𝐶𝛰𝑁𝑆𝑈𝛭𝛦𝐷 - S.S.

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The sound of splitting skin is surprisingly harsh against his ears, a sort of elastic crunch akin to the snapping of a rubber band.

It's a short, swift sound, and yet it echoes violently over the wrestling girls screams — both sounds fuel him to drive his fangs deeper.

There's no finesse to the action, canines blindly digging into trembling flesh, blood oozing out down her neck faster than he can lap it up.

He grips onto her tighter, pulls her body rough against him as the struggling begins to cease, his nails dig in to the cotton of her dress, clutching over her shoulders and curling against supple skin.

There's a fuzzy warmth behind his eyes and his whole body feels like flying as he swallows mouthful after mouthful, his hands and lips tingle where they make contact with her warm skin.

It almost feels like his fangs extend impossibly deeper as the flood starts to slow, desperate to find more of the new flavour he's been blessed with trying.

His grip getting tighter as her body slumps, and suddenly he'a reeling, because he needs more, will never have enough.

It's then he gets yanked sharply backwards, a grip on his shoulder that should be tight enough to break it, he yelps in surprise, hands springing out to reach for the body of the girl he'd fed on even as it hits the floor. His eyes won't leave the blood staining the collar of her dress.

"Jesus, you weren't supposed to kill her," whoever has a hold of him snaps, but Stiles can't take his eyes off all that blood, subconsciously licks the tacky excess from his lips, "I told her we shouldn't leave you to fend for yourself, and now look, hey," his grip on Stiles' shoulder tightens as he uses it to twist him, Stiles stumbling with the motion, "look at me," the boy growls, all sharp fangs and posturing.

"Are you even listening? Shit, the state of you, you've already let the hunger dominate you, haven't you? Did you even fight it? Did you even try?" The man snaps, practically growling as he grabs at Stiles like he's trying to shake him awake, but he sounds distant and warped and who cares what he's saying, really?

When Stiles can still smell that young girls blood, when it's on his face, his hands, when there are thousands of other people in this town that must taste just like her.

—————
2 days earlier
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"Vampires? You're sure of it?" Derek asks, a furrow in his brow as he eyes a frantic Scott.

"Yes! Vampires, that's what I've been trying to tell you!" Scott rambles, he looks panicked and sweaty in the scarce shadows of the loft as the sun beams in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"I don't know Scott, we've never come across vampires before, don't even know if they're real," Stiles pipes up from where he's sat among the rest of the pack, "and there are plenty of other creatures out there capable of draining people of blood that we know are real."

"No, listen, I know what I saw, he had fangs and these pitch black eyes and he hissed at me, he hissed."

"Is hissing a trait exclusive to vampires?" Peter asks, stoically puzzled from where he's sat on the staircase on the other end of the room, "didn't the Kanima hiss, too?"

"Well this creature didn't have scales, or a tail!" Scott flails, flinging his arms up into the air in frustration.

"Okay," Lydia pipes up, "let's just say, for the sake of argument, that what you saw out there was a vampire-"