Little Wolf (The Youngest Sequel)

Chapter Neuf

Kylie sat quietly in the backseat as Stiles sped off, his face set in concentration. He followed the roaring sound that seemed to echo in the night until they reached an unfamiliar building. The glowing neon sign out front flashed "Jungle," revealing a club bustling with people, their chatter drowned out by the thumping bass of music. Stiles parked the Jeep a little off to the side, glancing back at Kylie.

"All right, little one," he muttered, trying to keep his voice calm despite the nervous energy thrumming inside him. He unbuckled Kylie's seatbelt and gently pulled her out of her seat. She held onto him tightly as they made their way to the back of the club.

They moved stealthily until they spotted Scott, who was searching for something—or rather, someone—with a focused intensity. Stiles approached carefully, trying not to startle him, and tapped Scott on the shoulder.

Scott flinched and spun around, his eyes flashing gold for an instant, a guttural growl escaping his throat. Stiles jumped back, his grip instinctively tightening around Kylie to make sure she was secure. Kylie giggled at the situation, her small voice breaking the tension, and Stiles shot her a wink.

Stiles nodded, but his worry remained. "Did you see where he went?" he asked, trying to keep up.

Scott shook his head, a frustrated breath escaping his lips. "I lost him. He's fast, Stiles," he admitted, his voice tinged with annoyance at his own failure.

Stiles frowned. "What? You couldn't catch his scent?" he asked, clearly incredulous.

Scott's shoulders slumped, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "I don't think he has one," he said.

Stiles looked momentarily thrown off by that. "All right," he said, trying to pull himself together. "Any clue where he's going?" he asked, his voice laced with urgency.

Scott's face darkened, his expression grim. "To kill someone," he said, his tone carrying the weight of the realization.

Stiles let out an exasperated breath, his face paling slightly. "Ah. That explains the claws, and the fangs, and all that. Good. Makes perfect sense now." He paused, catching Scott's glare. "What?" he said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Scott, come on. I'm 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, okay? Sarcasm is my only defense."

Kylie, still tucked in Stiles' arms, giggled, breaking the tension. Scott allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips. Stiles' humor, misplaced or not, was still a lifeline in moments like this—reminding them they were more than just creatures of the night; they were friends, a family, doing everything they could to protect each other.

"Just help me find it," Scott huffed out, trying to focus.

"Jackson," Kylie corrected, her tone serious despite her earlier giggles.

"Yeah, I know. I—I know," Scott replied, his gaze darting back to the club's entrance.

Stiles looked at Scott, his face twisted in thought. "All right, but does he know that?" Stiles asked, gesturing towards the direction they suspected Jackson went. "Did anybody else see him back at your house?"

Scott frowned, trying to remember. "I mean, I don't think so, but he already passed Derek's test anyway."

Stiles' expression shifted into one of disbelief. "Yeah, but that's just the thing, Scott. How did he pass the test?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

Scott shook his head, clearly frustrated. "I don't know," he muttered.

Stiles paused, then his eyes lit up as if he'd just had a revelation. "Maybe it's like an either/or thing," he suggested, glancing at Kylie, who listened intently. "I mean, Derek said that a snake can't be poisoned by its own venom, right? So... when is the Kanima not the Kanima?"