Chapter One

"The third horseman rides a black horse,

and carries a pair of balances."

Sunday

An uncommon breeze wafts its way through the empty streets of Beacon Hills, a chill ran through it like static in the air, and not without reason. A young woman stands in the middle of the town's wood, with her arms wrapped around her in a feeble attempt to fend off the settling chill of autumn's harsh embrace. Before her stood a young deputy by the name of Tom Clarke, "I'm really sorry miss," he apologized for the third time, "I just have to make sure I have everything straight. Could you tell me what happened again?" The woman relented, understanding that neither of them wanted to be in the middle of the wood at night and, with a deep breathe, began to relate her story again. "I was jogging when I found her right over there," her voice trembled as she spoke, she moved her shaky hand to point towards the patch of uneven ground where she found the woman's body, "well… what was left of it." or what was left of it. "I… I'm not really familiar with this forest yet so I must've run off the trail, when I tried to find my way back… that's when- when…" Her throat clamped up, swelling in her throat as she struggled to speak, she shook her head and bent it low, desperately trying to regain control of herself. "It's okay," the deputy reassured, "Just take your time." She nodded and lifted her head, "Sorry, I'm sorry." It was her turn to apologize, "Can't say I'm used to this."

The officer wrote notes of her account as she spoke, "You said you weren't familiar with this part of the forest, do you usually jog here?" She shook her head, "No, it's not just this part, I'm new in town. My friend called me over to help with something, but something caught up with her." She clarified, narrowing her eyes as she saw what the deputy wrote down, "And does this friend have a name?" he asked her, and she tilted her head in question, "Is that important? Am I a suspect, Deputy Clarke?" The deputy quickly reacted and apologized, "I'm sorry Ms. Althea, I just have to take extra protocol, and it's just standard procedure." He stopped writing in his tiny notepad and looked up to her slowly, "If I'm being honest? This whole thing is just so insane. I mean who would do something like that to someone? Everyone's saying it's an animal attack, but I've seen the body, there aren't animals big enough to do something like that in these woods." He stepped closer to her, and the haunting in his voice was more evident to her ears, "If you ask me, some sicko got a little too handsy and ended up doing something really bad, then tried to make it look like an animal did it." The officer stepped back and blinked once, twice, as if realizing what he had confessed to a complete stranger.

"Sorry," he repeated, "I don't know what came over me; I just needed to get that off of my chest." The woman smiled and placed her hand on his upper arm reassuringly, "Don't worry," she tells him softly, "it's late and everyone is just a bit on edge. If it makes you feel any better, I'll forget you said anything about it, hopefully with a good night's rest, you'll be more at ease." Deputy Clarke nodded slowly at her, his eyes dancing with stars. Their attention was pulled from each other when the head of the team, Sheriff Stilinski, was heard yelling at his son. After the two of them spoke the Sheriff walked over to them, "We're wrapping up for the night, Clarke. Are you done here?" Sheriff Stilinski spared a glance to the woman then to his deputy, who nodded tiredly and dismissed himself. "Do you need a ride home?" The Sheriff asked the young woman, causing her to scratch the back of her neck sheepishly, "I do, actually. I came with Deputy Clarke from the station." The Sheriff only nodded, snatched the keys from his sons hand and gave him a woebegone look before walking off. Once they were in the car and on the road, the Sheriff's son, who she found to be called Stiles, pushed himself between the space of the front and passenger seat to look at her. "So who are you again?" She suppressed a smile at his blatancy and quickly noted the resemblance between him and his father, "Clara Althea, nice to meet you."

"Althea, what is that, Greek?" Clara nodded, "Or old English, depends on which scribe you read and believe, really." Sheriff Stilinski mentally thanked God for the woman's patience with his son. "Although," she continued, "In Greek mythology Althea was the Queen of Calydon. Her name roughly translates to 'healer' or 'to cure'." Stile scratched the back of his head as she spoke, quietly mumbling something to him; although the words, thanks for the history lesson, did reach her ears. She didn't miss the warning look his father sent him in the rear-view mirror, "So, Clara, you mind if I call you Clara?" He asked rhetorically, "What brought you to this lovely town of Beacon Hills?" Clara smiled at him through the mirror, "A car." She was shocked when a large hand entered her line of sight and watched with amusement as Stiles' face was pushed away, "Alright, quit interrogating my witness. That's my job."

"So how old are you anyway?" To the dismay of his father, Stiles' head shot between their seats again not five minutes later. "I just turned 21, actually." She informed him dismissively as she stared out of the car window in favor of watching the wood pass them by. She turned to him after a few moments and began asking questions of her own, "What were you doing in the middle of the wood so late at night, anyway?" the Sheriff cut in to answer that question, "He has a really bad, and illegal, habit of listening in to my police radio." Clara raised her eyebrows at the young boy in question, "So you come out to the wood often to look for dead bodies?" Stiles was at a loss for words as he watched what transpired in front of him. "No…" he denied lamely, "besides it's not like I was out there alone." At that, the Sheriff raised his eyes, "Really? Because I seem to recall you telling me that Scott, the only person I ever see you hanging out with, was at home sleeping." Again, Stiles was at a loss for words and sat gaping at his father, "Okay, one, that-that is just offensive, okay? I have other friends." Both adults raised their eyebrows simultaneously, and Stiles was a bit freaked, but protested nonetheless, "I do!" Neither adult believed him. "Alright, Mr. Social Butterfly, who were you with then?" Stiles bellowed, "No one!" "But you said you weren't alone." Clara clarified, "I wasn't! What I meant was that I knew my dad and the rest of the station would be there too." Clara nodded, "Because you heard it over the police radio." "Yes!" Stile roared, "Thank you!" She raised her right brow and offered a triumphant smile, "Oh damn." Stiles mumbled, then crossed his arms over his chest and retreated to the back seat. A few moments later and Clara found herself thanking the Sheriff and offered a small departing greeting to Stiles, who grumbled at her, and closed the blue jeep door behind her.

It wasn't until later, after she had eaten and showered did she notice something strange in her environment, a window, one she was deathly certain was closed before she went into the bathroom, was open. All too suddenly she was thrown back against the brick wall of her apartment. Blue eyes stared down at her as she deliberately slowed her breathing, her hands grasped tightly at the ones that gripped around her throat. Fangs, large and sharp, barred down at her as she stared up at her assailant, cold blue eyes loomed over her, unwavering, as it stared down at its prey, "Let… go…" she croaked out, but the man's resolve was stronger than her will, yet she tried again, squeezing onto his wrist harder, "Let… go of me!" He faltered, loosened his grip and jumped back with an apology unwillingly spurring from his mouth. He rushed towards her then, helping her stand upright, then took a step back from her, too disgusted with himself when he took note of the pain he had inflicted towards her. Then the confusion came. Why was her apologizing to her? Why was he helping her stand up? Why did he feel so guilty? He confronted her, grabbed at her throat, so why was he apologizing for the actions he deliberately did!? She looked up slowly when she felt her will disintegrate from his mind, and swore when she saw him charging at her. Quicker than she realized they were able to, her feet carried her to the other side of the room where the bed stood as a divide between them, a barrier between bloodshed and yet, a medium in an unfortunate circumstance. He made to breach that barrier, but she held her hand up and, by the grace of God alone, that was enough to stop the raging man. "Who are you?" She demanded to know, and by every law, she had the right, yet he refused to say a word. "You're a werewolf, right? A lycan?" She tried again, and this time watched as his eyes faltered, "Do you know Laura? She sent for me-" It was reckless, she realized moments later, tying herself to the dead woman whose body was just discovered, but it was a last ditch attempt at trying to avoid being utterly mauled. As luck would have it, it seemed as though the dead woman's name served as a magical pass-code, because the minute she told him she knew Laura his eyes turned to a more human, dark shade of brown, the excess facial hair receded and his large canines withdrew themselves back into his gums. He was passive for the time being, and she slowly lowered her hand as she let out an anxious breath. "Laura sent for me," She repeated herself, "she said she needed help with something really bad, but she never told me what it was."

The strange man only stared at her through the explanation, never giving a hint at whether he believed her or not. "So… what?" He finally spoke, "Someone phones you out of the blue and you just go wherever they tell you to?" He was mocking her, that much was obvious, but it was a leap of improvement from wanting to rip her throat out. "Laura and I were at Nevada when she got a phone call saying something about her family, she never told me what exactly, just that she needed to get home as quickly as possible. When I offered to come with," Clara shrugged, "she told me she'd phone if things were more than she could handle." Clara heaved a mournful sigh, and her traitorous mind projected images of Laura's torn body in the woods that night. "It was an alpha, or is an alpha." He spoke for the second time, "She called me too." Clara turned her head to the man and fully took note of his appearance, he was maybe a good four inches taller than her, his hair a shade of black lighter than her own with eyes to match, "You're her brother." She finally deduced, "Laura told me she'd meet family here, I just thought it'd be someone more…" she stopped short at the raise of his eyebrows, cleared her throat and pulled her hair from behind her ear. "Anyway, so it's an alpha. At least we know what did it. How do we kill it?" Her question rendered him speechless. Kill it? Kill an alpha? For a human, he certainly admired her spark. He was impressed, but the only visible reaction his body could give was a scoff to her face. "Look." He started, "My sister might have indulged in your tea parties back in Nevada, but this is a lot more serious than that." He made his way to the open window and lifted it higher, "Besides, I don't think a human could do much against an al-"

"A what?" Clara laughed at him, "I'm not human you idiot!" Bypassing the unnecessary use of the word idiot, Derek asked her to explain herself. A question which she answered with a raise of her brow, "Haven't you been breathing this entire time? You're a Hale, take a sniff. Come on, the wolfsbane would have faded by now." She stood closer to him to allow her scent to reach him more efficiently and when his eyes widened she knew he finally figured it out, "You're-"She cut him off with a mock bow, "Clara Althea, at your service." She rose to meet his eyes, "And I'm going to help you kill this alpha."

Monday

Derek stayed for an hour more that night, during which time he efficiently used to bore Clara with the history of Beacon Hills, it was only when he began talking about Laura did her interest pique slightly, she asked Derek if he had any other family and if he knew of anyone else Laura might have contacted, but he only shook his head and told her about his uncle in the hospital, she sighed at the dead end they found themselves at. Before he left, Derek had mentioned that he heard a howl earlier that night, around the time she was leaving the scene and they concluded that whoever this alpha was, was definitely there last night, and they were watching everything. Derek warned her to be careful; because if he could smell her clear as day (when he eventually focused) there was no doubt that the alpha would come looking for her, especially once he began starting his pack.

Seven hours and two cups of chamomile lavender tea later, Clara stood before the entrance of Beacon Hills High School with her satchel over her shoulder, white coat draped on and a mug of hot water with lavender and mint leaves in them (to calm her nerves). "No, you didn't." Her head lifted at the familiar sound of the voice, "What do you mean 'No, I didn't'? How do you know what I heard?" A second voice argued, "Because California doesn't have wolves, okay? Not- not in like 60 years," his friend gawked at him, "Really?" Stiles threw his hands to his side, "Yes, really, there are no wolves in California." He informed his friend impatiently, "Well if you're not going to believe me about the wolf, then you're definitely not going to believe me when I tell you… I found the other half of the body." Stiles then proceeded to wave his hands in an idiotic fashion and whisper secretively to his friend before proclaiming, rather loudly, that Lydia Martin was the best thing to have happened to this town. She ignored him. "Good morning, Stiles." She watched as his shoulders jumped to his ears and smiled at his friend, "Jesus-! Hey… Clara?" She patted him on his shoulder gently, "You must be Scott," she referred to the boy; he nodded but cast a confused glance to his friend who only shrugged, "Sheriff Stilinski said you're the only one Stiles hangs around. Anyway, I couldn't help but overhear you… got bit by a wolf?" Scott nodded slowly, "Yeah… that's what I thought, but Stiles said Beacon Hills hasn't had any wolves in a long time." Clara nodded in affirmation, "Well, he's right; there aren't any wolves in Beacon Hills." She dug her hand into her coat pocket and pulled out her school issued ID card, "But as the school's local assistant healer I'd like you to come by later on just so I could check up on that wound. Wolf or not, a bite is a bite." Stiles wasted no time and grabbed the card from her hand and looked over it, "Nevada? Like Los Vegas?" Clara nodded and winked at him.

To say Clara's day was uneventful would be an understatement, a word which here means that she was so tired that she took to keeping the few children that were sent to her office longer than necessary, not that any of them minded, mind you. At the present moment, she was talking to a delightful young girl named Erica, she was sent to the nurse's office after she had had another one of her fits, which wasn't all that uncommon, as she told Clara. "Look, Ms. Althea, can't you just give me some pain meds and send me back to class? I really don't wanna go back home after I just got here." To which Clara disagreed with greatly, and instead offered her the bed closest to the window and a cup of lavender and rosemary tea. They stayed talking until the bell for the end of the period rang and beyond that, it wasn't until a knock sounded at the office door did Clara stand up from her seat, pop her joints from the long sitting, and go to answer it. "Scott?" She asked surprisingly, "What are you doing here?" He looked around awkwardly, to the side of the wall before the door, then to her, "Uh, you said I should come see you? About the… uh, bite?" They both looked behind Clara when they heard someone clear their throat, "I think I should get going anyway," Erica stood and slung her book bag over her shoulder weakly, "thanks again doc." Clara smiled at the girl as she left and motioned for Scott to come in and shut the door. "So how has it been since this morning?" She tapped the bed and Scott immediately jumped up on it, "Uh, normal, I… I guess. It's been bit itchy…" she nodded along as he spoke, slipping white latex gloves over her fingers, "Lift your shirt up," she moved closer to him and gently removed the bandage.

"And have there been any other symptoms?" She asked as she completely removed the bandage, "Uh, yeah, I- I've been hearing clearer? Like… by a lot. And I haven't been using my inhaler, well- I mean I lost it in the woods, but… I don't need it." Clara sighed as she looked at the now almost completely healed wound. "Do you know what happens inside your body when you get a wound like this? Blood cells, including oxygen-rich red blood cells, arrive to help build new tissue. Your skin creates a protective layer over the wound, a scab, so that new skin cells can form. But, in this case, there's no scabbing. It's something I like to call a factory reset, your body shuts down and reboots itself, basically. And when it comes back online, you're better than ever. In other words, you're healing incredibly fast." She tore open a new bandage and placed it over the wound she cleaned, "Is that normal?" Clara nodded without hesitation, "Completely normal for something that's happening here." She laughed at his worried face, "Trust the doc. Scott, I know what I'm doing. For now, though, I'm going to give you some anti-inflammatory tablets, I want you to take two three times a day after every meal. With a meal, Scott, you hear me?" Scott nodded and thanked her before leaving, and once he was out of the office she immediately pulled her smartphone from her satchel and dialed the most recent number added to her contacts, "Scott McCall," she said softly, standing in the furthest corner of the room from the door, "Him and Stiles Stilinski are going back to the wood after school, they're looking for Laura," she whispered hurriedly, "…and an inhaler."

[...]

Happy New Year, please treat yourself well this year.