Hello everyone!
I own nothing except the obvious OC characters.
Sit back, relax and most of all, enjoy.
A/N: Sorry for the repost, but I had this chapter beta'd by the amazing geekisthenewawsome (whom I thank from the bottom of my heart). Don't worry, chapter 2 will soon follow!
Bit by Bite
Chapter 1: Sleep Alone
Camille was not happy. She was late for her first day at school, and as if that wasn't enough, her legal guardians had decided that today was a good day to lecture her into "staying out of trouble". As if she didn't try already! Problem was, trouble usually found her anyway...
And so, there she was in her little silver Peugeot, trying to find her way through the labyrinth from hell that was Beacon Hills. After one hour of driving and a lot of circling around, she finally found her new school, Beacon Hills High — they must have run out of original names. After searching for a few minutes, she finally found an empty space, and parked her car. She followed the stream of students going through the big gates of the building. Everybody was chatting happily about their summer and what a great time they had. She hated them already — who really cared what idiotic things they'd done during the summer, anyway?
Her beige and black bag on her shoulder, she braced herself for the worst and entered what was bound to be a year in purgatory. It seemed a pretty ordinary school with pretty ordinary adolescents. But as the phrase goes, appearances can be deceiving.
She checked the rumpled paper in her jeans pocket and went in search of Locker 369, but it was a good ten minutes later that she was finally opening said locker. While she was putting her books into it, two girls approached her. One was freakishly tall, with wavy brown hair and kind chocolate eyes. The other was a petite redhead with dark green eyes and rosy lipstick on her pouting mouth.
"Hi!" said the tall one, leaning on the locker beside her. "I've never seen you before, so you must be new. My name's Allison and this is Lydia."
She pointed at the smaller one, who retorted, "I can speak for myself, thank you. Anyway, is your bag Chanel?"
"Gosh, Lydia, you'll make her think we're shallow people. Who cares about her bag?"
"I do..." Lydia muttered, looking eagerly at the bag.
"Ignore her. She's really smart, actually; she just doesn't like other people to know."
"Well, thank you Allison, for completely ruining any element of surprise."
Camille was surprised, all right. So much, in fact, that she didn't believe a word of it. Then again, she didn't really care either way.
"Last year, I was in your shoes," Allison continued as if Lydia hadn't said anything. "I know how much it sucks being the new girl, so if you need any help, don't hesitate.
"We can give you the tour if you want," she added. "Not much to see, though."
She smiled expectantly at Camille, who had yet to say a word in this one-sided conversation. Camille responded with a fake grin of her own.
"Thanks." The grin disappeared. "But no thanks."
She shut her locker with a resounding bang and walked away. As she walked away, she heard the redhead, what-was-her-name-again, huff: "What is her problem? I told you we needed to stop taking in strays."
Camille didn't hear Allison's answer because the bell rang loudly, covering the sounds of their conversation. She did not try to find her classroom, however — she headed straight outside. Nobody was around, which she was grateful for, so she went to find herself a nice remote spot to smoke. She stopped behind the bleachers of the school's stadium and sat down on the grass.
The first drag was heaven. The smoke cleared her head of all the shit that had happened and was happening in her life. Whoever had invented cigarettes was a saint. Pleasantly light-headed by the fog invading her brain, she raised her eyes to the sky and stopped thinking altogether. Well, at least she tried.
Unfortunately for her, fate did not like to leave her alone for long and her little moment of peace was soon interrupted.
"Excuse me? You know you're not allowed to smoke on school grounds?"
It was a male voice. Camille looked at him, taking her time. He was rather tall and athletic-looking, with an olive skin, a mop of dark hair and muddy brown eyes. And he was also a werewolf. The vibe was tenuous, hidden under the good-guy exterior, but there was no mistaking the danger lurking underneath.
"No kidding," she said, getting up. She lit up another cigarette and inhaled deeply.
He looked uncomfortable, not sure of what he was supposed to do. It was kind of cute.
"You must be Camille. Our teacher, Mr. Tanner, asked me to find you. I'm Scott, by the way."
Camille approached him, coming very close. He looked more like a deer being ambushed than a big bad predator.
"And you always do as you're told, like the good little wolf that you are, right?"
"What did you just say?"
"Woof!" She barked at his face. "Do you understand this language better?"
"You must be mistaken," he faltered, trying to back away. "I'm not what you think I am."
"Really?" She extinguished her cigarette on his shoulder, making a tiny hole on his T-shirt and producing a startled cry from Scott.
"What the hell?" he shouted, his eyes yellowing.
"Don't be a baby. It'll heal. See you around, pup."
When Camille entered the classroom, every seat was already taken, except for one in the back and one by the window. Every head turned her way as she entered the room and proceeded to examine her thoroughly. Contrastingly, the English teacher, Mr. Tanner, looked at her without the remotest bit of interest.
"You must be…" He consulted his list. "Camille Masurel. Is that right?"
"Yes, that's me," she answered.
"Where are you from, exactly?"
"Paris, France."
"Oh really?" He was getting interested now, which was not a good thing. "Are you an exchange student?"
"No."
"Why are you here, then?"
"Because I moved."
She was expecting him to ask why, but he seemed content with his Twenty Questions and motioned her to the two available seats. She took the one beside the window so she could look outside if and when she was bored. Only seconds later, Scott appeared in the classroom.
"Well, Mr. McCall, it seemed she beat you to it, since she was here before you. Try to be a little more useful next time."
Scott threw him a dark look that Mr. Tanner completely ignored. He sat in front of an ordinary-looking guy with a flat-top haircut, who immediately assaulted the werewolf with whispers. Scott furiously whispered back. Camille's guess was that they were probably talking about her, which was easily confirmed when they both turned to look at her. Scott was looking quite miffed while the other appeared only slightly curious.
She returned the stare, not backing down. When both finally looked away, she resumed listening to the lesson. Mr. Tanner was talking about a famous French poet named Baudelaire, whose works she knew almost by heart, so she tuned him out and looked out the window instead.
Once though, he addressed her directly.
"Miss Masurel, could you tell me your thoughts on this particular poem?"
He was testing her. He'd probably noticed that she wasn't paying attention. Fortunately for her, she knew the poem that he was referring to.
"L'albatros is one of Baudelaire's most famous poems. It's about a white albatross, which ends up on a boat and cannot fly off. Sailors make fun of it because he is ridiculous on the ground, his wings are too big for him and his legs are not made for walking. But when he's in the sky, he's the mightiest of all. Baudelaire is referring to the fact that most people do not appreciate beauty or do not understand it and that they usually mock what they do not understand."
The silent after her little speech was deafening. Mr. Tanner cleared his throat.
"Yes, well. That is a correct analysis. Anyone else?"
He did not bother her any more after that.
After English, she had Biology, which was not exactly her favorite subject. But she went anyway, because skipping school on the first day was not a good idea (not counting her little slip outside earlier). She took an empty seat and prayed to any god who was watching that she looked intimidating enough to prevent any unwanted neighbors.
However, as she should really already have known, God apparently hated her.
It was Scott's friend. The one with the flat-top hair and the malicious smile. He introduced himself almost immediately.
"Hello, you're Camille right? Well, of course you are — you're the only new person around here, after all. You're French, aren't you? My name's Stiles, by the way."
Did the boy breathe?
"Is it?" Camille answered with a small secretive smile.
He looked really startled for a second but, to his credit, he recovered quickly.
"I'd tell you my real name but you wouldn't believe me, trust me. Stiles is much more convenient. So... how did you know that Scott is a you-know-what?"
He cut to the chase pretty quickly.
"I just know things. Like the fact that your real name is..."
He quickly put a hand over her mouth and hissed, "You better not say it out loud or I'll..."
"You'll what?" she asked, removing the troublesome appendage.
"Well... I don't know yet, but it won't be pleasant," Stiles warned in his best scary tone (which was not frightening in the least). "So, back to business. Why did you move here?
"None of your fucking business."
Okay, so maybe she was being kind of harsh, but the boy's persistence was getting on her nerves.
"Calm down, oh angry woman. I was just asking out of curiosity. No need to take offense."
"I would greatly appreciate it if you people just left me alone."
"Sorry, you're out of luck. This is a town of few distractions (though it has its moments, I must admit), so we make do with what we have. Are you really French? You don't have any accent at all."
"I went to an international school." She did not know why she answered, maybe just so he would be satisfied and stop asking so many damned questions. He was worse than a cop.
"Really? I didn't know those existed. Is Paris a cool city? I heard it was."
"Better than here, anyway."
"So why did you move?"
This time, she remained silent.
"Okay fine. I'll stop asking."
"There is a god!" she replied sarcastically.
A female with long blond hair in a ponytail and a very well-fitting black suit entered the room then, thankfully interrupted them. She smiled sweetly and went to write on the blackboard.
"Hello, my name is Meredith Grayson and I'm your new Biology teacher. I know that lots of you don't like this course, but I'll do my best to make it enjoyable."
She sounded and looked like a porn star. Stiles was practically drooling.
"Watch the dribble," Camille sneered.
"Yeah, okay." He was definitely mesmerized.
She shrugged. She had tried to prevent him from making a fool out of himself, hadn't she? Like first period, she distractedly listened to the lecture. Apparently, they were going to start with dissecting frogs.
"Do you want me to do it? I know girls can be squeamish about intestines and stuff." Stiles asked, once he had collected his wits.
"Not this girl," she said. "A little blood doesn't freak me out." She had seen her share of blood before, after all. Camille tried to block the memories flashing before her eyes.
"Are you all right?" Stiles inquired with a concerned expression.
"Why would I not be?"
"You tell me. You were the one with the scary-looking hollow stare."
"Don't we have a frog to dissect?"
"Sure, change the subject. You're not really good at hiding stuff, you know?"
"Whatever. Let's get this thing done already."
The hour passed by rather quickly. Camille was reluctantly growing fond of the spirited character that was Stiles. He was just plain fun to be with and he did not seem to mind her being mean and sarcastic. In fact, he seemed to like it because, quote: "he was sarcasm incarnated". Still, when the class ended, she didn't wait for him, even though he shouted after her.
It was lunchtime so she went to the cafeteria. Now, if people would leave her alone for once, that would be just peachy.
Seconds after she started eating her salad, the sound of two trays broke into her sweet alone time: Stiles and Scott. She cursed silently and resumed eating as if nothing had happened.
"You can try to ignore us," Stiles began, "but you know, I'm a pretty hard guy to ignore. One, I talk too much. Two, I'm too funny for my own good. And look, I think I see a smile somewhere behind all that badass attitude."
"Shut up, you twit."
"That's the Camille I know and love."
"You don't even know me."
"I'm working on that. So… Scott here was scared shitless by your little accusation back on the sports arena. And you ruined his favorite shirt."
"Sue me."
"Maybe he will. Bad deeds should not go unpunished. Right Scott?"
"Hmm, yeah." Scott was clearly not a very talkative guy. A man after her own heart.
"Anyway, you still didn't answer my question about how you knew about his... condition."
"And I won't, so just leave it at that."
"You know his darkest secret, and mine too, might I add. Don't you think it's fair that we know yours in turn?"
"Who ever said life was fair? If it was, you wouldn't be sitting there annoying me."
"Just leave her alone, Stiles," Scott tried to pacify his friend. "It's obvious that she doesn't want to talk about it. As long as she keeps it to herself, I'm cool with it." Camille looked at Scott with what could be mistaken for gratitude.
Stiles, however, still looked conflicted. "But, doesn't the not knowing frustrate you?"
"Not really." Scott shrugged. She really could get used to this one, even if he was a werewolf.
As she was trying to continue eating while vaguely listening to Stiles' antics, Camille sensed a pretty threatening vibe from behind her. She turned around and saw another werewolf. He was rather handsome, but his face was twisted by rage and envy. He was also looking at Scott.
She raised an eyebrow at the latter. "What's his deal?" she asked.
He looked unsure about what to tell her. "This is Jackson. He's kind of mad at me."
"Yeah, I figured. But why? Territorial issues?"
"Something like that." He did not even seem surprised that she knew Jackson was a werewolf.
"He's newly bitten and he thought being a werewolf was all fun and games. Turn out his maker is pretty high-maintenance and he has to do all the dirty work."
"And you?"
"Well, Derek and I have an agreement. I saved his life and helped him get revenge. He destroyed any chance I had of being normal. So he pretty much owes me."
There was a story behind this, she guessed, but she didn't ask. That wasn't her concern.
"There you are, guys." Allison and Lydia, the two girls who tried to talk to her in the morning, sat down at their table. Camille really needed to check if she was cursed or something. Was it a rite of passage to be constantly persecuted on your first day? She so did not deserve this crap.
"And there you are," Lydia said with undisguised contempt. "What is she doing here?"
"Lydia, don't be mean." That was Allison.
"Are you her mother or what? You keep telling her what to do," Camille observed.
"Camille, don't be mean." It was Stiles this time, imitating a girl's voice.
Everybody laughed. She was screwed.
When she finally got out of school and out of friendship's claws, Camille was exhausted. Staying away from people was much harder than it appeared, especially when these people were named Stiles, Allison and Scott. She didn't count Lydia because the girl obviously hated her guts, and Camille had given her every reason to. Lydia's reaction was the normal one. No, the weird ones were the other three who kept trying to get into her head. They were nothing if not persistent.
If she had to be honest with herself, (which she would not, because that would lead to dangerous ground), they were great friends. Fiercely loyal, even Lydia, who seemed like a total bitch otherwise. They stuck to each other like glue. And as illogical as it seemed, they appeared to want to include her into their little circle.
Once she was near her house, she pulled over and got out of her car. It was like any other house, though maybe a little bigger. The garden was well groomed, because her uncle was a neat freak and a passionate gardener. How someone could be passionate about gardening, she had no clue, but whatever. Her uncle's boyfriend was an interior decorator, so the house had pretty nice furniture.
She liked her room, despite hating the house – well maybe less the house and more her situation. It was a huge room with a king-sized bed. The paint on the wall was deep red on one wall and light gray on the others. It created a nice contrast. Plus, she had a really big iMac and an immense bathroom, with a bathtub the size of a small pool. If she had had another life, she would have reveled in this lifestyle.
Nobody was home yet, so Camille quickly changed into her jogging suit. There was a forest nearby; she had passed through it while getting lost this morning. As soon as she was outside, she started running.
It felt good. She hadn't done jogging in a while, so she was a little rusty, but she grew used to the pain in her legs until she felt satisfyingly numb. She could run like this forever. The only sound around her was the wind ruffling through the leaves, her footsteps and her heavy breathing.
And suddenly, someone else was there. She stopped at once. She sensed a fierce aura coming towards her. He appeared from behind a tree.
He was strikingly handsome, with pale skin, dark hair and piercing grey eyes. And he was also a werewolf. Was there some werewolf convention in this town that she wasn't aware of? However, he didn't seem like Scott or even Jackson. He was much more dangerous.
"You should not be running alone in these woods, girl," he said in a deep, low voice.
"I don't take kindly to people telling me what to do," she replied.
There was a moment of silence, then, "This is private territory. If you don't want me to call the police next time, don't come around here again."
"Is there a sign anywhere that can prove that? Didn't see any, sorry. Until then…" Camille turned around and even managed to make it a few steps before he was in front of her in a flash. He growled.
"You will not come here again, is that understood?"
"No, sorry. Could you repeat that, please? I have trouble speaking werewolf. I know it's, like, mandatory here, since everyone I meet seems to be one, but hey, I'm new, so I have an excuse."
His eyes narrowed dangerously. Do not test the irate werewolf. But since when had she ever taken her own advice?
"Who are you?" he asked, actually taking a sniff at her. Gross.
"Let's just say I can take care of myself."
The wind grew stronger then, and leaves twirled wildly around them. The werewolf's eyes widened a little. "Witch," he whispered, as if in awe.
"Bingo, you won the lottery. Now let me pass before I fry your hairy ass."
And he did.
Well, I hope it was to your liking. Don't forget to review, I love hearing feedback!
Next chapter: someone is missing.