Chapter One
Lana's Point of View
I shut the front door behind me as softly as possible. My teeth clench when the lock clicks in place, and I glance around anxiously, anticipation of him coming around the corner churning in the pit of my stomach. A few moments of me frozen, listening to any little noise in the tense silence of my house, and I'm relieved when there's nothing to hear. Releasing a breath I hadn't known I was holding, I walk towards the stairs.
"Lana."
Once again, my body freezes, and I curse to myself. Fuck. Reluctantly, I turn around to find my dad now standing at the end of the hallway, his arms crossed across his chest and anger evidently controlling his expression. The anticipation that was once fueling my actions is washed away and replaced with the kind of knowing fear I've felt so many times before. "Dad, look. I was just—,"
"What? Just what?" he asks, and advances toward me. "With those two idiot friends of yours? It's eleven o'clock, way past your curfew. What is so important that you would stay out past curfew?"
Averting my eyes to the floor, I quietly say, "I was helping Scott practice for lacrosse tryouts tomorrow. Becoming first line means a lot to him."
He laughs without humor. "I've been to your school's lacrosse games. Scott's always on the bench, along with his pathetic side-kick Stiles. Don't you think it's rather cruel to be encouraging him when you know he's going to suck just as much as he did last year?"
"Don't talk about them like that!" I snap, and regret it immediately.
His already enraged face twists infuriately, and before I can blink, his hand is around my neck and I'm thrown into the closet door. Pain shoots through my hip where I land and black splotches appear in my vision when his foot connects with my head. A tear rolls down my cheek as the awful pain continues. But I don't make a sound. I've learned to stay as silent as I can during times like this. Yelling, crying, screaming, or even whimpering will just string him on. The sound of my agony pleases him. And I won't give him any pleasure.
When the opportunity becomes apparent, I withstand the pain of getting to my feet and bolt out the door. Fortunately, he doesn't care enough to run after me. He knows he'll have plenty of other times to finish what he started.
I run for a while. I don't know how long, could have been hours, until finally my legs can't carry me any longer. My knees buckle and I collapse to the ground. My face feels strangely hot, despite the freezing weather, and fresh tears join the dry ones on my cheeks. Shallow, hysterical breaths of air hyperventilate from my chapped and swollen lips, and I hug my legs to my body, rocking back and forth.
It only takes me a few moments to calm down enough to observe my surroundings. My eyes dart around as I struggle to stand; my legs are still weak and trembling. I'm in the forest behind my house, that's easy to figure out, but where in that forest is the secret. My whole life I've lived in Beacon Hills, in the same house, with this exact same forest as my backyard. But I've never had the guts to venture that far in, and that must be why what's in front of me is completely new to my eyes.
The house in front of me is ginormous. There are three stories, with at least three windows on each one. Seemingly, it would be easy to call it beautiful, if it weren't almost completely in ruins. Everything is a distasteful brown, colored the same as aged ash, and it occurs to me that this must be the Hale house that burnt down a few years ago. Broken wood and unrecognizable parts of what was once nice detail to a gorgeous home hang loosely from the panels and windows. Weeds are growing all around it, indicating that this devastated home has been abdomen for a while now. When I take a few steps to the side, my eyes widen. Practically the entire back of the house is missing. Gone. The whole scene is horribly heartbreaking.
Like usual, my curiosity gets the better of me. I start toward the house, wrapping my arms around my body as the chill wind brushes against my naked arms. My shoes crunch the leaves on the ground obnoxiously; the forest is so quiet that the mere sound is like gun shots. Every time I make any sort of sound, no matter how tiny it is, I instinctively glance around. I'm so high on adrenaline that I'm consequently paranoid about who might be out in these woods. What they might be doing. And if I can't see them, it's very possible that they can still see me.
Tentatively, I push on the front door; it groans as it opens wide. As I cautiously walk in, my eyes roam around, slowly. Directly in front me is a staircase that leads up to the second story, where all I'm able to see from here are two windows with red curtains which are ripped and torn. The railings are held up by wooden pegs, some of those pegs being only half there or gone entirely. Paint or wallpaper is chipping off the walls—well, whatever paint or wallpaper is left—and dirt and grime is smudged right along with it. Moonlight dips into the dark, ominous room, lending me the only source of light, of which I'm greatly thankful for at the moment.
The room I enter next is much worse. Broken tables, scattered paper on the floor with other items I can't make out, a random, dirty chair here and there, wooden panels from the ceiling hanging down, and a fire place that looks like it hasn't been used in decades. An eerie feeling continuously crawling under my skin, I step over to one of the tables, where, looking very out of place, a framed picture is standing upright on top. I take it into my hands, my eyebrows scrunching together as I study it. It's of a girl and a guy. They're both very attractive people, with smiles as bright as the sun as they pose in front of a tree. They look so happy. It feels quite ironic that such an uplifting photo would be in this house.
"What are you doing?"
I jump, a startled gasp flying past my lips, and whirl around. Only a few feet away from me is a guy, probably around the age of nineteen or twenty, with a scowl plaguing his… gorgeous face. The attractiveness of this man in front of me is unbelievable—with dark scruff decorating his incredibly defined jawline, with dark, brown hair, almost to the point of black, looking sexily ruffled. Every facial feature on him is stunning, and when my eyes dart down to the rest of him, I'm almost tempted to rub my eyes and see if the perfect man in front of me is actually real. Even under his long-sleeved shirt and dark washed jeans, I can make out the amazing muscles all around his body. My gaze diverts on his face again, and it instantly locks with his, and my breath catches in my throat. His eyes cause my stomach to drop and coil. They're exceedingly beautiful, a light green color, maybe even blue some might say, and they hold so much turmoil in them that my heart squeezes in sympathy.
I become very aware that he's glaring at me with a look so hostile that I almost forget how hot he is. Almost. "Oh, I-I'm really sorry. I didn't know anyone lived here," I blabber, and I flinch because my voice is still crackly from my previous sob-session. Then I remember how awful I must look right now; tear-stained cheeks, mascara running, jeans covered in mud, hair probably symbolizing a rat's nest.
Great. The one time I'm in the presence of the hottest guy I've ever seen, I look like I just got ran over by a bus. Like my track-record isn't already bad enough. I suddenly have the urge to cry again, and I want to slap myself because of it. Damn emotions.
He stays silent, with no longer an angry look on his face, but an unreadable one as he mercilessly stares me down. I don't know if that's any better. "Look," I begin, "I'll just leave. Maybe we can just forget this ever happened—"
"You do know this is trespassing, right?" he interrupts, and shivers go up my spine from his voice. He walks toward me. "What are you, fifteen? Isn't this way past your bed time?"
All embarrassment vanishes, and I frown, irritation bubbling inside of me. "I'm sixteen, actually. And you don't have to be so rude."
He ignores me. "I'm so tired of reckless teenagers like you stumbling around in the woods because they think they're so invincible and that nothing is going to happen to them. All they want to do is impress their stupid friends by going into the woods during the night all alone. Or are you just having an emotional breakdown. Why aren't you home, huh? Boyfriend drama?"
His words hurt. A lot. I don't even know this guy and he's already hurt me. "You know what I'm tired of?" I say, my tone bitter. I try to sound strong and unfazed, but the somberness in my voice is far too blatant. "I'm tired of everyone being so relentlessly cruel to people who haven't done anything to deserve it."
Shoving past him, I hurry towards the door, but I'm stopped by him grabbing my arm. I look up to see that his expression has changed. He doesn't look angry or blank or upset. No, he looks anything but. The look he's giving me is so intense that it's impossible for me to look away. Not even one second goes by before he's clutching my face and crushing his lips onto mine.
The utter shock from him unexpectedly kissing me doesn't last as long as it should. But then again, I should have pulled away from him by now; however something kept me from doing so. An incredible sensation that racked through my body the second his lips connected with mine. My body felt like it was on fire, my mind went completely blank, and the only thing I'm capable of paying attention to being Derek Hale, the mysterious and strikingly enthralling stranger that I know absolutely nothing about.
He roughly pushes me up against the wall, meanwhile lifting my legs and hooking them around his waist. My hands fly up to his head and my fingers tangle in his hair while his pleasantly warm hands grip my hips. As if my body has been possessed by a completely different girl, who actually knows what she's doing, I erotically bite his bottom lip and he lets out an animalistic groan before relocating his kisses to my neck. Leaning my head back, my eyes slip closed, and my breathing gradually becomes even more heavy, right along with his.
Suddenly, his mouth is off my neck—to my disappointment—and he's taking my chin and forcing my face down so I'm staring him straight in the eyes. "What's your name?" he asks. His voice is just as eager and intense as his eyes.
"Lana," I breathe.
"Lana," he repeats quietly, and the corners of his mouth twitch into a slight smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lana. I'm—"
"Derek," I finish for him. "Derek Hale." I grab his face and press his lips back onto mine before he can respond.
This first chapter I deliberately made short because I want to know if anyone is interested before writing a full-length chapter. So, please, review! I hope you enjoyed.