DISCLAIMER: I do not own Teen Wolf, or any of the characters therein. I simply toy with the idea of using them to my heart's delight. I DO own any and all original characters, but I would actually be pretty stoked if the ideas generated were used by MTV, so...yeah. Please don't sue me, I have no money, and I'm too pretty for jail.

A/N: This is my first forray into the world of fan fiction after an extremely lengthy hiatus. Bear with me, as I'm a bit rusty and I'm working on getting my groove back (In talks with Stella, will keep you updated.) That said, this is more of an introductory chapter that will focus pretty solely on a new character I'm throwing into the TW 'verse, simply because the idea has been rolling around in my head since I watched the show. HOWEVER, he will be a very minor character in subsequent chapters, and this will focus extensively on all thing Derek and Jackson. But again, I ask that you just bear with me for now.

I love any and ALL critiques/reviews. That said, there's a certain way to go about doing it. If you think it sucks, please, tell me so. But do not be an evil troll. I'll burn your bridge down. With my face.

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[Prologue]

As the last rays of light danced through the trees, dying upon the barren branches, Hunter found himself swept up in the scent of blood. He stared at the blade in his hand briefly, contemplating the night's events as he always did.

The irony of his name was not lost on him. Hunter had never been birthed into a line of true hunters, but when his family was slaughtered by the weres, he knew nothing but the desire for vengeance. He sought out those that had the reputation of slaying creatures that most never saw. Only with their help would he be able to achieve his goals.

And he had.

In part.

Being a hunter, his work was never truly done. When one beast was felled, another inevitably took its place. And while he'd yet to find the monsters that slew his own flesh and blood, he vowed to kill any and all of the beasts that stood in his way.

However, he'd never killed without just cause. Few ever stopped to think about what a werewolf truly was, but Hunter knew that some were able to keep their power and actions in check. Not all lycans were cold-blooded killers, and he would leave those that did no harm alone.

But fortune was not favoring him this night. He'd tracked down a pack of particularly vicious pups, dropping them with ease. The alpha, however, provided a challenge that Hunter never enjoyed. After what seemed like an eternity of playing cat and mouse with the beast, Hunter lured him out and disposed of him. However, he'd received quite a beating in his own right.

He wiped the blade clean on the shredded fabric of his jeans before tucking it back into its sheath beneath his jacket. He then eyed his mangled hand, grunting quietly. The pain would subside quickly enough, as he'd received more than his fair share of scrapes and bites in the years he'd been at this. As it was, the lacerations were already beginning to stitch themselves up quite quickly. They would still require a few hours before they healed fully, but the pack had been slain, and he had nothing to do but rest.

Careful to avoid cutting himself, he picked at the tips of his gloved fingers, removing the wolf's bane-laced blades and tossing them aside. Wielding wolf's bane when you had a touch of lycanthropy yourself was extremely dangerous, but it proved to be extremely effective when facing a foe.

Giving himself a final once over, and deciding he was no worse for the wear, he began heading back toward town. Whipping out his cell, he punched in a number quickly. He waited patiently as it rang, bobbing and weaving through low-hanging branches.

"Hello, Misses Argent? It's Hunter. I was wondering if I might have a word with your husband.."

...

NOW ENTERING BEACON HILLS

Hunter glanced at the sign as he sped past, the sun slowly beginning to crest over the horizon. After he'd spoken with Chris, Hunter returned to his hotel room and quickly gathered his things. Apparently, a shit storm had been brewing in the small community, with an angry alpha at the eye of it.

The Argents were the best of the best, and he knew that when they asked for help there were serious problems. Thankfully he'd only been a few states away, and he was able to speed along back roads, making the trip in just under ten hours.

He was passing along the outskirts of the forest when a blur of movement caught his eye. Given his current speed, whatever it was had been moving pretty damn fast.

He slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. Fishing a handgun out of the duffel on his passenger seat, he slapped in a fresh magazine and hopped out of the vehicle, jogging along the edge of the treeline. Come out, come out, wherever you are... he thought to himself, keeping his eyes trained on the treetops. He knew an attack from the ground was unlikely, as the most advantageous attack position was almost always from higher ground.

"I know you're out here, and I know you understand me. So let's cut it with the cryptic and get your werewolfy ass down here, alright?"

As though on cue, a large figure dropped from the trees, landing mere feet from Hunter. He whipped the pistol up toward the man, but didn't fire; he knew that as he soon as leveled his aim, the beast would be elsewhere. And he was. This one was fast, faster than any he'd dealt with previously. But he knew it couldn't be the alpha.

He tried to feel out his target, but he couldn't draw a bead on him. His scent was everywhere, and he couldn't zero in on exactly where he was.

Until he was flat on his back with an angry were gripping him by the throat.

The man glared down at him, his steely eyes boring into him. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Could ask you the same thing," Hunter choked out, pointing at the hand that was wrapped around his throat. "Would be easier to answer if not for this, though."

The other man continued to glare at him, indecision flashing through his eyes. He reluctantly withdrew his hand, but he extended his claws and held them level with Hunter's throat. "Talk."

"Fair enough," he replied, drawing in a deep breath. "I'm Hunter."

"Cute."

"Witty banter, not something I'd expect from one of you," he muttered, quirking a brow.

"Patience is wearing thin.."

"Fine, fine. I'm here because there's an alpha lurking in the area, which I'm sure you already know. The Argents filled-"

He found himself in a death grip yet again, a vicious snarl working its way out of the man's chest.

"Right," he rasped, "I take it you dislike them."

"Give me one good reason not to rip your throat out right now," he growled, eyes flashing as his fangs began to descend.

"Again, hand."

"Talk!"

Hunter's eyes slid closed as he attempted to focus on not blacking out. "Have..you killed anyone?" he managed, unable to breathe.

The man looked confused. "Why?"

"Answer...the question.."

He stared at him briefly, unsure where this was going. "No."

"Then...I have..no quarrel with..."

He was nearly on the verge of passing out when the bigger man relinquished his grip. He immediately rolled to his stomach and began coughing, gasping for breath. The older man stood and watched him, grunting quietly.

"So why did you come out here, then?"

"Big bad wolf, remember?" Hunter heaved.

"And stopping to take care of me?"

"I didn't know who you were or what your aim was," he said in earnest, slowly rising to his feet. He eyed the man up and down, his breathing finally starting to return to normal. "Your turn. Who are you?"

"Derek," he answered simply.

"Derek," he repeated, watching the man. A steady gaze was the only response he received. "That isn't helpful."

"You asked who I am, I answered."

Hunter heaved an exasperated sigh, fixing a deadpan glare on the man. "Quickly rethinking this 'no quarrel' thing."

Derek sighed, throwing his hands up. "What else do you want? You apparently know what I am, and that I haven't killed anyone. What the hell else do you need?"

"What are you doing out here? I don't see you as the type who loves biking, long moonlit strolls through the forest, and The Notebook."

Derek growled quietly.

Hunter growled in return.

Derek's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You're... How? I would have felt you."

"Much as I'm flattered by the come-on," he began, Derek's eyes narrowing in response, "there's no way you could have known. I've got some of the benefits of the whole lycanthropy thing, but I'm not a full-blown werewolf. Heightened senses, bolstered agility and stamina, rapid recovery, and for some reason the whole fangs and claws bit. But I can't shift."

"How the hell does that happen?" Derek asked incredulously.

"I don't know the specifics of it," he sighed. "I was mauled by a were at one point - about three years ago now. The guy who fixed me up said he gave me some sort of antidote, but it didn't take. Not completely. I'm not as strong as an actual lycan, but I'm not completely human. Wolf's bane and silver bullets are still bad juju."

"So now you're killing your own kind?" Derek questioned, his anger returning quickly.

"You are not my kind!" he snapped back.

"Touchy subject, huh?" Derek asked with a smirk.

"Don't push me," Hunter seethed.

Derek watched him fight off the urge to let his fangs out. He knew that, shifter or no, he had his triggers that brought the wolf out just like any other were.

"Fight it all you like, we're more similar than you care to admit."

"You've known me all of five minutes and you're qualified to make that assessment, huh?" Hunter took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He wouldn't let this one get the best of him. "I'm done with this. You just make sure you stay out of the way and don't harm anyone, I'll make sure the Argents leave you be."

Derek stared quietly at the man for what seemed like an eternity. "What do you get out of this?"

"Pardon?"

"What. Do you get. Out of this. English, fairly sure it's your native tongue."

"Fuck you, smart-ass," Hunter spat, shoving past him. Which landed him on his back again.

"Answer the damn question!" he shouted, pinning him down.

"Should really work on your people skills," he groaned, his head swimming momentarily. Once he shook the brief wave of dizziness, he locked eyes with Derek, sighing. "I'm not in the habit of harming innocents," he answered finally. "I don't get anything out of it, I just don't feel the need to kill those who have done nothing wrong." The werewolf watched him, trying to see if he was lying, Hunter guessed. Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Derek stood up once more, offering a hand to the younger man. Hunter swatted it away, rising quickly.

"Besides that," he continued, looking around for the handgun he'd lost when Derek initially assaulted him, "you're too pretty to die. That tall, dark, and handsome thing is your saving grace, really."

"Spare me."

Retrieving his firearm, Hunter looked back at Derek once more, a playful smile dancing across his youthful face. "By the way?"

"What?"

Hunter fired a round into Derek's foot, smirking as the man yelped in pain and dropped to the ground. "That's for strangling me. Twice."

"I'll kill you, you asshole!" the werewolf managed through gritted teeth, the pain far worse than a normal bullet should be.

Hunter dropped to a kneel beside him, shaking his head and 'tsk'ing at him. "And if you do, then the deal is obviously off. Relax, you big baby, it's just silver. It'll hurt like a bitch, and you'll be tender for a few days longer than usual, but you'll bounce back."

Derek grabbed Hunter by the jacket, fixing him with a glare that felt as though it might kill a lesser man. "If you ever pull anything like that again, I swear that you'll learn a whole new definition of pain."

"Promise?" Hunter questioned, grinning wickedly at the wounded man. Derek growled.

"Alright, alright. I've had enough fun with you for one night. See you around, Derek," he said with a wink as he rose to his feet.

"Fuck you."

"Maybe, if you play your cards right," he countered as he headed for his car, throwing a casual wave at the man as he sauntered away.

He cast a glance back at the raven-haired beau, who was finally managing to get to his feet. He smiled to himself as he ducked into his car and slammed the door. I guess it's a good thing they don't make all of 'em that way. Holy hell.

He spared the man one more look, albeit briefly, as he pulled back onto the road, heading for the rendezvous point.

Holy hell, indeed.