Mal was admitted by a rather pretty nurse to see Peter Hale. Peter sat in a wheelchair, burns covering most of his face on one side.
"Peter Hale, I presume?" asked Mal. He zipped up his red hoody jacket, pulling the hood over his head so that his face was in shadow.
The blue eyes stared straight ahead.
Mal got down in front of him until he was staring right into those eyes.
They flickered the barest amount to meet his gaze. That instant told Mal everything he needed to know. Not only was Peter the Alpha, but like Mal himself…he was dead inside.
Mal sat back in a free chair, as Peter slowly turned to look at him. The communication had been mutual. Their kind always knew each other.
"What do you want, boy?" came the low voice.
"To figure what how someone like me could help you. I know much of your story already." He said quietly. "You are very lucky. All the pieces are out there, but so far no one has put them together. Not your brain-dead recruit Scott McCall, nor your brooding and intense nephew who thinks he can solve any problem with a Glare."
Peter smiled, impressed, despite himself. Nothing could deter him from his mission, and likely the boy would have to be silenced…but the fact that there was no fear smell at all coming from him, and that he already knew everything…and no lying detected…gave him pause.
"Why should I want your help?" asked Peter.
"Because, I am smart. That is a rare thing in this town. All of its buses should be short ones."
"Well, lets see how smart you are." Peter lunged out of his chair, his features contorting into the monstrous mutant wolf countenance of the Alpha.
Five scythe-like claws whipped out and slashed across the front of Mal's jacket. There was a bright flash and a sizzling burning smell.
Peter sank back into his chair, cradling his singed and human hand.
"Now, that was naughty." Said Mal, not having moved an inch. He was untouched by the attack.
"Let me guess. Mountain Ash. You filled the lining of your jacket with chips." Said Peter drily. He was very impressed. The kid was smart.
"Correct in one. Lined my sweatpants with it too. I expected some sort of test."
"What's your name?" asked Peter.
"Malcolm Drake. Call me Mal."
"Ah. In many languages, that translates to bad…or evil."
"I am aware of that."
"What do you want? Really? What do you think you will get out of this?"
Mal leaned forward, and a rare spark of emotion burned in his eyes.
"I want to learn from you. There are no teachers for this kind of thing you can just go look up in the phone book. You have been a predator your whole life. I want to know how wolves think, how they select their prey. I only have a human awareness. There are things that can't be learned by oneself."
Peter nodded. "There are things that cannot be taught at all. Only experienced. Like how to hear the lie in someone's heartbeat. With the bite, you could learn these things for yourself. You would have the wolf inside you. Do you want it?"
For the first time, Mal looked uncertain. He turned away and stared out into the darkening sky. He felt that Peter was restless to leave, to carry out further plans. Turning back, one hand lightly grazed the zipper of his protective jacket…and zipped it up tight.
Peter looked at him, saying nothing.
"I can't help but think that you might still view me as a threat, and kill me the moment I am vulnerable. When I have helped you, and shown you my worth…when I have learned from you and decided I can trust you…ask me again. Also, I have a promise I want to keep to myself while I am still me. I mean no disrespect."
"None taken. A wise course of action. If you had believed me right away, I would have known you to be a fool. I have no use for fools. Except as a replacement for this terrible hospital food, of course. Now, what can you tell me that will assist me in my planning?"
"Scott fights with Derek and his condition. He sees it as standing in the way of his life with…Allison Argent. If you had her, he would be your puppet." Mal saw no surprise in Peter's face, so he continued. "Stiles Stilinski would have made a better choice for your little Army than Scott. He feels overshadowed by Scott, and jealous deep down of his friend's new abilities. I am not sure you could get him to kill, however. Even better choices are Jackson Whitmore and Lydia Martin. They are jealous if someone has a piece of gum. I see them squabbling to earn your approval, trying to be the best werewolf, the best killer."
"Hmmm Jackson, Lydia. They are a couple?"
"In the loosest sense of the word."
"Predicted reactions to the bite?" Somehow, he knew Mal could answer this.
"Lydia would adapt. Its her nature. Perhaps too well, she might be unpredictable. Jackson…if he were shown the gifts ahead of time, he would come to you and beg for it. On his knees. He is the best choice if you want to recruit anyone else."
"Pictures and addresses." demanded Peter. "Get them to me by tonight."
"I have them now. Also some clothing items I filched from their lockers and sealed in plastic bags. You can track them by scent. Let me prep Jackson.; he has a grudge with me now. If I set up an intro with you, he may forgive it which will make it safer for me. I can have him here by Thursday evening."
For the first time in over 6 years, Peter Hale smiled. With the burn scars, it made a frightening picture.
"Don't fail me, Mal."
"I don't fail. Have you seen my report cards?"
Later that week, after Jackson confronted Scott about where he got his 'juice', Jackson noticed Mal slouching against the lockers smirking.
"Have you got a problem, geek?" he snarled.
"Yes. My problem is that I can answer all of the questions you have about Scott and even help you get on even ground with him. But…you've been rude. So, goodbye."
Mal turned and walked down the hall.
Jackson stood for a second, torn, between his dislike for the kid and his overwhelming need to reestablish his dominance over Scott and the team. Then, he took off after Mal.
He grabbed Mal's shoulder, only to have the other boy flinch away with surprising violence. He grabbed Jackson's throat with amazing force and snarled in a way that would have made Derek Hale proud while slamming him into the lockers. Jackson was suddenly actually afraid. He banged his head pretty hard.
"Don't… ever… touch me!" He drew his other fist back and slammed it into the locker next to Jackson's head, denting it. Blood dripped from his knuckles; he seemed not to notice.
Calming himself with a visible effort, and trying to rearrange his features into something resembling a human expression, Mal took his hand off of a terrified Jackson's throat.
"Jackson. Believe it or not, I want to help you. We started off in the wrong foot, and I am trying to fix that. We can't talk here. Our friend is exceptionally keen of hearing…that is one of his many new abilities. Let's get in that fancy car of yours, and go on a little trip. On the way, I can tell you all about it."
Jackson nodded his head, rubbing the sore spot.
Mal inwardly felt contempt. Always the same with these types, deep down they want someone to take control.
They got into Jackson's silver Porsche and pulled out onto the road to the highway.
"Now what I am about to tell you may be hard to believe Jackson, but I saw it with my own eyes."
Jackson glanced at him nervously.
"What? What is it?"
"Scott McCall is a werewolf."
Jackson hit the brakes.
"Are you high?" he asked in a shrill voice.
"No. Drugs are for losers, along with alcohol, cigarettes, fast food and porn. Let's just say I'm straight-edge." Mal chuckled to himself.
"There are no such things." Said Jackson.
"A few days ago I would have agreed with you. C'mon, you haven't noticed McCall's eyes glow yellow when he's pissed? His aggression problem? His strength, speed, agility? All of which appeared overnight? His bizarre behavior? He's struggling with it Jackson, he isn't ready for it. He's weak. You are strong, I can see it. If it were given to you, you would know what to do with it. And tonight…if you want it…it can be yours. Super healing, all senses on maximum overdrive…boy will I envy you."
Jackson pondered this in silence. "Say…I believed you. How are you going to give it to me? Do you know a werewolf?"
Mal nodded. "That's who we are going to see. He asked me to bring him likely recruits, and you were the first one I thought of." Mal gave him directions to get on the turnoff to the hospital.
"See, Jackson, a nice public place. He's here. No funny stuff. And for making this introduction, I ask only one small favor."
"What is it?"
"You continue to treat me with respect, and never…ever…attack me. I am not a werewolf, but you will not succeed. Don't get cocky, Jackson. You have too much potential to do great things with this power to waste it by showing off with me or some other hapless nerd or on the Lacrosse field. The key is to keep a low profile. And even if you don't piss me off and force me to cut your goddamn wolfish head off, there are others who watch for the creatures…and hunt them to a painful death. Should anything ever happen to me, they will receive a picture of you and all of your personal information. They will…never…stop coming for you. Are we agreed?"
Jackson nodded his head. "Yes."
Mal smiled. "Good. Let's go up."
Mal zipped up his hoody that he wore every day now, and led Jackson to Peter Hale's room. The nurse gave a sly wink and shut the door behind them.
Jackson's face cringed in disgust as he took in Peter's burned features. "I thought you said these guys have super healing."
Peter rolled his eyes. "It's a disguise of sorts. Mal here, tells me you want the bite. Is he correct?"
Jackson, more scared now than ever, nodded his head yes.
"Roll up your sleeve."
Jackson hesitated, then obeyed slowly. He held it out to Peter. Mal approached with a ketchup packet that he tore open and squeezed onto Jackson's wrist.
"I'm touched, Mal." Said Peter, chuckling.
Jackson's face was dead white as he looked at his ketchup covered arm. He was a hair from pulling back and running out of the room when Mal caught him from behind in a full nelson, long enough for Peter's face to change into…something out of his worst nightmare. The great beast clamped onto the wrist and worked its jaws in deep. Jackson tried to destroy the hospital with his screams.
