Panic.

PanicpanicpanicPANIC OH MY GOD PANIC

He could barely breathe. His throat had gone raw from the choked out sobs that he'd tried to keep in but managed to escape. Pain radiated from a deep wound in his side. He reached up to wipe blood from the corner of his mouth as he struggled to get his footing on the dark forest floor. It was the middle of the night and Noah had absolutely no idea where he was. One minute, he was covering his brother Avery's back. The next, he'd woken up disoriented with holes in his side and no idea where he was. But if what he thought had happened had indeed, then he might just have a slight issue. So with a deep howling coming from his left and two sets of footsteps running at him from his right, Noah did what any sensible, wounded person would do.

He ran.

Branches slapped and scratched away at Noah's flushed face. He was aware of the giant ruckus he was making as he scrambled to get away, holding his side. Adrenaline poured into his veins, sending his senses into overdrive. Home…home. He needed to get home. His side ached as if the Devil himself had grabbed it and refused to let go.

The howl came again, now from his right, as soon as Noah burst onto the country road behind his house. Was it closer now? He quickly decided he didn't want to stick around to find out.

The white paneling of his house stuck out like a sore thumb, even behind a cluster of trees. Noah breathed a sigh of relief as he raced up the tiny incline. He didn't dare rush through the front door in his current state; his mother would question it, even if she knew he'd been on a hunting trip. So he circled the house until he found the ivy wall beside his bedroom window and began to scale it as carefully as possible, even though he'd virtually forgotten about the pain in his side. As soon as he hit the ground, Noah bolted to his bathroom and threw on the light, and stared at himself in the mirror.

It was as if ice had gripped his heart, rendering him unable to move.

His warm brown hair was streaked with twigs and shot in all different angles. His navy blue shirt hung off his slender, wiry frame in tatters, blotched with blood. As Noah shivered, he realized his leather jacket had disappeared, probably left behind in the forest in the same state as his shirt. But what scared him the most, what made the blood in his veins run frigid, were his eyes. The same chocolate eyes that his mother told him she loved every single morning before school (and sometimes every afternoon when she could see he'd had a terrible day). They weren't chocolate anymore.

Amber.

His eyes were amber.

And as he lifted his shirt, praying to whatever God was out there that this just couldn't possibly get any worse, he saw it. Or rather, didn't see it.

The bite was gone.

Noah's body had gone rigid. His face had gone a ghostly pallor and he grabbed the edge of the sink to be completely certain he wouldn't faint. Trembles wracked his wiry frame as he attempted to put the pieces to his shattered life back together. It chose him. But why? Why him? Why not the nice, perfectly average family down the street with the annoying Jack Russell that keeps the entire street up all hours of the night? But no, it chose the boy with the family full of hunters, the head of which severely lacking a fabulous thing called morals. The damn creature might as well have transformed back into a human to sign his death certificate himself, since Noah knew quite well that his father would not hesitate to kill his own son.

His stomach began to death roll like a crocodile. What was a boy of his nature supposed to do? There was no manual on this subject. Unfortunately, he did know one thing—he would need to leave. Most likely for good.

He chucked a black duffle bag on his bed and within minutes it was full. He'd changed his shirt and hung his most valuable possession—his camera—around his neck before slipping a hoodie on. Noah made sure his laptop was stuffed between several articles of clothing and secure before zipping the bag shut and slinging it over his back. He shimmied as quickly as he could down the ivy wall and into the night before a distressed cry made him pause.

"Dad!" Avery. Noah cringed. But where was it coming from? He whipped around blindly before another voice answered back.

"Did you find anything?" His father. "The fucking thing got away, and Noah bolted like the chicken shit he is."

"Dad…" Avery's voice had gone cold out of fear. There was no doubt he had found his jacket, ripped to shreds and dripping with hemoglobin.

They would check the house next. His father would march through the forest, raring to let loose a scathing speech about how unfit he was to be a hunter, but would hold his tongue when he found his son hiding beneath his mother's arm. His other brother, the middle one, Blake, would tease him a little bit for always hiding next to "mama" (he'd never stopped calling her that, even when Avery and Blake had moved onto the standard "mom" and "ma"), but Noah always shook it off. Next to Mama, he'd always felt safe.

He shook the thought loose from his head and began a quick jaunt down the dirt road of his street. Father would probably guess soon.

As he became aware of the camera thumping against his chest with every quick step, he became aware of the tears clouding his eyes. Both only further added weight to the brick sitting atop his heart. Noah spun round right before he left his street and held up his Nikon to snap a photo of his gorgeous old Victorian house. A painful smile spread across his face as he marched on, reminiscing about the nights he'd spent camped out in the wide expanse of gardens on the property, sometimes trained in, sometimes shot photos in. As Noah continued on, he pushed the review button on his camera with a dramatic sigh, but his finger slipped. Instead of seeing his home…well, old home after dark, he was staring at a vaguely familiar pair. A man, taller than the girl affectionately under his arm and pulled to his side, beamed through his grayish brown stubble. The skin around his soft turquoise eyes crinkled, letting Noah know it was a real, genuine smile. The girl under his arm was captured in a giggle, but more likely roaring laughter. At the time, she looked about fifteen, but she was already beautiful with her dark ringlets and heart shaped face.

Noah almost hadn't recognized them through the tears he'd failed to hold back, but he did. Christopher and Allison Argent, his uncle and cousin from further north…Beacon Hills, he remembered. Would they take him in? He certainly thought so. His father spun so many tales about them "harboring the beasts" that maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't mind "harboring" one more.

I mean, he thought, the worst he can do is kill me too.

Poor Noah.