Abandoned ▴ S.S [1]

Prologue

[edited] [wc: 1397] [ 12.31.16, 1:23 AM]
 

    "We want the last dragon." The creature spat, and it was all Stiles could do not to pale at their words. They know I'm here, in Beacon Hills. How long until they know my name? My family? My life? Instead of speaking up, Stiles wrung his hands fretfully. A steaming pipe blew behind him, which made Stiles jump in surprise.

"We don't know what you're talking about," Scott called back, his face turned in a deep frown. Stiles flicked his eyes upwards, and thanked his lucky stars Scott wasn't the brightest of the Pack. "There are no such things as dragons." The creature, more of a murderer, scoffed, and turned its head to its partner. They whispered urgently, though Scott and Stiles, along with the rest of the group, could hear their murmurs. 

     The pack was dealing with a group of sirens- they had shown up just after winter break was over for Beacon Hills. The Pack had assigned Stiles to the case as soon as the first murders had shown up: five or six people just walking into the lake at the reserve, all at the same place. The police had chalked it up to a cult/group suicide, but everyone knew nothing was ever normal in Beacon Hills. Stiles had noticed the blood leaking off the doors, hallways, and floors of the High School, and so here they were. Locked up in a basement with two bloodthirsty monsters. Great, Stiles thought.

     Suddenly, the voices turned towards the group. "The True Alpha is of no use to us." The siren snapped, and waited impatiently for the other to reply.
"Do we dispose of him?" The second, albeit hesitantly, asked his leader. Stiles watched as the       Siren nodded his head, and both turned towards the Pack simultaneously. 

     Their rough skin wove in patterns across the side of their face, appearing as glass-like scales dotting their cheekbones. Stiles knew little of mermaids, but he had figured out what supernatural they were dealing with as soon as he saw the jet black face adornments. Normal mermaids have blue, or green scales, but these are different... Long, deadly sharp claws poked out through their nails, extending 3, maybe even 4 inches from the seemingly undamaged skin. They looked deep enough to penetrate skin, no matter do a great deal of damage to someone.

     Stiles snapped out of his thoughts, and out of the corner of his eye, saw Scott's glistening claws. Stiles stepped back, as he usually did with any fight, and let Scott, Malia and others take care of the fight. He planned to stay behind with Lydia, but couldn't find her amidst the battle.
     Scott made the first move, like he always did. He swiped outward, hitting the siren's chest directly, and Stiles subtlety turned his head away from the scene. He found some boxes, laying off to the side of the boiler room, and scrambled to hide behind them. Stiles itched to obliviate the enemies, and he knew he could do it too- he also knew that if anyone knew about his actual life, the monsters in Beacon Hills would look like a slice of cake compared to what would be to come. 

      See, Stiles had a different past. One you wouldn't imagine the hyperactive, flailing teenage boy to have. Like all the supernatural creatures in this town, Stiles had something different about him. 

     Stiles was a dragon. 

     It sounds dramatic, and no doubt silly, that Stiles knew. I mean, a dragon? Stiles? Nobody could make the connection. That was the point, though. Nobody would guess how much power Stiles had. 

     So, here, now; Stiles squatted, and waited, behind the stack of boxes while his friends risked limb and limb for the safety of Beacon Hills. Stiles didn't like the idea, but it was what he had to do.