Monday – Three days before the full moon
I woke up feeling different.
Not sick. Not injured. Just… different.
There was energy running through my veins—restlessness, a need to move. Like my body was vibrating at a slightly wrong frequency, trying to align itself with something.
I looked out the window. It was still dark, but I could see perfectly through the pre-dawn gloom.
And there it was.
The moon.
Huge. Bright. Still visible even with the sun about to rise. Not completely full, but almost. So close that the difference was barely noticeable.
Three days, I thought. Three days until the full moon.
My heart sped up just from looking at it. As if something inside me responded to its presence. Recognized it. Longed for it.
I stepped away from the window, taking a deep breath.
What's happening to me?
School that day was… tense.
Not obviously so. For most people, it was just another boring Monday. But for me, with heightened senses and knowledge of what was coming, the tension was palpable.
Scott was visibly worse.
I saw him in the hallway between classes, standing at his locker. His hands were shaking as he tried to turn the dial. Once—wrong combination. Twice. Three times.
"Damn it!" He punched the locker, leaving a small dent in the metal.
Stiles appeared at his side immediately, hands raised in a calming gesture.
"Hey, hey! Breathe, man. It's just a locker."
"I am breathing!" Scott snapped, louder than he meant to. A few nearby students looked over.
Scott noticed, closing his eyes and forcing himself to calm down.
"Sorry. I… I don't know what came over me."
"It's okay," Stiles said quietly, glancing around to make sure no one was paying too much attention. "Come on. Let's take a walk. Fresh air."
They walked away, and I watched them with growing concern.
It's starting. He's losing control.
And it's going to get worse. Much worse.
At lunch, Stiles found me in the library.
I was half-hidden between the shelves, supposedly doing homework, but really I'd been staring at the same math problem for twenty minutes without processing anything.
That restless energy was still there, making it impossible to focus.
"Daniel!" Stiles appeared out of nowhere, making me jump. "You good with computers?"
"Uh… decent?" I replied cautiously. "Why?"
"School project. Mythology. I need to research…" He hesitated for a fraction of a second. "…werewolves."
My stomach tightened, but I kept my expression neutral.
"Werewolves?"
"Yeah, weird, right?" Stiles laughed, though there was something forced about it. "But Harris is obsessed with folklore. Wants a project on transformation myths."
A lie. An obvious one. But I played along.
"Sure. I can help."
We sat side by side at one of the library computers.
Stiles opened a blank document and typed "werewolves" into Google.
Pages and pages of results—movies, books, Halloween costumes. Then further down, sites about real folklore. Mythology. Sightings.
"So," Stiles said casually as he clicked on a site about European legends, "do you believe in this stuff?"
"Werewolves?"
"Yeah. Like, supernatural beings in general. You think they could be real?"
I chose my words carefully.
"I don't know. I mean, the world is big. There are things we don't understand." I shrugged. "Why do you ask?"
"Curiosity." But his eyes studied me for a moment before returning to the screen.
We kept researching. Stiles took frantic notes—full-moon transformations, loss of control, physical traits.
And I helped, guiding him toward specific information while pretending to discover it alongside him.
"Look at this," I said, pointing to a particularly obscure site on Slavic folklore. "It says werewolves can maintain control if they have an anchor. Something emotional that keeps them connected to their humanity."
"Emotional anchor," Stiles murmured, writing it down. "Like what?"
"Love. Family. Friendship. Something that matters more than instinct." I clicked another link. "And here… physical containment methods. Isolation. Chains strong enough to restrain superhuman strength."
Stiles wrote everything down, handwriting rushed and messy.
"This is… very specific for a school project," I commented, testing him.
He stopped writing and looked at me.
"It's a very detailed assignment," he said finally. "Harris is demanding."
I let it go. For now.
But as we continued, part of me felt lighter.
I'm helping. Without revealing how I know, I'm giving them information that could save lives.
It's the least I can do.
That afternoon at home, the restlessness was worse.
I tried doing homework in my room. It lasted fifteen minutes before I threw my pencil aside in frustration.
I can't focus.
I went downstairs and found my mom in the kitchen preparing dinner.
"Going out for a run?" she asked without looking up, as if she already knew.
"How did you—"
"I recognize the signs." She smiled, but there was concern in her eyes. "You're restless. You need to move. Go. Just don't go too far."
I went out the back door, stretched quickly, and started running.
Fast.
I didn't hold back. Didn't pretend. I just ran at full Lupaztlán speed, across the yard, into the treeline, deeper into the forest.
Wind against my face. Muscles burning. Heart pounding.
And I didn't get tired.
Normally, after fifteen or twenty minutes at that speed, I'd be exhausted. But today, even after half an hour, I still had energy.
What's happening to me?
Eventually I stopped, hands on my knees—not because I was tired, but because I knew I should stop.
I looked up through the canopy.
The moon. Even during the day, I could feel its presence. Like gravity pulling at something inside me.
Dinner was quiet.
All of us at the table—my parents, Marcus, me. Food in front of us, but no one eating much.
"Are you okay?" my mom asked eventually, noticing I was just poking at my food.
"I'm just… not hungry."
"You ran for almost an hour," my dad noted. "You should be starving."
I should have been. But my stomach felt tied in knots.
Marcus and my parents exchanged meaningful looks.
"We need to talk," Marcus said finally. "After dinner."
Twenty minutes later, we were in the living room.
Me on the couch, my parents sitting together in an armchair, Marcus leaning against the fireplace.
"The full moon is in three days," Marcus began without preamble.
"I know," I said. "Scott McCall is going to transform. Completely."
"Yes." Marcus looked directly at me. "And you, Daniel… will be affected too."
My stomach dropped.
"What do you mean? Am I going to transform too? Involuntarily?"
"No," my dad said quickly. "Not the same way."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"Pure werewolves lose control during the full moon. The transformation is forced, involuntary. They have no choice."
"Lupaztlán are different," my mom continued. "You won't transform against your will. The moon can't force you."
Relief flooded through me.
"So I'm fine? I don't have to worry?"
"It's not that simple," Marcus said. "You won't transform unwillingly. But you will feel the moon. Strongly."
"Feel it how?"
"What you felt today," my dad explained. "The restlessness. The energy. The difficulty focusing. It'll get worse."
"Your instincts will be sharper," my mom added. "Your senses even more heightened. Emotions harder to control. The wolf inside you will be… more present. Louder."
"But the berserker side balances it," Marcus said. "That's why you don't lose control completely like pure werewolves. The duality of our nature creates… stability. In a way."
I processed that slowly.
"And if I choose to transform during the full moon?"
Heavy silence.
"It'll be easier," Marcus said finally. "The transformation will come more naturally, faster. You'll be stronger. More powerful."
"But," my dad added, "control will be harder. The instincts will be stronger. The risk of losing yourself in the transformation is greater."
"So basically," I summarized, "I either fight the pressure of the moon without transforming, or I transform and fight not to lose control."
"Essentially, yes," Marcus confirmed.
"Great," I muttered. "No pressure."
My mom stood and came to sit beside me.
"You'll manage," she said gently. "The three of us have gone through dozens of full moons. We know how to handle it."
"And this time," my dad added, "you won't be alone. We'll be here. Guiding you."
Marcus pushed himself off the fireplace.
"But before that, there's something you need to know. About our origin. How we were created. And why."
He sat in the opposite armchair, his expression turning solemn.
"It's time you know the full story."
My dad began.
"Centuries ago, long before the European colonization of the Americas, there were ancient druids who protected sacred sites—nexuses of power. The most powerful of them was the Nemeton, a sacred tree that served as an anchor for mystical energy."
"But protection required guardians," my mom continued. "Warriors who could face any threat. Werewolves were strong and fast, but vulnerable. Berserkers were nearly indestructible, but they were just weapons—no mind of their own, no control."
"The druids wanted to combine the best of both," Marcus said. "And during a full moon, over a thousand years ago, they performed a ritual."
"Five True Alphas volunteered," my dad continued. "Not common Alphas—True Alphas. Those who gained power through strength of character, not killing."
"The ritual required… sacrifice," my mom said softly. "Hundreds of lives were offered. All that energy, channeled at the peak of the full moon, converged into the five Alphas."
"Druidic runes were carved into their flesh," Marcus added. "Symbols of power, control, balance. The berserker process was altered—no brainwashing, no loss of free will. Just the power, the resilience, the strength."
"The result," my dad said, "were the first Lupaztlán. Guardians with full consciousness, berserker strength, wolf instincts, and something unique neither had—reactive bone armor."
"And they discovered," my mom finished, "that the lineage was hereditary. If at least one parent was Lupaztlán, the children would be too."
Silence as I processed it.
"So," I said slowly, "we're descendants of those five original Alphas?"
"Through generations, yes," my dad confirmed.
"And the full moon," I connected, "was part of the original ritual. That's why it affects us."
"Exactly," Marcus said. "The werewolf side responds to the moon. But the berserker side… balances it. Prevents total loss of control."
"But it also makes us more powerful during the full moon," my mom added. "If we choose to use it."
I looked at each of them.
"And we were hunted because of that? Because we could pass it on to our children?"
"Partly," Marcus said. "But there's more. Much more. That story…" He paused. "…is for another day. For now, you know enough."
Tuesday – Two days before the full moon
School was worse.
Scott was visibly falling apart. Between classes, I saw him slumped against his locker, eyes closed, breathing heavily.
A guy—Brad, from the lacrosse team—walked by and accidentally bumped into him.
"Sorry, man."
Scott spun around, his eyes flashing gold for a split second, a growl starting in his throat.
Brad stepped back, hands raised.
"Whoa! What's your problem?!"
Stiles appeared out of nowhere, placing himself between them.
"No problem! Scott's just… stressed. Exams, you know how it is. Come on, Scott. Let's go outside."
He practically dragged Scott down the hallway, leaving Brad confused and irritated.
I watched from a distance, helpless.
He's suffering. And I can't do anything.
After school, I was heading toward the parking lot when I saw something that made me stop.
Derek Hale.
Leaning against his black Camaro, waiting. When Scott exited the building, Derek pushed off the car and intercepted him.
"We need to talk."
"I have nothing to say to you," Scott replied, trying to walk past.
Derek blocked his path.
"The full moon is in two days. You have no idea what's going to happen."
"I know exactly—"
"You know nothing," Derek cut in, his voice low but intense. "You think you can control it? That you can just resist? You're going to transform, Scott. Completely. And when you do, anyone near you is in danger."
I was too far away to hear normally. But with my enhanced hearing, every word reached me clearly.
"I'll isolate myself," Scott said. "Stiles will help me."
"Stiles is human," Derek practically spat. "He doesn't understand what you are. What you can do. One second of lost control and you could kill him."
"I would never hurt Stiles!"
"You can't guarantee that." Derek stepped closer. "Let me help you. I know how to do this safely."
"I don't want your help," Scott said firmly. "I don't trust you. And I won't let you turn me into something like you."
"Something like me?" Derek laughed humorlessly. "You already are something like me. And the sooner you accept that, the safer everyone will be."
Scott shoved Derek aside and walked off, Stiles running to catch up.
Derek stood there for a moment, frustration etched into every line of his body.
Then his eyes found mine.
Damn it.
He started walking toward me.
Panic flooded me. I wasn't ready—not for a direct confrontation, not alone, not now.
"I… I need to go," I managed, backing away.
"Wait—"
But I was already turning, walking fast—almost running—toward the street.
Derek didn't follow. But when I looked back, he was still there, watching me with that intense, calculating expression.
He knows. He definitely knows something.
And sooner or later, he's going to want answers.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, my body full of energy with nowhere to go.
At two in the morning, I gave up. Got up. Did push-ups. Fifty. One hundred. One hundred and fifty.
Not even tired.
I looked out the window. The moon was there—still not completely full, but huge. Radiant.
And something inside me pulled toward it.
I went downstairs quietly and stepped out the back door.
Marcus was already there, sitting on the porch steps, staring into the forest.
"Can't sleep?" he asked without turning.
"How did you know?"
"Because I can't either." He looked at me. "The moon. It's calling to the wolf inside you."
I sat beside him.
"How do you deal with it?"
"Training. Come on."
We went to the clearing where we trained.
Marcus wasn't gentle. Intense sparring, no breaks, pushing me harder than ever before.
And I held up.
Actually—I was better than usual. Faster. Stronger. Reflexes even sharper.
"The moon is amplifying you," Marcus said after knocking me down for the fifth time. "You feel it?"
I did. That energy. That power coursing through me.
"Is that dangerous?"
"Only if you lose control." He helped me up. "Don't lose it."
We trained until dawn.
Wednesday – One day before the full moon
School felt like a pressure cooker about to explode.
Scott skipped half his classes. When he was there, he looked sick—pale, sweating, shaking.
Stiles was in full panic mode, constantly on his phone, researching, planning.
During lunch, I hid in an empty corner of the library.
And I heard.
Scott and Stiles were in the parking lot, but with my hearing, their voices were clear.
"I got it," Stiles was saying. "Reinforced steel chain. The kind they use in heavy construction."
"Will it hold?" Scott asked, his voice trembling.
"It has to. You'll be chained in my basement. I'll stand guard."
"And if I… if I hurt you?"
"You won't." Stiles sounded more confident than he probably felt. "I trust you, Scott. The chain is just a precaution."
Silence for a moment.
"Thanks, Stiles," Scott said, his voice breaking. "For everything. For not abandoning me when you found out. For helping me. For… for being my friend."
"Always, man. Always."
I leaned against the library wall, eyes closed.
They're going to try. Alone.
And I can't help without exposing myself.
This is impossible.
That afternoon, my entire family went into the forest.
"Special preparation," my dad had said. "For tomorrow."
In the clearing, my dad drew symbols on the ground with special white chalk. A large, intricate circle, with complex runes at specific points.
"What is that?" I asked.
"Druidic runes," he explained, still drawing. "Knowledge passed down through my family for generations. When activated, they'll mask our presence."
"Mask it how?"
"When you transform, energy normally leaks out. Other supernatural beings would feel it." He finished the last rune. "This will contain the energy within the circle. No one outside will know."
"Does that really work?" I asked skeptically.
"Centuries of druidic knowledge," Marcus said. "Yes. It works."
My dad moved to each cardinal point of the circle, lighting a small candle at each. Then he murmured something in a language I didn't recognize—Latin? Celtic?
The runes glowed. Just for a second, a soft bluish light, before returning to white.
"Active," my dad said. "Now we can train without alerting all of Beacon Hills."
Marcus turned to me.
"Today you'll train full transformation. Under near full-moon influence. It'll be different."
"Different how?"
"Easier to transform," he said. "Harder to control. We're going to find your limits."
I swallowed.
"Okay. Let's do it."
The transformation came fast.
Too fast.
One second I was human—then everything hit at once.
Eyes changing—bright amber. Claws extending. Fangs lengthening. Bone armor erupting through my skin in gleaming plates.
Pain. But also… ecstasy.
Pure power surging through every nerve, every muscle, every cell.
A growl tore from my throat—instinctive, visceral, feral.
"Focus!" Marcus's voice cut through the haze. "You command! Not the wolf!"
I opened my eyes—had they been closed?—and saw my family.
All transformed.
My mom, dad, Marcus—all in full Lupaztlán form. Bone armor covering strategic areas, eyes glowing, presence dominant.
They formed a circle around me.
"Control," my dad said firmly. "Breathe. Find your center."
I breathed. In. Out. Reaching through the chaos of sensation.
I command. Not the wolf. ME.
Slowly, the savagery receded. It didn't disappear—it was still there, pulsing beneath the surface—but it was manageable.
"Good," Marcus said. "Now. Attack me."
"What—"
He didn't wait. He lunged, claws extended.
Instinct took over. I blocked, countered, moved faster than I ever had before.
We trained for hours.
The sun set. The moon began to rise.
And with every passing minute, I felt the pressure grow. The need to let go, to surrender to the power.
But I didn't.
I held on. Hard. Exhausting. Agonizing.
But I held.
When Marcus finally called a stop, I was completely drained.
I shifted back to human and collapsed to the ground, gasping.
"You did it," Marcus said, something close to admiration in his voice. "Partial transformation maintained under near full moon. Huge milestone."[1]
"I don't… feel… like I did," I managed between breaths.
"But you did," my dad said, kneeling beside me. "And tomorrow will be even harder. But now we know you can."
Dinner was quiet.
Everyone exhausted from the intense training. Food on the table, but little appetite.
The moon was visible through the kitchen window. Huge. Almost perfect.
Tomorrow it would be full.
"No one goes out tomorrow night," Marcus said eventually, breaking the silence.
"Daniel, you stay home. With us. No matter what happens out there."
"And Scott?" I asked.
Silence.
"Scott has Stiles," my dad said carefully. "And Derek will probably be watching."
"We can't intervene," Marcus added. "Not without exposing ourselves. Not without making things worse."
"But he's alone—"
"He's not," my mom said gently. "He has a best friend who loves him enough to stay by his side. That's more than many new werewolves have."
I didn't answer. Because she was right.
But it still felt wrong to do nothing.
That night, in my room, I looked out the window.
The moon was massive. Radiant. Hypnotic.
And my heart raced just looking at it. Something inside me responding, yearning, pulling.
Tomorrow, I thought. Tomorrow everything changes.
Scott will transform for the first time. Completely. Without control.
And I'll fight not to do the same.
The moon is calling. So strong.
I closed the curtain, blocking the view.
But I couldn't block the feeling. The presence pressing against my consciousness.
Tomorrow.
I lay down, knowing I wouldn't sleep much.
And I didn't.
[POV: Scott and Stiles – Stiles's House, Basement]
Stiles installed the final part of the chain, securing it to the metal pipe running along the basement ceiling.
"Okay," he said, tugging to test it. "This should hold."
Scott sat on the floor, head in his hands.
"And if it doesn't?"
"It will," Stiles said, more confident than he felt. "It's reinforced steel. Same stuff they use on construction sites."
"But what if—"
"Scott." Stiles knelt in front of him. "Look at me."
Scott lifted his head. His eyes were still brown, but there was something wild in them. Something non-human just beneath the surface.
"What if I hurt someone?" Scott whispered. "What if I hurt you?"
"You won't."
"You can't know—"
"I do know," Stiles said firmly. "You're not a monster, Scott. You're my best friend. And yeah, you're a werewolf now. But you're still you."
"Am I?"
"Yes." Stiles gripped his shoulders. "And we're getting through this. Together. Okay?"
Scott nodded, not trusting his voice.
Both of them looked at the small basement window.
The moon was visible. Almost full.
Tomorrow it would be complete.
And neither of them knew if they were truly ready.
[POV: Derek – Loft]
Derek spread a map of Beacon Hills across the table.
He marked one point with a red pen.
"Stiles's house. Scott will be there."
He marked another.
"The Morenos' house. The family will be there."
He stared at the two points. Opposite sides of town.
"I can't be in both places."
But Scott was his responsibility. He had been bitten—by Peter, not him—but still. Scott was a new werewolf, uncontrolled, dangerous.
The Moreno family…
Derek looked at the Lupaztlán folder on his desk.
He hadn't confirmed it one hundred percent yet. But he knew. Deep down, he knew.
"Tomorrow," he said to the empty loft, "when the moon rises, everyone will show what they really are."
"And then I'll have my answers."
He looked out the loft window. The moon dominated the sky.
"Tomorrow, Beacon Hills, you're going to reveal all your secrets."
[1] Oh, he still doesn’t have full control over his transformation. That only happened because the full moon helped—there’s still a lot of work ahead before he can truly master it. But I’d say it’s going to be something epic, at least for me.