A/N: Sorry for the super, super late update. I've been going through some shit, but here we go.


Chapter 4


Sam shoved her key in the slot and kicked open the motel room door, throwing the keys at the nearest pile of clothing. This was all getting way too repetitive.

She wanted to get into trouble, she wanted to dance around in the streets naked, or start a bar fight with men three times her size armed with only her fists. This was the most bored she has been in years. It felt like eons since she'd had a good laugh or been put behind bars. She was missing New Orleans. She missed her acquaintances. Even if most of them, if not all, were homicidal maniacs.

But there was nothing left in New Orleans for her anymore, no real family that actually felt like family and no future there for her to live.

Here, in Beacon Hills however, she had people she actually cared about. The same people she was forced to cut out of her life as soon as her parents – or who she thought were her parents – were cut out of her life by a few gunshots in the middle of the night.

Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall. They were the only friends Sam could really say she ever had in her seventeen years of living. Sure, there was Davina. There was Cami – now dead, Elijah, and even Kol, when he was actually around. But everyone she had met in the past 7 years of her life did her wrong at one point, and Sam had learnt to stop being so forgiving.

There was one thing Samantha was certain on, and that was Stiles and Scott could never do Sam wrong. They just didn't have it in them. Not even after she did them wrong by not ever saying goodbye.

That's why she's back in Beacon Hills. She missed them, and to make up for it all. She was going to protect them from whatever supernatural bullshit that could be thrown at them.

But it should too be stressed that she was impulsive. There's another reason.

Scratching her forehead, then unbuttoning and shuffling off her oversized pair jeans that have needed a wash since the 80s, she fell into her bed.

Little Samantha stood at the door of a house. The big man with a suit on stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder. There was a shuffle behind the wooden entrance, and suddenly the door opened, revealing a teenage boy, no older than 16. He didn't say anything, he just held a sceptical face. He had long hair for a boy, Samantha thought, and he wore flannel too, just like Stiles did. After a few moments of silence, an older lady came up behind him, baring a smile unlike the boys.

"You must be our Samantha. It's so nice to finally meet you, dear." The old lady spoke, her voice sounded nice, the little girl thought, but her face looked unkind.

"Mary Dumas, I'm Detective Abram." He shook the lady's hand, "All paperwork has been filed and Samantha's all set to move in." Abram pushed a reluctant Sam forwards into the doorway. "I'll be on my way now, goodbye Samantha."

The girl's brows furrowed, "Bye Mr. Abram." She waved as he began to walk away towards his black car that smelt like mint and pine and gave Samantha a headache. She looked back towards the old lady and the boy, "You're my Grandma?"

The lady's lips cracked a smile, "Yes, and this is your—" she paused, thinking of what to say, "Cousin. Jackson, this is Samantha."

"Hi." Jackson said, crossing his arms.

The tall for a ten-year-old girl pursed her lips in response to his attitude, "Hi."

48 hours ago, her parents were confirmed dead by the Beacon Hills County Coroner, and now she stood across the country being introduced to her new family.

And, not even three days later from that – on the night of the first full moon since her parents were killed – she was already a completely and utterly different person.

"Welcome to the Crescent Wolves, Samantha." One of the many people surrounding her whispered. Ten-year-old Samantha screamed and dropped to the floor as her knees buckled beneath her. Every single bone in her body began to rattle, her chest rose and fell with every crack and every pop. She shrivelled and contorted her body into the foetal position, sobbing as she gave into the burning of every muscle she had. Her thigh bones were the first to snap, making a sickening crunch as it rearranged itself underneath her skin.

The ache in her teeth made her scratch at her face, but the nails she had grown so instantly caused her skin to tear and blood to pour down her cheeks. Blood. She could taste the blood in her gums as her canines grew long and sharp, cutting her bottom lip before the skin could grow tough.

She could smell the grass she tore out of the ground as she groaned, she could smell the sweat pour out of every gland on her forehead as her nose grew into a snout.

Her ears rang, and the distinct sound of her young female voice morphed into something inhuman. Something animal. Her hearing sharpened, and she could her the tears of each and every one of her nerves as they reattached themselves. She could hear her heart beat unevenly, yet so loud it drowned out the noise of her cousin Jackson telling her that she needs to let it all happen.

The pain she had experienced was the worst she had ever felt as she threw herself up and onto her knees, her clothes tearing and falling off as her coat grew and her body shaped itself into one of a wolves.

Samantha jolted upright, sweat dripping down her forehead. She clutched at her heart, more out of habit than anything.

The sun leaked through the curtains and painted the room a warm shade of orange, she let her head hit the headboard with a hard and painful thump and sighed when her breathing slowed down, rolling her eyes, "I've fucking had it with full moons."


Two Days Later

Beacon Hills High School

Derek Hale was turning teenagers. Sam had originally assumed that the Alpha turning Isaac was a mistake, because those things apparently happen a lot around here, but she was very, very wrong. Derek Hale was building a pack. A pack full of hormonal teenagers. What a fucking dumbass.

He had turned two more kids since Isaac, a girl named Erica and a boy named Boyd. Samantha had never seen these two kids in her life, which is probably why he turned them in the first place. But then again, she had disappeared and not stepped foot in Beacon Hills for the last seven years.

Sam didn't like Erica's new attitude. She didn't know anything about Erika's old attitude, but the one she so clearly presented post-bite made Sam's blood boil. She was all about standing with women, not against them, she had a collection of old feminist literature to show for it, but when someone messes with Claudia Stilinski's old jeep, they're on the hit list.

He had his betas living in an abandoned railroad depot in the warehouse district. Rookie move. So predictable. She spent the entire previous day scoping it out when they weren't there, it's not at all the most comfortable living space for a secret lair, but Sam had seen worse. Derek spent hours trying to get one of his betas to make an arbitrary move, to attack him when he's most vulnerable, but they only failed. And that is precisely the reason why you don't turn random teens you know nothing about. You're stuck with their useless asses until they get killed.

When Sam got home to her motel room after wasting her time for four hours in the outskirts of Beacon Hills, she punched herself in the face. Watching the late night broadcast of the news, she had learned she had failed Stiles Stilinski, but it wouldn't be the first time.

'Armor Tire and Service Center Mechanic Samuel Finch found crushed by hydraulic lift. Detectives are reporting that the hydraulic line had been cut, leaving speculation that this was a premeditated incident. If you know any details that may—'

It was when Sam saw Claudia Stilinski's blue jeep in the background of the report, she froze. Of course, Stiles would have been there, in trouble, while she was off being a creep elsewhere. The one time.

But now, as she sat idly on the bleachers at Beacon Hills High School's lacrosse field. Watching Stiles Stilinski like a freaking hawk. She wore the five-panel dad cap with VICEROY embroidered on the front that she stole from some hipster on the street earlier that day to conceal herself from the various parents and girlfriends that too sat on the bleachers. Not that any of them would know who the hell she was.

Still, she sat wearing an assortment of clothes that she put on knowing that there was a potential she'll actually be seen for once. Her favourite pair of ripped black jeans sat high on her waist, in their aged Levi's glory, a couple sizes too big but that's nothing a thick leather belt couldn't fix. She wore a hastily cropped wife beater tank, and a black oversized denim jacket to keep up appearances. Apparently, it was cold outside. She played with the frayed hole at her knee as she listened to Allison Argent talking with her homicidal maniac of a grandfather.

Allison shivered and looked at the older Argent, "I knew I should've brought a warmer jacket."

Samantha almost laughed, because the homicidal maniac actually looked concerned for his granddaughter. Maybe he does have empathy after all. Interesting. "You're cold." He said, standing up to shuffle off his winter coat, "Here, take my coat."

"Are you sure?" She questioned, but she was already going to take it. Sam could hear the slight rattle of keys coming from one of the pockets.

"Smart girl." Sam commented from afar, and the father of one of the other team's players who sat beside her looked at her quizzically. She pulled a face at him that fell somewhere between a smile and a scowl. She turned her head back to the field, and her eyes landed on Stiles.

Allison had her hand hanging out towards the gap in the bleachers, passing her childhood best friend all dressed in maroon Gerard's keys.

"What are they up to?" She whispered to herself, scratching at her forehead while beginning to stand up, the father who sat beside her looked at her again, and just as she met his eyes, he looked away. With a smirk, she began walking down the bleachers, on her way to follow Stiles Stilinski.


Dragging her feet across the ground as she walked lazily down the same path Stiles took, Sam smelt the trail of rosemary and cinnamon that Stiles seemed to have left behind. She heard Stiles talking in the distance, and she finally stopped where she wasn't too close, or too far away.

Stiles had ended up in the carpark, standing outside a vehicle containing none other than Sam's favourite childhood bully, Lydia Martin.

"Look, you shouldn't care if people see you cry. Alright?" Stiles spoke, and Sam furrowed her brows. "Especially you."

Samantha couldn't see Lydia, but she could hear her loud and clear. You could never miss the sound of a teenage girl crying. "Why?" She sniffled, and Sam grew uncomfortable.

"Because I think you look really beautiful when you cry."

Oh boy. Okay. Sam shifted on her feet, deciding that she did not at all want to listen in on this. Panicking, she blocked her ears with her fingers and turned around, La la la la. After a few moments of dancing around, not knowing what exactly to do, she unblocked her ears and turned around once again. And what she saw was not at all what she expected. Stiles was running away.

Her brows tied even closer together, what the hell? Sam sighed, then ran after the one person she could be fucked keeping an eye on for this long.


Gerard's office smelt like a Goodwill. Musty, aged and leathery. Stiles rummaged through the desk drawers, in his cabinets, and even under his single pot plant that needs a good water in the corner.

"Book, book, book—" He repeated, trying to find anything that looked remotely like a bestiary. But no luck. Pulling out his phone hastily, he sent a message to Allison.

Stiles: Nothing here.

"Hello Stiles." Stiles jumped back, yelling an 'oh' as his heart stopped for a moment. Erica Reyes stood at the door, her menacing smile still glimmering in the low light.

"Erica—hey, what are you doing—uh, here?" He fumbled over his words, trying his best to ask unremarkably inconspicuous.

"I could ask you the same question." She said, and before he could respond, she walked towards him and he swallowed his words down hard. Her manicured hand flew up and grabbed his ear, pulling him out the door and down the hall, past the gym and into the aquatic centre.

"Stiles." Derek stood there, a basketball in his hands. Stiles heart probably raised a couple of beats per minute, but there was no telling with Derek's expression. He meant business.


The boy shuffled on his feet, annoyed, impatient and perhaps a little nervous, "Derek."

Derek didn't waste any time, "What did u see at the mechanics garage?"

Stiles scoffed, scratching the back of his neck, "Ah— several serious EPA violations that I'm definitely considering reporting." The alpha's jaw tightened, and Derek pierced the basketball with his claws, his face not shifting into a expression of any kind but seriousness as Stiles' heartrate quickened, "Holy god."

"Let's try that again." Derek said, and Erica smirked.

Grumbling, Stiles gave in, "Alright, the thing was pretty slick looking— um, skin was dark, kind of patterned, I think I actually saw scales— alright, is that enough because I have somebody I really need to talk to—?" Stiles looked beggingly at Derek, but he none of his muscles even twitched "Hm, alright fine , eyes are—uh— yellowish and slitted, um—it has a lot of teeth and it's got a tail too— are we good?" Stiles began to trail off, but Derek and Erica looked rather distracted, their faces held an expression of alarm and knowing. "What? Have you seen it? You have this look on your faces like you know exactly what I'm talking about."

Before the alpha and beta could respond, Stiles jumped at a harsh and sudden hissing coming from behind him, he screamed before he saw it.

Derek growled loudly as the creature jumped down from its latch above them, but it was quick. With a blink, it threw Erica aside hitting the wall with a loud crack, sending her crashing down onto the floor, knocked out.

Somewhat protectively and unexpectedly, Derek pushed Stiles chest, sending the boy away from the scene, "Run!" Stiles began turning on his heels, panic thick in his throat, but before he could begin his escape, the creature whipped around, it's tail lashing out like a whip, the tip long and sharp, sliced Derek's neck. This was not good. No good at all.

"Derek! Your neck—" Stiles called, knowing what was to come, but the creature began backing up, hissing once more. "Derek—"

There was a look on Derek's face that Stiles had never observed on him before, utter shock, as the numbness began to consume his body. The teenage boy's instincts came in as he saw what would happen before it did happen, catching the paralysed Derek in his arms like deadweight. He was heavier than he looks.

Stiles looked up from Derek, trying to see where the creature went, but it was nowhere to be seen, "Where is it? Can you see it?"

"No, just hurry— Call scott—" But before Stiles could do as Derek said, Stiles dropped the phone. Without thinking, Stiles went to get it, dropping Derek's weight, thinking he'd only fall onto the ground. But a thump never came, only a splash.

Stiles had a choice to make. Let Derek drown, or call Scott for help. Thinking for a long moment, Stiles dove into the water.

Stiles wouldn't call himself a swimmer per say, he could swim, quite well actually, but did he like swimming? No. As he hit the water, the coldness soaked through his clothing and hit his skin with force. But there was no time to focus his attention on the temperature, squinting his burning open eyes, Stiles grabbed the cotton of Derek's shirt and pulled him up to the surface with ease.

Gasping and sputtering, Derek looked around frantically, "Where did it go? Where is it do you see it?"

Stiles breathed heavily, water spitting out of his mouth, "No—"

"Maybe it took off?" Derek asked, but a screech, echoing against the tiled walls made Stiles paddle his legs faster to keep them both afloat.

"Maybe not." Stiles added breathlessly.

Derek struggled to grasp Stiles' attitude, "Will you get me out of here before I drown?"

Scoffing, Stiles pulled Derek up further, his limbs burning from strain, "You're worried about drowning? Did you notice the thing out there with multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth?"

"Did you notice that I'm paralysed from the neck down in 8 feet of water?" Derek's voice broke, and in any normal situation, Stiles would laugh. Ha, ha! The big, bad and broody wolf's voice broke!

"Okay, I don't see it–" Stiles finally said, breathless, the burning getting stronger.

"W—Wait—" Derek stuttred, "Stop, stop!" He yelled at Stiles, getting him to stop treading water so loudly.

Stiles looked up from Derek, at the edge of the pool the creature circled the water, hissing.

"What's it waiting for?" Derek asked, but Stiles shook his head. The creatures scaled arm reached out, allowing it's hand to touch the water, but suddenly, as if the liquid burned it, it hissed and stepped back like a frightened animal. "Wait do you see that? I don't think he can swim—"

"Okay— okay I don't think I can do this much longer—" Stiles' arms began to cramp, if he didn't get them both out of there soon, they'd both drown, Derek from being paralysed in, as he said, 8 feet of water, and Stiles from exhaustion. The teenage eyed the phone at the side of the pool.

"No, no, no— don't even think about it—" Derek hissed at Stiles, though he had no control over the situation.

"I'm the one keeping you alive did you think about that?" The human boy snapped.

"Yeah and when the paralysis wears off who's gonna be able to fight that thing? You or me?"

"That's why ive been holding you up for the past two hours—Or however long its been..." Stiles let Derek slip a bit as he tried to regain his treading momentum, the older male yelped, but Stiles scoffed, "You don't trust me."

"I don't trust you, but you need me to survive which is why you're not letting me go—" Derek noticed the look on Stiles' face, knowing exactly what was coming, "STILES!"

Stiles let Derek go, and as if he suddenly regained his strength, the boy swam as fast as he physically could to the edge of the pool.

The moment Stiles' hand touched the phone, things moved in slow motion. The creature darted for him, screeching with its sharp daggers for teeth bared. But it never touched Stiles, instead, he heard a voice.

"Hey ! Yoo-hoo!" And the creature flew back into the wall, cracking the tiles and sending the wall-clock down with it. And suddenly, as if she appeared from nowhere, there was that girl. She stood defensively with her back facing the edge of the pool, in front of where Stiles looked, swimming there speechless, she was protecting him. He almost had forgotten Derek was drowning. Snapping himself out of his trance, he rushed back, splashing as he dove deep into the water once again to retrieve the drowning werewolf.

When he pulled him up, Stiles' eyes immediately found themselves on the girl again. He watched her, as he realized the coast was clear enough to hold both himself and Derek up from the far end of the pool, as far away from the creature as possible. Derek kept swearing at Stiles, scolding him for letting him go. But Stiles didn't listen, as he pulled Derek to the edge of the pool, he watched the creature get up, staggering and almost growling. Clutching the metal latter, Stiles no longer had to tread on water and his breathing returned to almost normal.

The girl laughed, "Oh my god, this is so bizarre I've never seen anything quite like it. You're so ugly!—Wow, do you know the Queen of England? Is she a lizard too? Are you the queen of England?"

Stiles couldn't see her face, but she was definitely the same girl from the hospital, it had to be. There was something about her that was so familiar, and her voice, the way she talked, it was like he knew her. He couldn't figure it out, the one time he couldn't figure it out.

The girl wasn't afraid. The creature snarled, running at her but she dodged its attempts at swiping at her face, then she got her punches in. She kicked at it, and it fell back slightly, then went to attack her again. Its tail whipped back, and before Stiles could stop himself, he yelled.

"Hey—Its tail! Watch out!"

She looked back at Stiles, meeting his eyes, and for that moment of distraction, the venomous tail swiped at her neck.

But nothing happened. She didn't drop to the ground, at least not from paralysis. Instead, the creature kicked at her, swiping its fists, bringing it down upon her face, it hit the side of her chin, bruising her cheekbone and splitting her lip, blood flowing into her mouth. She spat, spitting her terrible tasting blood at the concrete floor below, and growled.

She attempted to swipe her claws at him, but he ducked around and found his hands at her neck, hoisting up the 5'5 young woman and holding her there for a few seconds. She smirked, managing to croak out a few words, "I'll— take it you don't think the Queen's a lizard?" The creature squeezed at her neck, but she only smiled more. It seemed to irritate the monster, because he threw her against the nearest wall. Her body hit it with a crack and she fell down onto a wooden bench, breaking it instantly.

Groaning, she turned over, finding the creature standing and staring at her, like it was contemplating something. She let herself shift, her fangs baring, and veins spreading out on her cheeks, burning as they bled out of her wound. The creature acted fast, and the girl found herself thankful that Stiles was too far away to see, the creature wrapped its claws around one of the thick wooden splinters beside her and shoved it into her chest.


Two Hours Later

Beacon Hills Veterinary Clinic

Derek and Scott laid the girl on the table, her brown hair spreading across the cool metal, her skin seemed to be the same temperature as the cool tin. Stiles hadn't stopped staring at her since they left the school, there was something on the back of his mind, a feeling of familiarity that he didn't quite want to surface. She had a face that reminded him of another face, and a way of presenting herself that looked like the distant, deformed version of a personality he once knew. But it couldn't be that simple. She couldn't just come back, not after all this time. It wasn't her.

Scott noticed Stiles' rigidity and furrowed his brows, "You okay, Stiles?"

Stiles finally looked up at his best friend, his face searching for an answer, "Y—Yeah, it's just…doesn't she look familiar to you?"

"You said you saw her before, following you around? That's why you think she looks familiar, right?" Scott pressed, feeling odd about Stiles' recent behaviour towards this whole mystery girl phenomenon.

"I've seen her too." Derek spoke up, and Stiles and Scott looked at him with wide eyes.

"What? You—Why didn't you say anything?" Stiles' voice hitched up higher than usual, he had thought he'd been going crazy, but he wasn't.

"I'm not sure, figured she was just lost. I was too busy focusing on other things to go chasing this human girl – who didn't actually seem human." Derek's face spoke something that could be read as regret, a bit of an oh shit, I should have probably looked into that further.

Scott's brows furrowed, "What do you mean?"

"She had a heartbeat and smelt human when I met her." Derek shrugged, clearly confused himself.

"You mean she was just changed in the time between you meeting her and now?" Stiles pointed fingers in all directions, attempting to make sense of it all.

"No, she's been like this for a while." Deaton said, entering the room. "She's not dead, she's undead. They look like this when they're in a comatose state, not quite dead but not quite alive."

"Wouldn't a wooden stake kill a vampire? It's hit her heart, hasn't it?" Stiles asked, thinking back to all the movies he had watch and all the shitty teenage fantasy books he had read.

Deaton looked somewhat uncomfortable, "Some vampires are harder to kill than others."

"Will she live?" Scott asked.

"I don't think we should—" Derek began, but Stiles wasn't having it.

"Save her." Stiles said, simply. "She helped save us, save her."

"Stiles—you don't know what she would have done if she had killed the kanima and gotten to you guys."

"If she wanted me dead, I would be dead. She's been following me for two weeks now, I need to know who—" Stiles found his eyes at the sight of her knees, the dark denim was torn at one of the legs, whether it was a stylistic choice wasn't something he knew, but from his position, he saw a peek of raised flesh. Just at the start of her thigh. Something in him, probably his heart, stopped.

He started forward, not knowing his own pace, and lifted the fabric of the rip to reveal the scar further.

"Sammy." He said, as hoarse as a whisper, but the werewolves heard him loud and clear.

"Stiles, I don't think—" Scott tried, but the beating of Stiles' heart told him that he wasn't letting it go.

The werewolf's best friend looked pleading, "It is, look at her—really look at her—"

"Stiles—"

"Look." Stiles pressed, forcing Scott to look at the girl's thigh. There was a small, circular shape of pale jagged skin against the slight grey of smooth leg. It was, undoubtedly, a bullet wound.

Scott inhaled slightly, but he didn't want to believe it so easily.

"Who's Sammy?" The boys ignored Derek, stepping closer to the metal table. Deaton cleared his throat from a fridge near the doorway.

"This is the blood of a pet rabbit that we had in here a couple of days ago, I took some samples to determine whether or not she was pregnant or if she had an issue with her digestive system—if we want to revive this girl, this will do the trick." Deaton said, a vile of crimson in his hands. Scott looked at Stiles, and he swallowed.

"Do it." Stiles said simply, nodding.

"When she wakes, she'll be hungry. I haven't encountered a vampire in many, many years, so unfortunately, I don't keep vervain anywhere around here to weaken her. Scott and Derek, you need to hold her down. We don't know how strong she is, but it's better safe than sorry. Stiles, step back." Deaton ordered, his tone calm.

No one spoke then, everybody did as they were told. Stiles stepped back, Deaton stepped forward. Popping the lid off the vile, Deaton took his empty hand and pulled down on the girl's bottom lip, opening her mouth. The whole room held their breath as the veterinarian poured the contents into her mouth.

Deaton stepped back, and everyone exchanged glances.

"Well, did it work?" Stiles asked, urgently.

"I don't—" Deaton begun, but as if on cue, her skin turned from its previous grey to slightly tan again. Then, her eyes open. And within the time between two heartbeats, her hand was at Stiles' throat, pressing his back to the wall. Her fangs were out, and her eyes were gold and black. She was a predator with her prey right in the palm of her hands.