They always hunt Scott.
After all, he's the monster, right? He's the one who grows fangs and claws and develops a taste for red meat every full moon. He's the one who growls at small animals. He's the one who wakes up sometimes covered in blood, and doesn't remember how it got there.
If you ask me, they should be hunting the creature who wakes sometimes covered in blood and knows exactly how it got there.
Because odds are, that creature put the blood there itself. Odds are, he enjoyed it.
But nope. The hunters still go after Scott. They don't give ickle Stiles Stilinski, his faithful little side-kick, a second thought.
I'm just a human, after all. A tall, awkward, gangly teenager with ADHD and mommy issues. They don't even think about thinking about me. In fact, if you mentioned that maybe that sheriff's boy should be watched, that maybe he could turn out to be a threat, that maybe, just maybe he's been possessed by a demon, they'd laugh. They'd laugh and shrug off the thought. Because they think I'm weak. Useless. Not to be worried about.
And it's a good thing, too.
Because when the full moon rolls around, it makes it that much easier for me to hunt them. They won't be watching for me. They won't see the flash of my red hoodie through the trees, or the silvery glint of light off my bared teeth, or the baseball bat, already slick with their brother's blood. They won't see me as I come up behind them. They won't notice that as I raise my weapon, my eyes go completely black.
And they're dead before they can even turn.
Because you don't mess with a demon, and you sure as #!*% don't mess with his pack.
Out of werewolves and demons, who do you think is the most dangerous? Who do you think you should be more afraid of?
As I said, they're always hunting Scott.
But they shouldn't be.
They should be hunting me.