Scott McCall sprinted through the dense forest, the cool earth soft beneath his paws. The world was vivid—every scent, every sound, and every flicker of movement stood out in startling clarity. He was a wolf, powerful and lean, moving with a fluid grace he'd never known in his human form.
Beside him, a smaller wolf ran close, its golden eyes glinting like molten amber. Two pups trailed them, yipping and tumbling in the underbrush. Scott slowed his pace, allowing the pups to catch up. They nuzzled his side, their warmth and innocence a stark contrast to the primal instincts coursing through him.
The moment was serene, almost sacred, but it didn't last.
A low, menacing growl echoed through the forest, reverberating in Scott's chest like a warning bell. The sky above shifted, the familiar hues of blue and green melting into a grotesque bloodred. A loud crash followed a sound that seemed to split the world in two.
Scott turned, his hackles rising as the forest around him warped and twisted into a nightmare.
And then he woke.
His eyes snapped open, the dream fading but the sense of dread lingering. He was lying on the side of the road, the damp chill of dew soaking through his clothes. Groaning, he pushed himself up, his body aching and his mind clouded.
"What the hell happened?" he muttered, his voice hoarse.
The events of the night before came rushing back—the search, the body, the glowing red eyes, the attack. He instinctively reached for his side, wincing as his fingers brushed against the source of his pain. Pulling up his shirt, he found a jagged bite mark, red and raw against his pale skin.
He stared at it, his heart pounding.
Shaking his head to clear the fog, Scott staggered to his feet. He needed to get home—needed answers. Avoiding the front door, he crept around to the side of the house and climbed through the open window into his bedroom.
Once inside, he collapsed onto his bed, exhaustion pulling him under despite the turmoil swirling in his mind.
The following morning, Scott arrived at Beacon Hills High School on his bike, still groggy from the night before. The air smelled crisp and clean, but something about it felt different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the world seemed sharper, louder, and more alive than it had before.
As he parked his bike, the sleek hum of a sports car engine drew his attention. Jackson Whittemore pulled into the lot, his Porsche glinting in the morning sun.
Scott barely had time to move before Jackson swung his car door open, nudging him off balance.
"Watch the paint job," Jackson sneered, his tone dripping with arrogance.
Scott's jaw tightened, and for a moment, a surge of something unfamiliar coursed through him. His senses heightened, and his vision seemed to narrow as he glared at Jackson. He could feel his pulse pounding, his breath quickening—but then he forced himself to look away, taking deep breaths to calm the storm building inside him.
"Not worth it," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he headed inside.
In front of the boys' locker, Scott lifted his shirt to show Stiles the wound. The bite was now covered with a makeshift bandage of gauze and tape, though a faint stain of blood had seeped through.
"Dude," Stiles said, his eyes wide. "That looks nasty. You think it was a wolf?"
"Yeah," Scott replied, his voice uncertain. "I heard it howling before it attacked me."
"Impossible," Stiles declared, pacing as he rubbed the back of his neck. "There haven't been wolves in California for, like, sixty years. Are you sure it wasn't, I don't know, a really big coyote?"
Scott hesitated before shaking his head. "It wasn't a coyote. And there's something else…I found the body in the woods."
Stiles froze, his eyes lighting up with a mix of excitement and horror. "You found the body? Like, the one everyone's talking about?"
Scott nodded.
"Man, this is insane! You're like, the guy who uncovers all the mysteries!" Stiles exclaimed, only to lose focus as Lydia Martin walked by.
"Hey, Lydia!" he called, grinning.
She ignored him completely, walking past without so much as a glance.
Stiles turned back to Scott, exasperated. "You see what you're doing to me? You're dragging me down to your nerd depths. I'm a nerd by association. I've been scarlet nerded by you!"
Scott rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the support."
In English class, the teacher wrote Kafka's Metamorphosis on the board, droning on about transformation and the deeper meanings behind the text. Scott tried to focus, but his mind kept wandering.
A sharp ringtone startled him, and he looked around for the source. The sound wasn't coming from inside the room.
His eyes landed on a girl sitting outside on a bench, her dark hair catching the sunlight. She answered her phone, and to Scott's shock, he could hear every word of her conversation as if she were sitting right next to him.
"I left without a pen," the girl—Allison—was saying. "I didn't think to check."
Scott rubbed his ear, wondering if he was imagining things. How could he hear her so clearly?
A school administrator approached Allison, leading her into the building. Moments later, she entered the classroom, her presence immediately drawing attention.
"This is Allison Argent," the teacher said. "She's new to Beacon Hills. Please make her feel welcome."
Allison smiled politely and took the desk behind Scott. He handed her a pen without thinking, their fingers brushing briefly.
"Thanks," she said, her voice soft.
Scott glanced at her, their eyes meeting for a split second.
Later, at his locker, Scott found himself staring at Allison again. She caught his gaze and smiled, a genuine, radiant expression that made his heart skip a beat.
Before he could say anything, Lydia Martin appeared, complimenting Allison's jacket.
"Where'd you get it?" Lydia asked, her voice filled with approval.
"My mom's a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco," Allison replied.
"You're officially my new best friend," Lydia declared, looping an arm through Allison's.
Scott listened to every word of their conversation, his enhanced hearing picking up details he wouldn't have caught before.
Jackson joined them, wrapping an arm around Lydia and planting a kiss on her lips. He smirked at Scott before turning his attention to Allison.
"We're having a party Friday night after the scrimmage," Jackson said.
Allison hesitated. "Friday's family night."
"Everyone goes after the scrimmage," Jackson insisted. "You don't want to miss it."
Allison smiled politely, "After Football?"
The conversation shifted as Jackson leaned against the lockers, his confident smirk firmly in place. "Football's a joke in Beacon," he declared, tossing his car keys into the air and catching them effortlessly.
Allison tilted her head, her brow furrowing. "Really? Isn't football usually the big sport at high schools?"
"Not here," Jackson replied, his tone dripping with pride. "Here, it's all about lacrosse. We've won the state championship three years in a row."
Lydia, standing beside him, rolled her eyes playfully. "Thanks to Jackson, of course. He's the team captain." She wrapped her arms around his bicep, giving Allison a conspiratorial wink.
Jackson grinned, soaking in the praise. "What can I say? Talent speaks for itself."
Allison smiled politely, though her expression suggested she wasn't entirely sold on Jackson's self-assured bravado.
"You should come to practice," Lydia suggested, her eyes bright. "It'll give you a chance to see how we do things here."
Allison hesitated. "I don't know… I still need to figure out where all my classes are."
"Nonsense," Lydia said, looping her arm through Allison's. "You'll figure it out. Lacrosse practice is way more fun."
Before Allison could protest further, Jackson joined in. "Yeah, come on. You'll get to see me in action," he said with a confident grin.
Allison gave a small laugh, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll come watch."
"Perfect!" Lydia beamed, steering Allison down the hallway as Jackson trailed behind them.
Scott watched the trio leave, a mix of emotions bubbling in his chest. He was still trying to make sense of everything—the bite, the strange changes he was experiencing, and now Allison. Something about her made it impossible for him to look away, and yet she was being swept up into Jackson and Lydia's orbit like everyone else.
A wave of determination washed over him.
Lacrosse practice, he thought. If he wanted to prove he wasn't just the quiet, nerdy guy, he'd have to step up—on the field and off it.
Scott shut his locker with a resolute click and headed for the locker room. It was time to show Jackson Whittemore, and maybe even Allison Argent, that he wasn't just some background player in Beacon Hills.