Shinning brown eyes, dark brown hair, and clothes too big were the only things Ezra brought to the table.
Well, along with the flesh piercing claws and fangs.
Life hasn't treated her the best in any way, so when she and her widow father move to Bea...
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A sharp, ear-piercing whistle rang through the chilling late afternoon air, causing the crowd to praise the sound that initiated the start of the first Beacon Hills lacrosse game of the season.
I wrapped my arms around my torso after throwing the hood of my sweater over my head and let out a heavy sigh, laying my head on Stiles's shoulder as he sat next to me on the stiff bench. "This isn't gonna go well, you know that, right?" I mumbled, shuddering slightly from the chilly climate. The climate around us wasn't just cold, but full of tension as we waited to see the outcome of this game that wasn't just about getting a ball in a net anymore. Now we had to worry about if Scott was gonna turn in front of the whole school, most importantly Chris Argent, Allison Argent's father, who sat in the stands next to his beautiful daughter.
"I'm trying to be hopeful, but yes I can only guess what might happen," Stiles responded with a grumpy tone. He was just as nervous as me, worried that our good buddy Scott just might shift on the field tonight.
The game started slow, our team not getting too many scores and Scott not getting the ball even while he was open. I guess it was a good thing because he wasn't getting entangled in the violent actions of lacrosse, which could easily trigger him into growing the claws and fangs to rip out someone's throat.
"Stilinski! What is wrong with McCall? He's not getting- Oh, sorry. Wow, I thought I would never see the day you got yourself a girlfriend." Coach rambled as he walked past the bench, stopping behind us. I sat up quickly, turning around and giving him a slight glare. Not only was Stiles not my boyfriend, but secondly that was just something weird to say to two teenagers. But I guess Coach wasn't known for being normal from some of the things I've heard and seen.
"Not my girlfriend, Coach. And I don't think it's Scott that's the problem. No one's passing him the ball." Stiles retorted, chewing on his lacrosse glove aggressively.
I turned my full attention to the field, watching Scotts every move. He was getting angrier because the ball wasn't being passed to him, and I could feel his anger rising rapidly. His heart was beating a thousand times a second, and I knew something was gonna happen, and soon.
"Stiles..." I trailed off, sitting at the edge of the bench anxiously. The air was closing in around us, ripping the oxygen out of my throat as I held my breath in anticipation.
"Yeah, I can see it. He's not gonna last much longer," he griped beside me, chewing even harder on the white glove in his jaws.
I tuned in to every sound on the field, listening to the overbearing screams of Lydia Martin and the rest of her annoying group of preppy teens, the groans of either side when a point was lost, and the grunts of colliding players.
