Chapter 18: The Lizard King and the Wolf Pack
The tension in Beacon Hills was so thick you could cut it with a dull butter knife. The Kanima was on the loose, and we had no idea who its master was. Our investigation was a dead end. We had no leads, no suspects, and no idea what we were dealing with. We were a pack of teenagers against a monster we knew nothing about. It was a classic Teen Wolf problem, and I was about to find a classic Adam Smith solution.
We were all at Scott's house, a sprawling, ridiculous house with a view of the entire town. We were sitting around a table, a blur of muscle and rage, and we were trying to figure out what to do. Scott, a worried look on his face, was a quiet, brooding presence. Stiles, a frantic bundle of nervous energy, was a blur of motion and chaos. Lydia, a quiet, contemplative presence, was a blur of intellectual deduction. And Malia, a silent, feral presence, was a blur of primal intuition.
"Okay, so we have a monster," Stiles said, his voice a frantic whisper. "A monster that is a perversion of a werewolf. A shapeshifter. A Kanima. A lizard-y thing that can paralyze people with its venom. A creature that is looking for a master. And we have no idea who the master is. This is a very, very big problem. This is a level 10 'oh, crap' moment."
"We need to find the master," Lydia said, her voice a low, quiet whisper. "The Kanima is not the problem. The master is the problem. They're the one pulling the strings. They're the one in control."
"But who is the master?" Scott asked, his voice a low, worried grumble. "We have no leads. We have no suspects. We have no idea what we're dealing with."
I just smiled, a low, conspiratorial chuckle escaping my lips. "I have a plan. It's a little crazy, it's a little dangerous, and it's a little stupid. But it's my plan, and it's a good one."
Suddenly, we heard it. A guttural snarl that was not human. A hiss that was not human. A low, menacing rumble in the back of my mind. It was the Kanima. It was here. And it was angry.
We ran outside, a blur of motion and chaos, and we saw it. The Kanima, a blur of scales and rage, was attacking someone. It was attacking Jackson Whittemore. The Kanima, a blur of scales and rage, was attacking him. He was a crumpled mass of limbs on the floor, a look of terror on his face. The Kanima was a monster, a predator, but it was also a victim of a very, very stupid prank.
I didn't fight it. I didn't try to reason with it. I just ran. I activated my mimicked werewolf powers, a low, humming presence in the back of my mind, a ghost of a ghost. The power, which I had only used for subtle illusions, now surged through my body, a bolt of pure, unadulterated energy. My legs, which had been slow and heavy, were now a blur of motion. I was running faster than I had ever run before, a blur of motion in a world of chaos. I was a phantom, a whisper in the dark, a ghost in the night. I was running from a monster, and I was loving every minute of it.
This is it. This is the moment I become a hero. Or a corpse. I'm not sure which. But either way, I'm going to do it with a smile on my face. Because I'm a hero, and heroes get chased by angry werewolves. It's in the job description.
I was a blur of motion in a world of chaos, and the Kanima was a blur of scales and rage behind me. It was fast, it was powerful, it was a force of nature. But I was faster. I was a ghost, a phantom, a lie. I was running from it, and I was loving every minute of it.
I ran for miles, a blur of motion in a world of chaos, and the Kanima was a blur of scales and rage behind me. It was getting closer, but I was still faster. I was a ghost, a phantom, a lie. I was running from it, and I was loving every minute of it.
Then, I saw it. Derek Hale. He was standing in the shadows, a silent, brooding presence. He wasn't glaring at me, wasn't threatening me. He was just watching. He had been following the Kanima, and he had seen the whole thing. He had seen my agility, my speed, my ability to outsmart a powerful Alpha.
He didn't save me. He just created a distraction, a brief, silent intervention that allowed me to get away. He lunged at the Kanima, a blur of muscle and rage, and he snarled. It was a brief, silent confrontation, a brother against a brother, a silent war in the dark.
I ran, a ghost in the night, a silent witness to a very strange, very confusing, and very, very dangerous world. The prank of misdirection was a success. I had outsmarted a powerful Alpha, and I had done it with a series of glitter bombs and a very, very good lie. Now, I had to figure out how to stop him. Without getting myself killed. It's a classic Adam Smith problem. And a classic Adam Smith solution.
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