who cares about that stupid kid? Anyway, I have bigger plans tonight. I'm going to hunt The real beasts, Reddick and Unger, two of the many who burned my family and set my world aflame.'
With a single movement, Peter slipped out of his hospital bed, casting away the weak shell of a comatose patient. His form shifted, muscles rippling and darkening, his bones cracking as the Alpha rose from the shell. And soon he left the hospital.
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The woods held a breathless quiet, only the occasional rustle of leaves or snap of a branch disturbing the thick silence. Reddick and Unger stumbled through the underbrush, their laughter loud and careless, shoving each other roughly as they shared a stolen bottle of liquor.
Peter stalked them, his senses sharp, lurking just beyond the edge of their awareness. As Unger took a swig and muttered something about leaving, Peter melted back into the shadows, watching, waiting. The smell of fear began to creep through the air as Unger's nerves frayed, his gaze flickering around as if sensing an unseen predator.
"stop being a pussy, Unger." Reddick sneered, stopping for a smoke break. But as he struck a match, Peter moved. He lunged forward, an invisible force in the night, his claws flashing in the dim light as he seized Reddick's head and yanked him back with brutal speed. His scream was cut off almost instantly as Peter's claws pierced his throat. Blood spattered the ground, and Reddick's body fell limp.
Peter left no trace behind, nothing but the silent, predatory satisfaction deep within his chest. Unger, turning back at the absence of his friend's voice, froze at the sight of the empty path. His breath hitched, and he stumbled back, eyes wild as he whispered, "Reddick?"
But there was only darkness.
A soft growl rumbled from the shadows, low and menacing, and Unger's gaze snapped toward the sound. Then he turned to run, crashing through the underbrush, his breath coming in short, terrified gasps. But Peter was faster; his eyes locked on his prey. Just as Unger reached a clearing, Peter struck, his claws digging into Unger's ankles, yanking him off his feet and dragging him towards a flaming trashcan.
Unger screamed, his hands clawing at the ground, eyes wide as he caught sight of the twisted face of the Alpha, its jaws pulled back in a snarling grin. The firelight from the trashcan glinted in Peter's eyes, casting an eerie glow across his features.
"Please… don't…" Unger begged, his voice breaking as Peter held him by the ankles, lifting him easily. For a moment, Peter seemed to savor his fear, holding him there, savoring his pleas, his voice raw and desperate.
Then, with a cold finality, Peter released his hold, sending Unger crashing down into the flaming barrel. His screams echoed through the woods, a fitting tribute to the monster they had created. When the fire died, Peter turned back to the shadows, his task complete. And as he left, a mountain lion watched him from a nearby tree, wide-eyed and tense. With a flick of his gaze, Peter drove it off, sending it sprinting toward Beacon Hills High School.
After watching the mountain lion crash through the school parking lot, followed closely by Sheriff Stilinski and Chris Argent, Peter smirked. He melted into the night and went back to the hospital, his cover as an injured patient in place once again, a thin layer shielding the deadly Alpha hidden beneath.
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Stiles' POV
The morning light filtered into Stiles' room, but he had been awake long before dawn, his mind racing as he recalled every recent attack, every grim detail his father had shared. He couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't adding up.
His dad's office was empty, and Stiles took the opportunity to slip inside, cracking open files his dad would never let him see. Cases classified as animal attacks, each stranger than the last: Laura Hale, Garrison Myers, Leveque from Video 2*C, and now a new victim added just this morning, Reddick.
Stiles found out that his dad discovered that Laura Hale, Garrison Myers, Leveque, and now the two new names he just added this morning—Reddick and Unger—all of them had ties to the Hale fire.
But Stiles knew the truth—this wasn't just any animal; it was the Alpha werewolf, killing anyone linked to that night. This wasn't random. It was calculated revenge, one attack at a time.
A shiver ran down Stiles' spine. His dad didn't know about the Alpha, and he couldn't tell him. His dad still believed the attacks were caused by some wild animal, and Stiles wasn't about to complicate things by explaining the existence of werewolves. That knowledge would stay between him and Scott.
But as he scanned through the files again, a new thought chilled him to the core. His dad's notes listed three other victims, cases marked as animal attacks but with something distinctly different about them. The first was a woman found with her throat mauled, every drop of blood in her body mysteriously drained. The second and third cases were even stranger—two people found with their stomachs ripped open, their liver and spleen missing, their bodies left to die slowly.
A new kind of monster he thought.
Stiles sat back, his mind racing, replaying the details over and over. If these deaths weren't connected to the Alpha, then Beacon Hills had another supernatural killer in town, something else lurking in the shadows, preying on the unsuspecting.
The cold, creeping fear twisted in his gut. The Alpha was bad enough, but a creature that hunted for organs, leaving its victims drained and brutalized, felt even worse. He thought of his dad, of Melissa, of Lydia and Jackson—people who had no idea what was out there in the dark. If the Alpha didn't get them, maybe this new creature would.
"I need to tell Scott," he msuttered to himself, his voice a little shaky. He needed to talk to someone, share this weight, even if only to feel a little less like the world was spinning out of control. This was more than he had bargained for.
Stiles closed the files, making sure everything looked untouched. He knew he'd have to tell Scott soon; whatever was out there, Scott could probably get rid of it.
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