I am the Enemy ~ S.M [3]

Donovan

Chapter 11

"Oh, Stiles," I sigh as my eyes fall onto his blue jeep still sitting in the abandoned school parking lot. He must still be asleep in the library. I thought he would've woken up by now but apparently, he still slumbers on.

A chill suddenly runs through my body, right to my bones, the closer I get to it. Something isn't right...

I park my bike next to his jeep and notice the hood is bolt-upright with the engine on full display. I frown, taking my helmet off and placing it on the seat behind me. Just as I do, a scent enters my nose, causing me to freeze.

Blood

Stiles' blood... I jump off the bike and rush toward the jeep with my heart pumping in my ears. But there's no sign of him. Only a blood splatter on the ground next to the jeep. I don't even stop to think or process anything else. I run toward the entrance of the school, following the scent of Stiles' blood still faintly lingering in the air. The school itself is empty and dark with only the light illuminating the windows to stop me from running headfirst into the lockers.

After sprinting down multiple hallways, the scent leads back outside, straight toward the library doors. I train my ears against them trying to listen to any voices or breathing. And sure enough, the sound of fast, shallow breath sounds from further in the room.

"Stiles?" I call before trying to pull open the doors. But they won't budge. I try again until I notice the red light from a box right next to it. Of course, the key card. I can almost kick myself at my stupidity. I search through my pockets and thankfully I still have my keycard from earlier today.

I scan my card and the door opens with a satisfying click. I step into the room and immediately something feels wrong. Call it a sixth sense or Werewolf instincts or whatever, but something makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Stiles?" I call feeling less confident but no one answers. My eyes scan over the room landing on Stiles hiding behind a bookcase. But he looks terrified. His eyes are wide as he mouths something toward me. I squint my eyes trying to read his lips. Something with an R... 

Run?

I feel the sting before I can even process what's happening. A sharp, excruciating pain erupts on my bicep. I spin my head around unable to stop myself from transforming. A guy with razor-sharp teeth and pure white eyes grips my arm with iron-clad strength. But the pain is searing. Almost like something is ripping my skin apart.

I growl into his face gripping my hand around his neck and pushing him back against the nearest bookcase, "Let go." I growl, tightening my grip.

"Funny, I was gonna say the same thing," He grunts before raising his other hand. I only catch a glimpse of it but for a split second, it looks like there is a mouth with jagged teeth coming out of it. I'm not even able to process it before it's placed against my arm that's holding his neck.

A cry escapes my lips. The pain is torturous. All strength begins to drain from me as my grip begins to slacken. He flips us around so my head hits the wood hard, causing spots to dance in my eyes.

I try to fight against him, but every time I do it feels like the teeth are digging deeper and deeper into my body. His hand leaves my bicep but the pain still lingers on. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice blood dripping down my arm but I'm too distracted by the razor-sharp teeth in his palm heading straight for my face.

I will my arm up and grab a hold of his wrist, with his palm near inches away from slicing off my nose. The pain sears through my arm but I keep pushing his wrist away. It's pretty easy to find the motivation when you're staring at teeth coming out of someone's hand.