21 - What Hidden Behind

[Author Note: what you think about the new cover image ? ]

**

"Foushh"

The beast bolted into the woods, its hooves urgently striking the forest floor as it rushed to save its life.

The animal navigated between the trees at full speed, frantically leaping over rocks, sometimes tangling its legs and falling due to a misstep caused by the darkness and panic, but it always got back up immediately before resuming its run.

Yet, the shadow behind it remained close, moving through the forest gracefully. The pursuer seemed entirely unaffected by the darkness of the night and was closing in more and more.

The night was particularly freezing. The frantic breath of the deer formed a thin mist in the air, warmed by its body heat. The silhouette behind it, showed no signs of labored breathing—the chase required no effort from him.

Finally, having had enough of this little accompanied walk through the woods, he decided to stop playing...

"WOOOSH"

With a powerful step, the predator suddenly reappeared as if by magic, right beside the deer.

"Thanks for the stroll, my friend." Landon's hand gripped the beast's neck, abruptly halting its desperate run.

"Crack!!!"

Without ceremony, he twisted its neck.

Silence calmly came back in the forest after this frantic chase and this execution by the law of the strongest proper to nature.

'(I'm far from the car...)' Landon sighed as he hoisted the carcass onto his shoulders and started walking calmly.

Landon looked around. The trees were taller and darker than usual, a sign that he had ventured deep into the woods.

The stale, spring-like scent of the woods, the wind that would seem merciless and icy to anyone, gently caressing Landon, the distant sound of the calm flow of the river that his enhanced senses could easily perceive.

Landon raised his head slightly, his hair blowing in the wind, his eyes closed as he continued walking.

'(It must weigh around 60 kilos...)' the boy noted.

It was an adult deer, and along with the others prey he had captured since the start of the evening, a dozen hares and rabbits, a family of three boars (two adults weighing about 70 kg each and a younger one around 35 kg), this was turning out to be a great hunt.

The only minor issue was the way they had been killed. Almost all the small animals had been finished off with a stone, no problem there, but the larger prey had all had their necks broken...

'(That might raise some eyebrows and questions, but then again, it's Angus...)' thought the boy with misty green eyes. He knew enough about the butcher to be certain that the man never asked questions or meddled in other people's business, as long as we did the same with him.

Walking through the forest with his loot over his shoulder, Landon glanced at the watch on his wrist.

'(Midnight, hmm...)'

'(I'll stop here for tonight...)' Landon decided to return to the hotel to rest. He hadn't slept the night before, and he was starting to long for the feeling of his body stretched out resting on a soft bed.

The cracking of branches, and the sound of mud crunching under his feet.

Even if he didn't need sleep, he was still human.

'(Immortal, but not a savage)' Landon thought with a small smile.

'(Hmmm, I wonder if...)' The boy suddenly stopped, coming out of his thoughts.

Turning sharply to his left, he frowned, utterly confused.

"Huh...!?" he exclaimed.

⸻

"Are you sure we won't get into trouble?" asked the blond hesitantly, sitting in the only lit classroom of the dark and empty school.

"Don't worry, we're the only ones here." Lydia prepared her drawing pencil, seated in front of a blank canvas.

The werewolf eyed her doubtfully.

"Oh yeah? What about the night guard?"

The redhead let out a laugh as she sharpened her pencil tip.

"There's no night guard at Beacon Hills High School. After everything that's happened, no one's crazy enough to take that job..."

The school's grim reputation was well known throughout the town. A perfectly normal high school, until two years ago. Since then, its mortality rate had become five to six times higher than the national average for schools.

Aiden's blue eyes gleamed for a moment, and Lydia's words made something click in his mind.

"So it's just the two of us..." he murmured, a playful smirk forming on his lips.

Lydia chuckled, her turquoise eyes rolling toward the ceiling.

"Calm down, Romeo. I just need to clear my head and have a model to paint."

"Take a seat."

Aiden's smirk widened as he leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head, making sure to flex his well-defined muscles. His hands supported his head, his face tilted slightly, his intense gaze fixed on the redhead, devouring her with his eyes.

Lydia said nothing, only letting a small smirk curl her lips.

The seconds slipped by, punctuated only by the rhythmic strokes of Lydia's pencil against the canvas. The soft hum of the cassette player filled the room, its gentle melody creating a peaceful atmosphere.

The Banshee was at ease. The past two days had been exhausting—listening to the lamentations of the dead, sifting through their sorrow in search of some hidden truth. But now, she had a moment of respite.

Lydia lost herself in her painting. It was a calm and quiet night, a rare moment of normalcy. She was doing something she loved, with the boy who made her heart race.

Bright strokes of color slowly brought life to the canvas...

Beacon Hills, with all its chaos—Scott and his pack, the lurking supernatural threats, the whispering spirits, and the elusive blue fire—none of it mattered right now.

For once, she could let the world continue without her. Just for a little while.

Time passed in quiet harmony. A dimly lit room, a soft melody filling the space, and a canvas steadily coming to life.

And then, reality made his entrance, bringing her back from her sweet tranquility.

"He's... gon..."

A voice distant, fragile, carried through the air like a whisper.

Lydia's fingers froze mid-stroke. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything, that had changed.

"Did you hear that?"

Aiden turned toward her, noticing the sudden fear in her eyes.

"I hear the music. What do you hear?"

His words made something click in Lydia's mind. The room wasn't quite the same as it had been moments ago.

The music was gone.

Or rather, she no longer heard it as a melody. Instead, it had twisted into distorted noise—shrill, erratic, unnatural.

"You don't hear it..." she murmured.

Lydia leaned closer to the radio, her breath shallow.

Beneath the static and distortion, a voice, cold and weary, whispered faintly:

"He's gone."

⸻

"What's the plan?" the blond boy asked from the passenger seat.

"We take something that smells like him, track his scent, find him, and bring him back before anyone notices," Scott answered, gripping the wheel tightly as he sped through the dark streets. Isaac sat beside him, frowning.

They had taken Scott's mom's car.

Isaac listened to his Alpha's orders but turned to him with uncertainty.

"We're not telling his dad?" he pressed.

"No. You heard him—we don't tell anyone. Especially not his father," Scott replied, taking a sharp turn without slowing down. Thankfully, the streets were nearly empty.

"But what if he's hurt? Sure, this time we can help him, but what about next time?" Isaac shot back.

A Beta wasn't supposed to question an Alpha's decisions. But Scott's pack wasn't like others. And Scott wasn't a typical Alpha.

"If he's hurt, we'll take him to the hospital and figure out an excuse," Scott said quickly. "And there won't be a next time."

Isaac scoffed, unconvinced. "And what makes you so sure of that, Scott?" His sharp gaze met Scott's.

Scott said nothing, keeping his focus on the road.

Silence stretched between them for several seconds before Scott finally spoke again.

"Look..." he began, his voice quieter now.

"He's barely sleeping. He's been dealing with so much lately..."

Memories surfaced—Stiles with dark circles under his eyes, constantly on edge, looking over his shoulder like something was always coming.

Scott recalled the last time he'd seen him at school, the morning after Barrow had escaped and nearly killed Kira.

Stiles had called him aside before class, leading him to the chemistry lab—right next to the supply closet where Barrow had hidden the night before. His best friend had been convinced that someone had left a coded message for Barrow, instructing him to kill Kira. And Stiles was certain the message had been written in his own handwriting.

But when Scott looked at the whiteboard, it was blank.

The confusion, the lost expression on Stiles' face, the flicker of fear and paranoia in his eyes. Scott had seen it all.

Eventually, Stiles let himself be convinced to go to the hospital, to get some rest. And for a while, he seemed better. All he needed was sleep, comfort.

But now, here he was, alone in the freezing night.

And he didn't even know how he got there.

His phone had barely enough battery left to make one last call.

And now, Scott was speeding toward Stiles' house in his mother's car.

Scott shook his head, pushing the thoughts away.

"Isaac, all this stress... it's getting to him," he admitted.

"It's just... a dissociative fugue."

Isaac didn't respond.

But he didn't still look more convinced .

***

A few minutes later, they arrived on Stiles' street and parked in front of his house. Scott knew this place by heart: the groove on the walls, a reminder of their countless ball-throwing sessions; the burn mark above the kitchen, a relic of their childhood attempt at making popcorn.

The house was dark and silent—nothing unusual for a home at midnight.

But there was something else... A shiver ran down Scott's spine, and it wasn't from the cold. A heavy, unsettling atmosphere hung over the place, something eerie and almost... wrong.

It felt as if the house had been abandoned, as if the person who lived there had suddenly left everything behind... No, that wasn't quite right. It was more like they had been taken, snatched away in the dead of night drag slowly, without these screams, calls for help being heard.

Scott's gaze locked onto the front door, left slightly ajar.

"His car is gone," Isaac noted.

Scott turned to the driveway. The familiar blue Jeep, the one that had driven him through every corner of Beacon Hills, was missing.

Clenching his fists, he decided there was no time to waste.

He rushed inside, his steps quick and determined, ignoring the familiar sights that once brought back memories, the framed family photos, some even with him in them.

At the base of the stairs, he stopped abruptly. A faint light flickered to life upstairs, casting a dim glow in the otherwise pitch-black house. It was coming from Stiles' room.

Is he in his room? Did he just snap out of it? Was all of this just a waking nightmare?

But Scott could sense it—two immediate scents in the room.

[Immediate scent = belonging to someone present, not a lingering trace left behind.]

This is familiar, and this was not Stiles...

Scott took the stairs two at a time, Isaac following closely behind.

As he got closer, the scent became clearer.

It's...

"You," Scott said, stepping into the dimly lit room. The orange-red glow barely illuminated the figures of Lydia and Aiden standing before him. A heavy, oppressive scent filled the space, making his heightened senses recoil.

"What are you doing here? Did Stiles call you too?" the Alpha demanded.

Lydia met his gaze.

"I felt it," she replied hesitantly.

"Scott, we just got here," Aiden added, providing more context.

Scott's eyes flickered back to Lydia.

"You felt it?"

"Don't try to understand it. It's already weird enough," Aiden interjected, his fists clenching without anyone knowing, his thoughts belonging only to him...

"You know what's going on?" Lydia's voice pulled Scott from his thoughts.

Scott exhaled sharply, trying to collect himself.

"Stiles had an episode, a dissociative fugue. He's somewhere in Beacon Hills..." Scott's voice was low, troubled.

"He said he's in some kind of warehouse. There's a strong, unbearable smell. His leg is trapped in something. He can't move. He's bleeding... probably injured," he finished through gritted teeth.

Aiden swore under his breath.

Lydia closed her eyes briefly, her finger shaking silently.

Scott shook his head, snapping himself out of it.

"It's a good thing you're here. Aiden, you'll help us track his scent. His car is gone, so he might be hard to follow."

The werewolf nodded in agreement with his "almost Alpha."

Scott didn't waste a second and moved toward Stiles' closet.

"Alright, I'll stay here, see if I can 'pick up, feel' anything... Then I'll go to the sheriff. I'll call you if I find anything or..."

Scott's hands, rummaging through Stiles' clothes, froze.

"No!" he snapped, turning to Lydia.

"Stiles asked me not to tell his father. We'll find him on our own."

Lydia's eyes widened at his words.

"What? Sheriff Stilinski doesn't know?" Her voice rose, nearly shouting in disbelief.

Scott met her gaze. Behind her shock, he saw genuine fear, real concern for the boy who had always been by her side.

Stiles had been there when her life turned upside down, when she lost her status as queen bee at school and was abandoned by almost everyone. He had comforted her when her powers first emerged, when she would wake up in crime scenes without knowing how she got there, and he was the first people she called.

He had ended up becoming her close friend, one of the people she could count on the most. And now, her friend wasn't okay.

"Uh, Scott..." a voice interrupted from behind, but Scott ignored it, his focus locked on Lydia.

"I promised him I wouldn't tell. We can find him alone."

"He made you promise, not me," Lydia countered, pulling out her phone, convinced that keeping this secret was reckless.

Scott moved toward her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders.

"Lydia, listen..." he began softly.

"I can call Derek, or Ethan—"

"Oh, so everyone except the police," Lydia cut him off, still not understanding why Scott was so insistent on keeping this absurd promise.

"Scott," the voice behind him tried again, still ignored.

"His father needs to know, Scott," Lydia pressed.

Scott hesitated. Frustration flickered in his dark eyes, followed by doubt.

"I..." His voice wavered.

Aiden stepped forward, backing Lydia up.

"You know Lydia has these instincts, Scott. When someone's going to die..." his voice was grave.

Scott didn't know what to say. He had promised Stiles he wouldn't tell his dad. He knew why Stiles had begged him to keep quiet, the sheriff had his own problems, most of them because of his father's return to Beacon Hills, hell-bent on getting him fired of his sherif job.

Scott was torn. Between his promise, his fear for his friend, his duty... and that unsettling scent lingering in the air, sending chills down his spine.

And then, once again—

"Scott." The voice repeated.

"WHAT, Isaac?!" Scott snapped, spinning around to face his Beta, who stood motionless near Stiles' bed, right next to his desk.

Isaac didn't flinch at Scott's outburst. His mind was already elsewhere, disturbed by something far more troubling.

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"Scott..."

Scott, stepped closer.

And then he saw it.

And for a moment, everything stopped.

And he saw with his own eyes the scene before him...

Too caught up with Aiden and Lydia, he hadn't really paid attention to the room before.

The place was dark, the light flickering weakly. The only lamp in the room was covered with a black cloth, leaving the space weakly illuminated, with numerous shadows areas in the room.

The first thing Scott noticed was the wall next to the bed.

He barely recognized the posters pinned there—some had been up for years, featuring celebrities or pretty girls...

But their eyes had been torn out. Nails were driven into their empty sockets, forming a cross from their eyelids to their eyebrows.

And the photos... Family pictures, some with him in them, scattered throughout the room, had suffered the same fate. The nails' tips protruded from the back, piercing through the frames, while shards of broken glass lay spread across the floor.

Scott's heart skipped a beat as he just begining to take in the psychotic display before him.

On the wall above the desk, newspaper clippings and testimonies spoke of murders and disappearances, accompanied by dozens of police reports detailing the same horrifying cases. Across all these papers were incomprehensible scribbles and strange inscriptions written in black ink. The engravings and the words bled into one another, some repeated over and over in a frantic scrawl on the same sheet.

Scott's dark eyes trembled.

Red threads connected the clippings, the newspaper pages, and the police reports, as if it all made sense, a logic like these cases were linked... The threads led to a large map sprawled across the bed. But it was barely recognizable as a map anymore, very little of the original paper remained.

Strange symbols and annotations covered it entirely. The writing was twisted, the words formed with ℓett∑яs that made no sense, soM∑tim∑s written top to bottom, soM∑tim∑s upside uʍop, slanted in chaotic directions.

And his eyes weren't the only ones bearing witness to the disturbing sight before him.

The bed was the source of what his nose had detected the moment he stepped into the room. Yet, it wasn't a nauseating stench, not putrid or sickening in itself...

But something about it was deeply unsettling. Oppressive...

An aroma that inexplicably made his heart race wildly, his skin bristle against his will... a feeling from somewhere unknown... washing over him, his blood congealing.

His grave, hypnotized expression lowered toward the bed, slowly, without haste, and he inhaled.

He recognized the scent as a chemical signal, an odor that communicated emotions. Sweat could reveal anger, disgust, sadness...

The Alpha werewolf closed his eyes and focused.

And he pinpointed what had disturbed him within this flood of signals. First came—

'(Stress...)' A frantic nervousness, an urgent, an overwhelming anxiety... teetering on the edge of paranoia. That was the first thing he identified in this deluge of emotions.

Then,

'(Anger... A feeling of powerlessness...)'

A suffocating weakness that poisons the heart, the soul...

Scott felt as if he were inside Stiles' mind, sensing the boy filled with a boiling rage he couldn't expel, nowhere, she remained stuck in him, in his throat, he tried but he could not free her, a helplessness so absolute it was driving him insane...

But above all, the strongest scent—the one that froze Scott's blood, that made his hair stand on end, his instincts, his body, his very immune system begging him to leave this place—

'(Fear.)'

A raw terror so horrifyingly genuine it was unbearable. This was emotion, sensation, feeling of the fear in its most pure, primal state...

A dread so deep that it manifested in tremors, in frozen muscles, in a heart beating erratically. Breath growing more and more shallow, her throat tightening, the oxygen having difficulty leaving or passing , through no scream able to escape the jaw, until, finally, the eyes would shut quietly, never to open again...

And in the midst of this scene of pure madness, Isaac's voice rang out for the second time.

"...This isn't a dissociative fugue."

The words pulled Scott back. His lips parted in a strong sharp exhale, releasing a long breath he hadn't even realized he was holding for minutes. A weight who wasn't there before pressed against his chest, his heart barely managing to beat.

From anxiety to fear, Scott's eyes reflected a storm of emotions that didn't belong to him.

He had faced hunters and werewolves. A grotesque abomination more beast than human. A psychotic Alpha pack led by the most dangerous werewolf he had ever encountered. A reptilian monstrosity under the command of a teenage psychopath. A avenger dark druid who wielded real magic in exchange of poor human sacrifices.

And he had triumphed over them all.

Yet now his arms trembled, cold sweat beading down his back...

And the only thought pounding in his mind was—

What was happening to his friend?

⸻

The place was dark and cold, a repulsive stench filling the cave. Light brown animal fur was scattered across the floor, along with bones and skulls of small creatures and rodents. Strange square devices emitted a strong, acrid odor.

It was odd to find predator repellents here.

But not as odd as the other thing in the room.

Landon stood there, unmoving.

A strange look in his eyes.

A grimace on his lips.

His gaze was lowered, staring intently at the boy in a t-shirt lying sprawled on the ground.