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Chapter 112: Watching
After school, in a quiet spot in the woods...
The trees swayed gently, their branches breaking the late afternoon sunlight into fractured patterns on the ground. The smell of pine and damp earth lingered in the air.
"…so basically someone is trying to start a war between the Hale family and the Argents," Isaac said, his voice unsteady, trying to fit the pieces together. "And that person has already killed a hunter—and can somehow mess with other people's heads."
Malia gave a short, grim nod.
Isaac ran a hand through his curls, exhaling. "And on top of that, I have to make sure Allison doesn't figure out I'm a werewolf."
"That's the gist of it," Lucas replied evenly, his tone calm.
Isaac nodded again, still processing. The weight of it all pressed on his shoulders, though he tried to mask it with casualness. After a pause, he muttered, "I can tell Allison I need to focus on lacrosse after spending three weeks on the bench. She'll buy that. But…" He trailed off, eyes narrowing. "What are we going to do about that person? The one you guys saw. The one killing people—causing all of this mess."
Malia turned slightly toward him, lips parting to speak—but froze. Something shifted.
Lucas had tensed. Subtly. Sharply. His posture altered in a split second: weight shifting to the balls of his feet, head angling slightly to the left, his body going still in that particular way predators do when they sense something just out of sight.
He didn't say a word.
He didn't need to.
The others didn't sense it. But Lucas did.
The figure was there—hidden just beyond the treeline, watching.
Without hesitation, Lucas launched into motion, blurring forward with inhuman speed toward the shadow among the trees. But before he could reach it—before he could even get close—the figure turned.
Just slightly.
Its face was cloaked in the dimness, details obscured by light and shadow, but its mouth moved.
Only a whisper.
Barely audible.
Directed toward Isaac.
In the next instant, Isaac's body jerked violently, as if something invisible had punched straight through him. His eyes flared a brilliant, unnatural gold. His breath caught. His muscles seized.
Then came the claws. His fingers contorted, nails sharpening into deadly weapons. Fangs bared. And before anyone could react, he turned sharply—toward Malia.
He didn't speak.
He didn't hesitate.
He lunged.
"Isaac—!" Malia shouted, but the word barely left her lips before his claws slashed across her side with brutal force.
She stumbled back, a strangled cry escaping as pain bloomed through her ribs. Her shirt darkened with blood, the fabric clinging to her skin. She hit the ground hard, breath coming in short, stunned gasps.
Lucas skidded to a stop mid-sprint, eyes flashing with fury. He had no choice but to turn back. The figure vanished deeper into the woods, dissolving into the shadows like smoke.
Cursing under his breath, Lucas dashed back toward Isaac and Malia. Isaac was already moving again, snarling like something not entirely human anymore. Isaac was already bearing down on her again, feral and wild-eyed.
Lucas intercepted him just in time.
With a single, sharp nudge of his shoulder, he sent Isaac flying backward. The werewolf hit the ground hard, tumbling through the pine needles and dirt, but didn't stay down.
Malia collapsed to a knee, one hand pressed hard against her side, trying to stop the bleeding. Her breath came in shallow bursts, but her gaze was locked on Isaac, disbelief and pain mixing in her expression.
Isaac roared and charged again, no longer seeing friend or foe—only something in his way.
Lucas met him head-on.
Isaac collided into Lucas with a snarl and a growl, teeth and claws bared, the air between them crackling with raw fury.
Lucas's hands clamped down on Isaac's shoulders, fingers digging in like talons. Every muscle in his arms tensed, coiling with stored power, the kind that came not just from strength, but from something deeper—control, bone-deep instinct. With a sudden twist of his torso and a surge of brutal force, he launched Isaac backward like a wrecking ball breaking free of its chain.
Isaac's body hit the tree with an impact that sounded like a thunderclap. Bark exploded outward. The thick trunk cracked, splitting clean down the middle as though struck by lightning. Wood splintered in all directions, branches shattering with a brittle, violent snap. Leaves, dislodged by the blast, fluttered downward like dying embers. Isaac's body dropped hard to the forest floor, limbs splayed in the underbrush.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then came a low, guttural sound—less a groan, more a growl. Isaac stirred, dragging himself upright in staggered movements. His breath rasped through clenched teeth. His golden eyes blazed like fire through smoke, wild and unseeing. Pain didn't touch him—he was nothing but raw fury.
Lucas narrowed his eyes. Same as the hunters. Rage without reason. Numb to pain. A puppet on strings.
Isaac didn't speak—he lunged. A blur of speed and fury.
But Lucas was faster.
He moved in a clean, efficient blur, not wasting a fraction of energy. One step forward, a sharp pivot, and his fist snapped outward with clinical precision. Not brute strength—just the exact force needed. His knuckles struck Isaac's jaw with the crack of thunder on stone.
Isaac's head whipped to the side, and his body crumpled, unconscious before he hit the ground.
The forest stilled again.
Breathing steady, Lucas turned, his focus immediately shifting back to Malia. She was crouched low, one hand pressed against her side. Blood darkened her shirt, the wound stubbornly slow to close.
"The claws went deep," she said, her voice tight with restrained pain. Her jaw was set, her words forced steady through clenched teeth. "It's... taking time. But I'll be fine. I'll be back on my feet in no time."
Lucas knelt beside her, his sharp gaze flicking over the wound, making sure.
A pause lingered between them, heavy with what almost happened. Then Malia broke it, her voice quieter this time. "Thank you. If you hadn't rushed back—"
Lucas simply nodded, refusing to let the weight of her words sink in.
Instead, his eyes drifted back toward the trees, the direction the figure had vanished into. His jaw tightened.
Malia followed his gaze. Her lips curled back into a snarl. "That bastard's playing with us."
Lucas shook his head, voice low. "No. He wasn't here to play. He was here to watch. He never expected to get caught."
The figure was gone. But its damage lingered.