DOWN WINDING ROADS AND through twisting paths, flashes of moonlight briefly illuminated the outline of Scott's body moving impossibly fast. He headed for the tree-shrouded entrance of the Beacon Hills Preserve, where Derek's black Dodge Challenger sat in the parking lot. He leaped down and landed right on the roof of the car—peering through the windshield to see that the vehicle was empty, and then leaped off.
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Meanwhile, Stiles's jeep skidded to a halt just outside Allison's darkened house. A second later, he was on the steps ringing the bell.
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Charging out from the shadows, Scott landed on a moonlit fallen tree in the woods. Clawed hands resting on the dead trunk, his breath came out in steamy gasps. His crouched and silhouetted body twisted around, trying to catch a scent in the air.
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Stiles was now pounding on the door, finally stopping when lights came on inside. The door clicked open and Mrs. Argent looked out, confused.
"Hi. I'm a friend of Allison's and this is going to sound kind of crazy. Actually really crazy. Actually crazy doesn't even begin to—"
Mrs. Argent called back inside: "Allison? It's for you!"
Stiles opened his mouth to speak again but then stopped, utterly shocked to see Allison coming down the stairs.
"What's up?" she said.
As a distant howl could be heard, Stiles turned to the sound, a look of understanding coming over him...It wasn't Allison Derek was after. It was Scott.
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Racing into a clearing in the woods, Scott slowed, looking up to find an unexpected and very strange sight—a jacket. It was Allison's. The jacket she was wearing at the party, now used to lure him here.
Something moved in the shadows, and he whirled around, launching himself up—as Derek came out of the shadows and dragged him back to the ground. They almost look like dogs grappling as they went up and then slammed back down to the leaves and brush below them.
Derek held him down, one hand wrapped around Scott's throat. He was unchanged in the full moon, except for a strange blue tint to his eyes. "Where is she?" Scott demanded, his voice deeper, strangely demonic.
"She's safe. From you."
"What did you do—"
"Quiet." His voice was like a knife into Scott's head, making him wince. Derek glanced up to the woods around them, listening. "It's too late."
Scott's yellow eyes flicked left and right as if he sensed something else in the woods as well.
"They're already here." He turned back to Scott: "Run."
A second later Derek was on his feet, moving so fast he was almost a blur. Scott barely had time to react when something came soaring out of the darkness. An arrow landed in the trunk of a nearby tree, the bolt exploding with a brilliant flash.
He stumbled back, yellow eyes blinking furiously. Something about the flash had perfectly compromised his vision. When he looked up, Derek was gone, and in his place—three figures emerging from the shadows. Silhouettes at first, they approached with purpose.
They looked like hunters. One carried a Remington pistol grip shotgun; another chambered a round in a Glock 21 handgun. The third and obvious leader, wielded a much stranger weapon—a crossbow, steel-tipped bolt pulled back and ready to fire.
Practically blinded, Scott could barely see a thing—until his eyes focused on the determined face of the Leader, raising the crossbow to fire again. He tried to turn and run, but the arrow soared, tearing through the darkness and right into his forearm, pinning it to a tree.
Scott howled in pain. Lowering the crossbow, the Leader allowed himself the slightest of satisfied smiles.
"Take him..." he ordered the other hunters.
The first hunter came forward. But then a large figure hurtled up behind him, clawed hands grabbing him by the back of his jacket and hurling him into the air, easily tossing him into the second hunter.
The Leader retreated back, calmly and quickly redrawing his crossbow—as Derek tore out of the shadows towards Scott. In one swift motion he snapped the shaft of the arrow in Scott's arm and pulled him free: "Go!"
Scott charged forward, racing out of the clearing and back into the woods with Derek right behind him. A shotgun blast fired just over their heads followed by a volley of gunfire.
"Faster!"
But Scott eventually slowed and underneath his damp hair, his face had returned to normal. He was back in human form, staggering to a stop in the woods, gasping for breath. When he looked up, Derek stepped out of the darkness to face him. He didn't breathe hard at all, seemingly in perfect control of his abilities.
"Who were they?" Scott asked him.
"Hunters. The kind who've been hunting us for centuries."
"Us? You mean you. You did this to me!"
"Is it that bad, Scott? That you can see better, hear more clearly, move faster than any human could ever hope? You've been given something most people would kill for. The bite is a gift."
"I don't want it."
"You will. And you're going to need me if you want to learn to control it. You and me, Scott. We're brothers now."
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The morning sun was beating down on the empty tree-shrouded road as Scott slowly wandered his way home, not even seeming to notice at first when Stiles's jeep pulled up next to him. "Scott? Are you okay? I've been driving all over looking for you."
Exhausted, he slowly turned to his friend: "You were right. About all of it."
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Moments later, Scott was driving while Scott was in the passenger seat with a jacket over him. "You know what actually worries me most?"
"If you say Allison, I'm going to punch you in the head," Stiles responded.
"She probably hates me now."
"I doubt that. But you might want to come up with a pretty amazing apology. Or just tell her the truth and revel in the awesomeness of the fact that you're a freaking werewolf."
Scott gave him an exasperated look.
"Okay, bad idea. We'll get through this. If I have to, I'll chain you up myself on full moon nights and feed you live mice. I had a boa once. I can do it."
And finally, Stiles coaxed the tiniest smile out of Scott.
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Waiting on a bench outside school the next day, Scott jumped to his feet when he saw Allison come out the double doors. "What happened to you last night?" she demanded. "You left me stranded at the party."
"I know and I'm sorry," he apologized. "I really am. But just trust me on this... I had a really good reason—"
"Did you get sick?"
"I definitely had an attack of something."
"Am I going to get an explanation?"
"For now...could you find it in your heart to just trust me?"
"Am I going to regret this?"
"Probably." He took a step closer to her. "So are we agreeing on yes to a second chance?"
"Definitely yes."
Then, just as it looked like they were about to kiss, a horn beeped and an SUV pulled up to the front of the school.
"That's my Dad. I better go."
Scott nodded, turning to head back. But then he paused, head tilting up with an intake of breath. He'd caught a familiar scent...
Glancing back, he saw Allison's father. The face was instantly recognizable. It was the man with the crossbow. The leader of the hunters.
He threw Scott a friendly smile, clearly not recognizing the boy as his prey from last night. With the full weight of realization hitting him—the father of the girl he loved was also now his sworn enemy—his face clouded with dread, darkness surrounding him...
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