Filler Episode - Chapter 2

"Two werewolves are renting your garage apartment?" Stiles was still, for once.

He watched as his friend turned around. Stiles lunged at the window. He locked the window pulled the shade and then put the rolling chair in front of it. The exertion made the scent of Stiles much stronger. It wasn't a new one. He'd had sleepovers with Stiles since elementary school and had woken up with his face in a pile of dirty socks. In fact, he was pretty sure that the pants that Stiles had on were actually his. That happened a lot.

"I've got more windows," Scott pointed to the two on the other wall. "Plus, there's the door."

"You're not helping," Stiles grunted as he tried to move the bed.

"You didn't let me finish," Scott looked at his door to make sure it was closed. "I'm a werewolf too."

Stiles slipped. Dirty socks do not make for good traction. He fell face first into the mattress. Scott watched as his friend bounced once and then stayed horizontal.

"Are you okay?" Scott took a step closer to his friend.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Your mom needs to tell me what soap she uses, this sheet feels amazing."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know," Stiles turned his face toward the mattress. His words were muffled. "My best friend is a teenage werewolf. That sounds like it should be one of those daytime talk shows. Today on Stilinski Talks, my best friend is a teenage werewolf."

"You're taking this better than I thought," Scott sat on the bed next to him.

"You got bitten by a wolf in the woods," Stiles didn't move his head. "They found wolf hair fibers on the body. You don't need your inhaler anymore and are suddenly amazing at lacrosse."

"Hey."

"There was a reason we sat on the bench, Scott," turned his head. "Those two out there. Did one of them bite you?"

"Peter," Scott ran a hand down the side of his face. "The one with the scars."

"Was he the one that killed the girl in the woods?"

Scott froze, "I don't know."

"That would be something to find out," Stiles said. "My dad is building on his word. I'd like to know that it isn't just a smoke screen."

"Yeah," Scott nodded. "I'll find out."

~

Scott waited until his mother had left for work before he went to visit Peter and Derek. Stiles wanted to come, but Scott convinced him to head home as an emergency plan. If Scott didn't text in the next thirty minutes then Stiles would send a code-phrase. Anyone other than Scott wouldn't know the proper reply and Stiles would call for help. It wasn't a great plan, considering there wasn't a werewolf option for animal control, but it was enough to get Stiles out of the house.

He made it up the stairs before he started to second guess the course of action. What if Peter had killed the girl? She had been in two pieces. How could Scott protect his mother against something like that? What about Derek? Where did he fit into all of this?

"Come in," Peter called from the other side of the door.

He hadn't knocked yet. Scott opened the door. The apartment had two bedrooms and a living room. There was only one bathroom and the kitchen was small, but it was a decent space. Scott and Stiles had spent a lot of time up here, even with the asthma attacks all the dusty boxes caused. The current furniture was all pieces that he recognized. They had come from the house and had either been replaced or had belonged to his father. Peter sat at the small round kitchen table. He had laptop set in front of him and had the instruction booklet in his hands.

"I've been in a coma for ten years," Peter looked up at Scott. "You'd think that I'd still know how to use a computer. It's the little things that keep tripping me up. Why is everything a touch screen? Where do I plug in the phone cord? Do you have an extra AOL disc I could use?"

Scott stifled his laughter, "I'm not much of a tech guy, but I can help a little. Derek can't help?"

"Derek is busy," Peter said in a tone that didn't encourage further questioning along that line. "Why are you here?"

"There was a dead body in the woods," Scott tried not to speak too quickly. "The day you bit me. A couple of joggers found half of a body in the woods. My friend and I were out there that night looking for the other half. You found me. You bit me. Did you kill her?"

Peter set the instructions on the table. He stood in a slow, smooth movement. His eyes flashed red as he took a step. Scott held his ground.

This is my home. My mom. My family. I won't run.

"Do you see how my eyes turn red?" Peter asked as he continued to close the distance.

Scott didn't trust his voice. He nodded.

"That means that I am an alpha," Peter explained. "You and Derek are betas. If I bit someone they would turn or die. You, on the other hand, would only injure them," he stopped just out of reach. "There are three ways to become an alpha. The fastest is to kill one, which is not an easy feat. A beta, such as yourself, would have quite a task ahead of them. The hardest is to be a true alpha, to have a strong moral character that drives a beta to greater heights. Finally, the third, is to be the closest pack-mate when your alpha dies. Most of the time this happens in a ceremony. An alpha chooses their successor, and they stay with them during those final days. In my case, I was the closest to my alpha when she died."

"The girl was a werewolf?"

"My niece," Peter clarified. "Derek's sister, Laura."

"They found claw marks and wolf hairs on her," Scott studied him.

"Your friend today, he's the sheriff's son," it wasn't a question. "Yes, I did attack her. No, I did not kill her. As I said, it is no easy task for a beta to kill an alpha. Not to mention one that was mostly comatose for years on end. I don't recall much. My mind was fractured until I gained the alpha power. Even then I didn't have complete clarity. I know I didn't kill her, but I know she was dead before I left the preserve. I tried to track down her scent, and then I found you."

"You attacked me thinking I had killed her?" Scott scrunched his brow. "I didn't kill her; I didn't even know she was a werewolf until you just told me."

"I didn't think you killed her," Peter chuckled. "My niece would have been able to handle an asthmatic teenager."

"Then who killed her?"

"She was in two pieces, you said?" Peter strolled back to the table.

Scott nodded.

"Only hunters do that," Peter said simply.

"Hunters?"

"Werewolf hunters," Peter picked up the instruction pamphlet. "They track us down and try to kill us. Set fire to our houses with our loved ones locked inside," he looked into Scott's eyes. "Argent is the local family."

Scott stared at Peter, "I have a date with Allison Argent."

"Allison?" Peter tilted his head to the side. "What are her parents' names?"

"I haven't met them yet," Scott shrugged.

"Is her mother a blonde woman? She is a couple of years older than Derek," Peter stood. His entire body was tense, ready to pounce.

"No. I don't think so," Scott shook his head. "I haven't met her yet. Allison is my age."

Peter ever so slightly relaxed, "the full moon is tonight. You'll run with me in the preserve."

"My date is tonight," Scott protested.

Peter laughed.

"Do you like this girl?"

Scott nodded.

"Reschedule," Peter ordered. "You'll save her life and possibly others. The first full moon is the hardest."

His shoulders slumped. He hated to admit it, but it made sense. Scott only hoped that she hadn't told Lydia she was going to the party yet. He sent the code phrase to Stiles as he headed back to his room. From there he called Allison and asked to reschedule. He told her that his mom had rented out their garage apartment and he'd been roped in to help them move. She understood and they set up a date for Saturday.

He took a shower and got ready for the night. His mom was waiting by the door when he got out.

"Is this a party or a date?" She asked.

"Neither" he leaned against the door frame. "I completely spaced what today was and offered to help Derek get some stuff out of storage. It didn't feel right to cancel on them after I was that interrupted their conversation."

"You won't need the keys then," his mom patted him on the shoulder.

"Tomorrow?" He gave his best smile. "I asked Allison if she wanted to reschedule."

"You handled that nicely," Melissa gave a gentle squeeze. "Yes, tomorrow. I'm working the night shift so make plans for the day."

Scott smiled as his mom left. He was lucky to have her. Stiles burst into the room once she was gone.

"What happened? What did you find out?"

"He didn't do it," Scott started to pick out clothes.

"How do you know?"

"He told me he didn't."

"That makes me feel much better."

"He's living above my garage, Stiles," Scott shot a look at his friend. "Do you think I'd be this calm if I didn't believe him."

"Well, what about this," Stiles closed the door and hopped back into his previous spot. "They identified the body."

"It's Laura Hale," Scott picked out a pair of socks, some comfortable jeans, and a short-sleeved shirt.

"How did you know that?" Stile froze.

"It's his niece," Scott started to get dressed. "Derek's sister. "

Stiles gesticulated wildly and made some almost-speech noises. He stopped after a minute.

"That's what you're wearing to the party?"

"I'm not going."

"But Allison."

"It's been brought to my attention." he looked at Stiles. "That tonight is the full moon. I've got two werewolves nearby that know what they're talking about and want to guide me through it."

"I could still go, you know," Stiles bobbed his head. "To keep an eye on things. Make sure some dude isn't flirting with her."

"Try to get Lydia to notice you," Scott added. "Go ahead. Have a good time. I'll see you tomorrow."

~

His mom didn't work tonight, but she did go to bed early. He was amazed how well he could track her movements through the house. Scott could track her routine even without having to focus too hard. He even knew once she was asleep. It was getting too hot in his room. He opened up his window to see the two Hales waiting in the space between the house and the garage. Peter waved him over.

Scott jumped out his window without a second thought. He landed in a crouch. The clouds unveiled the full moon in all its glory. He could feel something inside him change. The senses that he thought were heightened went into overdrive. Claws grew from the edge of his fingers. He could feel the skin along his scalp shift. The cartilage along his nose and ears clicked as they took on a new shape. His vision was a haze of red as he looked up at the two other wolves.

Peter had shifted into his monster-movie form he had seen that first night, but something was different. His limbs were more proportionate, and his face had a formed muzzle like an actual wolf this time. Scott shifted his gaze to Derek. The other beta stayed on two legs. He had claws, like Scott, and an almost feline shape to his head. Somewhere in the change the eyebrows had disappeared. Scott noticed that even in the chaos of his first change,

The alpha got closer to him. Scott could feel himself gain more control with every step Peter took. He stayed crouched as his alpha reached his side. The wolf put his head on Scott's shoulder. Something in his being relaxed.

Family. Pack. Safe.

Any lingering thoughts that Peter had attacked his niece were extinguished. Scott knew, down to his core, that Peter would protect him until his last breath. And Scott would do the same.

~

Scott woke up as the sun rose. He was warm, but not exactly comfy. His mattress was lumpy. Scott shifted. He heard a groan. The memory of the night before snapped crystal clear. Peter, Derek, and he had gone running through the preserve. Just that. A run. They chased each other, tumbled through the leaves, and chased rabbits for the fun of it. At some point they settled down in the same small cave that he had woken up in before. His pillow turned out to be Derek's stomach and his mattress was, in fact, Peter's chest.

He shifted out of the pile and stretched. Part of his brain knew that this was odd. Waking up in a cave cuddled up to two men, one barely dressed, would have been cause for concern a week ago. Now it felt right. These two were his pack. They wouldn't hurt him. He may have tackled Derek as he leaped over a fallen tree the night before, but it was all fun. Just like he-without-eyebrows pounced on him as they were tracking a rabbit. Peter was never far off. He kept his pack in view, growled when they got a little too rough, and reveled in the moonlight.

Scott dusted himself off as he stood.

"Guys," Scott yawned. "I need to get back home before my mom wakes up."

"Three miles that way," Peter stretched as he sat up.

"You're not naked," Scott sighed.

"Stash clothes around the preserve," Peter motioned to a garment bag hanging on a branch. "The pack will have a few regular spots after a few months. You'll be able to plan ahead and not come home covered in mud."

"Good idea," Scott looked out the mouth of the cave. "I'll see you back at the house. I've got a date with Allison today and I'm going to spend time with Stiles. He'll want to make sure I'm okay."

Peter stood, "Stiles, the sheriff's son. He's important to you."

"He's family," Scott said without a pause.

Peter didn't say anything, but Scott could see the wheels turning. The alpha looked down at Derek. Scott followed his gaze. The older beta had stretched out on his back and was currently snoring quite loudly.

"He needed that," Peter answered the question before Scott asked. "Our family, our pack, died in a fire ten years ago. The only thing that kept him sane was his sister. She was an alpha."

"No lone wolves?" Scott checked his pocket for his phone.

"An omega," Peter said the word with purpose. "Is a danger to itself and everyone around it. A feral werewolf only has one urge and that is to survive."

"Omega, not good," Scott nodded. He checked the time on his phone. "I need to get back home. I'll see you later?"

Peter nodded, "I need to wake up my nephew."

Peter exited the cave after Scott. He had a foam coffee cup in his hand. Scott watched as Peter scooped water from the stream and went back into the cave. Derek let out a squeal of a scream a moment later. Scott smiled as he walked away.

Wake up before Peter, got it. Or is it, don't snore?

~

Scott sighed as Stiles walked around him quickly. He lifted one arm then the other, inspected his neck, and even counted his fingers.

"You look like you're all here," Stiles nodded rapidly as he came to a stop in front of his friend.

"I am," Scott rolled his eyes. "I told you; we went for a run on the preserve. It was actually fun."

Stiles stared at him for another moment.

"Fine," Stiles spun on his heel and waved Scott to follow him. "My dad has been going over the Hale fire. Your new friend Peter gave a statement that named a lot of people."

Stiles led him to the kitchen table where the case folder was spread out.

"Your dad left this here?" Scott asked.

"I may have grabbed it before he left for the office," Stiles gave a small shrug. "Doesn't matter. Check these out," he lined up the photos of the suspects. "Former insurance agent fired because he was suspected of faking reports."

"That's my old bus driver," Scott said. His eyes scanned the pictures as Stiles continued to list off information about the people Peter had named. He plucked a mugshot of a blonde woman from the line. "Who is this?"

"Kate Argent," Stiles winced. "As in the Aunt of Allison Argent. She's been fingered as the ringleader of the entire thing."
"She's the one who gave me a ride on the night I got bit," Scott put the picture back on the table.

"Do you think that means she was there that night?"

"The girl was a werewolf. Derek's sister," Scott added.

"She shows up the same night that they find a werewolf cut in half and is connected to a fire that killed eleven people of the same family," Stiles said. "This is huge."

"And we can't tell your dad," Scott sighed.

"What?"

"I only met her because I was running away from a werewolf," Scott said. "We also lied to your dad about me being out there that night."

"Yeah," Stiles nodded. "There is that."

"I'll talk to you later," Scott looked at his cellphone. "I'm meeting Allison today before my mom goes to work."

"You're still going to go on a date with her?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Her aunt roasted a house full of people and she probably killed the girl in the woods."

"Her name was Laura," Scott corrected. "That doesn't mean Allison is connected to this at all. She lived in San Francisco for over a year. Who knows the last time she saw her aunt."

"Fine," Stile started to pack up the case file. "I need to drop this off. Have a good date."

"Thanks."

~

Scott pulled into the parking spot beside the Uncle Sally Cafe. It was a little coffee shop and restaurant in a building that had once been a gas station. The area that had once held the pumps had been converted to an outdoor sitting area. No one was really sure the origins of the name as the owners were both women that weren't named Sally.

It was a bit pricey, but the French toast was amazing. He froze as his eyes came to rest on a familiar gray SUV. The smell of jasmine hung on the air around it. Kate Argent was here. The blue car next to it left no illusions that Allison and her aunt were estranged.

Scott felt the weight of his cellphone in his pocket.

Call Stiles. No, call Peter. What would that help? Call the sheriff. Wait, if she's around town then he knows she's here. He wouldn't let someone like that walk the streets unless he was still building the case. Trust the sheriff. He's been elected four years in a row for a reason.

Scott continued on to the outdoor area. Allison and Kate were sitting at a table together. He thought better of listening in on their conversation. The less time he spent around Kate Argent the better.

"Scott," Allison waved as he walked over.

The smell of jasmine perfume, and something else that made his nose itch, grew stronger with each step. It overpowered the scent of Allison, but not the food around them. He would have to ask Peter or Derek about that. Probably Derek. It would feel a little odd talking to Peter about the scent of a woman. Not that it would be easy to talk to Derek, but it could be a werewolf thing.

"This is Scott?" Kate turned her attention to him. Recognition flashed in her eyes. "I think we've met."

"Really?" Allison scrunched up her brow as she looked at her aunt.

"I gave him ride when I got into town," a crooked smile emerged on her face. "He was being chased through the woods."

"You were in the woods last night?" Allison asked Scott.

Last night?

"It was kind of a blur," Scott shrugged. Allison doesn't know that she's been in town for a while.

Something flashed in Kate's eyes as Scott held the secret.

"Did you want to reschedule?" Scott asked. "I didn't realize your aunt was in town."

"No," Kate stood. "Don't let me stand in the way of a young romance."

Scott and Allison blushed.

"Careful, Allison," Kate said as she walked away. "Those big brown eyes are awfully adorable."

"So," Scott turned back to Allison. "That's your aunt?"

Allison nodded.

"Blonde doesn't run in your family," Scott shrugged.

"You're into blondes?"

"No, no," Scott said a little too loud. "I just noticed. She's a blonde. You have black hair. What color does your dad have?"

"Smooth," Allison smiled as she stood. "I'll be right back and then we can spend some time together."

"Okay," Scott returned her smile.

He realized that he would do almost anything to get her to smile at him like that. Allison disappeared into the building. The smell of jasmine got stronger. A finger trailed along his shoulders.

"Why Scotty," Kate whispered behind him. "You certainly saved me by keeping my secret. Is there anything that I could do to thank you?"

"No," Scott shook his head and didn't turn around.

"I could help you with Allison," Kate leaned closer. Her breath tickled his ear. "Make sure you disappoint her in certain areas of your relationship. I know you can keep a secret."

"Aunt Kate," Allison said as she walked over. "I thought you left."

"Forgot my keys," she dangled them from her grip. "Be good you crazy kids."

Allison watched her go. Scott blew out a long breath.

"It looks like you already had breakfast," Scott said. "Do you want to talk a walk around town? There's a park."

"Sure," she bumped him with her shoulder. "I haven't had much time to get to know the town."

"I've lived here my entire life," Scott offered her his hand.

She took it. He tried not to blush. The look Allison gave him told him that he had failed.

"This is where Stiles and I tried to see if there were alligators in the sewer," Scott pointed to a storm drain.

"Were there?" Allison asked with another dazzling smile.

"I don't know. His dad caught us before we could figure out how to get it opened wide enough," Scott pointed to an empty lot. "The old bank was there. They only demolished it last year. There were some weird land ownership or zoning things that kept most people from buying it."

"Very interesting."

"And here is the park," Scott squeezed her hand gently. "There are historical plaques all over the place, but I've never read any of them. I have fallen out of most of the trees."

"Another adventure with Stiles?" Allison asked.

"You know," Scott furrowed in brow in thought. "Just about every time I got hurt as a kid had something to do with him."

Allison's phone rang. She took a look at the display.

"It's my dad," she answered the call. "Sorry."

Scott stepped away to give her privacy. His enhanced hearing made it a chore to avoid eavesdropping. Usually, he had to focus to hear things far off, but everything about Allison just clicked.

"Scott," the shudder in her voice made his wolf wake up. "I've got to go."

"What's wrong?"

"My dad called," she looked around confused as to where she was or what to say. "My aunt was just arrested."

~

Allison tried to pretend that she didn't notice all the looks she was getting. The news of her aunt being arrested in connection to a fire that killed eleven people had gone national. It had been a rough couple of weeks. Even CNN had a segment on it. The chemistry teacher had been interviewed. They had paid for him to be flown all the way to New York for a special segment once the trial was over. He and Peter Hale had given their testimony, the sheriff's office had shown their evidence, and the trial was over. Allison was still trying to process it all and Aunt Kate was already being sent off to prison.

Her grandfather, Gerard, had come into town for the trial. He didn't talk much, glowered all the time, and looked like he was trying to make the judge burst into flames by sheer will alone. The strange part was that he hadn't come alone. He had brought six men with him. Bodyguards, or something like that. It was in the way they moved. Like her father, but without a hint of warmth. They got really agitated when Peter Hale took the stand.

Allison didn't want to believe the connection, but the evidence was solid. Kate had scoffed when the chemistry teacher was called to the stand. He had cut a bargain with the state attorney to avoid time. The gossip said that he was turning the event into a book deal and leaving teaching behind. Her aunt hadn't tried to refute the claims once Peter Hale testified. The white dress shirt clashed with the stretch of pink burns along his face. Kate had looked mad. Allison hoped she was wrong, but she swore that Gerard looked proud. Kate mirrored that same, almost hidden, smugness when Derek Hale took the stand. His testimony had been about his relationship with Kate. How she had learned things about his family, and used the information to set the fire when she could do the most damage.

That look made Allison realize how little she knew about her aunt. Her entire family, really. She still had to piece everything together. The lies about Kate's car trouble seemed so very small now. There was also the fact that she had some strange bullets in her bag. Allison had taken a look at them when she had snatched the condoms. They were in a wood box tucked in the bottom. She paused in mid-bite. The bag. It was still in the guest room. Her parents had been too busy to deal with it. They hadn't cleaned it yet. The police didn't even search the room because the fire had happened so long ago. Only the silver necklace had been taken as evidence. Kate's bag. She could work with that.

"Allison," Lydia sat beside her. "Don't frown. Someone could be falling in love with your smile."

Allison smiled and nodded. Lydia hadn't abandoned her, which was kind of weird. The redhead was much more than she let on, but her image was very important to her.

"I'll try to tell my aunt that when I visit her in prison," Allison wiped a tear from her eye. "What's the gossip?"

"Who cares?" Lydia picked up a baby carrot and took a bite. "I didn't start it which means it's not worth listening to."

Allison gave her a genuine smile, "thank you."

Lydia turned on her best ditz look, "for what?"

Scott sat at the table. Stiles followed a second after.

"Hey," Scott locked his brown eyes onto her.

"Hi," she smiled. For a moment, none of it mattered. She felt a flutter in her chest. It was a nice distraction.

"What are you doing after school?" He asked.

"Watching your practice," she loved that little blush he gave her.

He smiled broadly, "after?"

"Home," she sighed. "I'm to stonewall all reporters, ignore the book deals, and focus on homework."

"That sucks," Scott deflated.

"Really, you should push back on the book deal," Lydia inspected her nails. "You could get it ghostwritten and spin it into a career writing young adult fiction."

Stiles stared at her. Not that that was anything new.

"I'm kidding," Lydia rolled her eyes.

"I could write," Allison tossed a French fry at Lydia.

"Yeah," Scott said in a voice full of dreams.

That tone made her think about Scott in ways she didn't want to admit. Him naked. Feeling him, all of him. His lips on hers. Holding their baby. Their first would be a girl, he'd be wrapped around her little finger. She would have his eyes.

"Sorry, what?" Allison looked at the people around her.

~

The warmth of lunch faded much too quickly. People weren't even trying to be subtle. She made it through the class with her hand firmly in Scott's. Her last class of the day was an elective. Home Economics. She really hoped Scott could cook because she was hopeless. The sewing machine was cool though, she was pretty good at that. Plus, she could pretend to be absorbed in the process and block everything else out. So far she had made three hats, a lopsided pair of gloves, and a scarf. She had considered giving them as gifts over the holidays just for fun. It would take a while for her to make something really good, but she would love to watch people open them up. That single moment when their true reaction shows. Like how Scott always looked at her like she was the only thing in the world.

Lydia and Stiles sat next to her. Everyone else gave her a wide berth. A couple of reporters and photographers had followed her, but she ignored them. Scott had stayed with her through the trial. He was when she needed to cry, talk, or yell. She learned that he was good at rummy, but horrible at poker. It was also a nice surprise when Stiles shared some hidden routes through town to avoid nosy reporters.

Watching Scott practice was fun. She didn't get lacrosse. Sure, put the ball in the net made sense, but all the other rules were lost on her. Was it hockey without ice, or soccer with sticks? It didn't matter. She loved to watch Scott play. The way he moved was a thing of beauty. After their first game he was now 'The Wall' McCall. The other team had scored one goal then entire night.

Plus, there was a small part of her that enjoyed seeing Jackson pissed off. He was kind of a good guy, but it was buried deep under a lot of jerk. It was a shame, he was handsome, which would work better if he wasn't so aware of it. A dash of humility and people would worship him. He had been acting weird lately. His general disdain for Scott grew with every practice. He also spent a lot of time staring at Derek Hale when he started showing up to games. She didn't know why Mister Eyebrows had suddenly taken an interest in the lacrosse team. He was at every game now. Allison had even seen him cheering from time to time. Mostly when Scott caught a shot.

She ducked out of the practice when it started to dissolve. Scott would get a text once she was home. Probably a call too. Maybe a picture, or three. Nothing naughty. She had heard too many horror stories about pictures getting shared after breakups. Not that she wanted to think about their burgeoning relationship ending, and Scott didn't seem like the type to do that.

The crowd helped her slip away from the press. She made it home before they got wise. There were six reporters, which was much too nice a word to call them, camped out on the sidewalk. They couldn't come on to private property, but the sidewalk was public. There wasn't much her family could do about that. She repeated 'no comment' until she got into the house. The driveway was empty. Allison hoped that the press would slow her parents down.

The door to the guest room was closed. It had been since Kate was arrested. She tried the handle. It opened. Allison slipped into the room. She closed the door behind her and pressed herself against the wall.  The room was exactly as her aunt had left it. Some of her clothes were at the foot of the bed, the bag was tucked underneath it, and the closet was ajar. The scent of her perfume still kissed the air.
Allison slipped the bag out from under the bed. It was open. For some reason that was a relief. Like a simple zipper would foil her search. She dug in. Toiletries and perfume. A type of deodorant for hunters that was supposed to eliminate scent, which was weird. A day planner, a moleskin journal that was held together by a leather cord, and the wood box.

She plucked the box from the bag. Her fingers shook a little as she slipped the lid off. There were bullets missing. Allison had learned a lot about firearms by proxy. They didn't interest her. Archery, now that turned her head. She took a bullet out from the box and took a closer look. The tip was hollow and filled with some sort of powder. She wouldn't know what it was exactly unless she opened it. Her father had a loading bench in the garage. Allison tucked the bullet in her pocket and put the box back. She flipped through the day planner, but it wasn't what she was looking for, though her aunt did keep track of the guys that she hooked up with.

"There's a couple months of therapy," she chuckled as she grabbed the journal.

The leather cord was wound around the book three times and sealed with a pewter clasp in the shape of a knife. It popped when she released it. Allison flipped through the pages as gently as she could. Napkins, receipts, newspaper clippings, and loose sheets of paper had been stuck between the pages. She didn't want to ruin anything in case someone came looking.

She carefully turned the pages. There was a stack of receipts from an apothecary in San Francisco. It was an old fashion one that had been punched out rather than digitally printed. The purchase wasn't listed, just the weight and the final amount, which was a lot. All of the receipts in the front were from the same place. They went back a few months. Allison skipped through them to get to the first actual page.

"Male, beta, two hundred and sixteen pounds, two below left shoulder, one throat," Allison read. A piece of brown hair had been taped to the page.

A series of newspaper clippings and notes on napkins told the story. Animal attacks, strange sightings, and firsthand accounts scribbled on a few bar squares. Another receipt was paper clipped to the last note. It was from a sporting-goods store for the scent eliminating deodorant. She recognized her aunt's handwriting underneath it 'works great'.

Her aunt was a hunter that specialized in wild animals that attacked people? That would explain what brought her to Beacon Hills, but not the fire. What did a house full of people have to do with animal attacks? Allison flipped to the next section. This was another collection of newspaper clippings. These ones stretched back a few years and weren't headlines. They were from the little police reports from the back of the paper. Noise complaints, loose animal sightings, and reports of a possible mountain lion in the woods. There weren't any clippings about attacks, but there was still a good stack of handwritten notes and napkins. The next page weighed heavily with three different hair clippings.

"Female, alpha, one hundred and twenty pounds, seven to chest," Allison read. "Male, beta, seventy-eight pounds, blade to neck. Free fall sample sent to lab. Female, beta, ninety pounds, two to lower back, three to chest. Fire new guy, can't shoot."

Allison touched the tufts of hair. They didn't feel like fur. Too fine and long. She squinted at the one in the middle. There was a purple line along the bottom edge. She dropped the book. These weren't animals. They were people. The fire wasn't the only time she had killed. Kate Argent was a freaking serial killer.

She felt sick. The room was too small. Too hot. She kicked the bag back under the bed and ran out of the room. The door slammed behind her as sprinted down the hall to the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face. It wasn't enough. She stripped off her shirt, kicked off her pants, and turned on the shower. Allison sat under the cold water. Her bra and panties were soaked within seconds, and so were her socks. At least she had time to take off her shirt and jeans. She didn't need to explain to her parents how all of her clothes were somehow soaked on a day without rain.

Allison wanted to scream. Cool Aunt Kate was a killer. She hunted people like animals and took notes on how they died. That wasn't sane. She leaned her head back to let the water hit her throat.

"Animals," she whispered.

The news clippings were about animals. Attacks, rumors, and hand-written accounts. The lies, the fire, the recent animal attacks, this journal.  They were all connected. Her family and the Hale fire. Peter Hale was in prison, but Derek showed up to every lacrosse game to cheer on Scott. Talk to Derek or confront her father. There was no way she was going to approach Peter Hale. Looking him in the eyes after knowing what Kate had done would be too much. She had an appointment with Mister Eyebrows. Maybe Scott would know where to find him.