His wife was angry, his daughter upset, Chris Argent could not stand being in the house any longer. He was never one to sit and mull things over and over again. He needed action. His hands had to be doing something instead of mindlessly running through his neatly trimmed hair. He needed a weapon in hand. Target practice worked out his problems best. Chris enjoyed the handling of weapons, the feel of a trigger waiting for his precise touch and the perfect aim. Chris didn't relish killing things for sport or to feel superior. He killed things out of necessity, protection, and duty. When it was for those reasons, killing another living thing wasn't so wrong.

Chris had many kills in his lifetime, all for the sake of humanity. Following the family legacy to hunt those that hunt their kin, Chris embraced his responsibility. He understood it to be his lot in life at a young age and took it up wholeheartedly. The dangers in the world that his family alone were trusted to fight and keep at bay ebbed and flowed over the years. Recently, there seemed to be quite a flow of it. He had followed this surge back to Beacon Hills, bringing his family with him. Which may have been, he conceded, a mistake.

The older he got, Chris had found it more and more difficult to reconcile the many sides of his life: Hunter, husband, brother, and father. The job he held was difficult enough without worrying about the constant safety of those he loved. But, isn't that why he did what he did? To protect? Others told him he was mad for marrying so young, madder still for continuing a surprise pregnancy with his new wife, despite the precarious lifestyle of Hunters. Collateral damage, others chided him. But not Kate. Kate had been thrilled to be an aunt. At twelve, she only saw the fun parts, taking for granted the power the family held to protect itself and others from monsters.

Chris thought it would be easy in the beginning. Lock them up tight in the house and he would come back to them when he was done. The same lips that kissed his wife goodnight had already issued orders to kill a cursed man on sight. The same hands that gently held his tiny daughter had earlier been firing a round of bullets into the head of a wayward werewolf. He protected his family's identity well enough, knowing that it did not provide a normal upbringing for his only child. It may have been abnormal, but it was safe. Yet years later, Chris found himself wondering where his daughter was, who she was with, what she was doing.

Karma's a bitch. His daughter ended up dating the very werewolf he'd been trying to hunt down.

They'd eaten dinner at the same table and he couldn't tell. They sat next to each other in the same room and Chris hadn't caught on. He hadn't gotten a good look at the smaller beta that first night in Beacon Hills, but the beta certainly knew who he was when their paths crossed again.

Of course, Chris assumed his intimidating personality was what put Scott off, made him on edge in any situation they shared. Later, when he pieced everything together, the cautious looks and furtive glances made complete sense. He should have been more suspicious of Scott's insanely talented moves on the lacrosse field. How could he let himself believe a high school kid was that good? Chris hated that it had taken weeks for him to find the beta that had been right in front of him all along. He had become one of the best Hunters in his generation and a newly bitten werewolf, some teenager, had thrown him off his game.

Perhaps it was because this time, everything had hit too close to home. Maybe, he didn't want to believe that boy needed to be hunted. In his entire career, Chris Argent had never doubted himself more.

His sister made mistakes, big ones, and it had cost her her life, as sad as that made him. He also made mistakes and now he had more problems headed into Beacon Hills for him to deal with and they were not necessarily of the supernatural variety. His slip up here had alerted people higher than him in the chain of command. He did not stop the Alpha, he could not keep the Hale pack from growing. It was an understatement to say that he wasn't looking forward to his father's impending visit. Along with his associates, the situation would become...difficult; not just for him, but for Allison, and ultimately, Scott. Chris regretfully could tell Beacon Hills was on the edge of becoming another battlefield.

Walking through the woods of Beacon Hills, he wasn't sure what he was looking for. Maybe he'd find a nice tree stump for target practice. If the Beacon Hills pack hadn't already scared half the wildlife out of the area, maybe he'd find a deer to track to keep his skills on par. Or maybe even Derek Hale, the new alpha, would be keeping late hours, like him. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of the new Alpha and Chris wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. If Derek had left, it was possible Chris would be reassigned. He dreaded the thought of moving his family again.

And suddenly, there was movement. He turned, the view from the outside of his eye catching his interest. Chris could hear it, the tell tale loping footfalls up ahead in the Beacon Hills preserve. The small twittering of night birds being disturbed by a predator inconveniencing their own prowling. Holding his cross bow steady, he took off in the direction his training told him to go, following whatever creature was sharing the woods with him tonight. Every bit of his instinct began to tell him it was a werewolf. What it didn't tell him was if this was a werewolf he'd already met. Derek? Scott? A new threat that Derek could have created? His thoughts jumped to Jackson Whittemore, the teen he found blubbering in the woods about wanting the bite. What a fool...

The familiarity of the hunt came back easily to Argent. He followed its rhythm, readying the flash arrow to be fired at just the right moment. He could see the movement now, the body running yards ahead. Based on speed and distance, Chris made a judgment call where to aim, just the right spot to blind and confuse so he could get close enough to capture. Then he'd worry about exactly who he had caught.

He depressed the trigger. A flash went up, Chris seeing the outline of the werewolf stop and stagger backwards, shocked by the light and sound. Chris reached behind him to grab the bola he kept on his person for every hunt. Other Hunters laughed at his methods, but this was how he worked. A simple reminder of his impeccable track record would eventually shut them down.

Unraveling, he swung it around above his head, letting it fly to wrap around his target's ankles. The werewolf let out a yelp, a growl of surprise as he was brought to his knees, face meeting the dirt floor of the woods. Chris could hear snarling come from him, the typical reaction he was used to. He walked surely towards his target, reloading his crossbow with another arrow, this time, one with a sharp point on the end of it. The light from his first arrow was swiftly dying, but Chris could see hands trying to free its lower half from the bola that was tightly bound around him. He noticed the snarling was reduced to grunts and gasps, more human-like noises. The crossbow was lowered and Chris stood in front of his prisoner. The werewolf was in the process of shifting back to his human form, eyes still wild, teeth still sharp. It was a form Chris Argent knew too well. He had expected this was what he had been chasing, but, in all honestly, hoped it would be someone else.

He sighed. "Hello, Scott."

Scott McCall looked up at his girlfriend's father. He huffed and gave up trying to release his legs. Shoulders slumping, he leaned all the way back to rest on the ground, giving up. Resigned, he looked up at his attacker.

"Are you gonna kill me now?"