2 years later...
I walk casually through the deserts of Mexico, alone and hased. My throat is sickly dry and I feel a nauseous feeling in the core of my stomach. I notice waves of heat stretching across the sands, miles in the distance from where I stand. I feel myself want to faint and give up trying to find the lost city, La Puerta . Suddenly, as if hallucination, I see a figure in the distance. I speed up my pace to better see who or what the figure is . But as I get closer I notice a trail of pitch black smoke coming from the figure, Deasius. How could he have found me? He keeps his normal old power walk towards me as I run to a shack a mile to the left of me, that I did not see before. I feel myself trip and stumble as I make my way towards the breaking apart shack and every time I look back , Deasius becomes closer and closer. Anxiety strains over as I pant heavily. I don't have any weapons on me right now, and I haven't for over 2 days now, walking in the desert. So I decided to keep on running and hopefully there will be something in the recluse shack less 40 feet away from me. Painting and inhaling more and more sand, my lungs inflame. I won't make it without passing out, and vision begins to blur as I push myself to sprint faster. Suddenly, without warning my foot is caught in a ditch and I fall to the ground, hitting my head on a rock, knocking me unconscious.
I wake up later in the unsanitized room, my eyes adjusting to the light, with drapes that are meant to block the sun from entering the room. The room's temperature is still and dryly humid, and I look to the floor to see dirt beneath my feet. My feet? Someone or something must've taken my shoes. I feel around my body to find my brown flannel had been taken off too, leaving me with my dirty white tank top with little blood stains and ripped edges. My hair has split ends and when I scratch my scalp, dirt trickles out. My legs feel bare but I can clearly jeans with ripped holes towards the bottom. I feel for my back pocket and I realize that the 5,000 pesos I kept in there are gone. I get up furiously, and as if reflex, I reach for my forehead from a sharp pain. Feeling my head, I find it neatly bandaged with a white cloth. I wince as I try to tell myself to stop touching it. The is no door to the room and I hearing pounding footsteps grow near the doorway. Grabbing a foot-long metal pole off the dirt floor, and I stand ready for whoever is caring for me. A high-50s man enters the room with gray-brown hair and a growing beard at his chin. He wears old clothes that looked like the had never been washed, and clearly afraid of me pointing a metal rod at him.
"Please, don't hurt me. I only mean to help." he pleads using his hands in front of his face to block a blow. I squint at him confused and suspicious while pointing the metal pole at his face.
"Who are you?", I say snarling at him as he slowly lowers his trembling but sturdy hands.
"Chris," he says assuringly as I stare him with disbelief, "Chris Argent." I instantly drop the rod to the ground and step slightly backwards.
"But you're dead..." I say ready to make a run for it if this recluse guy is lying to me.
"Wait, who are you?" he says curiously hesitant.
"I asked you a question!" I demanded, threatening to grab the metal rod again and hit him. He instantly puts his hands back up to protect his face showing innocent eyes. "How could you be Chris Argent, when he's dead!" I demanded to ask for a decent answer, grabbing the rod swiftly from the dirt ground.
"Yes, I know that I should be dead," he looks to the ground with guilt, "but I decided to fake my death after Nazi Werewolf supposedly killed me." I sit down on the bed I woke on and he starts inching his way towards me. "He had killed me but for some reason, I had survived, and then I decided to fake my death." He gives me a short explanation because he seems to become sensitive when I ask for a better explanation, and I decide to believe every single word he says.
"Who are you?" he wonders trying to read my face.
"Allison Stillinski," I say answering quickly and then looking up at him from my gnarled hands. His face sorrows at the words Allison but I can see that he chooses not to bring it up but change the subject.
"I found lying unconscious outside my house," he says with curiosity, "What are you doing all the way out here?" I get up rubbing my bruised head trying to remember everything. I see flashbacks course through my head as everything starts to come back to me.
"I was looking for the lost city of La Puerta," I say confused, swearing that I was out in the desert for another important reason.
"Why were you looking for La Puerta?" he says in wonderment.
"I'm..." I stumble with my words trying to remember everything, " looking for my pack."
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Blood Moon | A Teen Wolf Fanfiction
Fiksi Penggemar"Life can't be all bad or all good. Eventually, everything has to come back to the middle." These were the famous words spoken by a true alpha named Scott McCall to his best friend, Stiles Stilinski. Its been 7 years since the night of Lydia and St...
