| Blink of an Eye, Part 1 |

It was mid-day and she was running. There were trees all around, no designed path in front of her. The river was on her right, through the trees only 20 yards away. She was running at top speed. Running from them. From the hunters. Men clad in camouflage, armored and heavily equipped; they weren't like the team that went after Scott and Satomi's packs in the warehouse. These were soldiers. Commandos. Tracking one target of high interest. They weren't close enough to fire. Not yet. And despite her speed, they knew every turn she took and predicted everyone she'd make.

The brunette eventually came upon a clearing. A river village, one that seemed to be deserted. She kept running, looking back only once. It was Cora Hale. She weaved through them, ducking from the middle. A burst of bullets nearly missed her as she rounded the corner, clipping the wood and straw and dirt on the side of one of the houses. The six men divided into two, corralling her out into the open. Another explosion of gunfire missed once again, one shot nicking a strand of hair.

Cora got to the far side of the village, ready to dash into the treeline. One of the hunters lined up a clear shot when a roar echoed from the sky. From inside the houses and atop them, naguals swarmed down upon them. The fight was short, but brutal. Gunfire shot off in all directions. Knives were drawn when clips emptied. They were no match for an entire village of werejaguars, though. All six of the hunters fell, none of the nagual joining them, a mere shoulder wound on one. Cora Hale walked back into the village just as the last of them reverted. He was an older man. She looked at him, grateful. In return, he smiled warmly at her, pulling her in for a hug as if she were his own daughter.

/ | * | * | \

Melissa had made breakfast. They were eating, sitting around the table. Melissa, Scott, Derek, and Liam. The smell of eggs, bacon, and toast permeating the downstairs, emanating from their plates and the hot pans on the stove. It was quiet. Awkward. The room felt thick and heavy. No one was talking and no one made eye contact. Scott was still shirtless, clad in only his boxers and athletic shorts. While in addition to their own similar shorts, Liam and Derek were donning wife-beaters, black and light-grey respectively. Sitting closest to the kitchen was the de facto pack-mom, with Liam to her left, Scott to his, and finally Derek. The Hale boy had a minor, barely hidden smirk on his lips once again; beneath the table he was playing footsy with Scott, rubbing his foot up and down Scott's hairy calf. In turn, the alpha was stiff, his heart racing.

Bzz, bzz.

Scott picked up his phone from the table.

/ Code: Trisk...screw it I can't spell it. We're both okay here. /

The alpha looked up to see all eyes on him. "Um, that was Corey. He and Mason are fine."

"And that's everyone?" Melissa asked.

Scott nodded. He looked down at his plate and continued eating quietly until Liam put down his toast. "So, are you guys together?" the beta asked outright. "Mason wants to know." Scott didn't look up. He froze stiffer, hunching over more. He blushed. He knew they were all looking at him again and he could picture each of their faces. Liam with a devilish grin. Derek sporting a smirk of expecting amusement. His mother with both eyebrows raised, mouth full of food and lips slightly curved upwards. When Scott finally did look up at them, he was three-for-three.

At the back door, a set of keys began to jingle. The deadbolt turned and Rafael walking into the house, three men following him inside. While one was in a button down much like Scott's dad, the other two were donning golf shirts, looking as if they were on holiday. "I thought you said you only had one kid, McCall," said the one that followed directly behind Melissa's ex.

"I do," he said with a smile. "This is my son Scott," motioning to the alpha, "and his friends Liam and...and Miguel." The boys exchanged a look and Scott actually smiled as his father continued. "And this is Melissa," he said more to the unspoken two.

"Melissa, you look lovely as ever," the more forward man said.

"Brad," she acknowledged. "Long time."

He nodded. "Been alright?"

"Hangin' in there."

Scott looked at her questioningly. "Scott, boys," Rafe offered, "this is my old partner and mentor. He took me on right after I graduated from the academy. And this," he said, clasping the shoulder of a man around his age, "is MacKenzie, my partner in the field for about six years now." The man waved. "And this is a buddy of mine from Quantico, Major Luis Cordova."

"Hi," he said.

"We were gonna' head over and talk to Stilinski; you boys wanna' go?" Scott looked at the other werewolves. They exchanged looks before Scott turned back to his father and nodded. "Alright. Well, finish up and get dressed. We should get over there soon." Rafe and Scott exchanged a look before the FBI agent led them out onto the enclosed porch.

"Actually, I should get home," Liam said. "Make sure my mom and dad are alright."

"Do you want a ride?" Melissa asked.

"Nah, I'm ok. I can run."

"I can take you, hun. I have to run some errands and you're on the way."

"And I don't want you by yourself," Scott added.

Liam nodded. "Thanks, Ms. McCall."

"I guess we should get ready," Scott said before standing and whoofing down the last third of his toast. Derek and Liam stood, too, rinsing and putting their dishes in the washer before heading up the stairs. Derek was first, followed by Scott and Liam, the former staring at the Hale boy's butt clad in his borrowed pair of shorts.

"Hey, Scott?" Liam started at the top of the stairs, stopping his alpha.

"Hmm?" He turned to face his beta, only to see his phone out in both hands and a wicked smile across his lips.

"What should I tell Mason?"

/ | * | * | \

Isaac Lahey was walking uphill on a more secluded street of Paris, hood pulled over his head from his old #14 sweater. He was in a predominantly Muslim neighborhood on a Friday night and there were only the other people near him: the lovebird couple walking and laughing that were coming toward him, and a woman behind him—the one that had been following him for 20 minutes. He had been on his way to a club to meet a few friends; he was gonna' be late to begin with.

When the couple passed and finally entered a townhouse near the far end of the street, Isaac darted into a dark nearby front garden through a creaky gate. He got onto the grass on his stomach and waited. He heard running feet. A back hitting the stone wall. A silencer being screwed onto a pistol. The woman flipped around the corner, gun and lit-flashlight pointed forward. She checked ahead of her and then her corners. But, before she got a chance to check the ground, Isaac growled and pounced. His eyes shined bright yellow and he bore his claws and fangs down on her as he flattened her against the stone and concrete. The gun slipped from her hand and made it into his own in a split second. She threw a punch, she struggled, but one butt with the pistol-handle to her forehead and she was rendered unconscious.

Isaac caught his breath for a moment, listening. Her heart was beating and she was breathing. He clambered to his feet and stepped back, gun in hand. Only gripping the silencer, he unscrewed it, careful to make sure his hand gripped the muzzle so the forensics would implicate only his attacker. Chris hadn't just trained him physically, but mentally as well.

Quietly and carefully he crept out onto the street, checking for any other hunters before dumping the silencer into a drain. He walked back to the woman and, after wiping the gun and taking hold with his sleeve, placed the gun a foot or so from her feet. He closed his eyes, breathed again, and psyched himself out. He put on a facade, rushing up the steps of the townhouse and forcing desperation and panic and fast breathing to come forward. He knocked on the door, or rather pounded. He kept knocking until he saw the lights come on. The door opened and a 40-year-old Arab man looked down at Isaac as he leaned over.

"S'il vous plaît...aide... j'ai été attaqué."