She hated the way they looked at her, now . . . the other hunters, her own father, even Scott. It was as if the mere fact of her mother dying had made Allison a different person in their eyes . . . someone pitiable, fragile and over emotional. In a sense, they were right. Her mother's death had made Allison a different person, but she was anything but weak.

Rage was an incredibly powerful force, she learned. It could stiffen your bones, and increase the adrenaline surging through your muscles. But most importantly, it could build a cement wall around the most breakable part of your body . . . your heart.

Only her grandfather seemed to understand, which was ironic, because . . . well . . . her grandfather was a total wackjob. She knew this. But still, it was refreshing to have at least one person in this world, who didn't treat her like a broken doll.

It was actually Gerard Argent who gave her the idea. Of course, he didn't say it to her explicitly. Instead, he merely locked his eyes on hers, when he told the rest of the hunters that the game had changed. Tonight, there would be a strategy meeting to discuss their new "secret weapon" against Beacon Hills' "Werewolf Problem." Attendance was mandatory.

Gerard inclined his chin toward Allison subtly, and winked, before informing the group that tonight would be the perfect night to strategize, because Derek's pack would all be attending the big lacrosse match against Capeside High. If the game went as it was expected to go, they would be out celebrating their teams victory through the night, leaving Derek alone and unguarded in his lair.

"Message sent and received, old man," Allison muttered under her breath, as she huddled on the staircase of the Argent family basement.

When she told her father she'd be going to the game, and then spending the night at Lydia's, he actually looked relieved to see his daughter behaving like a "normal teenage girl," for a change. Ever since his wife's death, Chris Argent seemed increasingly reluctant for Allison to take up the hunting lifestyle. Allison used this to her advantage, even managing to fake a smile, when she made her request . . . something she hadn't done in days.

"Of course, sweetheart. Have fun, and be safe," her father said.

For a second, he looked like he wanted to say more, but, ultimately, decided against it . . .

When she returned to her bedroom, there was a box on her bed, with a silver ribbon tied around it. Though there was no card, or any label indicating the sender, she knew exactly who it was from. Inside the box was a small hand gun, and two small packages of bullets, silver tipped. "Thanks, Grandpa," she said out loud, as she loaded the gun . . .

As much as Derek Hale cared about his new pack, truth be told, he was relieved to have them out of his hair for one night. Everything about the past few days had angered, frustrated, and exhausted him . . . from Victoria Argent's surprise attack on Scott, to Peter Hale's reawakening from the dead, to his standoff against the kanaima. But of all the things that had happened, it was Derek's discovery of Scott's betrayal that hurt him the most. First Kate Argent, than Uncle Peter, and now Scott . . . why did everyone Derek allowed himself to trust let him down?

The Alpha Wolf was starting to think he was a terrible judge of character . . .

Except this was no time to lick his wounds. Enemies of The Pack seemed to be increasing in number, by the minute. So, Derek needed to come up with a way to protect his progeny, and fast. He promised himself he wouldn't sleep until he came up with a surefire plan to do just that.

But the past three nights of no sleep had begun to take their toll on Derek. He felt his brain growing fuzzy around the edges. Thinking back on it, sitting down on that old rickety rocking chair was probably a mistake. As soon as he got off his feet, he felt his taut muscles instinctively relax. And the repeated back and forth motion of the chair was gradually lulling him into a stupor. The harder he tried to focus on the problem at hand, the heavier and heavier his eyes became . . .

Having prepared herself for instant battle, Allison was surprised to find the beast sound asleep in a chair that seemed about two sizes too small for his massive body. Derek Hale looked oddly peaceful like this, snoring lightly, with his chin tucked into his bare chest. His skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat, despite it being about 40 degrees outside.

For a few brief seconds, Allison found herself mesmerized by the way his long eyelashes fluttered ever-so-slightly, as the muscles in his stomach, instinctively expanded and contracted. All the signs were there. The Alpha Wolf was dreaming . . . but about what, or who?

Even Allison had to admit that her enemy was extremely attractive. In a different life . . . in some alternate universe, she might have even developed a crush on him . . . spending long hours gabbing with her girlfriends about how sexy his body looked in those tight black shirts he always wore, and wondering what he looked like underneath them. Seeing Derek shirtless and vulnerable like this would have made that Allison positively giddy with glee.

And yet here she was, looming over him, her gun pressed right up against the firm pectoral muscles that covered his heart. She tried to ignore the light shaking of her hands, as she placed her finger gently on the trigger. "This is for my mother, you bastard," she hissed.

Then, in a flash, her gun was on the floor, and two sets of sharp nails were digging into her wrists. Her face was inches from his, now. And his gleaming red eyes were burning holes into her chocolate brown ones. The sound of his growl reverberated around the whole room, making her feel like she was in a car, where the base on the stereo had been turned up much too high.

The Beast was awake . . .