Chapter 2: The Apex Claim
The air still hummed with residual energy, a faint echo of the raw shift. Malia lay on the damp forest floor, naked and vulnerable, her eyes wide with a mix of terror and confusion. Scott was frozen, his mouth slightly agape, staring from the trembling girl to his brother. Stiles, true to form, had completely lost his composure.
"Naked!" Stiles shrieked, tripping over a tree root. "She's naked! Someone get a coat! A bag! Anything! My eyes!" He spun in frantic circles, hands clamped over his face, peeking through his fingers.
Jaxen, however, remained utterly calm. His gaze was fixed on Malia. Her terror, her disorientation – he recognized it. Not from his own shift, which had been brutal but controlled, but from the echoes of countless other shifts he'd witnessed, forced, or survived. He stepped forward, putting aside his bike helmet.
"Hey," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble, surprisingly gentle. He took off his jacket, not with a flourish, but with practiced ease, offering a modest shield. "It's okay. You're safe."
Malia flinched as he knelt, but her eyes, still retaining a feral glint, stayed locked on him. She seemed to be trying to reconcile the terrifying power she'd just sensed with the calm, strong man before her. A flicker of recognition passed between them, a primal acknowledgment that bypassed language. He was Alpha. She was… wild. And in that moment, he knew, deep in his bones, that she was his.
She slowly, tentatively, reached out a hand, not to take the jacket, but to touch his forearm. Her fingers brushed his skin, and a jolt, sharper than any fight, went through him. Not pain, not fear, but a surge of understanding, of connection. He wasn't just offering help; he was offering a tether.
"My… my family," Malia whispered, her voice rough, unused.
Scott finally unfroze. "Malia? You remember?"
Jaxen simply nodded at Malia, his focus still entirely on her. "It's okay. We'll figure it out." He draped the jacket over her shoulders. "Scott, give her some space. Stiles, stop hyperventilating. Someone's coming."
As if on cue, the distant wail of a siren pierced the evening air, growing steadily louder.
"Oh, great! Sheriff Stilinski!" Stiles exclaimed, finally dropping his hands. "He's gonna be so confused! You're back! She's naked! He's gonna think we're running some kind of weird, naked, furry cult!"
Jaxen just raised an eyebrow at Stiles. "Relax. I've handled worse. Like fifty worse." He glanced down at Malia, who was still trying to process everything, her eyes darting nervously. He gently squeezed her hand, a silent promise.
The Sheriff's cruiser skidded to a halt at the edge of the clearing, headlights cutting through the gloom. Sheriff Stilinski emerged, looking tired and exasperated even before he'd fully seen the scene. His eyes, however, widened comically when he spotted Jaxen.
"Jaxen McCall?!" the Sheriff boomed, disbelief clear in his voice. "When did you get back? And what in God's name is going on here?!" His gaze fell on Malia, partially covered by the jacket, then to the overturned jeep. "Scott? Stiles? Care to explain why there's a naked girl, a giant coyote, and you, Jaxen, in the middle of a crime scene?"
"Coyote's gone," Jaxen said smoothly, standing up but keeping Malia half-hidden behind him. His tone was calm, confident, and completely unwavering. "Girl ran off into the woods after some kind of... animal attack. Got disoriented, lost her clothes. We found her. Naked." He emphasized "naked" with a subtle, dry smirk at Stiles, who groaned. "Lucky for her, we also found her. We're getting her help."
Stiles chimed in, "Yeah, Dad! It was crazy! Like, really crazy! She just... appeared!"
The Sheriff narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced but also trying to process Jaxen's sudden, unexpected return. "Animal attack? What kind of animal?"
"Big one," Jaxen said. "Really big. Almost like a... really big wolf." He watched the Sheriff's face for a reaction, a flicker of understanding about what had actually happened. "She's shaken up, Sheriff. Needs to get to the hospital." He kept his tone even, persuasive, the subtle hint of Alpha command underneath making it very difficult to argue with him.
"Right," the Sheriff mumbled, pulling out his radio. "Dispatch, send an ambulance to the preserve. Code... distressed person. And, uh, a uniform. Non-priority." He stared at Jaxen. "You sure you're not leaving out any details, Jaxen? Last I heard, you were off... conquering Europe or something."
Jaxen just gave a charming, easy smile. "Just came back for a visit, Sheriff. Turns out Beacon Hills is still as exciting as ever." He kept his arm around Malia, who was now shivering slightly, less from cold and more from shock.
The ambulance arrived quickly, followed by a deputy. Malia was carefully bundled onto a stretcher. Jaxen stayed by her side, his hand never leaving hers, murmuring reassurances only she could hear. Scott and Stiles watched, a strange mix of relief and awe on their faces. Jaxen, their twin/best friend, had just returned and, in minutes, taken complete control of a supernatural crisis they'd been fumbling with for days.
At the hospital, while Malia was being checked over, Jaxen stood by her door, a silent, imposing guardian. He could hear Scott and Stiles trying to explain things to Melissa McCall, who was probably having another stroke trying to understand her sons' lives.
"She's scared," Malia whispered, pulling him closer to the bed. Her voice was still fragile, but there was a fierce clarity in her eyes. "I remember the crash. My mom. My sister. It wasn't an animal. It was... me."
Jaxen's grip on her hand tightened. "I know." He'd known from the moment he sensed her. He'd known the pain, the accidental shifts, the terror of losing control. He, The Apex Predator, knew what it was like to be a monster. And he knew, intrinsically, what it felt like to be saved. "It's okay. You didn't mean to. We'll help you."
He leaned in, his gaze intense, possessive, yet filled with a profound empathy. Malia looked up at him, her heart thrumming. He wasn't just saying words; she felt the absolute certainty of his Alpha power, not threatening, but protective. It felt like finding a den after years in the wilderness.
"You're... like me," she whispered, her eyes drifting to his strong frame.
Jaxen smirked, a flash of his inherent confidence. "Roughly. I'm just… better at it." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "And you, Malia Tate, are fiercely beautiful, even after a forest adventure and hospital blankets."
A small, surprised laugh escaped her, a truly human sound. She reached up, pulling him closer, her raw instinct overriding any hesitation. His lips met hers, a kiss of pure, untamed passion, a promise of something wild and new. For Jaxen, the man who'd seen empires fall and packs crumble, this was a revelation. It wasn't a game; it was a truth he felt in his bones.
Suddenly, a cough broke them apart. Derek Hale stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed with suspicion. He'd sensed a new Alpha. A powerful one. He hadn't expected to find this.
"Jaxen McCall," Derek said, his voice flat, his eyes narrowing, red irises glowing subtly for a second as he asserted his own Alpha status. "Didn't think you'd ever show your face in Beacon Hills again."
Jaxen broke away from Malia, a slow, confident smile spreading across his face. He didn't bother to activate his own glowing red eyes. He didn't need to. His very presence was a challenge. "Derek Hale. Still brooding, I see. And still losing werewolves in the preserve, apparently." He glanced pointedly at Malia. "Good thing I was passing through."
Derek's jaw tightened. "I sensed a new Alpha signature. Stronger than anything I've felt. I guess that's you." His gaze swept over Jaxen, assessing, trying to find a weakness. "What exactly are you?"
Jaxen shrugged, a casual, almost dismissive gesture. "Just a guy. Who happens to be an Alpha. And can clean up messes more efficiently than some." He took another step towards Derek, not aggressive, but utterly dominant. The air around him seemed to thicken, pressing down on Derek, an invisible weight. Derek, despite his own Alpha status, felt it. A raw, ancient power, unlike anything he'd ever encountered. It wasn't just Alpha; it was more.
"My pack," Derek began, but the words faltered.
Jaxen cut him off, his voice still calm, but with an edge of steel that would make any lesser wolf whimper. "Your pack? Derek, I've cleared out fifty Alphas and their entire packs across three continents. Trust me, I know what a pack looks like. And yours is still… under construction." He smirked. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm a bit busy. This one," he gestured to Malia, who was watching him with a fascinating mix of awe and fierce devotion, "needs my attention."
Derek stood there for a long moment, completely still, processing. This wasn't a challenge he could win. This wasn't just another Alpha. This was The Apex Predator. The rumors, the whispers he'd heard in shadowed corners of the supernatural world, were real. And he was standing right in front of him. Derek slowly unclenched his fists.
"Fine," Derek finally conceded, a grudging respect in his voice. "But Beacon Hills has its own rules."
"Rules are for those who need them," Jaxen replied, his smile widening. He turned back to Malia, dismissing Derek entirely. "Now, where were we?"
Malia, emboldened by Jaxen's unwavering confidence, pulled him closer again. She might not understand all the politics of Alphas and packs, but she understood strength, and she understood belonging. And in Jaxen, she had found both. As the door swung shut behind Derek, leaving them alone, the world outside faded. All that mattered was the raw, undeniable connection that promised to redefine everything they knew about themselves and about love. The chaos of Beacon Hills had just found its new, undeniably powerful, and incredibly charming, leader.