Chapter 4: The Body in the Woods - Part 1
Eight months.
It doesn't feel real. Eight months of waking up in someone else's skin, navigating a life that isn't mine, pretending I belong here. Eight months of headaches and nosebleeds and exhaustion that never quite fades.
Eight months, and tonight it all goes to hell.
I drive to the preserve at 11 PM. The roads are empty, streetlights casting long shadows across the asphalt. My hands are tight on the wheel, knuckles white. The tingling in my palms has been constant all day—a low-level hum that I can't turn off.
My Haki is worse. It's been screaming at me since sunset, a feedback loop of wrongness that makes my skull throb. Something massive is out there. Something ancient and predatory and aware.
The Alpha.
I park on a service road, far from the main trail head. The spot is tucked behind a cluster of pines, hidden from anyone who might drive past. I cut the engine and sit in the dark, listening to my heartbeat hammer against my ribs.
You don't have to do this.
The thought surfaces, and I shove it down. I do. Because Scott and Stiles are out here tonight, looking for a body neither of them will find. And Scott is going to get bitten, and his life is going to spiral, and I'm the only one who knows it's coming.
Even if I can't stop it, I can try.
I grab the flashlight from the glove box and the knife from under my seat. The blade is small—barely four inches—but it's something. Even if it's useless against a werewolf, holding it makes me feel less helpless.
The woods are colder than I expected. My breath mists in the air as I step onto the trail, boots crunching against dead leaves. The flashlight beam cuts through the darkness, but it doesn't help. My Haki is doing more work than my eyes.
I extend it as far as I can—twenty feet, maybe twenty-five. Animal presences scatter at the edges. Deer. Raccoons. A fox darting between the trees. And underneath it all, that wrongness.
It's distant. Maybe a mile north. But it's there, and it's moving.
I head deeper into the woods.
Fifteen minutes in, I hear voices.
They're faint at first, carried on the wind. Then louder. Arguing.
"—telling you, Stiles, this is a terrible idea."
"It's not a terrible idea. It's an adventure."
"Breaking into a crime scene is not an adventure. It's a felony."
I duck behind a tree, killing the flashlight. Through the branches, I see two beams sweeping through the darkness. Scott and Stiles, exactly where I knew they'd be.
My Haki locks onto them immediately. Stiles' manic energy is like a beacon—excited and anxious in equal measure. Scott's is quieter, reluctant but loyal. He doesn't want to be here, but he's not going to let Stiles do this alone.
They move past me, close enough that I catch fragments of their conversation.
"—half a body, Scott. They only found half."
"That's horrifying."
"That's fascinating."
I wait until they're twenty yards ahead, then follow. My boots are silent against the damp earth. The knife is in my pocket, the flashlight off. I'm relying entirely on Haki now, tracking their emotional signatures through the dark.
They stop at the edge of a clearing. Stiles pulls out his phone, checking the GPS.
"Should be around here somewhere," he mutters.
"Stiles, we shouldn't—"
A dog barks.
Scott freezes. "Was that—"
"Run!"
They scatter. Stiles bolts east, Scott west. My Haki picks up new presences—law enforcement, converging fast. K-9 units. Flashlights sweeping the trees.
I lose sight of Scott in the chaos. His emotional signature flickers at the edge of my range, then vanishes.
Panic hits.
Move. Find him. Now.
I run.
The woods blur around me. Branches scratch at my face. My lungs burn. The Haki is screaming now, feedback so intense it makes my vision swim. Something is wrong. The wrongness I felt earlier is closer, moving fast, and Scott is alone.
I break into a clearing and stop.
The Alpha's presence slams into me.
It's not a sensation. It's a weight. A gravitational pull that drops me to my knees. My Haki can't process it—too massive, too overwhelming. The emotional signature is pure rage and hunger and intelligence, all wrapped in something ancient and predatory.
A howl splits the air.
It's low and guttural, rattling through my chest like a shockwave. Every instinct I have screams to run, but my legs won't move. My hands are shaking. The knife falls from my pocket, useless.
Then I hear it.
Scott's scream.
It's distant but unmistakable. Terror and pain wrapped into one sound.
I force myself to move. My legs are lead, but I stumble forward, crashing through the underbrush. The Haki is useless now—overloaded, drowned out by the Alpha's presence. I'm navigating blind, following the echo of that scream.
I reach another clearing, and my flashlight catches movement.
Red eyes. Massive shape. Fur and muscle and claws.
The Alpha.
It's huge. Bigger than any wolf has a right to be. The eyes burn like coals, and its breath mists in the cold air. It's standing over something—someone—on the ground.
Scott.
He's clutching his side, blood soaking through his shirt. His face is pale, eyes wide with shock. He doesn't see me. He's too focused on the thing looming over him.
The Alpha's head snaps toward me.
Our eyes meet.
For a second, the world stops. My Haki picks up the edges of its consciousness—not animal, not mindless. Intelligent. Calculating. And it knows I'm watching.
Then it's gone.
One moment it's there, the next it's vanished into the trees. No sound. No trace. Just the echo of its presence fading like a bad dream.
I stand frozen, heart hammering. Blood roars in my ears. My hands won't stop shaking.
Scott groans.
Move. Help him. Now.
I stumble forward, dropping to my knees beside him. Blood is everywhere—soaking his shirt, smeared across the ground. The wound is deep. Four gashes across his ribs, like something raked claws through him.
"Scott," I say. My voice sounds foreign. "Scott, can you hear me?"
His eyes find mine. Confused. Terrified.
"Adam?"
"Yeah. It's me."
"What—what was—"
"We need to move. Now."
I grab his arm and haul him upright. He cries out, clutching his side, but I don't stop. In the distance, Stiles is shouting his name. Closer, the K-9 units are converging.
We don't have time.
I drag Scott toward the sound of Stiles' voice, half-carrying him through the trees. My Haki is still overloaded, useless. The Alpha's presence lingers like a stain, making it impossible to focus.
We reach the edge of the clearing. Stiles is there, flashlight sweeping frantically.
"Scott!"
He sees us and runs over. His face goes pale when he sees the blood.
"Oh my God. Oh my God, what happened?"
"Animal," I say. It's the first lie I can think of.
"What kind of animal—"
"Does it matter? We need to get him out of here."
Stiles doesn't argue. Between the two of us, we get Scott moving. He's barely conscious now, muttering something about eyes and teeth. The wound is still bleeding, but it's slowing.
Too fast.
I don't say it out loud. But I see it—the way the gashes are already starting to close. Not healed, not yet, but the bleeding is stopping faster than it should.
The bite is already working.
We reach my car. Stiles helps me get Scott into the passenger seat, then stands back, staring at the blood on his hands.
"We should call 911," he says.
"No."
"Adam, he's hurt—"
"He's fine. Look at him."
Stiles looks. Scott is slumped in the seat, but his breathing is steadier. The color is coming back to his face. The wound—visible through his torn shirt—is already scabbing over.
Stiles' eyes widen. "That's not—how is that—"
"I don't know. But we can't call anyone. Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't think they can help."
Stiles stares at me. His Haki signature spikes—confusion, fear, suspicion all tangled together.
"What do you know?" he asks.
"Nothing."
"Bullshit."
I meet his eyes. "Get in the car, Stiles. I'll drop you off first, then take Scott home."
He hesitates. Then nods.
We drive in silence. Stiles sits in the back, staring at Scott like he's trying to solve a puzzle. Scott drifts in and out of consciousness, muttering fragments I can't make out.
The Alpha's presence is gone now, but the echo lingers. My Haki is still screaming. My hands won't stop shaking.
I drop Stiles off first. He climbs out, then leans back through the window.
"This isn't over," he says.
"I know."
"And you're going to explain what the hell just happened."
I don't answer. He stares at me for a long moment, then steps back. I drive away before he can say anything else.
Scott's house is dark when we arrive. His mom's car is gone—night shift at the hospital.
I help him to the door. He's more coherent now, able to walk on his own. The wound has stopped bleeding entirely. When I glance at it under the porch light, the gashes are already closed. Pink scar tissue where there should be torn flesh.
"You should be dead," I say.
Scott looks at me. "What?"
"That thing—it should've killed you."
"But it didn't."
"No. It didn't."
He fumbles for his keys. "Why were you there?"
"Wrong place, wrong time."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
He stares at me for a long moment. Then nods. "Thanks. For helping."
"Yeah."
He goes inside. I stand on the porch, listening to the door lock behind him. My Haki picks up his emotional signature—confused, terrified, but alive.
Alive.
I get back in my car and drive home.
The sun is rising by the time I pull into the driveway. Coach's car is there, lights on in the kitchen. I sit in the driver's seat for a long moment, staring at the house.
Everything just changed. Scott's life. Mine. The timeline I half-remember is in motion now, and I don't know if I can stop what's coming.
But I tried.
And Scott's alive.
For now, that's enough.
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