Broken Family Tree

2 - The Stranger

This Peter-lookalike was much younger, with a smooth yet defined face and light brown eyes that were currently scrutinizing her with a level of hostility and caution she had never seen in anyone before. He also had ridiculously long, chestnut hair that fell a couple of inches above his heels, tangled and full of twigs, leaves, dried mud and different kinds of animals' blood (the scent . Another distinguishing feature was his physique. The Peter-looka­like made Scott's muscled body look soft, too. This boy was ripped, almost Greek or Roman statue-style ripped with sun-tanned skin that was dusted with a large layer of dirt... and covered in scars. He wasn't wearing any clothes, standing naked in the middle of the street, so there was nothing hiding them. They were on his chest, legs, hands, arms, feet, and one running from the side of his cheek to the middle of his throat where his Adam's apple was. They were all of various depths, though only a few looked shallow. She guessed there were more oh his back, but wasn't sure if she should ask. She had so many questions but didn't know where to start! However, she got some help from the Peter-lookalike himself.

"Who are you?" the Peter-lookalike asked, extending his claws—also as ridiculously long as his hair but cracked, broken, and dirty. He kept talking, "You smell like Mom, but I know you can't be her because I killed her with my bare hands and burned her body after, so who are you?" He growled out the last part, fangs showing. Miraculously, this was the only part of his body in half-decent shape. The growl was enough to snap Malia out of her shocked state and actually process what he had said. After a moment, one thing stuck out to her:

"'Mom'?" She said, taking in the wild stranger in front of her. "I don't know who your mom is, but mine's name's Corinne. Is that who you mean?".

He shook his head "no", bending his knees and getting in an attacking pose.

"She also goes by 'the Desert Wolf'!" She hurried to say, throwing her hands in front of her. That name he did recognize.

"That can't be," he denied, shaking his head. "She only had one kid. I'm an only child and have been my entire life."

She could tell that he didn't believe himself even as he said it. Scents don't lie, you see, and her scent was too eerily similar to Corinne's to be a lie. However, to clear any doubts, she told him this:

"Then she lied to you, 'cause she wouldn't have come all the way to California to try 'n' kill me to get her power back if I wasn't her blood." 

She watched as he blinked once, then twice, as he processed the information. He knew she wasn't lying—her heart hadn't so much as fluttered or blipped—and he was aware of the were coyote-mother-and-daughter trait from his mother thanking God every day that he was a boy and explaining to him why. Is that why she disap­peared all that time ago and came back with no powers? He wondered to himself, and decided to straighten from his crouch. It had been a surprise when he had noticed that little fact despite how hard she had tried to hide it, and had used it to his advantage. He didn't care that it was cowardly; she needed to die. He regretted nothing.

"Besides, you look and smell too much like Peter for it to be anyone else. You look about my age, too." Malia added.

"You mentioned a 'Peter' earlier too." He said. "Who's Peter?"

This time, it was his turn to be shocked.

"Peter's my biological dad. Which I guess makes him yours, too."

"Dad's alive? He's been alive this whole time? Where is he? Can I see him?"

Question after question he shot off, giving Malia no time to answer even one. She was overwhelmed with the immediate change in attitude—from serious and guarded to eager and hopeful. If anything, it helped him look more his age. When she saw he wasn't going to stop asking questions, she forced him to stop, and he did with great difficulty, giving her the chance to speak.

"He's not a good guy. He's—" 

She was quickly interrupted. "He can't be worse than Mom." He stated so matter-of-factly, it stopped her from retorting. "He has to be better than Mom. Right? Please tell me he's not as bad as Mom was!" Now he sounded desperate, moving closer and closer until he was gripping Malia's shoulders tightly. So tightly that the rapidly increasing pressure was getting uncomfortable and she could already feel the bruises forming.

"Okay, okay! Let go! "she exclaimed, struggling against him to no avail. But he realized what he was doing and promptly let go, taking a few steps back as she rubbed her shoulders and rolled up her short sleeves to inspect the damage. Sure enough, there were clear, red hand prints on her should­ers, and they didn't seem to be fading. How strong is he?! she thought, gently rolling her sleeves back down.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking apologetic. "I don't know what came over me."

"It's alright," Malia reassured him. "If I thought Corinne was bad when I met her, then she must've been a down-right demon to you judging by your reaction. Hell—I'd be more concerned if you'd turned out normal!"

He didn't say anything to that. She looked at him for a long moment, studying his apologetic, dirt-covered face and made a decision.

"Hey, why don't you come with me to Beacon Hills? It's where I live with my pack. Peter's there too, and so is Derek. He's my—your—our cousin. That 's gonna take a while to get used to." She muttered the last part which made him laugh quietly. "Anyway, you can come with me. You won't have to be by yourself anymore, and you can learn how to actually take care of yourself 'cause, honestly... you're a mess. We can teach you how to live as a human too, the same way they taught me. And you can be part of a real family! Whatdya say?"

Surprisingly (or maybe not?), she didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"Can I bring some stuff with me?"

"Of course. Whatever you want." She said and watched him race off into the woods at breakneck speed, Shifting into a wolf and running on all fours. While she waited, she sighed. 

Out of all the families in the world, why did it have to be the Hale's? I swear there's no luck left for us.