To X Tw

She was sitting down and humming to herself, the tune of a haunted, deadly song, when the letter arrived.

At first, Adrianna Argent, sole daughter of Thanatos, was surprised. She didn't get very many letters from anyone that wasn't a god, or related to her in some way—it was the only method of communication that her family ever used with her, seeing as technology was in and of itself, deadly to any demigod.

But, with the frightened young boy who had delivered the letter scampering off as soon as Adrianna made eye contact, she really had no other choice but to set aside her despair and read the damned letter.

There was only so much her family could ask of her, before she realized that she was not loved—only used as a weapon to aid the Argent's in their tireless pursuit of eradicating every feral supernatural creature to ever walk the earth.

So with a retired sense of dread, Adrianna used her nimble, combat-skilled fingers to rip open the yellowed envelope, taking note of the waxed Argent family seal, and carefully extracted the folded page within.

Most of the letter was blank, and she couldn't help her disappointment at realizing that—for the millionth time—her succinct, often-times tactlessly strict grandfather would be writing to her, instead of her mother. Though the woman was equally cold to her, Adrianna knew she could tell her mother anything; the same could not be said for her sometimes psychotic grandfather.

Sighing deeply and taking one last glance at the strawberry fields that surrounded her and concealed her from view of the big house, standing resolute and imposing at the bottom of the steep hill, Adrianna directed her attention to the message Gerard Argent went to so much trouble to send her.

The words were carved into the thick, expensive paper with dark black ink and, from the scratches and indents left in the surface, Adrianna could tell that Gerard had used his favourite stylus. This is important, she realized. Gerard never used that pen unless the matter was life or death.

Chills raced up Adrianna's spine, making the once sunny morning seem ominous. A prickling sensation began at the base of her neck, traveling all the way down to the pit of her stomach, signaling that her abilities were activating, but Adrianna paid the warning no mind.

"Adrianna Argent," were the first words inscribed in bold at the top of the letter, and she found that, along with the customary sense of disappointment at her grandfather's lack of fondness towards her, an intense foreboding made her skin crawl.

The only times that Adrianna ever felt this way, was when death was near.

She took no notice of the way the once blossoming plants were withering and wasting away to nothing but ashes, and the drastic drop in temperature that caused the tree nymphs to take shelter and the butterflies and bees to drop to the ground, frozen solid.

Her breaths were measured, and came out of her mouth in puffs of steam, but with her increasing panic, each inhale became ragged and her lungs never seemed to get enough air.

Staring at her, unsympathetic and boldly callous, were two sentences written by a man that did not familiarize or care at all for their recipient, and the pain that such news would inexorably bring her.

Adrianna's fingers became stiff and quickly lost their feeling, allowing for the single page and envelope to flutter to the razed soil directly beneath her. All around her, the other campers and various creatures that inhabited Camp Half-blood held their breath in trepidation of the deadly demigod's reaction.

Her throat bobbed uncomfortably, working to clear the thickness that had settled there but finding that it stayed no matter her efforts. Heat seared the backs of her eyelids and demanded to be extinguished through salty, bitter tears.

There were times when Adrianna came to peace with her gifts, accepting her divergence from others and even, sometimes, finding that she liked it. But now was not one of those times. Now, she felt revulsion towards her father and the curse that he passed on to her.

Just once, she asked herself, couldn't I have had something normal?

Bitterness and grief tainted her thoughts as she wondered if just this once, she couldn't have kept the one person that meant the most to her in this world. The woman who had pretended to hate singing her to sleep when she'd had a nightmare, or who'd instructed her how to fire her first gun and hold her first sword.

Just once, can't my father permit me to have someone for myself? But Adrianna already knew the answer was no. Even her mother, the woman Thanatos struck a bargain with all those years ago, in return for the creation of her life, was not safe. Far from it.

The letter felt like a literal slap in her face, and she had to shake her head to try to clear her blurring vision. It didn't work, but she refused to wipe her eyes and admit that she was on the brink of bawling hysterically.

Standing on unsteady feet, Adrianna stumbled out of the strawberry fields, her pace quickening with each frightened or wary face she passed, until she slammed into the Hermes cabin door where all of the unclaimed children stayed, along with the actual offspring of Hermes, god of travelers, messengers, and thieves.

All of them gaped at her, as she'd been known to have a fierce temper and after the unfortunate incident with the Stoll twins, involving the summoning of a four-legged hound of hell, no one wanted to cross her again. Especially not when her mood was as thunderous as it was now.

What they didn't know was that she was just as misunderstood and neglected as them. She wanted their friendship and support just as much as they wanted their parents to claim them. Alas, fear was all she could garner from all but one of them.

Scanning the clearly terrified faces of kids both younger and older than her, Adrianna shut her eyes tightly, fighting the urge to collapse and scream until her throat ached and split open with the force of her grief.

Barging past the crowd, she shoved her way to the back of the cabin until her fingers wound around the rusted, broken doorknob that was meant to enclose the bathroom. Turning the handle violently, Adrianna ignored the curious gaze of one Luke Castellan and slammed the door shut behind her.

Only then, when she was in the safety of an enclosed space, away from prying eyes and ears, did she allow the first of many tears to fall.

Outside, grey clouds as bleak as Adrianna's anguish coated the sky and concealed the bright, happy sun from view. In the big house, a concerned Centaur recognized the heartbreak of the daughter of Thanatos, while a young man standing just outside Adrianna's door, began to formulate a way to channel the very daughter of death's sadness into hatred for the gods.

And it all started because of that letter and those eleven words.

"Katherine Argent is dead. Your presence is required in Beacon Hills."

#-#-#-#-#

Terror. Sheer, blind terror was the only thing that Isaac Lahey could feel in that moment besides the terrible, pounding ache in his left eye that was sure to bruise terribly. His long, trembling fingers clutched the edge of the table with a desperation that was not foreign to him, though he wished it was.

It didn't really matter what had set him off this time, his father had become extremely volatile as of late, so much so that simply speaking aloud could sometimes land Isaac in a heap of trouble. What did matter was that he was angry, and when Isaac's father was angry, only terrible things could follow.

"What do you mean you have some homework to do first?" His father questioned through gritted teeth, sounding closer to an animal than a man, as he shook out the hand he'd just used to punch his own son.

Ah yes, now Isaac remembered what had gotten him into this situation. Not that it could be said that it was his fault his teachers had all, simultaneously decided to bury him in homework, or that his father also expected him to work in the graveyard the very same night.

"I just," Isaac started, before realizing that he should have just kept his mouth shut. But he also knew how much his father hated it when he didn't finish what he was saying, so, despite the imminent danger, Isaac forced himself to continue.

"It doesn't matter. I can do it after." He said in an audible, barely quivering voice. Isaac had learned a long time ago that the more he showed his fear, the worse the beating got. That didn't mean it was any easier to act brave.

Narrowing his eyes, his father took a moment to determine whether Isaac was lying to him in order to get out of a punishment. Silently hoping that the man would just let him go without hurting him any further, Isaac's prayers were answered when his father simply grunted noncommittally before waving his hand towards the door.

"Off you go then." He told him, sitting back down at the kitchen table and taking a fairly large gulp out of the mug of spiked coffee he had been drinking before the argument.

Surprise and relief made Isaac spring to his feet faster than normal, and he instantly regretted it when his vision swam before him. Stumbling as black dots invaded his vision, he reached a hand out blindly for support and was grateful when his fingers met with the rough, dented texture of the nearby wall.

It was thus with a pounding heart and thankful mind that Isaac found himself sitting in the uncomfortable, worn out seat of his father's ancient backhoe, digging the grave for yet another dead person who'd had the pleasure of escaping a world that Isaac often found himself comparing to hell.

With enormous, grating movements, the machine tirelessly worked to remove shovel after shovel-full of dirt per Isaac's exact and experienced movements at the helm. When he'd been younger and his family was still complete, his father had allowed him to sit on his lap and operate the backhoe. Then, it had seemed like a great honour, but now, without his proud mother and brother watching, it was just another chore he had to finish before he could finally get to sleep.

Pressing a tentative few fingers to his rapidly swelling and no doubt blackening eye, Isaac could not contain the wince and harsh hiss that slipped past him in response. This time, his father had gotten him good. Usually he was too drunk to properly hit him, but tonight he'd been sober enough to actually do a great deal of damage.

Glancing in the chipped, thoroughly stained mirror that barely hung onto the backhoe after quite a few crashes, thanks to Isaac's previous attempts at operating it when he was younger and more afraid, the reality of his situation stared back at him through his own, almost unrecognizable face.

He idly wondered if he was the only kid to have to deal with things far greater than themselves. He mentally went through a list in his head, but found that for most of his classmates, life was a proverbial cakewalk. They didn't have to worry about what their punishment would be if they got a bad grade, or if their dad would decide to lock them in a freezer for the night.

Just at the thought of the noisy chains and bloody fingernails he always got from scratching at the door, Isaac felt a shiver race up his spine. It was very dark out but the light he'd set up to work by was bright enough for him to make out a large something moving quickly nearby.

Furrowing his brows, Isaac stopped digging, leaning forward in his seat to see if he could get a better look at the thing; half hoping it would just be a stray coyote and he'd later kick himself for getting so worked up.

In a flash of bulky shadows, the thing launched past again, but this time, Isaac could hear it's paws trampling across the ground and it's ragged breathing hitching every now and then in a snarl.

"What the hell?" He asked himself, trying to think of a possible explanation to what he was seeing and hearing. For all his years working late at night, digging graves, he'd never encountered a creature like this.

It almost sounded like a feral wolf, but then, it was the size of a man.

As he tried to puzzle out the mystery, the animal continued to pass by him. Each time it did so, Isaac's fear began to grow as he realized that the thing was circling him, like a hunter often did to it's prey; like he'd seen his own father do to him.

With a sharp crash, the stage light providing a sense of security to Isaac toppled to the ground, shattering the bulb on impact. Whirling around to try to locate the creature through the darkness, Isaac felt a tightness in the pit of his stomach that remained unidentified until the backhoe groaned and fell on it's side, trapping Isaac in the half finished grave he'd been digging moments ago.

Terror like he'd always felt when confined in a small space grabbed hold of his leaping heart and squeezed. Scrambling on all fours, Isaac backed himself against the slightly damp wall of earth and prayed to a god he'd thought that he'd lost faith in a long time ago, for salvation from this monster.

As the growling and clawing came closer, Isaac refused to shut his eyes, bravely preparing to face his end at the hands of something rabid and vengeful. But then, as the seconds ticked by, Isaac found that nothing happened.

Silence stretched for the longest time, allowing Isaac's heartbeats to pound against his ears and his pulse to thump lividly in his chest. His palms began to sweat nervously and his breathing remained shallow, just in case the thing was still out there.

Not even a minute later, the sounds of metal protesting and stretching, infiltrated the dark quiet, as the backhoe began to lift up into the air, away from where it had fallen over top of the grave Isaac was trapped in.

Covering his head with his arm to shield the bright glare from the apparently not broken lamp, Isaac stared in confusion at the man standing over him. He recognized him, of course. Who in Beacon Hills, after the manhunt that occurred just last year, didn't recognize Derek Hale? What he didn't understand, was how the dark haired man could have possibly moved the backhoe, which easily weighed over a thousand pounds.

Slowly, Isaac's arm lowered with the realization that Derek Hale wasn't here to hurt him. Extending his hand, the man in question smirked slightly, as though he could smell the boy's fear.

"Need a hand?" He asked.

#-#-#-#-#

With a fierce, bone shuddering crash, Adrianna's sword slammed into that of her opponent's, nearly knocking them off balance and sending them toppling to the ground. If it weren't for the fact that Luke Castellan was such a great swordsman, the girl might have had reason to be worried, but as it was, she simply stepped aside and circled him as he pretended to catch his breath.

"Getting tired already?" She taunted mercilessly, sneering with her teeth in the best impersonation of a hell hound that Luke had ever seen. "Because when this age's best swordsman asked me to duel, I have to say, I was expecting more."

Laughing under his breath, Luke couldn't contain the mischievous smirk that tugged at his askew lips. As he did so, the scar running down the side of his face tugged gently, in reminder of all that the gods had taken from him and the reason why he had to tolerate the daughter of Thanatos' cruel goading.

Not that he minded. If he was being honest with himself, it had been far too long since anyone had had the courage to be snide with him since his failed quest. Even Annabeth, who was practically a sister to him, seemed to find it hard not to approach him with anything but caution.

Adrianna Argent was different.

She was cruel, angry, and a damn good fighter. All things that Luke could relate to, but she was also kind, gentle, and quite fragile, when he'd had the chance to spy on her during more private moments. As her impeccable footwork moved around him, he couldn't help but think that she was just as broken and agonized as he was, deep down.

All that he needed to do, was to get her to admit it, which, if he continued to have such a hard time talking with her, would be a greater challenge than he'd been expecting.

Words continued to flutter around his mind and distract from his strategy, so he did the only thing he knew to do in such a situation and attacked her, unprepared, or as unprepared as an experienced fighter like Luke could get.

Their swords clanged together loudly once more and Luke took a large step closer to the brown haired girl's lithe, surprisingly strong body, in an attempt to gain the upper hand.

"I'm just warming up." He hissed between clenched teeth. "You're much stronger than I thought you'd be." He admitted, pleased to see a strained smile curl her blood red lips.

"You're not so bad yourself." She teased, but for all her bravado, Luke could see the classic signs of fatigue in her gracefulness.

A bead of sweat collected at her brow line and snaked it's way down the side of her face, ending at her sharp jaw and then dripping out of sight. Luke himself could feel moisture prickling at the back of his neck, but his pride refused to be wounded by wiping it away, so he dealt with the slippery mass by ignoring it for the time being.

Swords still locked, Adrianna was the first to crack as she bent her dominant arm and directed her broadsword into a side slash that Luke barely had enough time to deflect. Swinging his new sword backbiter into a wide arc, Luke was pleased to see Adrianna absorb the shock of his momentum by moving with the swing in an improvised somersault.

He'd only seen a handful of people that had the ability and knowledge to do that, and one of them was dead. The mere thought of Thalia rattled the box of emotions he'd kept hidden for years and threatened to unleash all of them at once.

Sheer stubbornness and bubbling hatred were the only things that kept them in check, tightly locked away. Quickly rearranging his features, Luke continued to parry and strike at the girl only a handful of years younger than him, with nearly the same talent, hoping that she wasn't as good at reading people as she was at fighting them.

Yet, Luke had learned a long time ago that his luck was rotten and the gods hated him, so of course she noticed.

"Everything alright there, Castellan?" She questioned offhandedly, trying to appear casual. If the teasing bite hadn't disappeared from her voice, Luke might have been fooled.

Nodding his head in affirmation, Luke slashed at an opening in Adrianna's defenses but couldn't reach her as she quickly bounced back on the balls of her feet. Brows and face set in determination and concentration, Luke's own fierceness gave away his instability.

"Who was she?" Adrianna asked, narrowly dodging Luke's cleverly placed foot, which was meant to trip her, and responding with a twirl and jab of her own.

"I'm sorry?" Luke, shot back, trying his best to appear confused. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Her frustration was almost palpable as she rolled her eyes dramatically, effortlessly stepping into Luke's next attack and elbowing him in the ribs, knocking the air out of his lungs for a moment.

"Drop the innocent act." She practically commanded him, absently gliding a hand through her dampened hair. "I can smell the grief you're trying to hide. Someone you loved died; a girl. So who was she?" Adrianna asked again, more forcefully as Luke bent over to assuage his throbbing chest and eyed her analytically.

"What do you mean you can smell my grief?" He defensively asked, squaring his shoulders to continue the duel, but finding that he'd rather continue the conversation. "I thought children of minor gods didn't get a lot of powers."

Scoffing in an unrepentant manner, Adrianna shrugged her shoulders, twirling her heavy sword with a practiced ease that both impressed and troubled Luke. For all his years at camp, he'd never seen anyone who fought quite like death's daughter. It made him wonder if she had found her training elsewhere.

"Children of minor gods don't usually get a lot of powers," She agreed with him, lazily blocking his sword by holding her own steady, perpendicular to her back. "But then again, not many minor gods claim their children, so there's really no way to tell."

Finally, something he could work with. Pouncing on the opportunity, Luke nearly lost a few fingers as Adrianna's attacks suddenly became more energized, almost frantic slashes and parries; as though she wasn't even tired.

"Don't you think it's wrong that the gods can get away with that?" He asked her, stepping up his game to match hers with the same degree of fluid resoluteness. "They can do whatever they want, to whoever they want, and no one holds them accountable."

One of his attacks managed to slice into Adrianna's shoulder, which immediately began seeping bright red blood. The mere sight of it made him slightly anxious, as it was deeper than he'd meant to cut her, but Adrianna hardly paid it any mind.

If it weren't for the obvious blood and the sudden paleness of her face, he wouldn't have been able to tell that she was injured pretty badly, at all.

"They're gods, Luke." She spoke, her voice minutely strained. "Even if I wanted to hold them accountable, there'd be no way to do so without drawing their full wrath down upon myself. I don't know about you, but I quite like having the full use of all my limbs."

Laughing derisively, Luke chose to end the duel, dropping his defenses slightly in order to draw Adrianna into a false win, before hooking her sword with his and twisting it to the side in a disarming technique that he'd just recently taught some of the other, younger campers.

It was a move that almost always worked on others, but that Luke himself had learned to deflect, with the exception of Percy Jackson, who'd been able to disarm him during his first lesson. But that had just been beginner's luck, as some of the others had said, and it worked on Adrianna flawlessly.

With a jarring clatter, her heavy broadsword fell from her grip, onto the arena's compacted gravel turf, and announced his victory.

Smiling lopsidedly in his father's trademark way, Luke arrogantly held up his sword to the girl's sweaty throat. Raising his eyebrows mockingly, he couldn't help himself from returning the favour and teasing her back.

"I think I've won," He told her, not privy to the spark of anger alighted within Adrianna's eyes and what it might mean for him. "How about I get my reward now?"

"Alright." She agreed, surprising Luke with her lack of protest.

Then both her arms shot forward with lightning speed, enclosing around Luke's already lowering sword in a clap of sorts that released a shock wave like none other Luke had ever felt.

His skin prickled and tingled all over and the muscles twitched and fought for control, only to ultimately lose as he was forced to drop his own sword. What appeared to be black ashes encircled Luke's arm, burrowing beneath the skin and creating an anaesthetic like numbness in the limb.

Eyes wide and fearful, Luke took a confused step back, staring in awe between his unusable arm and back to the ostensibly innocent girl that inflicted the damage upon him.

"I know what you want from me." She spoke with conviction, giving Luke more time to formulate a response of some kind. "I agree with you entirely." She said, lifting Luke's hopes of converting her to his side of the oncoming war. "But at the same time, I can't understand why you would join sides with a Titan."

Cold water seemed to have been poured down Luke's spine, reminding him of what it felt like the first time Kronos visited him in his dreams. To have felt something so powerful from a demigod, only cemented Luke's desire to win her over as an ally.

"There was no one else who had the courage to stand up to them." He explained himself. "Kronos might have a history, but so do the other gods." He continued, ignoring Adrianna's incredulous snort at the immense understatement. "No more unclaimed campers, no more lost kids."

All traces of mirth drained from her face with those last words, and all at once, Luke knew that he had her hooked. She knew what it felt like to be abandoned, unclaimed, and unloved by those who where your own family. She would help him defeat the tyrannical rule of the Olympians, he was sure of it.

"There is an order to everything, Luke." She answered softly, so unlike the passion she'd displayed fighting him mere minutes ago. "There is a pattern to the world and it always repeats itself. I know the gods should be stopped—held responsible for their actions—everyone does, but throughout history, demigods who haven't sided with the Olympians have always met tragic ends."

Reaching out unabashedly, Adrianna retrieved his sword and placed it in his hand, keeping her own, chilly palms wrapped around his steady, calloused one.

"The sword he gave you, though it fits in your grip and follows your commands, does not belong to you. It vibrates with god-power and that sort of energy only ever ends as a curse."

Fingers slipping away, the numbness faded from Luke's arm and he was able to firmly grasp backbiter, unafraid of dropping it. Adrianna's concern for him stirred up something dormant in him, something he'd only ever felt around Hermes, and he didn't like it.

"Thanks for the warning, but I think I'd rather risk my life fighting to change things, than die on the whim of an uncontrollable, irresponsible god." Luke quipped acidly, hiding beneath the many layers of emotional armour he'd constructed over the years.

"Suit yourself." Adrianna shot back, not missing a beat on the turn their conversation had taken. "At least now no one can say that I didn't try to stop you."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." He retorted, desperately trying to get a handle over his tongue, but finding that something about the daughter of Thanatos made it impossible for him to be anything other than himself.

"Goodbye, Luke." She said quietly, a small, sad smile pulling at her lips as she surged forward and kissed his scarred cheek. "Don't do anything stupid."

And then she turned around and left the son of Hermes to himself, her insistent warning still ringing in his ears. He took to hacking at the straw dummies to relieve the tense knot in his stomach, but no matter what he did, the untouched six-pack of Cola's sitting under the first row of benches taunted him.

Is she right? Luke asked himself. Could the path that I've chosen to take, lead me to my inevitable death?

Before he could dwell too long on the answers to those questions, Percy Jackson walked into the arena and Luke knew what he had to do. Stopping mid-swing and turning around, he smiled at the twelve year old who had retrieved Zeus' master bolt, the very same bolt Luke had stolen in the first place, and wiped the sweat off his brow.

"Percy," He greeted casually, trying to dismiss Adrianna's concerned voice from his mind.

"Um, sorry," Percy said, embarrassed to have been caught interrupting Luke's rather aggressive assault. "I just-" He started to explain, only to be cut off.

"It's okay," Luke found himself saying, lowering his sword. "Just doing some last-minute practice."

He wished that he could have gathered the courage to listen to the Argent girl, but then, Percy smiled, and he knew that it would only be too easy to kill him.

#-#-#-#-#

Sheriff Stilinski breathed a deep, tension filled sigh as he clambered out of his car and began the march towards the cemetery where a supposed grave robbery had taken place last night. How someone that twisted in their heart and their head was still out and about in society, he didn't know, but what he did was that he and his deputies would do everything they could to change that.

There had been too much weird in Beacon Hills as of late, so of course, he prepared himself for the possibility that he'd be rendered stupefied and utterly clueless when he actually managed to speak with the witness and determine what exactly had happened.

When the K—9 unit had stumbled upon the site, they hadn't given him much information to go on besides that there was an open grave and that the dogs had sniffed out Lydia Martin's scent around the tarnished grave.

As he passed headstones that all looked the same and his boots squelched over the dewy grass, Sheriff Stilinski couldn't help but hope that nothing out of the ordinary would be uncovered and—if he was lucky—his team would be able to uncover more leads as to where Lydia was.

Besides, everything seemed normal. Although over the lifetime he'd spent in Beacon Hills, he'd learned never to trust appearances alone.

Approaching the small mass of people standing near the cordoned off grave, Sheriff Stilinski took a moment to speak with the deputies on hand in order to try to make some more sense out of what he had to deal with and where his witness was.

"Romero," He addressed the woman kneeling down by the side of the grave, taking a swab of the coffin lid to dust for prints or other things. "What have we got."

Looking over her shoulder at him, the young woman no older than twenty and—if his memory served him right—fresh out of training, hastily stood. "Grave robbery, sir." She replied nervously. "The team came here a little past midnight last night and stumbled on the unearthed grave." She added uncertainly, wringing her hands in front of her.

"Good," Stilinski hummed thoughtfully, feeling as though he didn't need to inform her that he already knew everything she'd just told him. It was probably just the stresses of having to perform in a totally new job and environment. He remembered when he'd first started as Sheriff; the pressure wasn't easy to deal with.

"Do I have a witness?" He asked instead, looking around as though trying to spot the man or woman in the flurry of deputies.

Pressing her lips together, Romero nodded her head towards a point behind the Sheriff's back. "The kid and his dad are over there." She informed him, this time more confidently. "It's the kid you want to talk to. Supposedly, he saw everything."

Raising his eyebrows pensively, Stilinski clapped the deputy on the shoulder lightly and said, "Keep up the good work, Romero." before turning and making his way towards the pair of men that were standing off to the side of the grave.

"Hi there," He begun. "I'm Sheriff Stilinski and I'm going to need to ask you some questions. Which one of you witnessed the robbery?"

The older man with small spectacles and thinning, grey hair, whom Stilinski assumed to be the father, jostled the younger man beside him with a sharp elbow. "That'd be him." He answered gruffly for the curly haired teen.

He couldn't have been any older than Stilinski's own son and yet, there was none of that youthful energy Stilinski had come to associate with teenagers. Perhaps it was just because Stiles was, and always had been, hyperactive compared to others. Still, the uneasiness formed a small pit of worry in the Sheriff's gut. Something wasn't right.

"What's your name, son?" He found himself asking as he tried to peer into the downcast eyes of the youth before him.

"It's Lahey." The boy answered quietly. "Isaac Lahey."

"You work for your father, Isaac?" The Sheriff pressed, trying his best to help the teen out of his shell so that he could get some decent answers to his open-ended questions.

"When he's not in school." Mr. Lahey interrupted sourly, with a twist to his lips that was stuck between a pout and a sneer. "Which is where he needs to be in twenty minutes." The man pointed out rather hostilely.

Already, the Sheriff knew he didn't like Mr. Lahey, but for the sake of his investigation, he put aside his own misgivings and continued his line of questioning.

"Yeah, I understand that. But I've got a missing teenage girl and our K—9 unit led us here." The Sheriff informed the uncooperative man sternly, with the intent of getting the seriousness of the situation across to the stalwart man. "She's not wearing any clothes and if she's out here tonight and the temperature really drops—" He let the sentence hang; even he didn't want to think about what might happen.

"I'm sorry," The boy muttered apologetically, hunching his shoulders slightly to lessen his towering height. "I- I didn't see anything." He stuttered, this time managing to look the Sheriff in the eyes, if only for a few moments.

"Trust me," Mr. Lahey chuckled rudely. "If he saw a naked girl outside a computer screen, he'd remember."

An embarrassed blush coloured the boy's pale cheeks and Stilinski barely had time to make out the purple and yellow shadow encircling the teen's left eye, before the boy lowered his head once more. No wonder he doesn't want to look straight at me, the Sheriff understood.

Glancing between the arrogant tilt of Mr. Lahey's chin along with the obvious violence in his quickly irritable tone, and the shy, almost frightened young man standing beside him, Sheriff Stilinski found anger bubbling in his gut as he guessed as to what the discord was between the pair.

"How'd you get that black eye, Isaac?" He questioned, feeling a thrill of satisfaction when Mr. Lahey's expression became more guarded and the man's glare on him narrowed.

"School." The boy answered robotically, shifting from one foot to the other.

Tilting his head to the side in interest, the Sheriff furrowed his brows curiously. "School fight?" He asked, a little incredulous. He didn't beleive that a reserved young man like Isaac would partake in such a thing, but then again, he'd been wrong before.

"Nah," Isaac tersely replied. "Lacrosse."

The tension was nearly palpable now. Stilinski knew he'd hit a nerve, but could only hope that the father wouldn't intervene before he could get enough information out of Isaac to at least base his theory.

"Lacrosse?" He continued conversationally. "You play for Beacon Hills?"

"Yeah." Isaac answered with a hint of a smile tilting the corners of his lips upwards.

"My son plays for the team." The Sheriff retorted, before realizing that that wasn't exactly true. "Well, I mean, he—he's on the team." He admitted, a bit embarrassed. "He doesn't typically play. Not yet, anyway. It's, uh—something wrong, Isaac?"

The boy had gone deathly pale and a cold sweat seemed to be breaking out across his brow. Stilinski wondered what could have brought about such a reaction. It hadn't been Mr. Lahey because the Sheriff had made sure to keep an eye on him and he hadn't done anything other than scowl for the last five minutes.

"No." Isaac replied defensively. "Oh no, sorry. I was just remembering, I actually have a morning practice to get to." He ammended, flitting his eyes this way and that in the way Stilinski knew that liars often unconsiously did.

"Just one more question," He affirmed, switching his concentration from the family's problems he shouldn't have been meddling with in the first place, and towards the pile of dirt surrounding the open hole in the earth that guarded the casket. "You guys get many grave robberies here?"

"A few." Isaac answered, more calm now that the previous topic had been dropped. "Usually, they just take stuff like jewelery."

"What'd this one take?" The Sheriff asked, crossing his fingers that his day would remain normal and that he wouldn't have to deal with anything crazy.

"Her liver." Isaac replied.

Sheriff Stilinksi sighed. It looked like there was more than enough crazy to go around, including cannibal grave robbers. Would his job ever be easy?

#-#-#-#-#

Sitting with her back rigidly straight against the supple, dark brown leather that adorned the seats and much of everything else in the car, Adrianna nervously clenched her hands into fists for the hundredth time. By now, her fingers were beginning to go numb from blood loss, but she hardly noticed.

This was it. Today was the day she'd been dreading for weeks. Conversely, it was also the day that she'd been anticipating for an equally long time; since news of the death of her mother had reached her.

Squeaking shrilly, the brakes of the vehicle obeyed the ex-military hunter that had been tasked with driving her all the way from Long Island, New York, to Beacon Hills, California. Suffice it to say, she was thoroughly tired of driving with nothing to do and the annoyingly familiar squeak was nearly enough to drive her off the edge.

To top it all off, her ADHD had made the entire trip practically nightmarish and her nervous anticipation of meeting her grandfather, after nearly three whole years of estrangement, was making her even more jittery.

The driver shut off the car's engine and got out of his seat, not bothering with a goodbye of any sort. Adrianna and he had not gotten along very well, although, it couldn't exactly be said that it was her fault they had to switch cars twice due to unexpected events that caused the previous vehicles to meet their sudden demises.

Her heart was beating a mile a minute, painfully bashing into her rib cage and making her feel as though her entire body was alight with flames. No, she knew that wasn't what this felt like. She'd been burned before—as a part of her training to become a better hunter, the best hunter, and it hurt a hell of a lot more than a simple flush of blood and nerves.

Nimble, scarred fingers accustomed to setting up trip wires and pulling triggers permitted her exit from the vehicle and smoothed their way through her tangled hair as she was readily assaulted by camera flashes and bombarding questions.

Ahead of her, she could see the congregation of mourners surrounding Kate's snow white casket, gleaming in the cloudy brightness of the fall afternoon. Among them was Gerard, who—despite a few more wrinkles and white hair—looked exactly as he did three years ago.

She took deep breaths so that she would have the strength to part the sea of reporters without inflicting bodily harm on any of them. Other than a few trampled toes and broken cameras, Adrianna would have said that she did quite well. What her grandfather thought was a different story.

The experienced hunter rose from his seat next to a girl similar in age to Adrianna, with the same dark hair and pale complexion, but not the blue or green eyes that Adrianna knew to be a specific trait of an Argent. She must have inherited the doe-like brown orbs from her mother—who was sitting three chairs down from Gerard, next to her husband—Victoria.

"Adrianna," Gerard greeted, clapping her on the shoulder supportively. She hadn't noticed him approaching her. Not many people could sneak up on her like that. Sometimes she forgot not to underestimate her grandfather. "It's so nice to see you again after the years you've spent away." His voice was dripping with sweetness that the cunning girl knew would not be present if they didn't have an audience. "Have a seat." He instructed, putting excess pressure on her shoulder in order to steer her in the direction of the empty seat next to his.

Her legs folded beneath her without much difficulty and once she was seated, Adrianna found that her courage returned to her. Enough so for her to find her tongue and respond.

"What will be done of Kate's death?" She asked in a mere whisper. Judging by the unchanged expressions of those around her, none of her other relatives present heard her.

Gerard's expression became stormy as he looked out to his daughter's casket. Adrianna noticed that he ignored the curious glances the girl opposite him—which she could only guess to be Chris and Victoria's daughter Allison—and refused to introduce the two, instead, grabbing hold of Adrianna's hand and squeezing tightly.

"There will be hell to pay, Adrianna." He replied just as quietly. "I can promise you that."

A fluttering sensation began to lift in her gut and a tingling awareness pulled at the base of her spine, similar to the way she often reacted when a monster was nearby or a battle was just over the crest of the next hill.

Her eyes set themselves on the casket of her mother as it was lowered into the soil. For all the terrible, murderous, unfeeling things Kate had done to her and others, Adrianna still found that tiny pit of love buried deep within her heart for the woman.

She squeezed Gerard's hand just as tightly as tears began to rip across her porcelain cheeks. She missed the way her grandfather smiled smugly upon the realization that his niece trusted him.

It was the first mistake Adrianna Argent made in Beacon Hills. It would not be the last.

#-#-#-#-#

Standing behind a large boulder in the Beacon Hills Preserve, only a few miles from Lookout Point, Derek Hale watched silently as the Argent hunting party scoured the surrounding forest, looking for werewolves.

Derek felt hatred bubble in his gut and it made his normally sky blue eyes flare with ruby light. It hadn't always been like this between him and the Argent's. At one point, although he admitted now that he had been manipulated under Kate's influence, he had come to tolerate—even respect the family of hunters.

Those sentiments perished on the day Kate burned his home, and all those within it, to the ground. Children, humans, and werewolves alike died on that day. All except for Derek, his sister Laura, and his uncle Peter; both of which were dead now, one of which he'd killed himself.

His fingers twitched and his claws extended at the thought of slashing his uncle's throat to ribbons, especially after he'd learned that Peter was the one to kill Laura—all for the power that ran through her blood; the power of an alpha.

Derek could see the appeal now that he was an alpha himself, but he still couldn't forgive his psychotic uncle for murdering his own niece, no matter the older man's reasons.

Loud, clumsy footsteps intruded his thoughts and he smothered a loud, tired sigh when the distinct scent of none other than Scott McCall, accompanied by an unidentified werewolf, filtered through his nose. That kid really didn't know how to keep himself out of trouble.

The other hunters hadn't yet noticed the disturbance some fifty meters away and closing, and Derek thanked his undependable luck that Chris and Gerard weren't in the area right then. He doubted a newbie Beta like McCall could last long around the experienced hunters of the family.

Glancing around himself to verify that he was safely out of sight of the other hunters, Derek crept forward stealthily, hiding himself behind trees and being careful not to step over any twigs or fallen branches. As the noise and smell of Scott and the other werewolf—which Derek now realized to likely be an omega—intensified with their shrinking distance, he quickly stuck out his arm and braced himself for the inevitably jarring impact of one clumsy, stupid, McCall.

The boy groaned as he barreled chest first into the outstretched arm, but Derek held his ground, quickly placing both hands across each of Scott's shoulders in order to shove the Beta behind a tree that was large enough and sheathed in enough shadows to shelter them both.

The omega Derek didn't help, was not so lucky. The grungy, probably home-less werewolf shot straight through the clearing, just to the right of the hunting party Derek had been watching, and foolishly trampled straight through a trip wire, which immediately sprung the trap that hung the unfortunate werewolf in the air, upside down, with nothing but his right leg to support his entire body weight.

As Scott's struggles increased, Derek grunted deep in his throat, more annoyed than anything else at the boy's fruitless efforts to free himself. Didn't he know that he could never overpower Derek now that he was an alpha and Scott was still a beta?

"Wait! Stop!" The frantic McCall shouted loudly, much to Derek's chagrin. "What are you doing? I can help him."

Sighing through his nose frustratedly, Derek once more pushed on Scott's shoulders, this time with more force, and slammed him against the bark of the tree behind which they were hiding.

"They're already here." He hissed under his breath, angry as always.

"I can help him!" Scott insisted only to be cut off by Derek, who was silently fuming at this point.

"Quiet!" He commanded, more barbs and warnings posed on the tip of his tongue but held back as he thought better of it. Having a screaming match only a few meters away from Beacon Hill's—and probably the world's—most deadly family of hunters would not be a good idea, to say the least of it.

"Who are you?" Chris Argent's voice interrogated the omega in the clearing. "What are you doing here?"

From Derek's vantage, he could make out about fifteen hunters armed to the teeth, including Chris, Gerard, and a dark haired woman he'd never seen before. There was something familiar about her that Derek couldn't place and only the omega's whining voice and the hurried heartbeat beneath his fingers brought him back to the present, with his own frightened beta, Scott.

"Nothing." The omega promised pathetically, no doubt scared out of his wits. "Nothing, I swear."

Unsatisfied with the answer, Chris marched forth, closer to the suspended werewolf and peered curiously into the man's glowing blue eyes. "You're not from here, are you?" He asked him conversationally.

The omega was either just as stupid as Scott was, or shocked into silence, because he did not answer the question. Derek felt a twinge of sympathy for the werewolf. He knew what it was like to be hunted like a feral beast by the likes of the Argent's.

"Are you?!" Chris roared suddenly, now demanding the answer he'd previously asked for.

"No." The omega skittishly agreed. "No, I came—I came looking for the Alpha." He stuttered out. "I heard he was here. That's all. Look I didn't do anything." He pleaded. "I didn't hurt anyone. No one living. He wasn't alive in the ambulance. He wasn't, I swear."

Gerard Argent smiled condescendingly at the werewolf, before addressing the crowd of hunters around him. "Gentlemen!" He called loudly, before turning to his side and tilting his head towards the dark haired woman Derek had noticed before. "-And Lady." He amended. "Take a look at a rare sight. You want to tell them what we've caught?" He asked the woman, who, upon closer inspection, Derek realized to be a girl of about Scott's age.

The sixteen-year-old stepped forward so that her outline was illuminated by the full moon hanging precariously in the midnight black sky. Attached to the back of her torn and frayed leather jacket, which was even more familiar to Derek than the girl herself, was a four foot long, gleaming silver broadsword, sheathed by a leather scabbard that looked custom made.

Her very presence felt like deja-vu to Derek; like he'd seen her somewhere else before. The girl's stance widened as she appraised the hunter's prey, looking for an answer to Gerard's question.

It only took her a moment before she responded in a voice stuck somewhere between a raspy southern drawl and a silver-tongued, honey-voiced New-Yorker. "An omega." She confidently answered. Her long, nimble fingers twitched at her sides and gave Derek the impression that she was just itching to use the deadly weapon strapped to her back on the specimen before her.

"Very good, Adrianna." Gerard praised the girl—apparently his new hunter protege. "An omega is the lone wolf!" He expanded. "Possibly kicked out of his own pack, or the survivor of a pack that was hunted down; maybe even murdered; and possibly alone by his own choice. Certainly not a wise choice." He intoned, his voice getting louder the longer he spoke.

The sick bastard was probably enjoying the terror he was causing the omega werewolf, Derek surmised bitterly.

"Because, as I am about to demonstrate—an omega rarely survives on his own." Gerard continued his rant, oblivious to the two werewolves watching from just beyond the clearing.

The oldest Argent nodded his head towards the young girl—Adrianna—and upon the silent order, she reached behind her and drew forth the wickedly sharp sword that had been hidden from sight until then.

He felt more than saw Scott struggling to turn his face away, as the girl approached the omega with murder glinting in her eyes. Although he found himself wondering whether the girl actually had it in her, he refused to allow Scott the luxury of ignoring the reality of his life as a werewolf.

"Look, look." He prompted the boy, whose eyes still flitted about the forest and avoided the scene. "Look at them!" He roared as loudly as he dared, finally losing his temper. "You see what they do?" He asked, permitting himself to keep watching as Adrianna leveled her sword with the omega's midsection, and swung in a wide arc, severing the man's upper body from his lower half.

"This is why you need me; why we need each other." Derek whispered back to Scott, who was horrifyingly transfixed by the sight of blood and guts splattering to the ground in a massive heap of steam and foul smelling innards. "The only way to fight them is together." He reminded Scott.

"What are they doing?" The teen asked in a small voice, obviously shaken by what he'd witnessed.

"Declaring war." Derek urged Scott to understand. Even the seasoned werewolf had never seen a hunter in training preform one of the executions before. It was both disturbing to him, and awakening.

"We have a code." He heard Chris Argent protest weakly. His focus was not on the other hunters, but on the girl.

In one, fluid motion, the girl twisted her sword and flicked off all of the blood that had accumulated onto her blade. With the same languid grace, she returned the sword to it's scabbard and stood tall and unafraid in front of the other hunters. Blood splattered her pale cheeks and brought out the sporadic blonde streaks in her hair.

Lips curling back in a snarl, she fearlessly contested the statement, with passion and anger that put a seed of fear and admiration into Derek's heart, despite what her words admitted.

"Not when they murder my mother." She boldly defected from the code every generation of Argent had ever adhered to, and believed in wholeheartedly until then. Ice seemed to run through Derek's veins. He never knew Kate had a daughter. "No code; not anymore."

Gerard smiled and clapped the young woman on the shoulder proudly. "From now on, these things are just bodies waiting to be cut in half." He added onto her statement. "Are you listening?" He spoke to the crowd of confused hunters. "Because I don't care if they're wounded and weak, or seemingly harmless—begging for their life with the promise that they will never, ever hurt anyone. Or some desperate, lost soul with no idea what they're getting into."

"We find them." Gerard commanded, genocidal intentions making his voice sound ominous and insane.

"We kill them." He coldly stated, oblivious to the shudder that ran through Adrianna's body or the increase in her heart-rate that let Derek know she was afraid. Why, he did not know.

"We kill them all."

And the girl looked out into the trees and bushes, right where Derek and Scott were hiding, and even though her visage was mottled by blood and a thousand different, conflicting emotions, the hue of her verdant gaze was unmistakable to Derek.

Adrianna Argent, He realized. Daughter of Kate Argent and next in line to take over the family business.

He could only pray that what had happened before, would not happen again.