𝑾𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 ➸𝑨𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑨𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕 ꟾ𝟏ꟾ

Full Moon

[Majorly edited]—4/22/21

I

Leaping up Stiles' staircase, I stop at his bedroom door, my knuckles bang against the wood until he swings the door open and pulls me inside.

"Okay, what are you thinking we should—" I pause, staring at all of the printed papers scattered around the light grey carpet. "Whoa."

I edge closer, dropping my backpack onto Stiles' bed as he pulls up a chair for me. "Look at all this."

I lean closer to the computer screen, reading the article. "'Lycaon, the first werewolf. Lycaon was the cruel king of Arcadia who'—Stiles, how is this evidence?"

He rolls his eyes at me before stuffing a tattered, dark red book into my hands. The cover reads, "History of Lycanthropy."

"You got this at the library?"

"Just turn to page ninety-eight." I sigh, blankly staring at the cover before complying.

As I flip through, I notice the pages are just as worn and aged as the outer cover, if not more. Stiles quickly points at the left page. "Read this and then tell me I don't have proof."

I rub a hand over my face before leaning back into the padded chair. "During the mid-eighteenth century, a monstrous creature devastated the lands of France, taking the lives of hundreds. This bloodthirsty abomination took the shape of a wolf, though it stood as tall as two men combined and possessed strength more powerful than any army."

I skim down. "Soon, the people began calling him La Bête du Gévaudan, or the Beast of Gévaudan. King Louis XV sent hunters, following the Lycan through the Auvergne and South Dordogne regions of France. Most hunters were assumed dead, ripped to shreds for sport, and those who did return were never quite the same, deeply wounded or mentally scarred, these men carried a hideous burden for the rest of their days.

"Many believed the Beast of Gévaudan to be indestructible, fearing the creature would scour the lands, terrorizing and torturing any in its path for eternity. However, in 1765, the beast was finally slewed by a young village woman who drove a metal pike into its impenetrable fur. None know how she achieved this, but nevertheless, she was rewarded and forever known as the 'Maid of Gévaudan."

Under the paragraph, a drawing depicts a giant werewolf, the color of midnight, tearing the head from a screaming woman wearing a long white dress, blood staining it. The woman's face is frozen in pure horror, her eyes dull and lifeless, while the beast wears a savory smile, his yellow eyes lavishing in the kill. A shiver runs up my spine.

"This still doesn't prove anything, Stiles. It's just a scary-ass myth." His brows furrow as he takes the book from me before sliding his pointer finger over the next few sentences.

I take a deep breath, following the words. "Throughout the years, some were able to discern many of the traits and capabilities of the beast, stating that it could, 'smell your fear from an unnatural distance.' and 'hear your final call for God as you mutter a prayer under your breath.' Like many other Lycans, the beast was stronger, faster, more agile, more durable, and had extremely sensitive senses, far more superior than any human could dream of becoming."

My head raises to Stiles. "You can't tell me that doesn't sound like Scott."

I glance back down to the pages, then the drawing. "Are you saying Scott's going to turn into this?"

Stiles' jaw clenches. "I-I don't know."

"Did any of your websites say anything about how a werewolf bite could cure medical problems?" He spins around, rummaging through the loose papers on the floor before handing me a few pages that discuss a werewolf's immunity to human illnesses and conditions.