▪︎𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦,
𝗜'𝗱 𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁
𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂.
in which an ordinary girl soon finds out that she's not as ordinary as she once thought, all while trying to hide her f...
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♡ 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪♡ 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 forty-one
what's your motive?
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
WARNING: ADULT AND EXPLICIT CONTENT TOWARDS END OF CHAPTER.
SCOTT MCCALL stood in his front doorway, eyebrows furrowed and one arm dropped to the side. The pearly smile of Dallas Garcia shone back as Malia Tate stood awkwardly behind her.
"This is your help?" Malia spoke, evidently underwhelmed. Dallas shot her a look before turning back to Scott.
The girl plastered a wide smile on her lips and tilted her head to the side. "You know cause I'm like, your most prestigious pack member?-"
"Yeah, in your head." He shot back which Malia openly laughed at.
"Anyway," she continued before sending them both glares. "I need your help." she watched as Malia suddenly shoved past them both and walked into the McCall's house. Whether it was due to boredom, the cold, or pure curiosity, the boy had no choice but to step aside.
Dallas pulled him aside while he widened his eyes. "Why the hell is Malia Tate with you?"
Malia picked up the magazines that sat on his countertop from Melissa and flickered through them, almost dropping a few. "Cause she was almost arrested for theft at Bailey's."
Scott huffed silently. If what Dallas thought was true, which was usually the case, he was a total white knight. Always helping those in need. Especially when it came to the supernatural. "Why come to me and not Derek?" he flickered his eyes back to her.
"I like you better?"
He gave her a doubtful look.
"Okay, he's not answering my calls." she rolled her eyes. "She's a were-coyote, Scott. I'm not a were-anything! I have no idea what you guys do." Dallas hissed. "Aw, man. I'm too young for were-kids."
Scott shook his head in dismay and eventually gave in. "Fine, fine," he mumbled. "I'll help."
Dallas grinned widely before loud crashing caught both of their attention. Stood beside a mount of smashed plates stood Malia Tate. When she glanced up at their wide-eyed expression, she shrugged. "There was a bug."
⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰
Derek Hale sat before Marilyn Garcia, who had James sat beside her. Behind the werewolf, however, stood Peter Hale with an icepack directed on his jaw.
