Chapter 1

A heartbeat.

Scott's steps slowed. His eyes scanned the woods at the far end of the lacrosse field. He shifted his backpack and stilled again, listening.

A heartbeat thudding in fear. Maybe panic.

Scott's own heartbeat responded, picking up pace. He started walking again, faster, then jogging. He let his backpack fall to the ground behind him as he gained speed. Something was wrong with the heartbeat he heard. He could almost feel its beat, but it wasn't beating hard. It was fading.

"Hello?" he called, deeper into the woods now. There was no answer and he couldn't smell anything. No fear, no person. There was no one near. But the heartbeat was calling.

With a growl in the back of his throat, he shifted. On all fours he could cover more ground, smell better, see better, hear the weakening heartbeat better.

He raced, well out of the woods near the school and into the thicker forest that stretched out past the outskirts of Beacon Hills.

He paused twice to listen and make sure he was getting closer.

Help.

The word was so faint, he almost missed it. Changing course, he headed toward the dense brush, knowing he had passed the old Hale house. He didn't see any sign of Derek or Peter. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

Now he could smell the person's fear. But worse than that, he could smell blood. A lot of blood.

Scott raced through the woods, launching himself off downed trees, his own fear mingling with the scent coming from whoever he was racing toward.

He almost missed the shadow on the ground. If it hadn't been for the smell of the blood, he wouldn't have seen her crumpled form.

"Oh no," he breathed out.

She was pale in the fading evening light. The shadows of the woods slanted across her, making the congealing blood look almost black.

"Hey," Scott said. He shifted back to a more human form as he knelt next to her, not wanting to add to her fear. He looked at the gash across her stomach, his own stomach turning at the wound. Not just the gore, but the recognizable cause of the injury. It was a bite.

"You're ok," Scott said, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do. "Just—just hang on. You're ok. You're going to be ok."

The woman wasn't that much older than him. Her blonde hair was damp with cold sweat. Dark framed glasses showed eyes that were closed.

Scott had to get her to help. He slipped his arms under her, more worried when she didn't moan in pain than if she had. He wished she would make some sound. Some movement. But she just hung limply in his arms.

His house was closer than the hospital. And there wasn't anything the hospital could do, anyway. Not for a bite from a werewolf.

Scott's breath panted out of him. Sweat trickled down his back in spite of the cooling evening. By the time he reached his house it was dark and his legs were shaking.

The girl's breaths were shallow.

Scott got her inside, up the stairs. He laid her on his bed.

He pressed a hand to her forehead. She was icy.

He looked at the gash across her abdomen. It didn't look like it was bleeding as much. But she hadn't started healing. His gut clenched. If she didn't heal, she would die. That was it. No other options when you've been bit.

He ran down the hall to the closet and yanked open the door. He grabbed clean towels, some alcohol and bandages, letting a box of bandaids fall tand spill across the wood floor. Racing back to his room, he got the lid off the bottle of rubbing alcohol and doused her wound with it.

She let out a small moan. It was like music to Scott. She was still with him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know it hurts." He ripped open the gauze pads and laid them across the length of the wound, not sure what he was doing. He put one of the bath towels on her and gently pressed it to the wound. She let out an agonized breath.

"Sorry," he said again. He held pressure on the wound. "I'm Scott," he said to her unconscious form, feeling ridiculous. But maybe she could hear. Maybe she wasn't fading away as quickly as she looked to be. "I'm going to help you. You're going to be fine."

She writhed in pain. Scott didn't need to feel her pulse. He could hear her heartbeat, faint and erratic.

He laid a hand on her skin. He inhaled a sharp breath through his nose as soon as he started to absorb her pain.

Her weak movements stopped. Her breaths evened out.

She didn't move.

#

Stiles took the stairs two at a time.

"Scott?" he called.

"We're up here," Scott answered.

"We?" Stiles asked. He pushed open the door to Scott's room. "If I'm about to walk in on you and Kira indisposed, I swear, I will boil my eyeballs." Stiles covered his eyes. Immediately a hand gripped his wrist and pulled his hand down.

"This isn't funny, Stiles."

"It's a little funn—" Stiles' words trailed off. It wasn't funny. There was a woman on Scott's bed. An unconscious woman who looked close to death.

"I found her," Scott offered when Stiles didn't say anything.

"And then you proceeded to tie her up?" Stiles asked.

"She was bit."

"You bit her?!" Stiles exploded, then bit his lips, looking back over at the unconscious form on Scott's bed, arms and feet bound with duct tape.

"No!" Scott exclaimed. "I found her. She was already bit."

"So is she dying?" Stiles asked, wincing at how callous he had become. People got bit. People died. It happened. Not that he liked it.

Scott moved to the bed and lifted the towel draped over her midsection. He moved some blood soaked gauze. "She's starting to heal. So maybe not."

Stiles blew out a breath. He looked at how pale the young woman was. Her skin looked clammy and her lips had a slight blue tinge.

"Are you sure she's healing?" he asked. He closed his eyes. He really didn't want her to die. He didn't want to face another death. And he didn't want to figure out where to bury a body.

"We're not going to bury her!" Scott said, sounding horrified.

Ok, he hadn't meant to say that out loud. "Of course not. She's healing." He hoped she was healing. "Who is she?" Stiles asked, changing course. She wasn't in school with them. She looked a little older than them, probably too old for high school.

"I don't know. I just…I heard her heartbeat and followed it."

Stiles got a little closer to look at the wound in her stomach. He leaned over and grimaced. If that was healing, he didn't want to know what it had looked like at first.

"And you didn't bite her," Stiles reiterated.

"It wasn't me," Scott said.

Stiles looked at her pale skin. Her white-blonde hair a mess behind her. The shallow breaths coming too quickly. "Derek should be here," Stiles said. "If he's going around gnawing on women, he should be here to deal with…this."

Scott didn't argue.

Stiles looked at him pointedly. "So…call him. Howl out the window or whatever."

Scott gave Stiles a nonplussed look and pulled his cellphone from his pocket.

Stiles ignored the conversation between Scott and Derek. Not that it was much of one. A few words with Scott telling Derek he needed to get over here. Stiles gingerly lifted the gauze from the girl's abdomen again. It did look better. Even in just the few minutes since he had looked, the wound looked better.

With a sudden jolt, her body stiffened, her eyes flew open and she let out a cry. A flush built in her cheeks and her eyes glinted orange behind her lenses, sparks dancing across her skin with a sizzling sound.

Stiles wheeled backwards, hitting the desk, sending pencils scattering across the floor. Scott jumped back.

She jerked, then jolted again, the fire on her skin growing too bright for Stiles to see her.

A rush of air filled the room, the pressure making Stiles' eardrums feel like they could burst. He winced at the pain, his hands going to his head before there was a sudden release, his head ringing in the silent aftermath.

And then she was slumped against the headboard, her cheeks cooling, eyes back to their original shade of gray and no sparks near her pale skin. She blinked groggily.

"Ok, that was…different," Stiles said. He tried not to sound as freaked out as he felt.

"What was that?" Scott asked

Stiles shook his head. "You definitely didn't do that after you were bit."

Scott looked uneasy, but to his credit, he approached the bed again.

"Hey there," Scott said. "You're ok. You're safe."

"I'm sure she feels really safe with the way you trussed her up and stuck her on your bed," Stiles muttered, his heart still pounding in his chest. Not to mention, how safe was she when fire had just come from her skin?

The woman looked from Scott to Stiles, the fog clearing and alarm growing in her eyes.

"Don't scream," Scott said.

Her eyes darted between the two of them, her arms fighting against her restraints.

"Please don't scream," Stiles added. "The last guy we had tied up here didn't scream and we could take the tape off his mouth. It was a lot nicer."

She let out a strangled sound of fear at Stiles' reassurance and struggled harder at her binds.

"Don't tell her about Liam," Scott muttered. "She'll think we do this a lot."

"Does twice count as a lot?" Stiles said. "I kind of feel like doing this twice is a lot."

"Who are you?" she demanded in a shaky voice. One that was raspy, like maybe she had been screaming. And for all Stiles knew, she had been before Scott found her.

"Oh, right." Stiles took a step forward and lifted his hand in a little wave. "I'm Stiles. This is Scott. We're your captors for the evening."

"We're not your captors," Scott said, shooting Stiles a look.

"Not in the traditional sense of the word," Stiles said. "But, strictly speaking, you're tied up and we can't let you leave, so we're kind of your captors."

Alarm flared in her eyes behind black rimmed glasses.

"We're not your captors," Scott repeated with more force.

She looked on the verge of panicking. "I'm not going to let you do whatever it is you weirdos have planned," she said, her jaw jutting out stubbornly even as her voice shook.

"We're not planning anything," Stiles said, trying his best to sound soothing. "As soon as we know what's going to happen to you, we'll let you go. Once we know we have you under control."

She pulled as far from Stiles as her binds would allow.

"Or you'll die," Stiles said, trying to lessen the sting of what he had just said. "We might not have to get you under control."

Panic flared in spite of the dark look she was giving them.

Scott gave him another look. Stiles held up his hands up and backed up a step.

Scott looked at their hostage. He moved slowly towards her. She didn't cower, but Stiles could read the tension in every muscle of her body.

"It's kind of hard to explain," Scott said. He took a seat on the edge of the bed. Stiles chewed on his thumbnail. Ideally Scott would be able to explain it and this girl would agree to letting them keep her tied up until they were sure she wouldn't go running around Beacon Hills mauling people.

Scott took a breath. "You're going to change. Because of this…gift…"

"Nonrefundable gift," Stiles interjected.

Scott grimaced. "It's more of a new way to see the world," he said, not sounding too sure of what he was saying. "It's going to change you. But it can be for the better. We can help you through this."

The girl's breaths came faster as Scott spoke, her eyes wide with fear.

Stiles sidled up to Scott. "Maybe you could try to sound a little less 'creepy cult leader'," he muttered out of the side of his mouth.

"This is a cult?" she asked. She looked around the room. Stiles found himself mildly offended that she looked like she found their cult lacking.

Before Scott or Stiles could answer, footsteps sounded in the hall and Derek came through the door.

"Well that's good," Stiles said drily. "I'm sure the dark master's presence will reassure her."

Derek stood in the doorway, his dark gaze on the girl on the bed. If she had looked uneasy with Scott and Stiles, her fear built to near terror at the sight of Derek. She struggled and fought to move as far from them as she could, her shoulder hitting the headboard.

"Can you look a little less like a murderous psychopath?" Stiles asked him.

Derek looked at him with no change in his expression. He turned his attention back to the girl.

"Who is she?" he asked.

"I found her," Scott said.

"I'm Henley," she said. Stiles could see the frantic rhythm of her pulse in her neck. "Please…please let me go."

Stiles grimaced.

"What's she doing here?" Derek asked without any show of sympathy to her pleas.

"She was bit," Scott said, sounding surprised. "You didn't…?"

Derek gave a single shake of his head.

"Liam was at practice with me," Scott said. "The only other one who could bite someone…"

They all turned and looked at her. She pressed her lips together and struggled with renewed effort at her restraints with all their eyes on her.

Whoever she was, she wasn't random. Peter Hale didn't bite anyone without a very specific reason.

#

This story was inspired by the song Glitter & Gold by Barns Courtney. It sparked an idea (more of a plot gremlin) that wouldn't let go, and MusesOwnMyMind did nothing to stop me. :) I love hearing thoughts and requests, so let me know what you think. It's always intimidating to me when I post a new story. :)