A young lady with wings crashed through the woods, cuts and bruises all over her body. Her wings were tattered and droopy. She was searching for a safe place, a place of magic. She felt the tug of a Nemeton not far away. It felt weird to her, but she pushed through the pain. She found the Nemeton, but she skidded to a stop when she saw the stump that was left over. She realized that the tug was of hunger not help. She gasped and pushed past the stump and blocked out the tug. She had to find another magic gathering spot.
She felt another tug off to her left and she ran towards it. She arrived and saw that it was only a burned down house, the tug of magic just a ghost. She huffed and looked over her shoulder. She could hear the Hunters not far behind her. Shaking her head to block that pull of energy, she found one more tug of magic. Telluric currents, she remembered. That's the pull of energy.
She smirked and ran to the pull. She reached it and was relieved to find a small house with lights on. She ran to the front door and passed a blue Jeep and a police cruiser in the driveway. She flung herself against the door, causing her shoulder to pulse from the pain. She heard a shriek from inside and soon a mousy young man opened the door. She rushed past him into the house.
"What the hell are you doing in my house?" The teen asked.
"Close the door," she said, reaching into a pouch at her side.
"Why do you want me to close the door? And why do you have wings?" He asked.
"The Hunters are after me," she replied. He only nodded and shut the door. She grabbed a fistful of a white powder and tossed it into the air. The powder flew to the edges of the house creating an unbroken circle.
"What is that?" The man asked.
"White fluorite and white obsidian. Strong protectors of the psyche and body," she said.
"Oh, should I call the werewolves?" He asked, pulling out his cellphone.
"You have werewolves?" She asked. He nodded and pressed a couple buttons on his phone before putting it to his ear.
"Hey Scott, round up all your werewolf buddies and come over to my house. We got a situation," he said and hung up. He turned and called up the stairs, "Hey Dad, get down here now." A bumbling older man came down the stairs.
"What's up, Stiles?" He asked.
"Uh, we have a guest," Stiles said.
"Oh hi, I'm John Stilinski. I'm the sheriff of Beacon Hills. And you are?" John asked, turning to the girl.
"I'm-," She was interrupted by a bang at the door.
"Oh, it must be them," Stiles said, nonchalantly walking to the door.
"Wait," she called out. She sauntered over and opened the door slowly in order to keep the powder in line. She peered at the six newcomers. A tall, brooding man; a bright eyed boy; a male teen with an uneven jawline; a girl that sparked; a teen with too much makeup; and a tall female. "Are they all werewolves?" she questioned. The tall, brooding man stormed up to doorway and tried to pass the lady, but he was blasted back by an invisible force. Stiles ran forward, but she stopped him. "I'm the only one that can pass freely through this barrier. They need to grab my hand to pass through," she said, reaching her hand over the powder line and grabbing the nearest hand. She pulled the person over the line and reached out for the next person. Soon everybody was safe inside.
"No, we are not all werewolves," the brooding man said, sitting down on the puke yellow couch that sagged with his weight.
"Oh okay, um, so how about you tell me who all of you are then," the young lady demanded, sitting on the black walnut wood floor.
