Moonlit Desires {Stiles Stilinski} (Teen Wolf)

Wolf Moon

   

            I watched from my window as Dad's car pulled into our new driveway, Allison in the passenger seat. Another town, another move. At least this time I'd gotten here a day early to set up my room–a small privilege of being seventeen and having my car. Mom was still directing the movers where to put everything, her voice carrying that familiar sharp edge of efficiency.

"Drew!" she called up. "Come help your sister with her boxes!"

I headed downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. Beacon Hills would be our third move this year, and I had the routine down pat. Allison looked frazzled as she climbed out of the car, her dark hair windblown from what had probably been another long drive with Dad's terrible choice of music.

"Hey there, little sis," I said, grabbing one of her heavier bags before she could protest. "How was the drive?"

"Terrible," she groaned, but there was a hint of a smile. "Dad played nothing but Journey for two hours straight."

I laughed, remembering my drive up yesterday. "Could be worse. Could've been his '80s power ballads playlist."

We carried her things up to her new room, which was right next to mine. I'd already heard Mom and Dad's whispered conversations about why we moved to Beacon Hills. Something about unusual animal attacks, missing hikers, and a dead body in the woods. Standard Argent family business that they still thought they needed to hide from Allison.

"First day of school tomorrow," I reminded her as we unpacked. "Want a ride?"

"You just want to show off your car to the new school," she teased, but nodded. "Yes, please. At least I won't be the only new kid this time."

If only she knew why we were always the new kids. Why did we move every time something supernatural showed up on Dad's radar? I'd found out last year–the family legacy, the truth about what we really did. The weapons' training wasn't just for self-defense, and those special bullets Dad stored weren't for target practice.

That night, I lay awake listening to the unfamiliar sounds of our new house. My phone buzzed with a text from Dad: "Patrol tonight. Local PD found half a body in the woods."

I quietly got dressed, checking that Allison's light was off before sneaking down to the garage. Dad was waiting in his SUV, bow case in the back seat.

"Your mother's covering the north quadrant," he said as I climbed in. "We're taking the preserve near the high school."

The woods were dark and cold, our flashlights cutting through the fog. I had my hand on the knife at my belt–silver-plated, like all our weapons.

A howl echoed through the trees, making my skin prickle. Not a normal wolf–they hadn't been in California for decades. This was something else.

"Movement," Dad whispered, gesturing to our right. We caught glimpses of figures running through the trees–two of them. "Looks like teenagers."

I recognized one of them as they passed under a shaft of moonlight. Scott McCall, from my brief orientation at the high school yesterday. The other kid got caught by the police, but Scott disappeared deeper into the woods.

Later that night, we found the other half of the body. The claw marks were unmistakable–we had a werewolf in Beacon Hills.

The next morning, I pulled into the school parking lot with Allison, trying to act like I hadn't spent half the night hunting in the woods. She was nervous but hiding it well–a trait that reminded me of Mom.

"You'll be fine," I assured her as we walked to the entrance. "Just try not to shoot anyone with your imaginary crossbow."

She rolled her eyes, not getting the private joke. "Very funny. Just try not to be an overprotective big brother, okay?"