From the Ashes: Chapter Nineteen

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⚠️Warning: ⚠️
This chapter gives us some present day Scott back in Beacon Hills. Remember he's not good in any way. Take care!

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Beacon Hills, Northern California:

The town full of shadows is almost barren of life except for one werewolf who is hardly even a wolf at all. Scott looks around wondering how much more he needs before it's time for the next stage in his rise to power. The shadows flicker around him and he smirks. "Perhaps we should go pay that little devil a visit?"

No one replies of course since no one is left in the town. It seems as good a plan as any, plus Scott is extremely horny on the wrong side of sexually frustrated and well he's not gay at all but Stiles's mouth was absolutely perfect.

He hops on his motorcycle and speeds out of town leaving some of the shadows behind. After all, it's no longer Beacon Hills. Nope. Scott has a petition to change it to Shadow Hills.

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As he pulls up the road towards the asylum the shadows begin to make a sort of hissing sound throwing him off balance, but he catches himself just in time. "What the fuck?! Heel!!" he snarls at them, and they listen–for a millisecond–before making him swerve again. "Will you cut the fuck out!"

Forced to pull over or risk crashing the wolf realizes something is different. There in the place where the asylum once stood is an open grassland with flowers, and trees and the air is fresh and–"Where the fuck is Stiles?!" he roars, startling some birds from their perches.

He turns dark sickly yellow eyes toward the shadows. "Find. Him. FIND HIM NOW!!!"

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Scott's anger rises the further he drives, realizing that somehow the demon wretch got much further away. He was supposed to stay locked up and get treated until Scott could make him into what he wanted, but now he has to chase after him. At least the shadows are finally listening to him.

Annoyance rises as he stops yet again to fill his gas tank. "How much further did that fucker go?"

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Because he left so late from California he reluctantly stops for the night–without paying–at a hotel on the eastern edge of Utah. "I'm going to make him regret this. He obviously didn't learn anything from that asylum. This time though, oh this time he'll be on his knees for me begging for what I know he needs. I know best."

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He leaves before the sun rises so as to avoid getting caught. He really doesn't see why he should pay for a couple hours of sleep. It's another full day of riding but he figures he can take some time to play a bit. Several girls are down–some guys too but like he said he's not gay. So he fucks several of the girls, leaves them when they're passed out asleep and gets back on the road.

"There's only one bitch I'm interested in. He's pretty in his own way. Maybe I can fix him and make him my little doll."

He licks his lips at that thought as he presses down on the accelerator.

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He stops again when he reaches Minnesota. Apparently, the shadows have slowed their convergence now that Scott is closer to his destination. At least that's what he is assuming is the reason.

"You are a pain in my ass," he hisses at the shadows. "Seriously. I mean you helped me take over the town but you're unruly and need to listen to me. I'm your fucking master."

The hisses of the shadows echo around the room–that he again didn't pay to stay in–in response to the man's words.

"Shut the fuck up!!" he snarls his eyes flashing their sickly yellow color again.

His laptop dings with an email notification. "Finally," he says as he clicks on it. "What the hell?!"

Email Undeliverable. Email Invalid.

"What do you mean?" He digs his claws into the mattress. "If you fucking took him Randy, I'll end you."

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So, it couldn't have been Randy because well Randy is dead. Scott isn't sure how he knows that, but he can feel the truth of it as clear as day. "Good riddance. Means less mess for Stiles."

Now he does pay for a hotel room in cash at the edge of Wisconsin the next day. Scott doesn't know enough to go charging in but he's tempted to throw caution to the wind. The shadows are as restless as he is.

His fingers fly across the keys as he scours the area using a drone he borrowed–stole–from a kid down the road. Nothing shows up that gives him any clue as to where he should go next except for a general area and–"Wait!"

A smirk forms on his face. "Gotcha."

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