A/N: Okay, so it's been awhile since the update, not too long, but still. I apologize, because I know there are people out there who update faster. Marching season is over for me, if you didn't know I'm a dorky little freshmen, you do now, so I'll probably update faster because I'll have more free time. Anyway, thank you all for all the kind comments on the first chapter, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as you seemed to have the first one.

Disclaimer: Not mine. They're MTV's toys. I just like to play with 'em a bit. I'll put them back in one piece.. well.. mostly.

Warnings: Cursing, blood, gore, violence, brief torture-ish stuff, and some religious stuffs.

Unlike on the night Scott had gone missing, tonight, rain poured from the sky above Beacon Hills like there was no tomorrow, splattering across the pavement of Main Street and surging past the grates of the quickly filling storm drains. Most of the town had taken shelter inside, where they could watch the rain from beyond glass in their warm, heated home, safe from the downpour. Most of the town.

There were several individuals that could be seen if one was actually looking, venturing out into the unusually harsh weather, and seeming to do nothing more than embrace it. A shadow that slithered along a fence, a figure taking cover behind a beat up Chevy, a flash of blonde hair appearing for a moment, and a faint red glow of eyes from the bushes. Other than the roar of the rain and the occasional rumble of thunder, there was no unnatural noise to be heard. The minutes went by slowly, with shadows moving ever so often and the occasional glint of metal. There was an unmistakable tension, even if the source wasn't initially apparent. It continued to build as the torrent beat down upon them, a type of humming electricity in the air, setting each of them on an obvious edge..

A blinding burst of too-bright light cut through the air like a knife, streaking through the air, crackling and screaming and popping all at once, a spectacular and deadly show of nature.. A mere second after the flash faded, thunder exploded above them, shaking the ground and making the streetlights flicker with its power. That appeared to be all that was needed to snap the ever rising tension, which recoiled like a rubber band, setting off a domino effect that would've drawn attention, had anybody been there to watch.

A muzzle flash lit up, followed instantaneously by the noise of a gunshot that fell upon deaf ears, and suddenly, several things happened all at once. A figure exploded from concealment, moving with an inhuman speed across the street, water spraying up around his feet as he thundered through a puddle. There was a type of primal desperation in the way he moved, a terrified desperation that seemed to roll off of him in waves. This outburst seemed to be exactly what the lurking strangers were waiting for. Almost as fast as the lightning a few moments before, there were suddenly three figures moving quickly after the fleeing silhouette. They were clumsier and obviously not as agile, but able to maintain pursuit without too much effort. The trio was making no exceptional progress when it came to closing in on their quarry, in fact, their attempts looked almost pitiful. A moment of silent chase passed, when an ambush, clearly planned, was put into motion.

A glint of silver from the shadows, a blurred streak through the air, and suddenly the running figure crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs, blood, and water as what was indisputably an arrow lodged itself between the person's shoulder blades. The jacket hood fell away and revealed not a man, but a teenager, who couldn't have passed for more than twenty if he tried.

Wisps of whitish blond hair clung to the face of the boy, sun-bleached and looking almost unnatural. Silvery blue eyes that showed unmasked terror flashed a brilliant crimson as those who had given chase grew closer. Rather than intimidate them, this futile act seemed to do nothing more than amuse the hunters, that were joined by a fourth, obviously the one responsible for rendering the youth immobile. Low chuckles and cold, quiet laughs rolled into the night.

The young alpha scrambled backward, reaching back at the same time in a mad attempt to pull the arrow from his flesh, although he didn't get the chance. As he moved to crawl away, one of the hunters reached forward, ripping the barbed weapon free from flesh and muscle. An agonized scream ripped itself harshly from the boy's chest as his back exploded into white hot pain, and his eyes faded back to their cerulean color as he fell forward onto his chest with a grunt and a quiet whimper.

A foot struck out, aimed at the boy's ribs, knocking him from his hands and knees and over onto his wounded back. A choked cough rang out as thick red blood congealed along the werewolf's lips, dripping down his neck, and he looked up at his attackers with eyes that pleaded for either death or release. The hunter who had both shot, pulled the arrow out of, and kicked the teenager, looked down on him with a cold smirk.

"Not so tough now, are you Priest?" He mocked, his voice full of an arrogance that would've made Charles Manson proud. The hunter reached into his pocket, before withdrawing a serrated hunting knife and crouching over his victim. "Where's your god now? Ya gonna pray for me boy?" He jeered, driving the blade into the middle of the struggling boy's stomach. Another scream made it's beginnings in the boy called Priest's chest, though it was mostly smothered by his assailant's jacket arm being shoved into his mouth. Panicking and acting mostly on nothing more than instinct, Priest bit down.

The effect of this small action was instantaneous. The hunters recoiled away, and the one who'd been bitten leaped to the side, clutching at his arm, the sleeve of his jacket quickly becoming dark with blood. There was suddenly a lot of shouting on the side of the hunters, who looked panicked and completely unsure of what their reaction should have been.

"Did he get you?" One yelled over the noise of the storm that went on around them.

"What are you, stupid? Putting your arm in his mouth, you deserved it!" Yowled another.

"What was I supposed to do, let him yell? We'd all be fucked!" Was their leader's retort as he curled his right hand over his bleeding wound.

"He wasn't wolfed out, maybe it won't take." The youngest of the group offered, looking for all the world like he wished he'd have stayed home tonight.

Whilst the hunters quarreled and panicked among themselves, their prey was on the move again. Left hand pressed into the wound in his abdomen, Priest pushed himself backwards with his right, getting a few feet away before he rolled onto all fours and pushed himself to his feet. Clutching both hands to the laceration that showed no signs of slowing down the bleeding any time soon, he tried running.

Perhaps 'running' was a generous term for what Priest was doing. It was more of an awkward, doubled over, increasingly desperate stagger. He heard two gunshots echo behind him, but neither met their mark, so he pressed forward, unsure of where he was actually going or what he planned to do. He needed help, and he needed it quickly. His accelerated healing was clearly not working, and he wasn't going to be able to go much farther without blacking out from blood loss.

Howling was out of the question, even if he somehow did manage to get the sound out. He had orders to not interact with the local pack of Beacon Hills, orders he wasn't willing on paying hell for breaking. Instead, he tasked his adrenaline charged mind with finding another source of help in this town. As he took a break, slumping down against someone's backyard fence, he recalled a long ago conversation, one he never thought he'd remember.

Priest was eleven years old, still going by his given name, and already a pack-less alpha. He curled up into his new-found brother's side, listening intently as he was told stories of times that, to him, seemed like so very long ago. Not for the first time, he interrupted the storyteller.

"So.. what? You could just go to him whenever you needed, no matter what pack you were from, and he'd help you?" He asked, looking up with a child's disbelief at his big brother, who gave a smile that was laced with his never-ending patience.

"Well, mostly. See, Doc never wanted anyone to get hurt. It didn't seem to matter to him where you were from. If you were hurt or dying and there was something he could do about it, he would. Even if he was supposed to be loyal to just one pack, he helped everyone who needed him."

"What if you were too far away and it was an emergency though? Did they just die?" Priest asked, voice small, and scared, like they might be in the area of his stories (he refused to call them bedtime stories) tomorrow and there might be an emergency. His brother chuckled a bit.

"Well, we could always go to the regular hospital. There were some people there who knew about us, and if they figured out what you were, they'd take care of you until you could get to the right place." Priest noted the affection in his brother's voice, the kind that he himself used to use when he talked about his family.

"You loved them, huh?" He asked suddenly, though color lit up his cheeks immediately after. There was a long moment of silence.

"Yeah, yeah I did."

"Then why aren't they here? Why don't we ever see Doc or any of those nice people at the hospital?" He saw his brother flinch and regretted the question.

"That…. that's a story for another night kiddo."

The memory echoed through Priest's mind, as he realized what his options were now. He had to chose between two places, and the lesser of two evils seemed to be the Beacon Hills Hospital. He thought back to the maps of town he'd surveyed this morning when he'd first stepped foot within city limits. He fought with his mind, which was becoming dimmer as the adrenaline faded, recalling the image to the forefront of his mind as he staggered to his feet, pushing himself up against the fence. Praying that he was moving in the right direction, the alpha began the painful journey toward his last hope.

With each step, the pain that racked his body seemed to double, triple, quadruple. He shook with the effort it took to remain upright, and focused on each stride, each shuddering breath he took, and each stabbing pain in his gut.

By the time he saw the lights of the hospital, heard the screaming sirens of an ambulance, and smelled the acrid scent of death, sickness, and soap, Priest was barely standing. Each time his foot touched the ground, his knee would almost give, and each time he fell, it took more and more effort and willpower to get back to his feet again.

He'd hoped that by trudging through the mostly flooded ditches along the road, he'd avoid detection from other werewolves and hunters, but that precaution now provided a new challenge, climbing himself out. With water almost up to his hip, he removed his hands from his wound and sought purchase on the few holds he could grab at the top of the ditch. It was harder than perhaps anything he'd ever done, but he eventually managed to free himself from the watery trench.

This small victory was short lived, for as he made to cross the street to enter the hospital, he failed to check the street for approaching cars - and apparently the man who was speeding while driving a black SUV wasn't exactly watching out for pedestrians.

He didn't really feel it, not all the way. He saw it, heard it, but his already numbing mind didn't register the twisting of bones and metal, the collision of flesh and glass, or the sickening scrape of skin against gravel. He barely could put together the pieces of his mind to fit it together the thought I've just been hit by a car. Instead, he tried with all his might to stay awake. He had to.

"If they figured out what you were, they'd take care of you until you could get to the right place."

He had to stay awake. He had to let someone know what he was. Somebody needed to know that he wasn't human. They needed to know, or they wouldn't know how to take care of him.

The blurry, uneven silhouette of a woman kneeling beside him filled his vision. How was he supposed know if she would understand, if she knew what werewolves were?

"If they figured out what you were.."

She smelled like one. He realized with a jolt. She smelled like a werewolves. Smelled like she lived with several of them, but she wasn't one. To his exhausted, wounded mind, and to his broken body, nothing made sense. Nothing mattered really. So what if she knew? He was probably beyond repair anyway.

She was asking him something, but he couldn't hear her properly, so he didn't even try to answer. He felt a hand on his cheek, brushing at something, and he realized he was crying. She was yelling something about help now, and the way she yelled stirred something in him. It wasn't a normal yell, it was like something that pierced through his being and he had to reply to her in some way, had to let her know he was still awake inside himself.

"I.. I don't.." He could barely speak, he was choking on his own blood. "..don't.. don't wanna die. Can't.." He coughed again. "Can't leave my pack. They.. they need me."

She was consoling him, he thought, but the look on her face… She understood. She knew. She'd help. With this thought in mind, he looked up at the crescent moon above her head, barely visible beyond the clouds.

Rain beat down upon his body as the world started slipping into the inviting waves of unconsciousness. "Don't wanna die.." He murmured again.

Then it all went black.

So, there's our first real chapter. It seemed a little short to me, and I fought writer's block all the way through it, so I'll probably fix some stuff and re-upload it later, but I'm satisfied with it for now - although that might just be the two days without sleep talking.

Anyway, what do you guys think of Priest so far? (BTW, since I know somebody will ask, his name is not actually Priest. It's a nickname.) What about our hunter friends? Let me know in a message or a review, because they're always welcome.

See you next chapter lovelies.

~TheFallenArchangel