Chapter 1
With his hands in his drenched sweatshirt pockets, Stiles walked along the side of the road, hearing nothing but the heavy rain drops crashing into the pavement and the sound of his steps. His hood had lost its purpose, now it only dripped cold water onto his cheeks. His shoes dragged his hefty worn-out jeans along the ground as he grumbled. His jeep had given up on him and refused to start, forcing Stiles to walk home in the dead of night. He could already hear his father, rant and rave about his tardiness, but then again, Stiles was always late somehow or another, it wouldn't be anything new. Stiles always found himself getting in trouble, not for any horrific crime of course. He had an issue with missing curfew, sneaking out, and squirming his way into listening to his father's police calls. Of course, there's the fact he's almost been killed on more than one occasion. He's not the ideal son, but usually his actions are meant to help. Stiles wished his father knew what was going on in Beacon Hills, but he knew if he had the courage to tell the ancient secrets of his town, he might as well check-in to an asylum by morning.
The skewed street lamps flickered, occasionally revealing the cracked and uneven pavement. Stiles figured it was the worst time to be caught alone; the surroundings looked exactly like a scene out of a cliche horror film. That danger doubled, knowing the Alpha pack was going senseless wit bloodlust. Derek and his pack, including Stiles, were outnumbered and couldn't match the strength that came with the Alphas. Derek does have a decent pack, but it is nothing in comparison. And then there's Stiles, who was just, kind of, there. He was never like them, he wasn't strong like them or fast like them. He's merely mortal. He found it hard to think of himself as any help at all, but somewhere Stiles knows, even if he doesn't want to admit it, things would be much worse without his aid to Derek's pack. All Stiles' thoughts danced around his brain, making his chest tight. He released a hefty sigh. He was still miles from home.
The wind was strong that night, it made the trees whistle and the rain created a cracking sound as it struck the leaves. Stiles watched his feet take step after step. As if his unease came on cue, off in the distance, a high pitched whine reverberated in his ears. His head shot up and he stopped in his path, motionless, waiting for another sound to escape. It called again, while muffled still. Stiles shifted his eyes around. The sound was getting closer. He could hear bushes being tussled with and branches cracking now. He angled his body, trying to pinpoint the on and off yelps. All was hushed, and then he understood. A girl's voice. Screaming.
Stiles sprinted down the road towards her voice. He recognized it, from somewhere, it was almost familiar. He jumped through the shrubbery and into the dark forest. The corner of his eye caught the slim female figure running and close behind her, an alpha, neither aware of his existence. He ran to the right and as she was passing him he caught her body, bringing her downward, hidden in a fissure of logs. She was in front of him, shaking. Stiles cupped her mouth and she breathed fast and rigid. The werewolf stopped behind them, stiffed the air, and began to growl. It knew they were there. Stiles pursed his lips together and shut his eyes tightly. He prayed it would leave them be. The small piece of hope was all that kept him from losing his mind. He peeked his eyes open only a sliver wide when the girl in his arms whimpered. The alphas face was right in front of them, snarling. She was squirming backwards, closer to him but he was completely still, staring into the alpha's red piercing eyes. It was now inches from their faces, drool dripping down from it's muzzle. Stiles swallowed. The wolf jerked backward and it's body began to shift, bones sticking in and out, one after the other. Moments later, a tall woman stood tall before them, chin high, her glowing eyes looking down upon the two of them. Her long dark hair was fringy and framed her hallow-cheeked face. She snickered at the two of them. It only took a blink, and she shot off into the darkness.
Stiles let out his breath and loosened his grip on the girl. As soon as the support from him was lost, her body collapsed on the cold muddy ground. Stiles jolted himself straight and tapped her face and shoulders. Nothing, but he could see her chest rise and fall slowly. His eyes fixed to her side as he noticed where dark fluid soaked her ripped clothes. He carefully lifted her shirt up, revealing a deep wound. A bite mark. He moved his jittery hand over it. Stiles examined the rest of her damaged body for more distinguished gashes but there was only small cuts and bruises. Her lengthy hair was tangled across her face. Stiles reached over her and moved her hair to the side. The rain dripped from his face to hers as he looked closely, trying to identify her. His felt his whole body go rigid for only a moment before he began shaking her frantically to wake up. She didn't give any kind of response. He picked her up, and swiftly carried her to the road. He started towards home.
His jaw clenched as he watched her helpless body in his arms.
Stiles could barely breath as he collapsed with her in his arms on his front porch. His raspy voice called out for his father, who came out to him with a unwelcoming stance that vanished with the sight of the bloodied girl.