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The arrow clattered against the wall, splintering into two pieces upon impact.
Allison exhaled sharply, shaking her head in frustration. Her fingers reached for another arrow from the quiver slung over her back, nocking it with shaky hands. She raised her bow, taking aim at the target in front of her, but her mind was elsewhere.
Memories from the night before came rushing back in vivid, jarring flashes: the sickening smell of blood filling the air, the terrified screams echoing in the chaos, Isaac's lifeless body on the floor, the haunting figure standing over him. Its soulless eyes burned into her memory, chilling her to her core. And then, the bear—a massive, snarling creature crashing through the hall, adding to the pandemonium.
It had all happened so fast. In mere seconds, her world had turned upside down. Since then, all she could feel was fear—a cold, relentless weight in her chest that refused to leave her alone.
The arrow whipped through the air, missing the target entirely once more and embedding itself in the wall with a dull thud. Allison let out a frustrated grunt, her fingers tightening around the bow. She pulled another arrow, her hands trembling as she drew it back.
Allison couldn't shake the shame that gnawed at her. As she ran through the corridors last night, heart pounding and lungs burning, she felt like a passenger in her own body. Fear had overtaken her, controlling her every step. It left her helpless, useless, and utterly vulnerable.
She thought about Stiles, who had turned back to help Scott despite the chaos. Where had he found the courage to do that? She asked herself if she would have done the same if Lydia had been trapped in the school. Deep down, she already knew the answer—and she hated herself for it.
The arrow slipped from her fingers and struck the ground instead of the target.
A guttural noise of anger escaped her lips as she pulled another arrow from her quiver, determined to get it right this time. But before she could release it, the sound of footsteps behind her froze her in place. Her heart leapt into her throat as panic set in. Without thinking, she turned the bow around, pointing it directly at the source of the noise.
"Whoa, easy there, sweetheart," a familiar voice said calmly.
Allison lowered her bow, her breath hitching when she recognized her Aunt Kate standing a few feet away. Kate wore a soft, knowing smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Oh God, I'm sorry," Allison stammered, quickly placing the arrow back in the quiver and lowering her gaze.
"It's fine, honey," Kate replied with a casual shrug. She glanced over at the target board, its surface untouched, and then back at Allison. "Looks like you're having a bit of a rough weekend."
Allison rolled her eyes and let out a heavy sigh as she sank onto a nearby bench.
"You have no idea," she muttered.
Kate sat down beside her, her expression softening. "How are you holding up after everything that happened last night?"
Allison looked up at her aunt, her lips trembling as tears threatened to spill.
"I feel… empty," she admitted. "I watched him die, Kate. I ran away. I hid. I was so scared, and I couldn't do anything to help. I felt… useless. Completely and utterly useless."
Kate's jaw tightened as she listened, her mind flashing back to a younger version of herself, riddled with the same emotions that Allison was feeling now. She saw her niece breaking down, piece by piece, and it stirred something protective within her.
Without a word, Kate leaned forward and gently wiped the tears streaming down Allison's cheeks. Then she took her hands, pulling her to her feet.
"Come with me," Kate said, her voice firm yet kind. "I want to show you something."
Before Allison could process what was happening, Kate was guiding her toward the car.
"What are you talking about? Where are we going?" Allison asked, her confusion growing as they drove further and further into the woods.
Kate's expression remained calm, but there was a flicker of intensity in her eyes. "Allison, what I'm about to show you is going to change the way you see everything. Your world, your family—everything."
Allison's brow furrowed as she stared at her aunt. "What are you talking about?"
Kate smirked faintly. "You know how some families have their own little secrets? A recipe passed down through generations, maybe a family heirloom? Well, our family's secret is a bit… different."
Allison blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Kate glanced at her, her smirk fading. "Your dad didn't want you to know about this. He thought you weren't ready. That you were too… soft." She paused, her voice dropping slightly. "But after what you went through last night, I think you've proven you're not."
The car came to a halt in front of an old, weathered tunnel entrance deep in the forest. The structure looked like it hadn't been touched in decades.
Kate grabbed a flashlight from the car and gestured for Allison to follow. Reluctantly, Allison obeyed, though every instinct in her body screamed for her to turn back.
The smell hit her first—a nauseating stench of wet fur and urine that made her gag.
"What is this place?" she asked, trying not to breathe too deeply.
"It's an old covert tunnel," Kate explained. "Probably built during the Cold War. It was abandoned for decades… until I repurposed it."
"For what?" Allison asked hesitantly.
Kate didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stopped in front of a heavy metal door. "For this."
She slid the door open, and Allison's breath caught in her throat.
Inside was a bloodstained chamber. At the far corner, a figure was chained to the wall with heavy manacles. Wires were attached to its legs, leading to a car battery that sat ominously on the floor.
Kate smiled coldly as she gestured toward the restrained figure. "Allison, meet Derek Hale."
With a flick of a switch, an electrical current shot through the wires, causing the figure to convulse. His eyes snapped open, glowing an unnatural golden yellow. Fangs extended from his mouth, and claws emerged from his fingers.
"Trapped him last night." Kate announced proudly.
Allison stumbled back in shock, her heart racing.
"What… what is he?" she stammered, staring at the beastly transformation before her.
"Lycanthrope," Kate said with a smirk.
"The wolf man. Or, more commonly, a werewolf. And we…" She leaned close to Allison's ear. "…we're their hunters."
Allison's mouth fell open in disbelief, her head spinning as the weight of her aunt's words sank in.
"Welcome to the family, dear," Kate whispered.
—-----
The whiskey burned on the way down, but it did little to numb the hollow ache in Jackson's chest. No matter how many sips he took, the hole inside him only seemed to deepen.
He poured himself another round, the amber liquid swirling in his cup before he downed it in one gulp.
The campfire crackled beside him, its flames casting flickering shadows across the beach. The headlights from his car illuminated the area just enough to reveal the surrounding sand and bushes.
His grip on the bottle tightened, frustration coursing through him as he flung it aside. The glass shattered against a nearby rock, the sound barely registering in his mind.
This year had been a disaster, a spiraling freefall from the life he once controlled. Jackson Whittemore, the star lacrosse player, the golden boy, the king of the school—had lost everything.
He was no longer the star of the team, no longer the most popular guy in Beacon Hills High. Even Lydia, the one constant in his life, was driving him insane, and not in the playful, exciting way he used to love.
No. Everything had slipped through his fingers, and the people who took it from him? Stiles—the class clown, the guy who should've been nothing more than a joke—and Scott, the nerd who somehow managed to rise above him. The sheer audacity of it made Jackson's blood boil.
He let out a deep sigh, collapsing back into the sand. The cool grains clung to his skin as he closed his eyes, letting the warm sea breeze wash over him. For a moment, the rhythmic sound of the waves and the crackling of the fire seemed to soothe his frayed nerves.
But then, he heard it—a faint rustling in the bushes behind him. His eyes snapped open, his body going rigid.
Sitting up abruptly, Jackson scanned the area. The bushes stilled, the rustling fading as quickly as it had started. His pulse quickened as unease settled over him.
"Hello?" he called, his voice louder than he intended. The sound carried over the quiet beach, but no response came.
He stood, taking a step back instinctively. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of movement.
"Is someone there?" he demanded.
Silence.
His nerves frayed further as he let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair.
"What the hell?" he muttered, turning back toward the fire.
The moment he turned, his breath caught in his throat. Standing a few feet in front of him was a figure—a tall, ominous silhouette cloaked in darkness. Its face was hidden behind a grotesque canine mask, the hollow eyes staring back at him like empty voids.
Jackson froze, his body refusing to obey his mind's desperate command to run.
Before he could move, before he could scream, pain exploded in his abdomen. The glint of steel registered in his mind too late—the blade had already plunged deep into his stomach.
"Argh!" Jackson cried out, collapsing to his knees as tears welled up in his eyes. The pain was unbearable, a fiery agony radiating from his core.
The masked figure stepped closer, kneeling beside him with an eerie calmness. Its head tilted slightly to the side, as if it were studying him, savoring his suffering.
"Pl-Please," Jackson stammered, choking on his own desperation. "Please, let me go."
The figure ignored his pleas, its voice cold and devoid of emotion as it spoke.
"You are marked by the Alpha," it said, gripping Jackson's hair and tilting his head to expose the back of his neck. Its eyes locked onto the faint scratch that marred his skin. "And I hate variables."
With a swift motion, the blade slashed across Jackson's throat. Blood poured from the wound as Jackson's hands instinctively flew to his neck, trying in vain to stop the flow. The world around him began to blur, his vision darkening as the life drained from his body.
As his strength waned, the figure leaned closer, slowly removing its mask. Jackson's eyes widened in shock as recognition dawned on him.
"S-Stiles?" he croaked, his voice barely audible.
A slow, sinister grin spread across the figure's face.
"Not exactly," it said, its tone laced with dark amusement.
The grin widened as it raised the knife, holding it above Jackson's chest. "But that's all I can say for now."
Without hesitation, the blade plunged into Jackson's heart. His body went limp, the last spark of life leaving his eyes.
The figure stood, wiping the bloodied knife on its sleeve before slipping the mask back on. It glanced down at the lifeless body, its grin returning.
"Another one down,"