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"Um—" Isaac hesitated, discreetly rubbing his palms together beneath the wooden table. "So far it's an A in French and a B minus in Econ."

Silence rung and echoed across the vast distance between Isaac and his father, who were both sitting on opposite ends of the dining table. In his mind, Isaac wondered whether he would make it out of dinner unscathed, for once, or if he wouldn't be so lucky.

As of yet, his luck had been pretty bad, so he braced himself for the worst.

"Oh," Isaac's father finally said, after taking a long, tense gulp of his coffee. "What about Chemistry?" He asked after another moment of playing with the unappetizing food on his plate.

Isaac's heart jumped into his throat, making the organ feel tight and unusable. His fists clenched beneath the table, tightly corded muscles he'd never had before, ready to snap at the first sign of a fight. He felt the fear intoxicating him; he wanted to hide beneath the table, like he had done when he was younger, or run away to live with his new family—his pack.

Instead, his eyes nervously darted around the room, looking anywhere but at his father, just in case the man might be able to discern his traitorous thoughts. "I'm not sure." He lied badly. "Uh, midterms are in a few days, so it could go up."

Teenagers were supposed to be good at lying, but the gene must have skipped Isaac, because the moment the words left his chapped lips, he knew they sounded terrified and fake. There's no way my father will believe me, he realized.

"Well," The man in question began, placing his mug onto the table with a resounding clunk. "What's it now?"

"The grade?" Isaac questioned, staring at his hands as though they might be the thing that finally saved him from this hell. Things never ended well when Isaac got a bad grade, or lied about it, but he knew that there was a small chance his father would just give up and leave him alone. Tonight didn't seem to be one of those nights.

"Uh, yeah." His father mockingly spat, clearly annoyed by the frustrated colouring of his cheeks.

Heart hammering with the intent to break free, Isaac's hands began to tremble with the certainty that a punishment was just one mistake away. He had to be careful with what he said next. Anything could set his father off at this point.

"Uh," He breathed deeply to try to collect his frazzled thoughts. "I'm not sure."

"But you just said it could go up." Mr. Lahey retorted, clearly furious the longer his son evaded the truth.

"I just—uh," Isaac stuttered, trying in vain to regain control over his tongue and the situation, but realizing that it was too late now. "I meant generally." He finished quietly, hunching forward in his seat to lessen his immense height.

"You wouldn't be lying to me, would you, Isaac?"

The words were like sharp, finite, nails in the coffin he'd buried himself in. There was no turning back now; no fixing this with the promise of good behavior and extra chores for a month. He'd reached the point of no return, where he knew that he was never safe.

"No." He denied out of habit, more than self-preservation. He'd already come to terms with his fate. The basement below seemed to call out to him, or perhaps it was just the echoes of his screams, trapped within his own head.

"Then tell me your grade." His father demanded in a tone Isaac knew all too well.

"I just told you," Isaac defended himself, too frightened to tell the truth even though he was only making things worse by continuing to lie. "I don't know."

The chair screeched against the tile floor as Mr. Lahey stood up and placed his palms flat onto the surface of the table. "You wanna take this little conversation downstairs?" He asked, deadly calm.

Isaac shook his head absently, the tightness in his throat expanding until he could no longer speak. His ears rung painfully but he dared not to reach up and cover them.

"No?" His father prompted him, raising his bushy eyebrows behind the thin wire frame of his glasses. "Then tell me the grade, son."

Gulping visibly, Isaac wiped his sweaty palms against his jeans, glad that the table still covered much of his nervousness from his father, but wary that the wood could trap him, should he try to run too quickly, and trip over his chair.

"Dad," He rambled. "This semester's only half over."

"Isaac?" His father beckoned angrily, in a voice nearly as loud as a shout, finally tired of the excuses.

"There's plenty of time—" He continued, only to be cut off by his father's frustrated growl.

"Isaac." He warned, leaning forward subconsciously, as though he wanted to reach over and slam his own child's face into the dinner plate before him.

Shame and terror forced Isaac to look away, staring into his lap to avoid the mad look in his father's eyes. Sometimes, he wondered if his father really understood the thing's he'd done, or if he'd lost his mind shortly after he'd lost his wife and eldest son.

"It's—it's a D." He finally admitted, refusing to look up, although his father didn't seem to mind now that he'd gotten the truth out of him.

"Alright." Mr. Lahey accepted. "It's a D."

The lack of any more yelling or violence, caught Isaac by surprise. He cautiously met eyes with his father, hoping for the first time in years, that his dad had come back to his senses.

"I'm not angry." The older man reassured, taking small, measured steps around the table. "You know I'm gonna have to find a way to punish you though." And the words were like a literal bucket of ice water came crashing down over Isaac's head. "You know, I have my responsibility as a parent." He continued, seemingly unaware of the horror crawling back into his son's heart. "So we'll start with something simple, like, uh—" He trailed off, searching for an example.

"Tell you what," He waved about himself, like he'd gotten an idea. "You do the dishes and you clean up the kitchen, okay?" He asked.

Isaac could hardly believe his ears. He was so stunned, all he could do was nod, nearly mute, and respond with a small, timid, "Yeah."

"Good." Mr. Lahey agreed, his voice strong and resolute. "Because I—I'd really like to see this place spotless. Know what I'm saying?" He questioned, his posture becoming stiffer and angrier the longer he talked. "You know? I mean this entire kitchen." He widely gesticulated, reaching out and taking hold of his forgotten coffee cup, only to smash it against the floor.

The blood drained from out of Isaac's face, migrating to his heart, which felt a thousand times too heavy for his body.

"Yeah!" His father hollered, getting excited as he swiped his arm out and shattered his plate, scattering his idle utensils to the floor. "Yeah, absolutely—spotless."

Finally, Isaac's brain switched from neutral to drive, and he found the strength to push himself out of his chair, to the floor. His father smashed and lashed out on everything around him like a wild hurricane let loose on the suburban home. Curling into as small a form as the tall boy could managed, Isaac counted to ten in his head and waited for the storm to pass.

Only, it didn't pass soon enough for him to survive it, unscathed.

Lost in the confines of his anger, Mr. Lahey took hold of the pitcher which, up until then, had sat inoffensively in the centre of the table, and catapulted it towards the cowering form of his own son.

The glass shattered on impact and Isaac barely had enough time to raise his arms to protect his face, before all that was left of his mother's wedding present was broken glass and spilled water that tasted like tears.

His breathing was erratic and for a moment, all Isaac could feel was nothing—blissful, happy, nothing. Then a sharp pain bloomed across his right cheek and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying out.

Lowering his arms and standing up to his full height, the boy, who had been forced to become a man far before his time, stared at his father in resentment and hatred. Mr. Lahey noticed what he'd done at the same time that Isaac realized his father could not be redeemed.

"Well, that was your fault." His father reasoned, hiding his guilt with more anger and condescension.

"You could have blinded me." Isaac hotly retorted, reaching his long fingers up to his face to feel around the glass shard, embedded beneath his eye.

"Shut up!" Mr. Lahey yelled, becoming defensive, now that his son no longer appeared to be an easy target. "It's a scratch!" He argued as the teenager plucked the shard out of his cheek and threw it to the ground. "It'd hardly even—" His father continued, only to be stopped short as his attention remained transfixed on the bleeding slice in Isaac's skin, which was rapidly healing.

There was no scar, no redness, no traces of bruising or trauma. It was as though Isaac's cheek had never been wounded in the first place.

Silence stretched once more throughout the rarely quiet household. The son regarded the father and the father regarded the son. Both of them knew that things were about to change; that they'd already changed.

Before Mr. Lahey could react properly—which could have ranged from lashing out once more, or apologizing sincerely, he was so shocked—Isaac had already bolted out the door; acting on an impulse he had always been too afraid to follow, until now.

"Isaac!" His father yelled, not entirely sure if he wanted the boy to come back or not—but it was already too late, Isaac's mind had been made up long before that moment.

He'd made his choice when he'd accepted the bite. There was no turning back now. He was finally free; safe.

Or so he thought.

#-#-#-#-#

'Date night', was not at all what Adrianna Argent suspected her cousin, Allison, thought it to be. After all, there was no sappy romantic movie, overly salted popcorn, or stolen glances and lovey-dovey kisses. Quite the opposite in fact. Date night was all work and no play.

"Can I help you?" She heard the principal asking outside the car, close to the school building.

Although it was muffled, she could hear the outline of her uncle's concerned reply. "Well, I hope so, Principal Thomas." He began. "As a concerned parent, I was wondering—how long has it been since your last performance review?"

"What?" The well-dressed principal blurted, confused, as he was led inside the dark SUV where Adrianna and Victoria were waiting patiently.

"We were wondering." Chris amended, smiling lopsidedly in a manner that screamed 'I'm up to no good', in more ways than one.

As Chris applied pressure to the principal's shoulders in order to force the man to sit down, Adrianna found herself sitting beside the man in question. Just being in such proximity to a living, breathing human, made the tips of her digits throb painfully. How she wished to feel his life bleeding through her fingers.

"Are you aware there's been an alarming drop in academic achievement and test scores over the past few semester's?" Victoria asked the man, casually placing a hand over her husband's knee, oblivious to the young huntress' struggle.

Baffled for a moment, the principal shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, before retorting, non too politely; "Excuse me?"

"It's led the parents of Beacon Hills to the unfortunate conclusion that you may no longer be suited to the position of school principal." Victoria assured the man, smiling as though what she'd just said wasn't an insult.

Adrianna felt the principal's heart beating quickly, and the sweat trickling down his brow caused a cold, heaviness to weigh down the girl's very bones. She clenched her fists, making sure her expression remained stoic, and remembered the way she'd felt after killing the omega.

Guilt sat in her gut like a heavy stone and the desire to kill began to trickle out of her system. Her skin pulsed and complained at the very thought of scrubbing herself for hours under scalding water, just to feel clean again. Her eyes remembered for her, how many tears they'd shed.

There was always a price to pay for taking a life. Even the daughter of death knew that.

"You can't fire me." The principal petulantly reminded them, bringing Adrianna's mind back to the present. Under her nails, she could still see traces of blood. Tightening her posture, she kept herself from picking at them.

"True," Victoria agreed, reaching by her side to retrieve the electric taser specially designed for incapacitating werewolves. "But we can torture you."

Panic and fear settled into the principal's eyes as he watched the rod light up and crackle with electricity. He tried to run but, quick as a viper, Adrianna's hand grabbed hold of his arm and kept him steady in his seat.

"Not so fast." She told him, permitting the cold, poisonous tendrils of death to latch onto her prey and render him immobile. "We aren't done with you yet."

Black veins sprouted across his neck, engorging the aorta and threatening to burst his circulatory system, should Adrianna command it. Surprise rendered her aunt and uncle statues, as they watched their niece use a birthright they had all hoped to be nothing more than a myth.

"Now, Principal Thomas," Adrianna murmured quietly, dangerously. "I've heard your school is notoriously hard to get into."

Her finely arched eyebrow demanded an answer, but the principal was nearing death at such a rate, that all he could do was nod eagerly. The green eyes he'd mistaken for an innocent, greedily fed off his fear and submission.

"Well, I'm not exactly what you'd call an honour-roll student," She continued in a lazy drawl. For now, the others were content to let her control the situation. Out of the corner of her eye, Adrianna knew they would only wait for so long.

"I guess what I'm getting at," She laughed slightly, digging her pale fingers into the man's elbow joint as he convulsed slightly from the nerve-damage. "Is if, even with all my mistakes, Beacon Hills High would accept a girl like me into this year's class."

Principal Thomas choked on his own tongue before he could answer. He coughed and gagged and for a moment, Adrianna didn't do a thing; she was going to watch him die. Her eyes began to tint black as the man's death approached and the darkness she'd felt in her heart, since the day she'd been born, threatened to consume her.

But then, strong arms were pushing her aside, out the door, and onto the cold pavement beneath her. She spluttered and wretched on the asphalt, blinking rapidly to clear the moisture from her eyes. She wasn't fast enough.

A force slammed into her middle, overturning her onto her back where she lay, heaving and coughing, exposed before Chris and Victoria as the monster she truly was.

"What are you?" Chris asked her, disgust evident in his tone.

The anger, blood lust, and hatred overwhelmed the sixteen-year-old, and all she could do was laugh; loud and maniacally. Her mother had made a mistake when she'd begged the god of death—Thanatos—for a daughter. Now the thing that had killed her mother, was killing her, and there wasn't a damn thing to be done about it.

As Adrianna regained her breath, she smiled crookedly up at her uncle, feeling the homicidal urges beginning to lessen as she gave him his answer.

"I'm a demigod, and you?"

#-#-#-#-#

"I'm serious." His best friend assured him for the sixth time this morning. "It's not like the last full moon. I don't feel the same."

"Oh," Stiles remarked disbelievingly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes childishly. "Does that include the urge to maim and kill people like me?"

His friend didn't seem to have the same reservations, as he attempted to discreetly roll his eyes behind Stiles' turned back. Stiles wondered whether Scott knew all the things that he'd noticed him doing over the years, as his best friend leaned out of his locker so that he could look Stiles in the eye. "I swear, I don't have the urge to maim and kill you." He re-reassured; if that was even possible.

"You know, you say that now but then the full moon goes up and out come the fangs and the claws and there's a lot of howling and screaming and running everywhere, okay?" The sarcastic teen retorted hotly, more than a little ticked off by the conversation and the remembrance of the real, untainted fear he was beginning to get way too accustomed to feeling. "And it's very stressful on me and so yes, I'm still locking you up." He finished self-pityingly.

"Okay, fine." Scott agreed, although Stiles knew he only did so to calm him down. "But I do think I'm in more control now." The dark haired beta added, his thoughts clearly drifting away from the conversation. "Especially since things are good with Allison." He dreamily trailed off.

"Okay," Stiles exasperatedly exclaimed, waving his hands in the air for added effect. "I'm aware of how good things are with Allison."

Oblivious to Stiles' discomfort, Scott continued on the same topic. "They're really good." He muttered with a smile on his face.

"I—thank you, I know." Stiles stuttered, wishing for the millionth time that he'd chosen a smarter kid to play in the sandbox with, nearly ten years ago.

"I mean, like, really good." Scott pressed, and a small part of Stiles' brain reasoned that his best friend was probably just doing this to irritate him, because Scott couldn't be that clueless. Could he?

"All right, I get it!" The spastic teen boomed, slamming his fist against his shut locker to expel his frustration. "Just please shut the hell up before I have the urge to maim and kill myself."

"All right," Scott agreed, his crooked jaw twitching with the urge to smile. "Did you get something better than handcuffs this time?" He asked, changing the topic –probably so that he'd still have a best friend to count on when things turned hairy.

"Yeah," Stiles nodded, pleased with himself as he reached for the constantly jamming knob of his locker's door. "Much better."

And then he swung open the locker to reveal his genius solution to using flimsy, very breakable handcuffs during the full moon, only the hundred yards of heavy duty chain that he'd recently bought from the hardware store didn't cooperate at all.

It tumbled from the shelf he'd placed it on, loudly and disruptively, attracting the attention of every pair of eyes in the entire locker room, including their eccentric, sadistic coach.

The spiky haired, wide-eyed man walked up to the pair and Stiles prepared himself for the worst, lifting his shoulders in an attempt to hide his face from the world that had suddenly become overwhelmingly embarrassing.

"Par of me wants to ask." The older man began, pointing at the still falling metal links. "The other part says knowing will be more disturbing than anything I could ever image. So—I'm gonna walk away." The coach decided, beginning to do just that.

"That's good." Stiles found himself gratefully replying. "That's a wise choice, coach." He slapped Scott on the shoulder in celebration of a detention-less evening, only for the other boy to remain with his eyes fixated on a specific point in the room.

Furrowing his brows in confusion, Stiles experimentally pushed his friend's shoulder once more. "You okay?" He questioned, looking around to try to see what had captured Scott's attention. "Scott?" He insisted when he didn't get an answer.

"There's another." Scott declared, still apparently transfixed by a sound or sight—maybe even a scent—that Stiles couldn't see, hear or smell. "In here, right now." The boy continued, lifting his chin up like he'd caught a whiff of something interesting.

"Another what?" Stiles found himself asking hesitantly. In the year so far, neither of them had had much luck when it came to Scott's new werewolf abilities. He crossed the fingers on his left hand behind his back, just in case.

Standing up straight, Scott turned to look Stiles in the eyes, and immediately, he knew there was no use in hoping. Scott's next words confirmed that the worst was yet to come.

"Another werewolf."

#-#-#-#-#

"You really don't remember anything?" Allison asked her redheaded, more than slightly narcissistic best friend , who'd been missing for two days and apparently couldn't recall her time running through the woods, sans clothes.

"Isn't that what she just said?" A sarcastic, slightly annoyed voice responded before Lydia had the chance. Glancing in her rear view mirror, Allison's lips pressed together as she once again took in the state her cousin was in.

It had been more than enough of a surprise to discover that Kate—her Aunt Kate who'd just recently had her throat slit by Peter Hale after trying to kill him and his nephew, Derek—had a daughter that no one but Gerard and Chris knew about. But then, she discovered the dark haired girl's tempestuous attitude and fiery temper, and that—despite the fact that she should have expected it, with Kate being her mother—surprised her even more.

Sharing an uneasy look between them, Allison shook her head to try to persuade Lydia not to question the grumpy brunette, but anyone who knew the Martin, knew that once her mind was set, there was no changing it.

"So," Lydia began, dropping the visor above her head to look Adrianna in the eye as she re-applied gloss to her already shining lips. "Who is she again?" She asked Allison, ignoring the glare that the younger Argent pointedly directed at her.

Clearing her throat uncomfortably, Allison gripped the wheel tightly. One look in the rear view mirror at her cousin's expression was more than enough warning that the girl didn't want Lydia to know anything about her, but still, she was her best friend. After all the things she was finding that she had to lie to Lydia about, Allison figured that she could at least tell the truth on this one thing.

"No one." Adrianna interrupted abruptly, pinching the bridge of her nose as though she had a migraine and turning her face so that she was looking out the window, halting any further attempts to continue the conversation on her or Lydia's part.

Shuffling in her seat, Lydia recovered from Adrianna's rebuff with a speed that had once astonished Allison, but which she now anticipated, having learned that there was more to Lydia that she let on.

"They called it a fugue state," The red head replied to the previously dropped question as Allison pulled into the school's parking lot and slid her shiny Toyota into a stall near the school's entrance. "Which is basically a way of saying 'We have no idea why you can't remember running through the woods naked for two days.'" She explained as she maneuvered out of the car in her tight dress and heels.

Allison followed closely behind her friend, casually checking on her distracted cousin every once in a while, and catching herself speculating what exactly the girl's problem was. She looked hung over, but Allison knew for a fact that Adrianna had spent the evening with Gerard, getting accustomed to Beacon Hills.

Lydia's smooth, factual voice brought Allison's thoughts back on track. "But personally, I don't care." The confident teenager added, sashaying her hips in a way that made Allison wish she had curves. "I lost nine pounds." She exclaimed, satisfied.

Adrianna's snort was loud enough to draw both girl's attentions but with a harsh little smirk, Kate's daughter easily shrugged off Lydia's withering glare and Allison's curious expression.

Just another reason why Allison found that she couldn't trust her new cousin.

The trio continued towards the school in silence, stopping in front of the double doors that led inside the building—each for different reasons. Lydia and Allison were concerned over the gossip that may have been garnered thanks to Lydia's naked jaunt in the woods, but Adrianna must have been afraid of her first day of school and having to deal with more new things.

At least, that was how Allison remembered feeling herself, only a few months ago, when she'd been the new girl.

"Are you ready for this?" Allison asked aloud. She wasn't sure who the question was directed at, but Lydia was the one who answered.

"Please." She retorted saucily. "It's not like my aunt's a serial killer."

For a moment, the shock of Lydia's comment rendered Allison frozen solid. She felt like her skin was ice and her veins were fire. As she assimilated her friend's barb and understood that it was Lydia's way of regaining confidence, Allison noticed her cousin, Adrianna's reaction for the first time.

The sixteen year old had her fists clenched and her eyes narrowed, trained with hostility on the back of Lydia's head. She seemed to be at war with herself because every time she made a move—whether it was to step forward or part her lips as though to speak—she held herself back and did nothing.

Around them, the temperature seemed to drop several degrees, but Allison knew it must have been her imagination because the moment Lydia pushed open the school's doors, Allison felt warm once more; or at least, as warm as one could feel in the fall.

Immediately, all eyes in the school zeroed in on Lydia, watching and waiting for the queen of Beacon Hills High's reaction. She was equally stunned, however, with none of her usual bravado and arrogance on display.

Allison felt pity for her friend, and, despite knowing that she should have left the often times tactless red head to fend for herself, she leaned in close to Lydia's shoulder and whispered what was both a compliment and pay back for her previous insult.

"Maybe it's the nine pounds." She told Lydia.

Adrianna smirked cruelly, in the way that Allison had only ever seen Kate pull of without looking ridiculous, and stalked past the group.

The movement seemed to be enough to revive Lydia, as she quickly tossed her long, red hair over her shoulder and followed the other girl's example of cool indifference.

Allison only had enough time to briefly wonder how her best friend and cousin had scarily similar reactions, before racing off to catch up with her friend.

What else could Adrianna be hiding?

#-#-#-#-#

His father was dead.

His father was dead, and Isaac hadn't been the one who killed him.

There was something oddly poetic about the whole thing, although, to be honest, Isaac was too far scared out of his wits to notice. To make things worse, the young werewolf was fairly certain that his alpha, Derek Hale, didn't believe that he was innocent.

School seemed like the last place he should have been at a time like this, but that was where Isaac found himself. Listening into other people's conversations and trying very hard not to have a panic attack as the heartbeat's of his lacrosse teammates blended into a roaring, chaotic drumbeat.

He seriously needed to get a handle on his new abilities, or else, he was certain he'd have to lock himself away from everyone with a pumping heart and wheezing lungs for the rest of his existence as a werewolf. Which, at the moment, didn't seem like very long, all things considered.

Securing his lacrosse jersey and pads where they were riding up around his shoulders, Isaac tried to focus the way Derek had told him to. Getting into the lineup for tryouts, Isaac shook his head vigorously to try to clear the static along with bits and pieces of other people's conversations.

He heard something about a plan from the opposite side of the field, where two boys were sitting on the bleachers, but before he could focus his hearing to try to find out what Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski were talking about, coach began shouting out orders.

"Let's go!" The lacrosse-obsessed maniac crowed; his lightning rod hairstyle making him look even more insane than his actions were as he gesticulated wildly. "Line it up! Faster!" He continued to call. "Make daddy proud."

Isaac could hardly keep himself from grimacing at the things their coach was yelling. Sometimes he wondered how he'd gotten the position in the first place, but then he thought about how successful Beacon Hill's team had been over it's history and he knew the answer. No one with a reputation or any self-respect would willingly coach a team that had broken the average yearly record for losses—twice.

Digging his lacrosse stick into the grass beneath his feet, Isaac breathed deeply and continued to try to remain in control of his erratic temper. He looked around the field for something else to distract him, now that coach's high-pitched insults were beginning to grate against his nerves, and found one in Scott McCall, who was apparently standing in for Danny as goalie.

Brow furrowing, Isaac watched as, instead of trying to deflect or catch the incoming ball or player, he rammed straight into the poor senior who was first in line. Scott didn't seem at all injured, but the other boy remained on the ground in a heap, only lifting himself up when Scott offered his help, and even then, he did so with a loud groan and mumbled complaints and curses Isaac wished he hadn't heard.

"McCall!" Coach shouted at the top of his voice; which was really just the way that he talked.

Scott looked over, raising his arms in a questioning gesture that was both awkward and apologetic. "Yeah." He asked, seemingly truly confused.

Muttering under his breath, the coach pointed dramatically at McCall before explaining his annoyance. "Usually the goalie stays somewhere within the vicinity of the actual goal." He mocked, not caring whether he embarrassed the teenager or not.

"Yes, coach." Scott agreed, too quickly in Isaac's opinion, to be sincere.

"Let's try it again." The man said, blowing sharply into his whistle. The noise pierced into Isaac's sensitive ear drums and caused him to pull his shoulders up close to his chin, in an effort to block out the sound.

Ahead of him, he dully noticed that Scott had, instead of playing by the rules—as he'd told the coach—once more tackled the oncoming player to the ground. Matt Daehler picked himself up faster than the other boy had, dusting off his jersey and glaring at McCall accusatorily.

"What the hell, man?" He asked. Isaac could smell his anger like a punch to the nose. It reminded him of the one time he'd sniffed smelling salts during a visit to the hospital when his father had beaten him up too badly.

As the coach once more reprimanded McCall, and the shaggy haired boy once more agreed to play by the rules—which then lead to Scott breaking the rules and attacking every lacrosse player in the line-up, save for Jackson, who stepped out using the excuse that his shoulder was still injured—Isaac lost more and more control over his anger and annoyance and sheer, murderous rage.

The part of him that was the scared, defenseless human who'd weathered countless beatings and preferred to stay unnoticed, rather than gain attention—good or bad—was becoming less distinct and muted. Like the wolf was suppressing everything that made him Isaac, until all that was left was the urge to defend himself; to maim and kill until he could be certain that no one would ever hurt him again.

Eye's glowing amber, Isaac stepped forward and kicked his cleats into the ground, flinging grass and mud into the air. A growl that started in his chest rumbled out of his throat, deep and dangerous—ready to kill.

He didn't think as he charged McCall. Not about what would happen when they collided. Not about who would witness his extraordinary strength. Not even about what Derek would say to him, when he found out.

He just ran at the boy his more rational brain knew to be another werewolf, and tried his utmost to destroy his competition. Twirling through the air, the two equal forces smashed into each other, wrestling for dominance until their feet touched the ground again.

And then, just as suddenly as the uncontrollable blood-lust had come, it vanished from Isaac's system. He looked up at Scott, who's eyes were also yellow, and whispered the only words he could coherently string together.

"Don't tell them." He begged the beta. "Please don't tell them."

Even he didn't know exactly who he was talking about, but the approaching Sheriff and his Deputies were just as well as any for him to be referring.

He didn't know what would happen to him if the Sheriff arrested him for murdering his father. Would Derek come for him, or would he be on his own?

I guess I'll find out, Isaac realized as the law-men approached him and explained to him what he had already guessed, before escorting him back into the school for further questioning.

When he'd agreed to the bite, he hadn't known he was consenting to the strength, the power, the danger. All he'd wanted was to not be afraid anymore. Was that really too much to ask?

#-#-#-#-#

The leather, swivel chair belonging to the Principal's office quite suited Gerard's taste. It was comfortable but effective for it's purpose, and it even had a reclining feature. Gerard always did love it when something surprised him—although it hardly ever occurred nowadays.

Dragging a finger over the glossy surface of his new desk, he was glad to see that there were no traces of dust. With the state of the previous Principal—Principal Thomas—Gerard had prepared himself for anything. It was becoming far too common for people to lose respect of their titles and duties in this world. He'd seen it first hand with many a respected hunting family.

At one point, even the Hales had been up there with the untouchable Druids and Nemetons, that was, until Kate destroyed them. His daughter—who was dead now, and who would be the sole reason for the wolves of Beacon Hill's annihilation—the mother of his latest protege, Adrianna Argent.

How he had plans for that girl. Good plans—important plans; for him. She would be the strongest Argent hunter in a thousand years, and he would be the only one who could control her. It was brilliant really. She was already playing right into his trap like the innocent flower she was.

Glancing up from where he was staring intently at the cherry red mahogany of his desk, he forced himself to repress his glee for the sake of his two visitors. None other than Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski. His other granddaughter's ex-boyfriend and his apparent best friend.

"Boys," He called out, watching as they hesitated to enter into his office, upon realizing who their new Principal was. "Come on in."

With a nervous glance shared between the two, Scott entered first, followed by the awkward friend, and they both took the seats directly across from Gerard. Already, he was enjoying having control over the high school, especially since he now had the opportunity to interfere in matters he would have otherwise been an outsider to.

"Scott McCall." He started, pulling out a portfolio comprised of the boy's school records and clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth when he realized how behind the boy was. "Academically not the most accomplished," He read aloud, "But I see you have become quite the star athlete."

Parting his lips to comment, Gerard continued on, not permitting either one of his students to interrupt while he was—in a sense—interrogating them. "Mr. Stilinski." He addressed next, happy to watch as the duo floundered with what to say next. "Oh, perfect grades but little to no extra-curriculars." He explained, placing a hand to his chin as he dropped the portfolio on the Stilinski boy.

"Maybe you should try lacrosse." He suggested, tapping his wrinkled fingers against the manila folder.

"Oh," The boy replied excitedly. "Actually I'm already—"

Before he could explain that he was indeed, already on the team, as Gerard knew quite well, the elder hunter interrupted once more. "Hold on." He exclaimed with false surprise, taking a slight thrill in the way both boys jumped in their seats. "McCall. You're the Scott that was dating my granddaughter."

Clasping his hands together nervously, then untying and placing them on the arms of his chair, Scott answered tensely. "We were dating, but not anymore." He tried to assure Gerard, who couldn't prevent the incredulous rising of his left eyebrow. "Not dating, not seeing anything of each other or doing anything with each other—"He blurted out quickly, before adding, panicked. "At all."

Hardly restraining himself from scoffing, Gerard breathed deeply before composing himself. "Relax, Scott," He told the boy who was so obviously lying, it physically hurt Gerard to play along. "You look like you're about to crack a cyanide pill with your teeth."

Licking his lips, the young man smile tightly. "Just a hard breakup." He clarified, this time without regaling his Principal.

"Oh, that's too bad." Gerard comforted the boy with false sympathy. "You seem like a pretty nice kid to me."

Sitting back in his chair, Scott replied to Gerard with a half shrug and a confused glance directed at his friend. If he hadn't been sitting more than a meter away from the boy, Gerard would have been tempted to grab hold of the impertinent youth's ear and demand some respect. As it was, he simply threaded his fingers together and reminded himself that the time for revenge was not now. Not yet.

"Now listen, boys." He found himself saying. "Yes, I am the Principal, but I really don't want you to think of me as the enemy." The irony of his statement was simply too delicious for Gerard not to indulge with a satisfied grin.

The other boy, Stiles, laughed uncertainly. "Is that so?" He asked. He seemed to be the smarter of the two. Gerard made a mental note to be more wary of the boy. He couldn't be having his plans ruined by an overly nosy sixteen-year-old.

"However," He expounded, glad to see that his change in tone had brought about the straightening of shoulders and trading of wary looks. "This being my first day, I do need to support my teachers. So unfortunately, someone is going to have to take the fall and stay behind for detention."

The eyes of a trained hunter landed on the only possible threat in the room—Stiles Stilinski—and so did the apologetic eyes of his best friend. It was obvious who had been nominated for the punishment to all but the boy in question, who had a naive smile on his face for another few moments before the truth of his situation hit home.

Children these days are so easy to manipulate, Gerard happily catalogued. If only he could say the same for the supernatural creatures he hunted.

#-#-#-#-#

Rushing out of the school as fast he felt was safe, Scott skidded to a stop at the edge of the curb as the police cruiser pulled away with Isaac Lahey trapped in the back. Stiles' words came back to Scott's mind then and he knew that the young beta werewolf was going to be held over night at the Sheriff's station, on a full moon.

This is so not going to end well, he realized gloomily. Not only had he nearly screwed everything up in front of his not-girlfriend's grandfather, but now he had also failed to save a boy his age from possibly murdering someone.

Grunting in frustration, Scott kicked the curb angrily just as a shiny, black Camaro pulled up in front of him. The tinted windows rolled down to reveal the face of none other than Derek Hale. His sometimes blue, sometimes red eyes were hidden by dark, shades, and—although Scott hated to admit it—the car suited him.

"Get in." The rookie alpha demanded gruffly. Scott didn't think that he'd ever heard the older man ask for anything nicely before.

"Are you serious?" Scott retorted, just as aggressively. "You did that. That's your fault." He said, pointing towards the direction in which the police cruiser and Isaac had disappeared in.

"I know that." Derek reluctantly agreed. It was clear that the words stung him by the sour expression on his face. "Now get in the car and help me." He finished.

"No, I've got a better idea. I'm gonna call a lawyer." The young beta rebuked. "Because a lawyer might actually have a chance at getting him out before the moon goes up." He foolishly assumed.

"Not when they do a real search of the house." Derek ominously contested. It made the hairs on Scott's arms stand on end.

"What do you mean?" He asked curiously, almost afraid of what the answer might be.

"Whatever Jackson said to the cops," The alpha explained. "What's in the house is worse. A lot worse."

Scott didn't want to help Derek Hale anymore than he wanted to be killed by hunters, but there was real concern in the rough around the edges alpha, and that was more than enough to at least garner Scott's attention and his help.

Besides, Stiles was going to kill him when he got out of detention.

He climbed into the car and as it peeled out of the school's parking lot, he watched as a young girl slammed open the double doors that led into the school and stayed standing on the front steps until the car turned a corner and vanished from sight.

Scott recognized her as the girl who'd attended Kate's funeral with Gerard. The same girl who'd sliced the omega that the Argent's had found in the woods, in half. What he couldn't understand was the connection she had with the hunting family—with Allison.

During their midnight rendezvous in the woods, Allison had refused to speak about her. Now, Scott wondered if there was a reason for that. He found himself doubting whether he could trust Allison or not.

#-#-#-#-#

His hand itched and tingled, as it had since the night before when he'd unceremoniously thrown his own niece out of the car, for fear that the girl would commit murder.

Chris knew what a Demigod was. He had learned just about every myth anyone had ever thought of over the twenty or so years he'd been hunting, and Greek mythology had happened to be one of his favourites. Never in a million years had he expected for it to be real.

As Gerard paced slightly behind the desk in his study, trying not to show how impatient he was to find an excuse to kill the latest child they'd had suspicions about being a werewolf, Chris flexed his hand in an attempt to regain feeling in the digits.

There was most definitely something wrong with Adrianna Argent, and not just the homicidal tendencies that he knew Kate must have instilled in her as a child. She'd lost all semblance of control that night, when they'd tortured the Principal. He'd never seen anything like it, but then again, there'd never been an Argent hunter that wasn't human before—he supposed he should expect the unexpected from now on.

"I'm not interested in whether they locked up a sixteen-year-old kid." Gerard reiterated, pressing his palms flat against the desk and leaning forwards in a way that had once intimidated Chris, and sometimes still did. "I'm interested in what's going to happen to that sixteen-year-old when the moon hits it's peak tonight."

Gerard pushed himself away from the desk. His hand twitched by his side and Chris knew that if he'd been about twenty years younger, and less bald, the elder Argent would have run his hand through his hair. As it was, he simply curled the flat palm into a fist and turned to look at Chris once more.

"Do we have proof?" He brusquely inquired.

There was a slight hesitation before Chris gave his answer, one that he knew his father picked up on, but did not bother to point out. "Is the next step killing him?" He boldly deflected. As he'd grown up and separated himself from Gerard, Chris had learned that his father's brutal ways weren't always the most effective when it came to preserving the greater good.

Sighing through his nose, Gerard's expression became disappointed. Chris tried to hide the way it compressed his insides, but he'd never been as good at subtlety and his little sister—despite her flamboyant tendencies.

"The next step is eliminating the threat." Gerard continued on, like a freight train that had been forced to stop at a railway crossing. "Do we have proof?" He asked once more.

Straightening his shoulders in the way he had learned from his father when he became obstinate in his ways, Chris proceeded to cross his arms over his chest. "I haven't been in history class for a while," He began, already certain by the way his father's eyes narrowed that the older man didn't appreciate being toyed with. "But I'm pretty sure straight-up genocide hasn't worked out too often."

Refusing to rise to the bait, Gerard closed his eyes for a moment before responding, this time in more control of his temper than he had been in before. "Do we have proof or not?"

Breathing deeply, Chris knew that he could no longer avoid giving an answer to Gerard. Certainly not when he was as deadly calm and as sharply focused as he was now. "Not irrefutable," He finally caved. "But not insignificant. The driver's side door of the Lahey's car was pried off."

"Pried off?" Gerard questioned, his eyebrows rising with his excitement.

Glancing down at his shoes, Chris forced himself to look back up and reply. "Ripped off." He corrected grudgingly.

The self-satisfied grin that slid onto Gerard's face was more than enough for Chris to realize that now that Gerard had proof of the boy's guilt, there would be no hope of saving him. He had told everyone that he planned on killing any werewolf he came across—guilty or not. Now it seemed that that threat had been realer than Chris had hoped it to be.

"Very good." Gerard congratulated. "Adrianna will handle this one." He told Chris, turning his back on his son to look out the window and the setting sun. "Inform her of the news."

Clearing his throat and shuffling his feet, feeling about twelve years old again, Chris wrung his hands behind his back. "Is that wise?" He found himself asking, despite his earlier reservations about crossing Gerard now that he'd tried his luck.

The doubting tone in his son's voice must have been surprising to Gerard, as he turned back around to face him. Examining him from head to toe, his father tilted his head in the way that Chris had seen wolves doing to their prey, before speaking aloud.

"Are you questioning my orders?" His voice was quieter than Chris had ever heard it. "Do you think I've made a bad call?" He continued in the same tone. "You're not having second thoughts about hunting, are you Chris?" He asked, a slight mocking lilt taking hold of his normally gravelly voice. "Have you forgotten what we've lost? What they did to your sister?"

"No," Chris barked angrily, ashamed to have fallen for another one of his father's carefully lain traps. "No, I haven't." He continued with more control. "I just don't think Adrianna is ready for this. She's unstable—unpredictable." He justified. "Just last night, she tried to kill Principal Thomas. Surely you can't trust her to deal with a case as sensitive as this?"

"Ah," The elder Argent understood. "You're concerned because of what she is."

Silence rung throughout the room, only broken by the sound of footsteps overhead as Allison and Adrianna trotted downstairs, passing the shut doors of the study, towards the kitchen. Both were oblivious to the argument unfolding mere meters away from them. Chris and Gerard both wanted to keep it that way.

"You knew." Chris accused, making certain his voice was quiet enough not to be overheard. "Why didn't you tell me?" He asked when Gerard's stoic silence gave him his answer, clearly confused.

"It was Kate's decision to allow her to live," Gerard vindicated. "Her father wasn't human." He distastefully admitted. "None the less, you can rest assured knowing that she is fully under my control. As long as she's alive, she'll adhere to our code."

"I thought there was no code." Chris bitterly reminded his father.

They stared at each other heatedly—a thousand things were left unsaid between them and it was just as well. A fight would have been catastrophic at that point. Even Chris knew that, so he chose to change the topic back to what it had been.

"How are you so sure that you can control her?" He queried. "We hardly know anything about her—let alone what she's capable of."

Walking around his desk and placing a demeaning hand on Chris' shoulders, Gerard closed his hand around the doorknob of his study, twisting gently as he ended their conversation.

"Supernatural creatures aren't all that different, Christopher." He said with finality. "As it turns out, that includes our Adrianna."

Chris could only hope that his father knew what he was doing, for he knew he'd never meddled with the likes of Greek Demigods before. In reality, he should have been worried for Adrianna—who had already been caught in her grandfather's deadly game.

#-#-#-#-#

"If Isaac didn't kill his father," Derek heard Scott ask from where he was following him up the stone steps leading to the residential two story home. "Who did?"

Pushing open the unlocked front door and letting himself in, Derek glanced back at his current ally and tried not to sound overly condescending as he replied. "I don't know yet." He explained patiently—or at least, as patiently as a Hale could be.

"Then how do you know he's telling the truth?" Scott shot back, eyes peering into the darkness of the entryway to try to see further into the pitch black house.

"Because I trust my senses." Derek replied, feeling a smirk crawling across his lips as he recalled the specific techniques Scott had employed to try to sniff out Isaac—quite literally. "And it's a combination of them." He added slyly. "Not just your sense of smell."

Stopping in front of the door leading down into the basement, Derek saw the young teen shutting his eyes and cringing as realization struck. "You saw the lacrosse thing today." He stated, pained.

"Yeah." Derek replied flatly, happy to let the beta stew in his own mortification for a while longer.

"Did it look that bad?" Scott hesitantly asked, almost as though he really didn't want to know the answer. Derek couldn't say he blamed him. If it had been him caught doing something as embarrassing as sniffing each lacrosse player on the team, just to try to find out which one was a werewolf, he would have tried to deny it as well.

"Yeah." He smugly pronounced, much to Scott's further humiliation.

Swinging the door open, Derek looked deep into the darkness within. Using his wolf's eyes, he could make out the distinct shapes of old lacrosse gear along with other forgotten items that could have belonged to the local thrift store. Under the only source of light besides the open doorway, which was a cracked, bolted-shut window, was the freezer.

"You wanna learn?" He asked Scott, and his voice echoed down the stairs and floated around the room. His nose was becoming overpowered with the stench of fear—some of it was days old, the rest was from years ago. "Let's start now." He told the beta.

Leaning his body forwards, Scott tried to see into the gloom with his human eyes. "What's down there?" He wondered aloud as he took hold of the door frame for more support.

After thinking a moment, Derek answered Scott's question with the only word that seemed to fit. "Motive."

Breathing deeply, the young werewolf placed his foot on the first step downwards, grabbing hold of the rail as his heart rate accelerated. "And what am I looking for?" He called from the bottom of the stairs, up to Derek, who hadn't followed him.

"Follow your senses." He informed the beta, just like his mother Thalia had once instructed him.

A few seconds went by where Derek could see Scott searching the room, following the scent of Isaac's fear. Finally, the teen approached the freezer, running his hand over the lid along with the thick chains which wound around it to keep it securely locked.

"What happened down here?" Scott nearly whispered. If Derek hadn't had enhanced hearing, he probably wouldn't have heard him.

"The kind of thing that leaves an impression." He replied, imagining through the things that Isaac had told him, and the things he didn't need to, how the young man had survived living with his father. "Open it." He told Scott.

He heard the chains fall away and the hinges squeak in protest as Scott raised the lid to the freezer. Derek walked down the steps and joined Scott near the empty freezer. The shaggy-haired beta was transfixed by the claw-like marks imprinted into the inside of the lid. Created, not by a werewolf, but by a terrified human using the only defense left available to him.

"This is why he said yes to you." Scott realized, shutting the lid delicately, as though he was afraid of breaking it.

"Everyone wants power." He reminded Scott, crossing his arms in front of his chest sedately.

Shaking his head, Scott turned away from the freezer, towards Derek. "If we help you," He said clearly, resolutely. "Then you have to stop. You can't just go around turning people into werewolves."

Indignation flared in Derek's chest and he narrowed his eyes, wondering why he'd bothered to ask for help from the naive boy in the first place. "I can if they're willing." He corrected the boy.

"Did you tell Isaac about the Argents?" Scott inquired angrily. "About being hunted?"

"Yes," Derek replied, much to Scott's apparent surprise. "And he still asked."

A moment of bafflement was all that Scott permitted before he continued on, using his last, lousy excuse. "Then he's an idiot." Derek would have cracked a smile, had he not just insulted his own beta.

"And you're the idiot dating Argent's daughter." He exclaimed furiously, attempting to reason with the stubborn boy. "Yeah, I know your little secret." He told a shocked Scott. "And if I know, how long do you think it's gonna take for them to find out? You saw what happens to an omega." He reminded the teen. "With me, you learn how to use all of your senses. With me, you learn control. Even on a full moon." He pressed.

With his head held low, Scott sighed resignedly. "If I'm with you," He muttered lowly. "I lose her."

"You're gonna lose her anyway." Derek prompted him to accept as he made his way out of the basement, finally having given up on trying to recruit Scott McCall into his pack. "You know that."

"Wait." Scott cried, regaining Derek's attention and a small bit of hope that perhaps the young man had come to his senses. "I'm not part of your pack." He informed him strictly. "But I want him out. He's my responsibility too."

A part of Derek felt lighter, knowing that he had Scott's help, but there was something that nagged at him, demanding to be asked. "Why?" He wondered. "Because he's one of us?"

Joining Derek where he'd stopped at the top of the steps, Scott looked at him in the eyes and gave his answer with such conviction and certainty, that Derek began to doubt—just a little bit—whether he was the one who should have been the alpha after all.

"Because he's innocent." Scott declared.

#-#-#-#-#

The night was a cold, gloomy one with the only light to go by coming from the full moon that hung at the top of the dark horizon. Mist clung to the ground nearby as a shadow crept into the suburban subdivision with one thing on it's mind.

A house, normal in appearance but beneath the surface, a war zone of hostility and pain, was the destination of the creature. It's clawed hand easily pushed open the door and it's luminous, reptilian eyes peered into the darkness within the house, searching for it's next victim.

Voices echoed from within the bowels of the home, but the creature was not afraid. It hissed experimentally, entering the domicile with little more incentive than the constant reminder of it's master's wishes.

Sharp claws clacked against the wooden floors of the home, scratching and denting the planks. There was no one to complain—the home was abandoned, not by choice, but by a series of unfortunate events that had forced it to be so.

The creature made it's way down the corridor, past the kitchen, and towards the voices which had vanished, like fog from a bathroom mirror. It could hear two heartbeats, loud and steady. That was enough to guide it.

Beneath the home, was the stronger of the two; a werewolf struggling to remain human during the full moon. The creature could smell the wolf's defeat from it's place above. It knew the boy had lost control. It would not be wise to pick that one. That one could kill it, while the other human, could not.

Tail flicking behind it, it climbed across the walls all the way up onto the ceiling, watching as the girl beneath it tried to pinpoint the origin of the hissing sound that the creature was making. She didn't even think to look above her. It was the reason why the creature had chosen to do so in the first place.

Dropping to the ground as the girl backed into the kitchen, the creature's scaly body shone in the dim light of the room. As the dark haired girl grabbed hold of a sharp knife and beckoned for the monster to reveal itself to her, the creature heard the werewolf break free of it's bonds and rush to aid the girl. It knew it only had moments left before the wolf would pose a danger to it's continued existence.

Even so, the creature hazarded another look at the girl. It's head emerged from the shadows, shiny scales glittering like polished jade, and the yellow of it's slitted eyes was like crystallized amber.

The werewolf crashed into the kitchen and, without further ado, the creature turned around and dashed out of the house, hissing violently and swinging it's tail to and fro.

A moment of stunned silence rung between the human and the werewolf where all that could be done was to stare into the darkness before them, watching as the creature departed without a trace.

"What the hell was that?" The girl asked the boy with fangs and glowing eyes.

"I don't know." He replied.

Only the wide open doorway of the normal, two story home, and the frightened memories of Allison Argent and Scott McCall bore any trace of the unwelcome visitor.

#-#-#-#-#

Adrianna's boots were laced tightly and the long, leather scabbard concealing her broadsword was strapped securely to her back. The box of wolfsbane was in her partner's meaty hands, as per her grandfather Gerard's instructions, and the cool night air reminded her of nights spent lying out in the strawberry fields, looking at the stars until she fell asleep.

That had been a time when she was happy—content. Now she felt a heavy darkness clogging her veins and weighing down her chest. It followed her everywhere. She worried whether, without Chris to stop her, she'd lose control over her temper and her powers, only to kill again.

Her hands shook with the mere thought of the blood that she'd spilled during her time in Beacon Hills. The omega was first—she hadn't even realized what she was doing until it was too late. The Principal would have been second, had her uncle not stepped in, and now there was another suspected werewolf her grandfather wanted her to go after.

Adrianna knew Gerard wouldn't mind if she accidentally killed the werewolf, but she also knew that her conscious couldn't carry another loss of control ending in someone else's death. This man or woman had their whole life ahead of them. She couldn't be responsible for taking that away.

A particularly large bump in the road jostled the car as it traveled down one of the many dark, ominous alleys Adrianna had come to learn that Beacon Hills had. Two sharp clangs rang in the quiet, followed by a loud hissing sound and the angry squeal of their tires as the hunter beside her abruptly stopped the car.

Glancing at each other questioningly, Adrianna's brow furrowed as, in the darkness encompassing a nearby building, she made out the glint of metal. "What was that?" She asked the man across from her.

"Stay here." He gruffly substituted for an answer as he climbed out of the car. A faint, whizzing sound reached Adrianna's ears, which she was able to identify as an arrow only a few seconds too late.

The hunter's grunting and curses filtered inside the car, alerting her that he'd been shot at and injured. As he crawled back inside the car, starting the engine and ripping away from the scene, Adrianna took note of the stainless steel arrow embedded in his thigh and the shadow she'd seen before, poised just out of sight.

"Are you alright?" She asked the hunter once they'd been driving for a few minutes. "Did you get a look at whoever shot you?"

Staring forward at the road ahead, the hunter responded tightly as he turned the wheel to enter into the parking lot of the Sheriff's station. "No," He admitted sourly. "I didn't see anything. Did you?" He scathingly retorted.

Narrowing her eyes at him as he put the vehicle into park and removed the keys from the ignition, Adrianna reached out and grabbed hold of the arrow protruding from her partner's leg, before pulling roughly. The man's scream was high-pitched and girl-like, so much so that Adrianna didn't feel any guilt for inflicting such agony upon her supposed partner or for the blood staining her hands.

"Yes," She told him icily. "I saw a shadow moving behind a building." Studying the streamline black shaft of the stainless steel, Adrianna haphazardly tossed the projectile into the back of the car. "And this arrow will tell me much more than you." She added, snatching the box of wolfsbane from the useless man's hands and getting out of the car.

"Stay here." She commanded bluntly before slamming the door. "Before you get yourself killed." She muttered under her breath as she walked up the back entrance of the Sheriff's station and calmly slid the stolen key-card through the card reader.

With a relieving beep, the door unlocked and Adrianna took one last moment to re-check her weapons before heading inside. Her boots had a small dagger hidden in each sole, her broadsword was strapped to her back, and the wolfsbane was clutched tightly in her palm. Everything was in place. She was the hunter now and she was ready to find her prey.

Navigating the winding corridors, Adrianna kept her free hand in a tight fist to calm her nerves. This was the first solo hunt her grandfather had ever allowed her to lead. There was absolutely no margin for error.

Suddenly, as she turned a particularly narrow corner, she came face to face with a boy. Not just any boy, she regrettably understood. A boy with a buzz-cut, too many freckles, and a hyperactive brain.

"Oh, no." Stiles exclaimed in surprise, not fully looking her in the eyes. "Oh, uh, I was just looking, um—"He stuttered painfully before lifting his chin upwards and staring directly at Adrianna Argent.

His pupils dilated exponentially. His palms and forehead began sweating and there was only a split second of comprehensive panic for him to attempt to say anything else, before Adrianna reacted.

"Oh shi—" Stiles started, but never finished. Quick as a viper, Adrianna pounced on the spastic boy, capturing his neck and bony cranium in a head lock as the pale teen uselessly fought for control.

His shoes squeaked against the newly buffed tiles as Adrianna began to drag her unfortunate victim in the direction of the holding cells. Her nearly eidetic memory recalled in superb detail the path towards her destination, according to the maps Gerard had forced her to study.

As the duo slowly made their way further into the station, Adrianna's attention was drawn elsewhere, towards the depression in her chest and the sudden urge to simply snap Stiles' neck and leave the bothersome teen to die.

It was in this moment of conflict that Stiles took advantage of his captor's slackened grasp to pull one of the fire alarms that were stationed at random intervals on the walls.

Instantly, wailing sirens flashed to life inside the station, alerting all within it to the disturbance that was yet to unfold. "Damn it." Adrianna cursed angrily, feeling her grip tightening painfully on Stiles' shoulders but not having the strength of will to force herself to stop.

Quickening her pace, she located the door leading to the holding cells and barged inside, dropping Stiles harshly to the ground as she assessed the surprising sight before her.

The holding cell's door, which appeared to be solid metal with a small, glass window that permitted whomever was inside a slight view of the outside world, was crumbled and ripped off it's hinges. It was clear to Adrianna what had happened. Glancing to her left, outside the Sheriff's station, she mentally cursed the risen moon that shone brightly outside.

"Where is it?" She angrily asked the boy lying near her feet. "Where is the werewolf?"

Fear like none other she'd felt forced her lungs to inhale raggedly and her heart to pump twice as fast as it needed to. If she failed, there would be no telling what Gerard would do to her. She remembered what had happened when she'd failed the first time, during the time when her mother, Kate, had been training her. Her fingernails still stung even now.

Stiles—although in the short amount of time she'd observed him interacting with his best friend, Scott, seemed to be a talkative young man—was silent beneath her. If she hadn't heard his ragged breathing, she would have doubted whether he was still conscious.

"Answer me." She demanded, on the verge of losing all of her remaining restraint. She crouched down to his level and dared him to defy her once more, but what she found in his eyes was not what she'd expected.

Fear was alive and consuming the sixteen-year-old, but it was not fear of her. No. He was staring, rendered immobile and apparently speechless, at something directly behind her.

"You've got to be kidding me." She whispered to herself as she understood exactly what Stiles was looking at.

Adrianna measured her breaths and tried to keep her heart-rate steady as she slowly reached for her sword. A deep, rumbling growl halted her movements as the hot breath of the werewolf behind her, brushed over her exposed neck.

Springing to her feet with amazing reflexes, Adrianna was not fast enough to escape the speed of a werewolf. Claws and a solid body slammed into her, knocking the air out of her lungs, as the beast pushed her body backwards and sent her flying through the air to collide with the brick wall close to the windows allowing moonlight inside.

Her bones ached terribly and she was certain that one or two ribs had been snapped in the fall. It was not enough to kill her, but more than enough to slow her down.

"Vlakas!" She accused herself stonily as she lay there, trying to absorb the pain that shot throughout her body. "You're going to wish you'd never done that." She told the werewolf before her as she climbed to her feet, having to kneel over and use her arms and legs to help herself.

An angry roar was all the response that the werewolf gave her, but it was more than enough for Adrianna's blood to boil and her strength to return. Her mother's voice rang in her head, encouraging her to finish him off. Swiftly picking up the fallen wolfsbane and pocketing it in Kate's old leather jacket, she pulled her sword from it's scabbard and prepared to fight to the death at the same time the werewolf charged her.

Nimbly swerving out of his way, Adrianna brought her sword down in a wide arc over top of the confused werewolf and felt immense pleasure as the steel and celestial bronze blade sliced into the beast's flesh like it was butter.

The werewolf howled in pain before whirling on Adrianna with surprising speed. His claws extended and she barely had enough time to dodge the blow before it could reduce her to ribbons and gore.

Her sword felt strangely light in her hands—lighter than it ever had—but she paid it no mind, believing that the adrenaline rushing through her body was responsible for her strange reservoir of endurance.

"Come on!" Adrianna taunted the wolf, bouncing on her toes, spoiling for a release of the murderous thoughts she'd previously had to quell. Now she felt no need to do so. It was as if she'd bottled up her compassion and released all her rage and oppression onto the monster that had dared to challenge the daughter of Katherine Argent and Death himself.

Her arrogance was her undoing.

Somehow, as Adrianna arced her sword under the wolf's armpit to deliver a near fatal blow, the werewolf was able to claw at her arms and tear the flesh adjacent to her wrists, causing her to drop the broadsword in shock and pain.

Her blood, a rusty bronze colour, dripped down her palms and splattered onto the ground. It made her physically sick to see it and she felt the distinct urge to vomit there and then. The sheer metallic, coppery scent of her own ichor overwhelmed her senses and black spots danced before her eyes even before the werewolf had smashed her head against the tile floor she'd fallen onto.

A scream stole out of her lips. It sounded inhuman—deranged. Adrianna closed her eyes as the werewolf slammed her temple again and again, with the cracking and blood-stained tiles beneath her. She wished she was dreaming; could almost feel her mother's strong arms enclosing around her waist and planting a delicate kiss on her nose as she slept.

Through the pain and fear, Adrianna remembered the syringe filled with wolfsbane which pressed irritably against her shattered ribs. With shaking fingers, still being dealt concussive blows to the head, Adrianna reached into her pocket and grabbed hold of the vial which may have very well been the difference between life and death for her.

Clenching her teeth together, she felt blood fill her mouth as she accidentally bit her tongue. Enough was enough. She was the hunter here—not the other way around. It was time to teach this werewolf a lesson.

With power she didn't know she had, Adrianna rolled over and pushed the werewolf off of her, still holding on firmly to the poisonous lilac mixture and rose to her unsteady feet.

The world tilted around her but the werewolf directly in front of her, staring at her with glowing yellow eyes filled with hate and murderous intent, was solid and real. She lifted the syringe in her hand and took a deep breath, forcing her mind to quiet and her thoughts to arrange themselves.

As her verdant gaze locked onto supernatural yellow, Adrianna prepared herself for another murder at her hands, only this time, she was solely concerned with what her grandfather would think, and not how she'd live with the knowledge that she'd killed a werewolf who had yet to take an innocent life.

Just as she licked her lips and prepared to take action, a heavy force collided with her unsteady hand and her weakened fingers permitted the wolfsbane to tumble out of her clenched fist. Something rock solid and extremely powerful struck her full-force in the chest and once more, Adrianna crumpled to the floor.

Indistinctly, as though the sound was distorted through gallons of water, she heard a mighty roar which she knew to have come from an Alpha werewolf. Her mind was unsettled and jumbled but she could just barely understand the garbled voices speaking above her.

"How'd you do that?" She heard a terrified Stiles ask as he switched his stare from the alpha above her, to the increasing puddle of blood she was lying in.

"I'm the Alpha." An arrogant voice responded.

She mentally marked them as her next target as she delved deep within herself with every ounce of her remaining will and found that she was able to stand, although wobbly, to face the double threat without any wolfsbane and without her sword, although she had one last trick up her sleeve.

Reaching beneath the jacket which Gerard had bequeathed to her from her mother's things, Adrianna pulled a pistol loaded with celestial bronze bullets. She wasn't certain that they would kill a werewolf, but she did know that her sword had worked, so it was highly likely that they'd at least wound the pair.

As Derek Hale twisted to face the huntress, coincidentally standing so that his own body would shield his beta, his claws extended and his eyes glowed ruby red. He roared loudly, just as he had before, but this time, it sounded much more powerful to Adrianna, and much angrier.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." She warned the Alpha who was preparing to strike. "These bullets aren't exactly what you're used to." She hinted, smiling at the irony of the situation. Her mother had always told her that guns were the most effective against werewolves. Up until now, she hadn't believed her.

Tilting his head and narrowing his hateful eyes, Derek growled in response as he remained defensive. "Go on then," He goaded in a tone that told Adrianna he thought he already knew what she was going to do. "Shoot us." He told her sourly.

Pulling off the safety and loading a bullet into the chamber of the .35 calibre pistol she'd had Charles Beckendorf customize bullets for, Adrianna aimed the gun straight at Derek's head. Perhaps he would heal, perhaps he wouldn't. The young huntress searched deep within herself and found only a void of callousness and cruelty.

She didn't care, either way. It should have scared her but it didn't. Nothing did, right then. Not even Gerard.

But then, the beta, who was now fully human thanks to his Alpha's correction, walked out from behind Derek and Adrianna got a good look at him—as a person—for the first time that night.

He was tall, more than six feet, with a head of blonde, curly hair, and cheekbones she knew her mother would have told her could cut glass. He could not have been older than sixteen.

The gun wavered in her hands as Adrianna's brow furrowed in confusion. Gerard had never told her who the werewolf was, but she had foolishly assumed that her grandfather would not deem it necessary to kill anyone that wasn't guilty and aware of their decision.

This boy, who was just as old as she, didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. Adrianna could tell by the wideness of his clear, honest, blue eyes and the paleness of his face. He was afraid—of her no less.

Swallowing thickly, Adrianna's gaze drifted back to Derek, but what she saw now, without the darkness clouding her sight, was very different to the Derek her mother had told her so much about.

He was tall, muscular, strong—she'd even admit that he was handsome—yes, but his claws were idle at his sides and his bluish green, human eyes were distrustful and defensive. He was only protecting his pack. The seductive monster her mother had described to her was nowhere in sight.

"Go." She choked out, hardly registering the word as it slipped past her bloody, chapped lips.

The others stood perfectly still, as though her decision would be altered with the change of the wind, and they were afraid to evoke her wrath once more. She saw Derek exchange a confused glance with his beta and the human boy behind her.

"What?" He asked, and the harshness of his voice echoed in the empty holding cell.

"Go." Adrianna repeated, dropping her gun to the floor as if the metal physically stung her flesh. It clattered loudly, but still, the wolves did not leave.

"I don't understand," Derek breathed uncertainly. "You're letting us go?" He asked once more.

"Just go." Adrianna muttered defeatedly, the injuries from her brawl with the beta finally catching up to her, making it difficult to stand and breath and think. Pain shot through her head and her patience ran thin.

"Run!" She screamed in frustration, using what was left of her breath to demand their compliance. Already she dreaded the consequences of her foolish actions, but before she could dwell too much on her pain now, and the pain she had yet to feel, Adrianna's sight became blurry and she lost consciousness, falling to the floor in a heap.

She didn't hear Isaac Lahey thanking her, but she smiled in her sleep, as though she was pleased with herself for resisting her grandfather's manipulations, at least this once.