'Katya!' Father shouts, and I open my eyes. I meet his eyes straight on, my chin raised high.
'Look at him!' He gestures to the man hanging from the roof, the only thing holding him up being the shackles around his wrists.
'He's a monster!'
'No,' I shake my head. 'No, no,' I repeat, swallowing down the sobs.
'Look at him!' he bellows, and I turn my gaze to the man in front of me. He lifts his head slightly, his face twisted into that of something unnatural.
I press my lips together as his dark-yellow eyes bore into mine.
I reach out my hand to touch his face, convinced he won't hurt me, but Father's there before I get the chance. He grabs my wrist and pulls it back, giving me a harsh look. He's shouting something at me, but I can't bring myself to listen. All I can see is the man in front of me, and the boy he used to be. The boy I have loved for as long as I can remember.
His eyes are sad, as if asking for forgiveness.
Feeling a tear trickle down my cheek and push away from Father and hurry out of the house. I collapse on the ground as soon as I get outside, gasping for air as the sobs attack me.
'Hey,' he says and I turn around. Seeing his cheeky smile brightens my day, and I fling my arms around his neck, hugging him tight.
'Wow, okay,' he grins, hugging me back. 'Nice to see you, too.'
'I've missed you, Stiles,' I smile, nuzzling my face into the gape of his neck.
'Missed you, too,' he laughs, 'but I've only been gone for, like, a day.'
'Still missed you,' I whisper, pushing away from him to see his face. I trace his jawline with my fingers, feeling his thumb trace a pattern just above my jeans.
'You never told me where you went,' I murmur, and Stiles shrugs.
'It's not a big deal.'
I frown. I can feel that he's changed. Ever since school ended, he's become more secretive and more distant. He's not the same, and it's worrying me.
'Is there something wrong?' I ask, but he shakes his head.
'No?' he smiles. 'Everything's great.'
I nod carefully, letting my hand drop.
'Come on,' he says, 'let's go to the movies.'
'I just though it'd be better,' I shrug, and Stiles gapes at me. 'How can you– are you serious?'
I giggle. He looks so shell-shocked that I could possibly have such an opinion.
'I'm just saying…'
He holds up a hand, silencing me.
'You are not allowed an opinion, unless it's about how awesome the film was.'
He looks dead serious, and I snort with laughter.
'You're cute,' I murmur, making him blush.
We walk past the corner, where he grabs me by the waist and pulls me up against the brick wall.
He presses his lips against mine, and I feel a rush of adrenaline.
Entwining my fingers into his brown hair I pull him closer, giving him access to my mouth. Our tongues clash together, and I arch my back, pressing myself closer to him.
'Stop,' he suddenly gasps, his voice sounding strained. He presses his forehead to my shoulder, and I place a hand at the back of his neck.
'Stiles?'
'I just… You're making me lose control,' he breathes, raising his head to look at me. I give a small smile.
'Can I take that as a compliment?' I ask, pursing my lips.
Stiles returns my smile.
I trace a pattern over his bare chest, unable to remove the smile off my face.
'You look extremely goofy,' he comments, and I crane my neck to look at him.
'You're not looking too serious yourself, mister.'
He grins, kissing my forehead. The butterflies in my stomach continue to cause havoc, but I'm not complaining.
'How long did you say your parents would be gone?' Stiles asks, suddenly tense.
'Until tomorrow evening,' I tell him, frowning. 'Why?'
'Because they're here,' he sighs, looking down at me.
I curse, sitting up in my bed.
'I'll make them go away,' I ensure him, pulling on a pair of knickers and an oversized tee.
I hurry towards the door, opening it ajar.
I can see Father walking towards me, two other men behind him.
'Father?' I ask. 'What's going on?'
'I need you to step aside, Katya,' Father tells me, but I shake my head.
'No, what's going on?' I demand.
'Katya,' Father snaps. 'Step aside now.'
I can sense something is wrong, so I stay put.
Father grabs my arm, pulling me aside.
His two men march into my bedroom, and as I turn I see Stiles standing in his jeans.
But he's not Stiles. His face…
I gasp in horror, and his gaze turns to me.
I try to move, but Father is holding me too tight.
His men charge towards Stiles with taser guns, and Father drags me down the hall.
'He's not human,' Father tells me as I fight him. 'Look at me, Katya!' he shouts as he shakes me. 'He's not human!'
'He's my friend,' I whimper. 'He's my best friend.'
'Katya!' Father shouts, and I open my eyes. I meet his eyes straight on, my chin raised high.
'Look at him!' He gestures to the man hanging from the roof, the only thing holding him up being the shackles around his wrists.
'He's a monster!'
'No,' I shake my head. 'No, no,' I repeat, swallowing down the sobs.
'Look at him!' he bellows, and I turn my gaze to the man in front of me. He lifts his head slightly, his face twisted into that of something unnatural.
I press my lips together as his dark-yellow eyes bore into mine.
I reach out my hand to touch his face, convinced he won't hurt me, but Father's there before I get the chance. He grabs my wrist and pulls it back, giving me a harsh look. He's shouting something at me, but I can't bring myself to listen. All I can see is the man in front of me, and the boy he used to be. The boy I have loved for as long as I can remember.
His eyes are sad, as if asking for forgiveness.
Feeling a tear trickle down my cheek and push away from Father and hurry out of the house. I collapse on the ground as soon as I get outside, gasping for air as the sobs attack me.
I can't, I just… Why him? Why me? Why us?
I sit in silence for ages, just staring into the darkness.
Werewolves.
Werewolves exist.
And Stiles is one. Stiles is a werewolf.
The boy I have known since I was five, is a lycanthrope. A beast from mythology. A supernatural being.
Socially awkward, loving, goofy Stiles…
I hear Stiles' agonising shriek, before it gets cut off abruptly.
Too abruptly.
Horror rising inside me, I scramble to my feet and run back inside.
Once I reach the living room, my life is turned upside down. I can't hear anything but my own heartbroken scream, as the sight that welcomes me is as if taken out of a horror story. The sight that welcomes me is a sight I will never forget. The sight of the one boy I ever truly loved hanging helplessly from the shackles around his wrists, a bloodied sword in Father's hands.