The two BMWs, one a matte black beast of raw power, the other a respectable but still stylish sedan, pulled up near Lydia Martin's impressive house. Music throbbed from within, a heavy bass line vibrating through the perfectly manicured lawns. Teenagers, dressed in their Friday night best, were spilling out onto the porch and into the yard.
Scott, his hands slightly clammy on the steering wheel of Alex's M3, took a deep breath.
"Okay. Here we go."
Alex and Stiles climbed out of Melissa's car. Alex, ever the showman, paused to adjust his leather jacket, a smirk already playing on his lips.
As Allison got out of the M3, looking radiant, Scott quickly made his way around the car to her side.
"So, uh, this is it," he said, a little awkwardly.
Just then, Alex and Stiles joined them.
"Allison," Scott began, "this is my brother, Alex. And you know Stiles."
Alex extended a hand towards Allison, his smile dazzling, his eyes glinting with a practiced charm that could melt glaciers.
"Allison. The name is as beautiful as the woman herself. Scotty here has been criminally negligent in not introducing us sooner. Though, seeing you now, I can understand why he'd want to keep such a treasure all to himself."
He gave a theatrical wink.
Scott groaned, his face flushing a brilliant shade of red.
"Alex! Seriously?"
Allison laughed, a light, musical sound, though she looked a little flustered by Alex's overt flattery.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Alex."
"The pleasure," Alex purred, lightly kissing her hand in a way that was both ridiculously old-fashioned and surprisingly effective, "is all mine, enchantress."
Stiles, meanwhile, just grinned.
"Yeah, what he said. But with less… continental flair. And more flailing. Hi, Allison!"
"Come on, guys," Scott muttered, already starting towards the house, eager to escape Alex's embarrassing lines. "Let's just go in."
The moment Alex McCall stepped through Lydia Martin's front door, the party seemed to shift gears. The music, already loud, suddenly pulsed with a new energy, as if the speakers themselves sensed a shift in the atmosphere. Conversations lulled, heads swiveled, and a ripple of excited whispers followed Alex like a personal spotlight.
He moved with an easy, confident grace, his LA cool an almost tangible aura. He wasn't just attending the party; he was the party.
He spotted a group of girls near the punchbowl looking slightly overwhelmed. With a disarming smile, he sauntered over.
"Ladies," he began, his voice a smooth baritone that cut through the music, "you look like you could use a refill. Or perhaps a witty anecdote about the existential dread of choosing the right Instagram filter? I'm an expert in both."
He then proceeded to not only refill their cups but also regale them with a hilariously self-deprecating story about a disastrous photoshoot in Paris, leaving them giggling and utterly charmed.
He noticed a couple of guys from the lacrosse team looking a bit awkward by the snack table. Alex clapped one on the shoulder.
"Hey, saw you on the field today. That spin move? Vicious. You teach me that, I'll teach you how to order coffee in Italian so convincingly they give you free biscotti. It's a valuable life skill."
Within minutes, he had them laughing and sharing their own sports stories, effortlessly bridging the gap between jock and… well, whatever Alex was.
Even Jackson Whittemore, who was holding court near the fireplace, found himself drawn into Alex's orbit. Alex approached him, not with aggression, but with an easygoing grin.
"Whittemore," Alex said, offering a mock salute. "Heard you're the king of this castle. Just wanted to pay my respects. And apologize if my earlier… enthusiasm… on the field ruffled any of your perfectly coiffed feathers. Let's just say I get a little competitive when people try to use my sternum as a trampoline."
He winked.
Jackson, caught off guard by the charm and the backhanded apology, actually let out a short, surprised laugh, a grudging smile touching his lips.
"Just try to keep your tackles legal next time, McCall," Jackson said, though there was less venom in his tone than before.
Alex then somehow commandeered the music playlist, seamlessly transitioning from the generic party pop to a mix of indie rock, classic anthems, and a few surprisingly catchy international tracks that had everyone, even the usually too-cool-for-school seniors, moving.
He didn't just play music; he curated an experience.
He initiated an impromptu dance-off in the living room, his own moves surprisingly fluid and charismatic, pulling even shy onlookers onto the floor. He told outrageous, captivating stories, each one funnier and more unbelievable than the last, holding small crowds spellbound.
He seemed to be everywhere at once, a human energy drink poured into the already buzzing atmosphere, elevating the mood, making connections, and turning Lydia Martin's already good party into something legendary.
Everyone was laughing, dancing, caught up in the infectious, exhilarating whirlwind that was the Alex McCall effect.
Scott, meanwhile, found himself relaxing a little. Allison was by his side, her presence a warm, calming counterpoint to the party's energy and his own internal anxieties. They talked, they laughed, and for a little while, Scott almost forgot about the full moon, about Derek, about the terrifying changes happening to him.
Then he saw him.
Across the crowded, glittering pool in Lydia's backyard, leaning against a stone pillar, was Derek Hale. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes fixed intently on Scott.
A shiver ran down Scott's spine. Derek's presence was a stark reminder of the dangerous world he'd been unwillingly thrust into.
Scott blinked, and when he looked back, Derek was gone.
He scanned the crowd, his heart beginning to pound. Where had he gone?
His gaze drifted upwards, towards the roof of Lydia's sprawling house.
And then he saw it. A dark shape, silhouetted against the rising, luminous disc of the full moon.
It was sleek, powerful, undeniably lupine.
A wolf. On the roof. Staring down at the party.
Scott's breath hitched.
At that exact moment, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through Alex's temples. He winced, his hand flying to his head.
The vibrant party sounds suddenly seemed too loud, the flashing lights too bright. The air felt thick, oppressive.
The familiar feeling of fullness he'd experienced upon arriving in Beacon Hills was now morphing into something else, something… intense.
A pressure building behind his eyes, a strange heat spreading through his veins.
"Whoa," he muttered, steadying himself against a nearby wall. "Bad champagne, maybe?"
But he knew it wasn't that. This felt… different. Primal.
He needed air. He needed to get out of the noise, the crowd. He started pushing his way towards the front door, a growing unease coiling in his gut.
Allison, who had been chatting with Lydia, noticed Alex's abrupt change in demeanor. He looked pale, his usual confident smirk replaced by a grimace of pain.
"Alex? Are you okay?" she called out, concerned.
He waved a dismissive hand without looking back.
"Fine! Just… need some air!"
He stumbled slightly as he reached the door and disappeared outside.
Allison hesitated for a moment, then, a worried frown creasing her brow, she started to follow him.
Stiles, who had been attempting to teach some uncoordinated freshmen a new dance move (with disastrous results), saw both Alex's hasty exit and Allison following him.
He rushed over to Scott, who was still staring at the roof, his face pale.
"Scott! Dude! What's up with your brother? And where's Allison going?" Stiles asked, his voice laced with anxiety.
Scott, his mind still reeling from the sight of the wolf, just shook his head, shrugging Stiles off distractedly.
"I… I don't know."
But a sudden, overwhelming urge, a primal instinct he couldn't explain, surged through him.
He had to get out. He had to run.
Without a word, he turned and bolted, pushing past startled partygoers, heading for the front door, his keys – Alex's keys – already in his hand.
Allison had just stepped out onto the front lawn, looking around for Alex, when she saw Scott burst out of the house, his expression wild, his eyes almost… glowing in the darkness.
He didn't even seem to see her.
He ran straight to Alex's BMW, fumbled with the door, and a second later, the engine roared to life.
With a screech of tires, he peeled away from the curb, disappearing into the night.
Allison stared after the retreating taillights, shocked and confused.
"Scott?"
"Hi."
Allison jumped, whirling around. A tall, dark-haired man she didn't recognize stood a few feet away, his expression intense.
It was Derek Hale.
"I'm Derek," he said, his voice calm, almost too calm. "Scott's friend."
Back inside the party, Alex was leaning against the cool exterior wall of Lydia's house, trying to get his breath, the headache still throbbing.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his vision slightly blurry.
It was a notification from the tracking app connected to his BMW.
Vehicle: BMW M3 E92.Status: In Motion.Speed: 65 mph.Location: Leaving Beacon Hills city limits.
Alex stared at the screen, his blood running cold despite the strange heat still coursing through him.
Scott.
He pushed himself off the wall and strode back towards the front of the house.
He spotted Stiles standing on the lawn, looking utterly bewildered, staring in the direction Scott had driven off.
Allison was further down the driveway, talking to a dark, brooding guy Alex didn't recognize.
"Stiles!" Alex called out, his voice sharp. "What the hell just happened? Where's Scott? And why is my car currently breaking several speed limits heading out of town?!"
Stiles jumped, spinning around, his face pale and nervous.
"Alex! Uh… I… Scott just… he just took off! He looked… weird."
Alex's eyes narrowed, taking in Stiles's frantic energy, the way he was avoiding eye contact.
"Weird how, Stiles? And who's that with Allison?"
"That's… uh… Derek. He says he's Scott's friend," Stiles stammered.
"Look, Alex, we need to go. Now. We need to find Scott."
"Find him? What's going on?" Alex demanded, his patience wearing thin. The headache was getting worse, a relentless, pounding drum.
Stiles looked around nervously, then lowered his voice, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and a strange, almost manic conviction.
He knew this was a massive risk, but if anyone could help Scott, if anyone needed to know the truth to help Scott, it was his twin brother.
"Okay, look," Stiles said, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I'll tell you in the car. But you have to promise not to freak out. Or, you know, freak out quietly. We have to go to Scott's house. To help him."
Alex stared at Stiles, a cold dread beginning to seep through the pain in his head.
"Help him with what, Stiles? What the hell is going on?"
"Just… get in the car," Stiles pleaded. "Please, Alex. It's… it's complicated."
A few minutes later, they were in Melissa's sedan, Alex driving, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he sped through the dark, rain-slicked streets towards his mother's house.
"Alright, Stilinski," Alex said, his voice dangerously calm. "Start talking. Now. What is happening to my brother?"
Stiles took a deep, shaky breath.
"Okay. So, you're not going to believe this. And honestly, I still barely believe it. But Scott… a few nights ago, we were in the woods, and… and something bit him."
"Bit him?" Alex repeated, his eyes flicking to Stiles. "A dog? A raccoon? What?"
"No," Stiles said, his voice barely a whisper. "Bigger. Much bigger. And… Alex, I think… I think Scott's a werewolf."
Alex stared at him, then let out a short, incredulous laugh.
"A werewolf? Seriously, Stiles?
That's your big, dramatic reveal? My brother got bitten by a poodle with an attitude and now you think he's Teen Wolf? There could be a thousand other reasons for him acting weird. Stress. A bad reaction to something he ate. Puberty, for God's sake, though he's a bit late for that."
"No, man, you don't understand!" Stiles insisted, his voice desperate. "It's not just 'acting weird'! He's stronger, he's faster, his senses are… insane! He heals super quickly! And tonight… tonight's the full moon, Alex!
That's why he freaked out! That's why he ran!" Alex was silent for a moment, his jaw tight. He didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. Werewolves? It was absurd. Preposterous. And yet… Scott's strange behavior, the feeling of fullness Alex himself felt in Beacon Hills, the intense headache that was currently trying to split his skull open… "You have to believe me, Alex," Stiles said, his voice pleading. "You'll know when we get there. You'll see."