*Erotic Content*
Chapter 4: Keys of Shadows

I didn't stick around long enough to get into another fight with my dad. Less than 24 hours back in Beacon Hills, and old habits were already reforming. Reaching out through the shadows, I transported myself to where I might be needed.

I eventually found myself at the high school, where Scott had managed to apprehend one of the murderers. Among the whispers of danger and shadows creeping along the hallways, I learned of a young werewolf who had been poisoned. Without hesitation, I summoned the darkness again, cloaking myself in invisibility and transporting to the vet clinic. Even before laying eyes on him, I felt it—Stiles' presence, like a warm blanket wrapping around me, offering comfort I hadn't felt in so long. When I finally saw him, it was as if the world stilled.

He stood there in a black t-shirt, one that hugged his chest and shoulders, highlighting how much he'd changed in my absence. His hair was longer, messier, tousled in that perfectly natural way that drove me insane. The sight of him stirred something deep within me, a familiar ache. Stiles had never looked more captivating.

But I forced myself to focus. I wasn't there for him, not now. They were struggling to restrain Brett, the injured young wolf. Derek's growing worries about his own diminishing strength were mirrored in Brett's frantic state. Without drawing attention to myself, I used my power to halt Brett's escape, subtly influencing his collapse so it appeared he had passed out from exhaustion. Once he was immobilized, his disjointed ramblings revealed his connection to Satomi's pack, an important detail in the unfolding mystery.

After returning home, I managed to avoid crossing paths with my father and headed straight to my room, a space that had remained frozen in time. It felt surreal, as if no time had passed since I left Beacon Hills. Yet, despite the years and all my attempts to distance myself from the past, it only took one night for temptation to rear its head again—Stiles.

That night, the memory of him in that black t-shirt burned in my mind, as if it was seared into my thoughts. The way his hair curled in the heat while trying to restrain Brett, the way his hips jutted as he leaned in—it was all too much. I threw myself onto my bed, the image of Stiles flooding my senses. His t-shirt had ridden up slightly, just enough to reveal a hint of his lower back. It was all I could think about.

My body responded immediately, my cock aching through the denim of my jeans. I didn't bother stripping down or removing my boots—I needed relief, and fast. I reached down, my hand grazing the hardness straining against my zipper, the pressure building.

A long, low moan escaped my lips as I wrapped my hand around myself, the sensation electric. "Stiles," I whispered, his name falling from my lips like a prayer. My hand pumped faster, the tension inside me growing with every stroke. I imagined his lips, his smile, the way he moved. My mind was filled with nothing but the thought of him—his body, his warmth.

I groaned, gripping myself tighter, my balls tightening with the anticipation of release. "Fuuuuck," I hissed, my body tensing, teetering on the edge of bliss. My hips thrust upward, my grip tightening as my climax approached. The first spurt of cum hit my stomach, a hot, thick wave of pleasure. I moaned, my body writhing with each pulse, my cock spilling again and again across my hand and chest.

The release left me breathless, the room around me fading as I basked in the remnants of my fantasy. But as the pleasure faded, so did the fantasy, leaving behind the stark reminder that it was all just that—fantasy. Stiles wasn't mine. He never had been.

The next morning brought a shift in focus. The urgency of our mission pressed down on me, but we had made little progress. Lydia, sharp and ever-resourceful, had yet to crack the veil of Tēolōtl's history or the relic's true significance. The weight of it gnawed at me, the stakes growing higher by the day.

Determined to understand more, I meditated on the relic's power, allowing the shadows to guide me. The relic, though cryptic, resonated with something deep inside me, as if it held the answers we sought. As I meditated, my connection to the shadows deepened, and I began to glimpse the truth. The Shadow Council—those I had considered allies—were not merely advisors. They had a direct link to Tēolōtl's initial downfall, their powers instrumental in sealing him away.

The revelation added layers of complexity to our mission. Tēolōtl wasn't just a threat to the world—he harbored a deep enmity for the Shadow Council itself. His return would unravel not just the fabric of our reality but the cosmic balance they had maintained for centuries.

As the visions of ancient battles filled my mind, I saw the council members draped in robes of darkness, their faces obscured, wielding immense power. They fought Tēolōtl, a being whose form shifted between human and something far older, far more terrifying. Their battles were fierce, warping the very fabric of reality itself. It became clear why they had banished him, locking away his power where it couldn't be touched.

I awoke from the meditation with a start, the weight of the vision heavy on my chest. Night had fallen, and with it came a sense of foreboding. A sharp pull on my consciousness alerted me to danger—Scott was in trouble. I moved without hesitation, teleporting directly to the scene.

The sight that greeted me was chaos. Garrett, one of the young assassins, lay dead, his body crumpled from a Berserker attack. Scott was being overpowered, his strength no match for the creature. And then, Kate's voice slithered through the night, "Little nephew..." She appeared before me, alive and smirking, leaving me stunned and betrayed.

Kate had returned. Her ultimatum was brutal—save Scott or try to stop her. The choice was agonizing, but there was only one option. I transported Scott to safety at the vet clinic, leaving Kate to escape. My father met us there, his expression filled with a mix of relief and concern.

With Scott safe and recovering, the reality of Kate's reappearance and her control over the Berserkers loomed over us. Scott's gaze found mine, marking the first time we had faced each other since my return. Silent questions hung between us, the weight of everything unsaid settling in the air.

As Scott recovered, my father had already traced a lead to Kate's potential hideout—a property once owned by our family. The revelation brought urgency to our mission, but it also brought an undercurrent of betrayal.

Confronting Kate again was inevitable. My father, unable to restrain his fury, fired the first shot. It shattered the tense standoff, igniting a battle none of us could escape. Scott, Dad, and I fought fiercely, but we were quickly overwhelmed. Just when it seemed the Berserker would finish us off, Kate called off the attack. Her motives remained unclear, adding yet another layer of confusion to this already tangled web.

After the battle, nursing my injuries at home, I found some solace in the quiet. That was, until Lydia called. Her voice crackled with excitement—she'd cracked the final cipher key. Just like Allison's and Aiden's names had been part of the puzzle, my name was the last key to a mystery I knew nothing about.

Shock rippled through me. This revelation went deeper than I'd anticipated. My name, tied into the fabric of this mystery, hinted at something far greater than I had ever realized.