Chapter 1 – Moonlight visions and Sun streaked days
The booming thunder made her eardrums ache painfully, and threw her awake. Her eyes shot open, lipid blue and wide, her pupils growing to almost eclipse the irises completely. Red lips fell softly open to draw in a breath of confusion, as certain knowledge flooded her.
The redhead sat up stiffly, and looked out the window, on the full moon bathing her in its light. There was no thundercloud in sight, and yet the pouring of rain pushed away all other sounds around her. Not knowing why she was doing it, the young woman swung her legs out of bed and stood with bare feet on the cold floor.
Her familiar walls faded away to reveal a cliff, and rain falling around her, chilling her to the bone almost instantly. Thunder roared again, and this time she was the lightning follow. Looking down on the wet ground before her, she found a hoof print too large to belong to any natural creature. The mud and rain had run into it, filling it with black water, and when she dipped her fingertips in it, she found that it was warm.
Slowly raising them to look at it closer, she saw that it was not water at all.
It was blood.
Looking up again she followed the path running along the cliff with her eyes, watching breathlessly, till she caught sight of a shadow up ahead.
And the Banshee screamed.
.o.O.o.
Long slow breaths sounded from the body curled up among wrinkled sheets and a kicked off comforter. Tousled black hair was messed up from sleep, and burnished olive skin bore witness to long time spend outside and the man's Hispanic heritage. His face was relaxed and peaceful, but both jaw and brow revealed strength to any who would watch for it. So did the muscles, like thick ropes under his skin. His left arm carried two black bands, tattooed on the upper part of it, the crest of his pack.
A woman was curled up beside him, her back pressed against his, arms stretched up over her head as if she was hiding her nose. Like a sleeping coyote, covering its snout to keep warm. Her sandy brown hair fell in soft waves around her, as tousled as the man's.
Pleasant heat enveloped the two of them, shared freely between partners. The rhythm of their breaths had lined up during the night. Morning sun fell over them like a golden blanket, caressing them softly with its warmth. The birds were singing outside, but they were the only sounds around, the Sunday morning keeping people in their beds, as surely as the long night before kept the pair in theirs.
With a murmur of content, Scott turned to envelop Malia in his arms, pulling her to his chest. He burrowed his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent despite being more than half asleep still. A mischievous growl sounded from her, as she pressed herself back against him. Wriggling slightly.
He chuckled, a deep and warm sound.
"I don't want to wake up yet," he complained in a playful murmur. "Sleep, Malia."
She stretched in his arms, and turned so that they were face to face, kissing his jaw before pressing her nose against him. It was cold as always. For around thirty seconds he allowed himself to believe that she would do as he said, and go back to sleep.
Then sharp teeth bore down into his shoulder, before she rolled back, out of his arms to the sound of his "ouch". She landed on her feet on the floor beside the bed, and rose to a stand, sun playing off of her naked body. She was slender still, tall and statuesque. And she looked at him with mild amusement.
"Lazybones."
And with that stinger, she crossed the wooden floor of the loft, and disappeared into the bathroom. Soon after, the sound of water followed, and the smell of unscented shampoo.
Scott groaned into the crook of his arm, and focused his hearing. He could hear the rest of the pack on the floor below, some sleeping, drawing peaceful breaths, their hearts at ease. Others were awake, but barely moving, respecting that if they did, they risked waking those who still slept: The discomforts of living with people who had supernaturally good hearing.
Apparently Malia thought everyone had had plenty of sleep.
Including Scott.
With a sigh, and the shadow of a smile, Scott got out of bed.
.o.O.o.
FBI agent Stiles Stilinski pulled up into the parking lot and pulled the handbrake on his Jeep. The battered bruised old car had been repaired several times already, and he supposed that it was hardly the shell of the car it used to be. The motor was new, and in fact, most of the other insides was as well. The seats had been replaced the year before, and the plating and paint renewed a year before that. Somehow he doubted the original makers had designed it to withstand fighting werewolves, demons and the like.
He did have a car provided by the agency, but he rarely drove it outside of official cases. Too many things went on in his home town, and if something happened to the agency's car, he would never be able to explain it. At least on cases, he could claim psychotic killers or the like.
"Freaking werewolves," he muttered under his breath, but there was a lightness to it that belied the harsh words. He got out of the car, and looked up at the large building beside him, and what had once been an old factory.
Now it was cheap renting, and a place Stiles had once sardonically dubbed the "Wolf Den". Lydia usually referred to it as the "puppy pile", just to annoy the werewolves there, but Stiles knew that some of them actually preferred her way of saying it. The McCall pack had become as tight knit as a family, and maybe even more so.
And today was waffle Sunday.
The door was open, so Stiles went right in. Scott had had sanded down wooden planks laid over the original concrete floor, to keep the cold from seeping up into the large factory hall. Water had been laid in, and a kitchen now took up one corner of it. It was much too large for any normal family, but the pack needed the extra space. When they were all together, they needed the extra stove top space as well, just to feed them all.
They had three couches in the other end of the room, and in between was the largest dining table they had been able to find. Several chairs crowded it, and somebody had placed a vase with flowers on its middle. Already the sweet scent of crisp waffles laid heavily in the air, as chatter and low music thrummed through it.
"Stiles!" Scott called with a smile from one of the waffle irons. "You made it!"
Stiles crinkled his nose in good humour.
"Yeah, this case was simple. Good old fashioned human stupidity. Wrapped it up a lot quicker than I'm able to with your messes," he called. On his way to hug his friend, he gave the rest of the pack nods and smiles as greeting. Isaac was lounging in one of the couches, watching some documentary, and barely looked at him when he entered. Hayden was curled up in the corner of another, watching with him, and a third werewolf sat on the same couch as her. Ethan grinned at him in that way of his, where he showed all his teeth, but Stiles knew there was no threat in it. He just genuinely had that big a smile, and it was nice that it had returned, which might be due to the werewolf currently setting the table. Jackson shrugged his eyebrows at Stiles, smirking.
"Hey, Stilinski," he said sardonically. "I like your slacks."
"Why thank you, Jackson," Stiles replied, not sparing him a look. "I always wondered if I was attractive to gay guys."
"And Danny never did answer you, did he? Too bad he couldn't make it today," Scott laughed, his voice cutting over Jackson's; "bite me, Stilinski", and pulled him into a tight hug. Malia grinned over Scott's shoulder, perched on the edge of the kitchen counter. "It's good to see you- It's been like a month."
"Well, you know, work and all," Stiles said, with a shrug. "Lydia's not here yet?"
The redheaded Banshee did have her own rooms in the Wolf Den, but preferred to stay in her studio near the university. It was a long drive from there to Beacon Hills, so she was mostly around during holidays and extended weekends, unless Scott called a pack meeting, or she was summoned by one of her premonitions. Even though Jackson and Ethan also had their own place, it was actually in the town, and so they saw them quite frequently.
"Not yet," Scott said, letting him go. "You good?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm good," Stiles reassured him. "Just- peachy."
The outer door opened again, followed by a shout.
"We're here! We brought the syrup!" Melissa's voice echoed, seconds before she appeared from the hallway. Her black curls was tied back, a lot more grey than they used to be, but not nearly as bleached as the man who followed. Chris Argent carried the grocery bags, blue eyes sparkling, that ridge of sorrow still on his brow. Melissa carried the eggs under one arm, placing them on the kitchen counter to hug her son and put a kiss on his cheek. Malia stole a waffle while Scott was distracted, and picked little pieces off to eat, sugar clinging to her fingertips. "Good to see you."
"You too, Mom," Scott said warmly, choosing not to address Malia's thievery. "And you, Chris."
Melissa looked around searchingly.
"Where's the rest of the boys?" she asked. "And the Hales, and Lydia? Not here yet? And move over Scott, I'll do the rest of the waffles. It looks like you've been at it for a while."
"Mason and Cory slept at Mason's last night, after the pack run, so they should be here soon. Liam, Theo and Alec are in the training room, working up an appetite- I don't know if Peter will show up, but Derek and Brayden will bring over little Talia. Cora should arrive with them," Scott told her. "We haven't heard from Lydia, but she said she'd be here last time we called."
"Parrish and my dad will be here a little late- They had to go over a case at the sheriff's station." Stiles supplied. He emptied the coffee pot from the machine into another, and went to refill the coffee maker. They would need more than one pot with the amount of people there.
"Hayden, would you help Jackson with the table?" Scott called casually, gathering fruit to wash and prepare it. He put a cutting board and a knife next to Malia, and handed her the fruit to cut piece by piece as he washed it.
Hayden made a sound of consent, jumping from the couch to bring in juice, milk, and bread. Ethan got up to help Jackson put out napkins for the blades. Everybody moved to pitch in.
In the end Mason and Cory appeared almost at the same time as the Hales. Derek greeted the pack with his little daughter on his arm, Cora rolling her eyes at the way her brother had turned complete softie because of the toddler. Malia jumped from the counter, eyes laughing at her former mentor, as Brayden hugged her. Liam, Theo and Alec came straight from the showers. Alec still looked like the runt of a litter, and Scott worried he was pushing himself to keep up with the two older betas.
Scott laughed loudly when Derek passed him the two year old, and she turned her yellow eyes to her alpha, tugging at his hair.
"Ouch, Talia!" he growled softly, a kind warning with no threat in it at all. "That hurts."
Talia chuckled happily, and clapped her hands.
"Soft, soft," she crowed. "Soft, Scottie."
"Such respect for your alpha," Scott said humorously. "Better give you back to someone you actually respect."
Derek held out his arms for the little girl, but Scott smiled widely and passed Talia to her mother instead. Brayden and the others laughed on Derek's and Scott's expense. Derek tousled Scott's hair with an annoyed growl.
"Alpha or not, you're still a cheeky pup," he commented. "Talia knows that. She's bright as her grandmother, that one."
Stiles rolled his eyes and dragged up his phone to check the time. The numbers 12:22 blinked at him from the screen and he frowned.
"We all agreed to be here at twelve, right?" he asked.
"Yeah, but someone is always late. That's just the way it goes," Malia said, haphazardly filling fruit into a bowl. "With some of us living so far away, its just to be expected. Even on our monthly pack meet up. Though why anyone would live far from their pack, I don't know."
The werewolves turned their heads towards the hallway as the door opened and closed again. This time it was Sheriff Stilinski and the town's resident hell hound, finally arriving.
"Dad!" Stiles called, pulling the elderly man into a hug. "I missed you."
"Oh, bogus," Mr. Stilinski scoffed. "You just wanted to make sure I haven't been driving. Even though my sight is fine, I might add."
"I've been driving," Parrish interrupted. "The house is on my way to work anyway, and our hours and cases are mostly the same."
"Did you get your eyes checked?" Stiles asked. "After last time-"
"I did, I did," his father brushed him off. "The doctors say its just age, and I got these new glasses at home which I need to use when driving."
"At home? What good are they going to do at home, dad? Glasses are for wearing, you know outside, and around-"
"Stiles. Drop. It," his father cut him off before he could drone on. "Now, where are those waffles?"
"In here! We're starting now, so come sit down!" Melissa called. "Waffles and pancakes are done! And there's enough even for this pack of wolves!"
"What about Lydia?" Stiles asked again.
"She'll probably be here soon, come eat," was the answer.
.o.O.o.
Lydia opened her eyes to the feeling of sun on her skin, and the sounds of birds singing. Something coarse pressed against her cheek, and she sat up in confusion. She was outside, in the forest. Her nightgown was covered in mud, and her hair stuck to her face. Tall trees stood to both sides of her, swaying slightly in the wind.
She felt her heart sink, as she sighed heavily.
"Not this again," she grumbled, staggering to a stand and cringing at the pain it caused her. She was on a gravel road, and the many small stones bore into the soles of her feet. "Stupid, Banshee-sleepwalking. There better not be a dead body here, or I swear-"
The gravel road led in two directions through the forest, with not an eye or a person in sight. Cursing under her breath, she picked a direction and started walking, hoping something fierce that there might be someone who would give her a lift around.
"Anybody there?" she shouted. "Anyone at all?"
There was no answer, and she had no idea where she was. She sighed again and stopped walking, closing her eyes for a second. Then she opened them again, trying to catch onto that banshee frequency only she could hear. Well, her, and one other. Taking a deep breath, she screamed soundlessly. And all through the woods deer, fox and birds fled.
And in the town below the forest covered ridge, at a table filled with love and waffles, the hell hound rose to attention.
.o.O.o.