{Latin ^ Meaning Just Making Sure} Saturday, January 15th 2011 {Day 7}
{Words: 4261}
In the depths of the woods, intermittent moonlight illuminates a figure swiftly maneuvering through winding roads and twisting pathways. Within the Beacon Hills Preserve, at the entrance veiled by trees, Derek's black Dodge Challenger is parked in the lot. Scott springs up and lands gracefully on the roof of the vehicle.
Meanwhile, Stiles' jeep screeches to a halt outside Allison's darkened house, the residence of the Argent family. After a quick check through the windshield to ensure the car is empty, he and Morwen swiftly ascend the steps, pressing the doorbell.
Back in the woods, Scott leaps off the fallen tree onto the moonlit forest floor. His breath comes out in heavy bursts as he leans against the decaying trunk, his clawed hands gripping it firmly. His silhouette swivels, attempting to catch a scent lingering in the air.
Inside the house, the lights flicker on, causing Morwen and Stiles to halt their persistent knocking. With a click, the door opens, revealing a bewildered Mrs. Argent peering out the window.
Stiles speaks in a rushed tone, "Hello, we're friends of Allison's—"
But Morwen interrupts, their voice filled with concern, "This is going to sound incredibly bizarre, almost absurd. It's an understatement, really."
Mrs. Argent responds, beckoning Allison, "Allison, it's for you!" Stiles and Morwen exchange a quick glance before focusing their attention on the doorway, where Allison descends the stairs.
"What's going on?" Allison asks, her smile fading slightly. In that moment, Stiles and Morwen exchange another look, both realizing the truth. The distant howl echoes through the air, and Stiles wears a knowing expression on his face. It wasn't Derek seeking Allison; it was Scott.
Meanwhile...
Scott's pace slows as he approaches a clearing, his gaze fixated on an unexpected and peculiar sight—a jacket. It's Allison's jacket, the very one she wore to the party, now strategically placed to lure him to this spot.
From the shadows, a movement catches Scott's attention. He swiftly turns around, springing to his feet as Derek emerges from the darkness, forcefully bringing him back to the ground. Their struggle resembles that of two wild dogs, climbing and crashing back down onto the leaves and underbrush.
With one hand gripping Scott's throat, Derek keeps him pinned down. Despite the full moon's influence, Derek's eyes maintain a piercing blue hue, unaffected by the transformation.
Scott's voice trembles with urgency, "Where is she?" The sound that escapes his lips is huskier, almost tinged with a demonic quality.
Derek chuckles, tauntingly replying, "She's safe. Safe from you."
Anxious and desperate for answers, Scott presses further, "What have you done?" His tone carries a mix of curiosity and concern.
In a calm demeanor, Derek commands, "Be quiet." The sound of his voice pierces Scott's head like a knife. He listens intently, his gaze scanning the surrounding forest. "It's too late."
Saturday, January 15th 2011 {Day 7}
Scott's golden eyes dart left and right, sensing an ominous presence lingering in the woods. Derek grumbles angrily, his voice filled with frustration, "They're already here..."
