AN: Hey guys. I thought about doing a chapter focusing on Scott and Malia training with Deucalion, but I thought those scenes were boring when I saw them on TV, except for when Malia walked into the container. All the little things she does, like in 6x06 when they were in the old banshee's house and Malia was guzzling the lemonade, are why she's one of my favourite TV characters.

Anyway, this chapter picks up from the beginning of 6x20. I will be skipping past the scenes I don't consider relevant.

Ever since that fateful night in the distillery, when Scott had pushed through Jennifer's mountain ash barrier and felt that huge rush of power as his eyes began the transition from golden-yellow to fiery red, he'd felt something else. Something deep down. A beast within him that he feared would wreak havoc if he ever unleashed it. The closest he'd ever come to doing so was in the final moments before the Deadpool had been shut down, when he'd had that assassin on the table.

If the hitlist hadn't been cancelled at that very moment, Scott knew he would have smashed that man's face like an overripe tomato, then done the same to his companions. He'd felt himself shifting further, too, his claws and fangs growing longer, the whites of his eyes changing to black. What had spooked him the most, though, was the fur. Scott had seen tufts of black fur sprouting from the backs of his clawed hands, and he'd felt it on other parts of his body. It had quickly retracted when he knew he could let the assassins live, and he was sure nobody else had seen it, but he was also sure he hadn't been imagining it.

Now, for the first time since then, as Monroe and her army fired relentlessly on where they were taking cover, Scott knew he had to unleash the monster. He couldn't see any other way out. He dared to look around the pillar he was hiding behind for a second, and when he saw Malia barely a few metres from the hunters, who were now advancing, Scott screamed her name in terror. No. Not HER. He had to do it. He had to do it right now. Scott closed his eyes and concentrated, and felt the darkness washing over him-

The click of a rifle caused him to open his eyes, and just as Scott saw the hunter pointing his weapon, Stiles rammed the man. There was a sickening crunch, and Scott's best friend grinned at him.

'You didn't think you were doing this without me, did you?'

(Skipping ahead)

Malia knew it was stupid to run into the empty school corridor. She knew it was the smart thing to stay hidden until Stiles arrived with the Mountain Ash bomb. But they had to save Peter, so she ran out, and as she did, she felt Monroe behind her, a second before the bullet slammed into Scott's chest. As he fell to the floor, Malia felt his pain like she was the one who'd been shot, a side effect of their recent mating, no doubt.

'Scott!' she ran to him, already holding her hands out to take his pain, ready to rip the bullet out with her teeth if necessary.

'I'm okay' he grimaced. 'I'm okay. Don't let her go!'

Malia's attention immediately turned back to Monroe, who was running away now, and she felt her claws and fangs snap out as she roared her fury.

You're gonna PAY for hurting him, Malia thought.

She gave chase, running at Monroe with every intention of sinking her claws into the bitch's throat. But the hunter was surprisingly wily. A couple of minutes later, after some furious chasing, Monroe suddenly ducked into her office, shutting the door. Malia immediately followed, snarling, and walked right into the trap the huntress had set. Throwing the door open, Malia triggered a tripwire which set off what seemed like a barrage of flash-bang grenades, and when Malia was shakily getting up from that, noticing that Monroe was nowhere to be seen, she could have sworn she heard voices behind her, calling her name.

Voices that brought back memories of swing rides and opening presents on Christmas morning and stories before bedtime. Voices that had once made Malia feel safe, and loved, until that terrible night when she ripped apart the people whose voices they were. 'Mom?' Malia whispered, turning around. 'K-Kylie?'

But the mouthless, skinless, purple-eyed thing Malia saw in front of her was neither her adopted mother or sister.

Then… the darkness.

Later, Malia would try to remember what it was like while trapped inside her stony prison, and fail. All she knew was, one moment she was looking into the eyes of the Anuk-Ite, and the next, she was gasping for air as the stone which had formed a shell around her crumbled to dust. She collapsed to the floor, but she didn't stay there long. She could sense Scott was alive, and she breathed a sigh of relief, but there was something else. Something was wrong with her mate, and she quickly smelt him out.

Pushing open the library doors, Malia saw Lydia, Stiles and Derek standing around Scott, looks of concern on their faces. As she got closer, she saw why. Where Scott's brown eyes -which had caught her breath on multiple occasions- had once resided were two gaping, bloody holes. 'Scott?' she croaked as she knelt down beside him, ignoring everyone else. 'What happened to your eyes?'

'I had to. I'm sorry' he whispered, and Malia immediately realised what he had done to defeat the Anuk-Ite, her heart aching with pride at what her Scott was willing to sacrifice to save everyone.

'Scott, you have to heal', Derek said, 'if your eyes stay like this much longer the damage is gonna be permanent.'

'Come on, Scott, concentrate' Stiles urged.

'I'm trying', Scott said, wincing at the obvious pain. 'It's not working, I can't focus-'

'Hey, hey!' Malia said, cupping his beautiful, ruined face. 'Yes you can, just concentrate!'

'I can't' Scott cried, the edge of panic in his voice now.

'Yes you can', Malia repeated. She could feel tears blurring her vision, and she repressed the urge to start sobbing at the unfairness of it all. 'Scott', she begged, 'please just look at me'.

'Malia?' she heard Lydia's soft voice whisper.

Malia quickly turned her head to Lydia, the smartest of them all, the one who would no doubt have a solution to their problem-

'Kiss him.'

Huh? Malia thought. She swallowed, then said 'What?'. Maybe she'd heard wrong.

She hadn't. 'Kiss him', Lydia said again.

The fuck do you think this is? Snow White? Malia almost snapped. She turned back to Scott. Oh, fuck it.

She moved her mouth to Scott's, drinking in the softness and comfort of his lips and pouring her love into him in return. Now heal, you goddamned sacrificial lamb of a man, who I love so much it fucking hurts, Malia thought, as the tears started running down her cheeks.

It started as a pinprick of light, slowly spreading out until there was nothing but brightness for Scott. Then his healed eyes adjusted, and out of their corners, he saw the library books on their shelves, and the outlines of Stiles, Lydia and Derek. But he wasn't focusing on them. He was looking at Malia. Malia, whose clothes had bullet holes in them from the shootout earlier tonight. Malia, who was a mess of dust and sweat, with tear streaks on her dirty face. She was the most ethereal, unimaginable, fucking beautiful thing Scott had ever seen, and he showed it by pulling her down on him so he could revel in the taste of her again, not caring that their friends were watching, not caring about anything else other than the fact that she was alive, and safe.

Leaving the others behind, they walked out the library clinging to each other. 'What now?' Malia whispered.

'Now', Scott began, 'we go to sleep. But first, my lovely little coyote, I think it's my turn to wash you off.' He bent to whisper in her ear. 'Then apply my mouth to your various washed-off bits.'

Malia shivered with delight. She loved it when he talked dirty to her, and she clung to his shirt and whispered back, 'only if I can do the same to you'.

Her smile was brighter than the sun, and nothing could possibly have ruined this moment. Not even the sound of Peter coming around the corner, hands over his ears.

'Could you two please not say things like that when I'm within earshot?' Scott's former Alpha grimaced.

Scott grinned.

Then all hell broke loose.

Almost in slow motion, Malia saw Monroe's bullet explode out through the front of her father's head, his brains splattering out all over the hallway. Peter fell forward, his face frozen in shock, and behind him Monroe took aim at Malia. The werecoyote screamed in rage, running forward, but the huntress had already fired at her, the bullets feeling more like cannonballs as they punched through Malia's stomach and chest. She was blown off her feet from the force of them, towards the lockers. Then her head went crack against the hard metal, and the darkness began again. Just before it took over, she saw something dark and furry flying past her.

Scott would never know why Monroe had doubled back. Maybe she thought she could end them all by herself, maybe she was so enraged at the hunters' defeat she had lost any reason she may have had left, or maybe she just wanted to cause as much pain as possible before she died. Whatever the reason, Scott would never know, and he wouldn't care either. At the sight of his precious Malia lying motionless, her lifeblood pouring away on the ground, Scott felt a jolt of pain reverberating through his body, unlike anything he'd ever felt before, and the beast within him stirred: Kill. KILL. KILL!

He snapped.

This time, for the first time since that fateful night when Peter had bit him, Scott didn't even bother to hold back. If anything, he forced everything he had forward when he ran towards Monroe. The change was effortless. Clothes ripped, fur sprouted, all his teeth sharpened to fangs, his hands and feet shrunk into paws, a tail sprouted from the base of his spine and he went from running on two legs to four, all in the space of a few seconds. As the wolf that had once been a boy reached Monroe, he saw that infuriating smirk change to a gasp of fear just before he leaped.

'No, it can't be-'

Scott clamped his jaws around her throat and ripped, the arterial spray soaking his face. Ignoring the gurgles of the dying woman, he tore at her body again and again, until she was a mass of bites and claw marks. Then he turned his head and saw other hunters approaching, guns pointed.

BRING IT ON, Scott snarled. He ran then, to places where he could spring out. He had walked through this school so many times over the years, he knew it like the back of his hand, and he used this knowledge to his advantage, springing out from hidden corners those hunting him didn't know were there, dragging hunter after hunter screaming into the darkness where he silenced them forever. Their bullets had no effect on him. Nothing did.

She's gone, Scott thought, as he killed and killed and killed, practically slipping in hunter's blood, she's gone and she's not coming back and if I had been like this sooner, she'd still be here, fighting besides me where she belonged.

The mixture of pain and rage Scott felt was so consuming, so all-encompassing, he never sensed the faint heartbeat coming from his mate.

AN: Be honest, did you really think I'd killed Malia? On a brighter note, are you pleased that I made Scott go full wolf? I always thought it was the biggest cop-out that the writers never made Scott completely lose control and embrace the monster within. It would have made him so much more interesting as a character and hero, like the Punisher or Magneto or even Rick Grimes from The Walking Dead, who are willing to get their hands dirty so others don't have to. You know what I'm talking about? Anyway, Chapter Five will be up soon, and I will do my best to make it spectacular.