CLAIRE

I don't remember what time I got through the door. It had to have been late, because it was dark outside and mom was still at work – which made me nervous. She had a job running a bookshop – that mainly sold online but she did have a few small chains like here in Beacon Hills. This was how my mom afforded to move me from school to school, state to state. It was her business and sometimes I felt incredibly selfish for leeching money off her. The fact that she was out at this time worried me. Packs had used many ways over the years to manipulate me, to try and bend me to their will and using my mom as leverage was a common trick.

I dumped my school bag in the hallway and went straight up stairs to change. I stripped off my old clothes and immediately pulled out a pair of running shoes, a vest and my sweats. I didn't know it was possible to aggressively tie shoe laces, but I did it anyway. I was absolutely sick of all of this. I didn't want to be normal (I couldn't think of anything more miserable) but at the same time, this wasn't living. This was like being some kind of fugitive, an outcast.

You are an outcast, a voice in my head whispered, your dad died. It should have been you.

I roared. Literally, roared like some kind of demented animal and spun so quickly my shoes squeaked, slamming my fist into the door frame. Pain pulsed through my hand briefly and it was a relief, a comfort even, as if I was greeting an old friend. The clean air of my new bedroom filled my lungs as I took shuddering breath; tears going unchecked. Then my accelerated healing kicked in and the pain numbed eventually giving out until all I had was a couple of tiny white scars where my knuckles had split but even they were fading. A pile of ruined veneer and plaster lay at my feet. I followed a path of invisible rampage in my head, imaging tearing down posters and smashing up that awful porcelain mermaid on the second shelf and how good it would make me feel. I knew I would never act on it though. When I'd regained my senses, I would feel guilty for destroying all of my mother's lovely gifts even if she would be understanding about it.

No, I needed another way to vent my anger. And that was running.

Don't get me wrong, I hate most forms of exercise. Like, hate with a burning passion. Sometimes I can't even shoot a couple of hoops without tasting blood in my mouth. But I don't mind running. It gives me a thrill, to feel the leaves crunching beneath my feet, to make the forest obey me as I stamp a path through it.

Here, I can stop thinking about everything. The cold air clears my head, hitting my face and leaving my cheeks stinging red from the frozen wind. I ran - feeling everything as a momentary flash around me. I used tree stumps as platforms to push up off and sprinted in and out of undergrowth, sending leaves madly skittering into the air. Here was the only place I could forget the looks of hatred the pack had given me. Here, I could forget myself – become free. I laughed with joy, a hysterical, desperate sound that threatened to turn into a sob.

I ran until I couldn't feel the ground beneath me.

I ran until I couldn't feel my legs.

I ran until I heard someone following me.

I slowed, didn't stop. I had scolded myself on many occasions for doing that. Usually when this happened, I ended up getting jumped on. I scanned my surroundings, keeping my paces long but my footsteps low. I couldn't see anything at that moment, but I could smell. There was a presence in these woods, one that didn't belong. My senses weren't finely tuned, so I couldn't place it, but I somehow I could sense it didn't want to do me any harm. I slowed. Stopped. Coming up short, I pretended to drop something and spent extra-long looking for it. My hair scraped the forest floor, creating a brown veil so I could get a proper look.

Someone was moving towards me from the left side of the forest - too fast to be human. Before I could react, they barreled straight into me, knocking me backwards and sending the wind out of my lungs.
I was soon on my feet; lips pulling into a snarl of anger, eyes turning to flame. I glared at the leather disaster in front of me, a growl rising in my throat. I was in a crouching position like some sort of animal, ready to pounce at any time. If he wanted to talk, he would have dropped his gaze already, let me win. Instead he held firm and his blue eyes burning holes into me made me want to curl up in a ball and hide. But I didn't back down, and neither did he. We stood staring at each other for a moment like we were about to engage each other. "You need to stop," he said. He sounded furious, but he didn't yell. I would have preferred getting shouted at – his silent anger unnerved me more than the yellow of his eyes. "You're going to attract the entire county."

He advanced on me and I took a reflexive step backwards. I could see the anger rising, causing an ominous red flush in his cheeks. And then it bubbled over. He came towards me and shoved me, hard enough that I stumbled, "Just who the hell do you think you are?" he demanded, "I have something here! Why're you trying to ruin it?"
It was my turn to be pissed. "I'm ruining it? Me? ME!" I yelled in his face, raising a finger in outraged accusation. "I came here to get away from you people! I can here to have a normal life! I'm trying so hard to make this work for me and my mom! And I'm the one ruining it?" I could feel the sting of tears in my eyes but I swiped them away with the back of my hand. I would not cry. I just couldn't, not in front of him. "Why are you really here?" I pressed before I could let things get awkward.
He seemed to soften a little, "I want you to become a part of our pack." His voice was calm and steady as still water. I analyzed him, my eyes dancing over his features, never lingering on a single place too long. I hoped it looked like I was assessing him scientifically for weaknesses and not checking him out because (let's be honest) he had a lot going for him.
"Like hell," I snarled back. He shoved me again and this time, something inside me snapped.

If he wanted to be like that, then fine.

I sprang at him. The surprise caught him off guard and I grabbed his arms, spinning off balance until we landed in the dirt together. Every muscle was tense and coiled now, ready to fight. "I don't want to hurt you," he said. It came out slurred through the set of new canine teeth. "But I will. If you don't come with me."
This time, he was the first to make the move. He swiped at me, but I saw the hit coming and danced away. Claws extended, I moved back into an offensive position. I hooked my foot around his ankle. He lost his balance. I had a second's chance and I took it. I kicked out. What I wasn't expecting was for him to grab my leg. I was sent toppling backwards, landing painfully on my back.
I tried to pull my shin free but instead his hand slid up my thigh to lock around the upper most part of my leg. I forgot myself. I hesitated, shocked by such an intimate touch. And it cost me. He slammed me onto the ground and the wind was knocked out of me. I was lying face first in the undergrowth. The leaves, sharp rocks and twigs scraped my cheek. And suddenly there was this huge weight on top of me and I was totally defenseless and completely pissed but at the same time a little turned on. No one had ever managed to beat me in a fight before. No one.

Until now.

What people don't get about fighting is the sensual connection to the violence. The greasy feel of sweat as he yanked my wrist so I was facing him; the smell of his skin as he racked his claws against my collarbone; the kinetic impact of flesh as he wrapped his hand around my throat. All people understand is pain, but sometimes pain could feel so good. "Okay," I sighed, "Okay, you win. I'll go with you. Please, let me up."
He frowned down at me, "How do I know you're not lying?"
"You don't," I admitted with a shrug, "I guess you'll just have to trust me."
He removed his hand slowly from my wrist. "Any funny business…" He said pointing a finger at me in warning. Then he moved his hand away from my neck. Big mistake.
Faster than the speed of light; I yanked at the back of his shirt and threw him to the ground. Now I had the upper hand. I brought my fist down onto his face and my entire arm jarred with the impact. He winced and spat blood into the dirt. I kneeled on his chest and he groaned beneath me as my hands caught his wrists, pinning him in place. I reveled in the power. "Rule number one," I said slowly into his ear, "Never trust me." I placed a clawed hand on his chest. "Now. Tell me why I shouldn't kill you?"
"You'd start a war," he replied matter-of-factly. "Derek, Erica and Boyd would hunt you to the ends of the Earth and skin you without blinking." His smile was cold, much like his winter blue eyes. They danced with something I didn't understand. As if he knew more than he was letting on.
"You're so sure they'd go to all that effort over one little Omega?" I tried to make it sound like I was being taunting, but it came out more doubtful than that.
"You don't know my friends." His eyes glittered. "You want a reason not to kill me? Right now I'm the only one keeping you alive. If my pack decides to go to our Alpha, then you'll be fair game."
I knew he was right. I could sense it. But I also knew I didn't want to go with him. I didn't want to make myself a vulnerable target by walking straight into the lion's den. "I – I can't." I said more to myself.
He rolled his eyes, "And why the hell not?"
"You don't understand," I slumped against him, removing my grip from his wrists. I expected him to attack me. He didn't. Maybe it was because I was still pressing my kneecaps into his ribcage. I relaxed slightly. "Being alone is all I've ever known. Going to meet up with a pack that possibly wants me to be a part of it? I'm – I'm freaked." I wasn't going to tell him I was scared because you don't tell people that. By the way my hands were trembling so badly, he could probably guess that I was panicking.
"Just calm down." He put a hand on my shoulder. Normally I don't notice fleeting touches, but I noticed this. When a hot guy touches you, it tends to be a big deal. "Look at your face." he said softly.
He gestured to a murky puddle beside him. I could barely see anything in the setting light but I did notice two things about my reflection. One: my eyes were burning amber and two: my canines had expanded to wolf teeth. I clamped my mouth shut, trying to think about my mom and dad: my anchor. Breathe. Just breathe.
When I opened my eyes, Isaac was watching me intently. "What?" I snapped a little to forcefully. He smirked at me, "What?"
Silence
"You're…crushing…me." He finally wheezed.
I rolled off him, trying to suppress a blush. "Right," I said awkwardly, "Um – sorry."
More awkward silence. I rocked on the balls of my feet as he stood with his hands shoved in his pockets. "So – um – your pack-?"
"Oh, yeah," he said, seemingly snapping out of whatever daze he'd been in. "This way." he motioned towards what seemed to me like a bundle of trees but whatever. I was tired. I wanted to get this other and done with so I could get home before sundown. I hated getting caught out after dark.
I moved through the forest like a klutz. With most of my body's chemicals wasted on the fight with Isaac I felt like I was wading through treacle. I had to keep my eyes ahead of me so I could see the next obstacle but that meant my feet kept getting caught on gnarled roots and I was tripping over my own feet. Isaac laughed from somewhere in front of me. "You're a werewolf," he sneered, "Your co-ordination should be perfect."
"Yeah – well – bite me, Beta boy." I snarled, "So I'm tired because I fought you. I still won."
"By default," he corrected me, "Because you're a sneak and a liar."
"Talk about a sore loser." I muttered under my breath. The words did hurt me but I was well trained in not letting emotional weakness show. Except anger. But I could use anger to my advantage.
Crying – however - would get me nowhere.
"I heard that." He shot over his shoulder.
We walked most of the way in silence. I was trying to focus on not falling over. I stumbled more often than I should have and had to hold onto Isaac's shirt once so I didn't twist my ankle. He looked amused. I – however – was embarrassed. I let go immediately. "It's fine," he smiled evilly, "You can touch me all you want."
"I don't know any girl in their right mind who would want to touch you," I retorted, "Ever."
"You? In your right mind?" He snorted.
"Oh my God!" I yelled in exasperation, "Will you shut up?"
"Jeez, what's got you all ready to kill me?" he taunted, "Is it that time of the month?"
I must have turned scarlet. "No!" I cried in outrage, "But I'm about ready to really rip your throat out if you-!" I was so angry I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. I slammed head first into the back of him, my forehead cracking against his shoulder blades. I grimaced and felt him wince as I punched his arm. "What the hell-!" I began but the arm that wrapped around my head, clamping my mouth shut with a huge hand silenced me.
"Claire," Isaac said very slowly. "Shut up and listen." Even though I wanted to take a chunk out of him palm, I forced myself to calm down and listen. At first I heard nothing but the sound of the forest but then I caught it. "Do you hear that?"
I nodded almost incoherently. I could hear footprints in the forest that didn't belong. Not like a jogger or walker but like someone carrying something heavy. I could hear ragged breathing and smell the familiar scent of lead and something much more deadlier. Wolfsbane.

Before I could even react to the situation, an arrow was flung at us from somewhere in the thicket. Out of instinct, I stepped in front of Isaac. The arrow hit me in the gut and pain knocked through me, a burning sensation that was almost unbearable. I gritted my teeth. "Ow."
"You little idiot." Isaac shook his head as I collapsed against him. The second arrow came at us but Isaac was quicker than I had been. He caught it just inches from his face. He rolled his eyes. "Wolfbane tip. Just great."
"Who-?" I stammered as I ripped the arrow out. I didn't scream but a whimper escaped my lips like I was some kind of kicked puppy.
"Hunters." He said, "Run."
I got to my feet as a chorus of shouts sounded all around us. My knees buckled and the world swayed violently, my vision turning a sickening red. "Shit." Isaac muttered and before I could stop him, he grabbed me around the waist and put me over his shoulder where I'd be out of the way.
"Put me down!" I demanded, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to walk. The atmosphere became blurry as we picked up the pace. I felt as though I was going to faint if we got any faster, until finally we were there.

Isaac dropped me like a rock and I stumbled on my feet. I stared up at the warehouse we'd emerged outside of and gave him an incredulous look. "This is your meet? Seriously?" I waved my arm at it. To be honest, it didn't look too shabby. But I had seen better. Like, way better - restaurants, clubs, even mansions. So I was surprised to find a pack hiding out in such a small place.
I was hit by a coughing fit and when I brought my hand away from my mouth I saw blood. I shuddered and allowed Isaac to lead me into the entrance to the building. As soon as I entered the rail deport I noticed one of two things. One: it smelled like stagnant water and decay and two: there was a lot of shouting going on. Three people screaming at each other while two people kept supporting the loudest voice of all. I wasn't expecting much, but at least the building look slightly safe. Meets weren't generally places where packs lived, they were just usually there to be used as a safe meeting or training spot, but there was a torn up sofa stashed in the corner – so that had to mean it was being used for something more than training and by the smell of it; something way, way more than training if you know what I mean.
"Derek, you're not listening to us!" somebody shouted. I recognized the voice at least – it was someone from my school. What was his name? Stan? No – Stiles.
"Thank you for your input," another voice said sarcastically, this time female. She sounded like a bitch. "But I think Derek knows what he's doing."
"Exactly," the guy – Derek – responded as we neared. "And you're here for me, Stiles. So watch it."

Conversation came to a sudden halt as we entered the room. Five pairs of eyes locked on me immediately. Grasping my wounded side, I held up my other hand. "Hi."
"Who the hell is this?" Derek snapped. The violence in his voice almost had me flinching but years of standing up to rival packs had driven most of the weakness out of me.
"Claire, Derek. Derek, Claire." Isaac offered. He was trying to sound casual but his voice was on edge. His fingers were locked around my elbow, as if he was expecting someone to rush me at any second. And judging by Derek's body language, I could tell he was considering just that.
"She's an omega." Erica said quietly.
"You knew?" He sounded offended. Derek turned to the pair flanking him, the two I had seen before in the cafeteria. They both nodded. "Nevermind that," Derek shook himself, "Why are you here? Did you come looking for me?"
"N-not exactly." I stammered. My legs almost buckled underneath me but Isaac steadied me. However much I hated him, I was thankful for that. "I didn't know there was a pack in town."
"Can we talk about this later, please?" Isaac said dryly. "She's kind of bleeding out all over my hand." As if in evidence, he held up the arm he had used to steady my elbow – which had obviously been hanging too low – was now coated in a thick layer of scarlet.
"Why?" another boy I recognized – Scott – asked, "What happened?"
"Hunters," Isaac said and I swear, everyone's breath hitched collectively. "Out in the forest. With Wolfbane tipped arrows. They were too fast."
"Or she's too inexperienced," Derek rolled his eyes. "Scott – call Deaton. We'll discuss in the Kanima later. Stiles with me." I caught the other two, Boyd and Erica, nudging each other and grinning at Stiles whilst Stiles gave them a sarcastic look and followed Derek. It made me wonder if something was going on there. Scott began phoning Deaton (whoever he was) as Isaac led me over to the beaten couch.
"So," Isaac smirked down at me as I lounged out on the grimy thing. It smelt of unspeakable things – bodily fluids I really didn't want to mention (and I wasn't talking about pee) – that had been desperately covered with bleach. Obviously not desperately enough. "How's your first day been?"
I shrugged, though it hurt. A lot. "Meh," I said, "I've had worse."
He arched an eyebrow, "Really?" he looked a little taken aback, "Worse than getting shot with wolfsbane."
"2007 a bunch of Betas tied me up and dragged me into the forest," I replied, keeping my eyes glued to the floor. "They would've beaten me to death if my mom hadn't come home and found me missing and the back door wide open. I was twelve."
Isaac softened slightly, leaning cross-armed against a steel support. "We're not like that here." He said gently.
"Sure you're not-t." then I fell asleep.