The Breaking Point
Scott couldn't take it anymore.
Harry had come out of nowhere, disrupting everything, drawing the pack's attention in ways Scott didn't understand.
He hated it.
Hated the way Derek and Peter were always watching him, the way Lydia, Malia, and even Stiles had gravitated toward him.
He hated how Harry smelled.
Like magic. Like home. Like pack.
And so, one night, he snapped.
It happened fast.
A confrontation. A heated exchange.
Scott's anger turned physical.
And before anyone could stop it—before Harry could react—Scott's claws slashed across his side.
The world froze.
Harry's breath hitched, his hand pressing against the wound, warm blood staining his sweater.
Scott realized too late what he'd done.
The pack did not take it well.
Peter moved first.
Then Derek.
Then the rest.
Scott was thrown back, shoved down, forced to the ground as the weight of pack law settled over him.
He had attacked one of theirs.
He had drawn Harry's blood.
And that?
That was unforgivable.