HARD TO GET ➤ [ STILES STILINSKI ] > 1

20|A BAD WEREWOLF✔

' my mind is full of you.'

▪▪▪

S

teadily and extremely carefully, Scott, Stiles and I, make our way toward the window which will lead us to Malia Tate's room.

       The roof tiles are slippery, extremely slippery, and I can only hope that I don't cause a rucuss.

Finally reaching the window, Scott gently pries it open, hopping in without making any noise as Stiles and I follow.

Landing safely on the wooden floors, my eyes roam the still, neat, room.

      It looks as if a six your old girl still resides here, the bed still neatly made, teddy bears and other dolls placed on the pink duvet and the room also seems dust free.

It's as if, over the last ten years, Mr. Tate has never moved on, keeping everything as it was before his entire family passed away.

"All I'm getting is some animal smell." Scott groans, his nose, once again, connecting with the furry teddy bear.

     "What kind of animal?"

"Dog." He bitterly answers, and, as if on cue, our conversation is interrupted by the growling of a rather big dog, slime dripping from the corners of his mouth as he viciously stares at us.

  In instinct, I quickly take a stance behind Scott and Stiles.
I'd rather not get bit today.

    "Get rid of it." Stiles harshly orders, his body tensing when the dog starts barking uncontrallably to which I widen my eyes.

    I do not want to get caught.
Not only will we get in trouble, but so will Mr. Stilinski, and seeing as Scott's father is already on the sheriff's ass, it won't turn out so great.

     "Glow your eyes at it, something, show him you're the Alpha." Stiles quickly instructs a panicked looking Scott.

"I can't, I don't have control." Scott quickly whispers back, and I can see that he's wracking his brain in order to find a solution for the barking dog.

    "Well, you have to try something or else we're going to be face to face with Mr. Tate." I tell him, and my heart almost stops when the booming voice of Mr. Tate rings throughout the house,

   "Apollo, shut up!" He yells, adressing the, still barking, dog.

"Shut the hell up!" He repeats louder, his voice gruff as oncoming footsteps echoes throughout the house, the three of us quickly sharing panicked expressions.

And then, as if a miracle happens, Apollo stops barking, a whine escaping from the animal as he then turns around, leaving us in peace.

   "Well that was intense." I breath, now moving over to a white dresser situated in the far end of the room, framed photos scattering it as I intently inspect them, then, converting my attention to dumb and dumber.