❝I'm overwhelmingly human. Sorry to disappoint.❞
Luna Flores hasn't had an easy life. And after moving to Beacon Hills, it isn't about to get any easier.
Forced to uproot her family's life in Arizona, Luna hopes to find respite in the unknown, quie...
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DEREK HALE KNEW he was intimidating, and frankly, he didn't care.
Being intimidating was a trivial thing in the mysteries of absolutely fuckery that he had to deal with every single day, and often when you were saving people's lives, they hardly cared about whether or not you were intimidating. It didn't matter that he looked like he wanted to rip people's throats out — what mattered was that he didn't. At least, most of the time he didn't.
He wasn't a killer. Not when he didn't have to be. He tried not to be. That's what he liked to tell himself anyway.
Besides, he knew what he was and he didn't care. And what he was, was an asshole.
Teenagers were the bane of his existence. Truly. Since when was he a fucking babysitter? Since never, that's when, and that's what the problem was, yet here he was, taking it upon himself, and his pride, to run around and watch over the town who never gave so much of a shit about him or his family or his mother who did so much to protect it. Running around to take things into his own hands when kids — goddamn highschoolers — can't keep their nose out of other people's business and things that don't pertain to them, kids who cause more trouble than they're worth.
Normally, he wouldn't waste his time. He had better things to do, more increasingly problematic events to focus on, more visits he should schedule to his uncle in the hospital. But then again, normally, the stakes wouldn't have been so high. Normally, some idiot alpha didn't bite a sixteen year old kid who barely knows how to drive. Normally, the sheriff's incessant, petulant son isn't involved. Normally, a teenage girl who has a history with Derek's kind didn't exist — at least not here.
Things have changed.
Now, he had to find out who the hell was messing around with the power dynamics and testing God by adding kids into the mix. Like the arrival of the Argents and their buddies who had a hard-on for shooting anything that was unlike them wasn't exhausting enough — he also had to wrangle up Scott fucking McCall and his gaggle of friends (one of which was a hunter, for God's sake, and the other a survivor who knew way more than she should have) so that they didn't end up with anyone dead, or maimed, or locked up in Eichen House Mental Asylum.
He should've known better by now. Nothing about his life was normal.
His footsteps echoed around the house. There were other places he could've gone. Places that weren't the remnants of a burnt down building, places that had working electricity, plumbing, or a place to sleep. A place that wasn't missing half of its roof. He sniffed. Luna Flores' scent was easy to pinpoint, especially since the smell of her fear was trampled all over the leaves, rot, and trees — faint, but still enough residue left over from when she had first walked through Beacon Hills Preserve a couple nights ago. It was only slightly masked by her strong perfume, vanilla and coconut, attempting to cover up what occurred naturally, and it made her a bitch to find after he had tracked her down through following Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski.
