"Stiles, you can get off me now," Iván grumbled, as he carried Styles princess-style with his legs wrapped awkwardly around him.
"Oh—right!" Stiles scrambled off, brushing himself off like nothing happened.
Iván let out a heavy sigh.
"I can't believe this is who I am now," he muttered, eyes fixed on the fight that just ended.
From a short distance, Scott's voice rang out. "Derek! What the hell?!"
Derek grabbed his arm, pulling him upright. "Relax, Scott. I'm just making sure you survive."
"Relax?!" Scott snapped, clearly upset. "I'm trying to get my life back, and you're tossing me around like it's nothing. This isn't helping!"
Derek's eyes narrowed. "You need to learn how to fight, Scott. What's the point of having claws if you don't know when—or how—to use them?"
At that moment, Derek's point hit home, and Scott began to calm down.
"Now," Derek said firmly, then shifted his gaze to Iván.
"Your turn."
"Wait—me?" Iván's hands shot up like someone had just pulled a gun on him.
"You don't seriously expect me to fight, do you? I don't even know how to do that… whatever Scott just did!" Iván said, pointing at Scott.
Derek's eyes narrowed. "You're still uneasy," he said, stepping closer.
"I know everything's been hitting you all at once—from the moment you arrived in Beacon Hills. But we don't have the luxury of time."
Derek held out his hand, his voice low and firm. "Take off the necklace."
Iván blinked. "What?"
Derek turned his back slightly, crossing his arms. "You need to learn how to fight and control yourself without relying on it."
Iván hesitated, his fingers nervously brushing the pendant around his neck.
"I don't care about learning to fight. I don't plan on getting involved in whatever you've got planned."
"Sorry to say, kid, but the fight always ends up on our doorstep." Derek said.
Iván let out a defeated sigh.
"Uh… Scott, can you hold onto this for me?"
Scott stepped forward. "Yeah, sure—"
Iván removed his necklace and slowly extended it toward Scott. The moment Scott's fingers brushed against it, a sharp sizzle snapped through the air.
"Ah—FUCK!" Scott yanked his hand back, a red burn already forming on his palm.
He glared at Iván. "Dude! A little warning would've been nice—it freaking burned me!"
Scott waved his hand back and forth, wincing until the burn began to heal. He let out a relieved sigh as the pain faded.
Iván stared at the pendant, confused. "Why did it do that?" he muttered.
Derek stepped closer. "My mother once told me that the Moon Pendant can only be touched by someone of the Adrastus bloodline. I didn't think she meant it, literally."
Iván absorbed his words carefully—but something about it gnawed at him. Then how was my mother able to wear it?
His eyes drifted toward Stiles, a mischievous grin forming.
Stiles raised a brow. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Try holding it."
"What? No. I saw what it did to Scott—I like my fingers un-charred."
"Just for a second. I'm curious," Iván said, holding it out.
Stiles sighed dramatically. "Fine, but if I burst into flames, I'm haunting you." He reached out with one finger, hesitating… and just before he could pull back, Iván nudged the pendant into his hand.
"Aaagh—SHIT!" Stiles dropped to the forest floor, clutching his hand, writhing on a bed of leaves. "Call 911! My soul is leaving my body—wait… oh. It stopped."
He sat up, wide-eyed. "Okay, that was painful. But no burn… what the hell kind of magical taser is that thing?"
"A human can't touch it either… but it didn't burn Stiles," Iván muttered, rubbing his head. "Maybe because he's human? Still doesn't explain how my mother could wear it…"
"Quite the mysterious trinket, isn't it?" a new voice cut through.
All heads turned toward the source as a man slowly approached, hands tucked in the pockets of his worn coat.
"John," Derek said, his tone a mix of surprise and caution.
"Derek," the man nodded in return. Then his eyes landed on Iván. "You must be the young Iván I've heard about—from my son."
"Son?!" Iván muttered in disbelief.
The man gave a crooked smile. "Right. Let me properly introduce myself. I'm John Constantine."
"Who the hell is the new guy?" Stiles called out from the back, eyeing him suspiciously.
Derek crossed his arms. "He's a magic caster."
Stiles threw his hands up. "And that's my cue to leave." He waved. "For real this time."
"Stiles!" Scott shouted running after him.
John chuckled. "Those two are gonna help chase the big bad wolf, huh?"
"At least one of them has potential," Derek muttered.
Iván, still stunned, blinked. "Wait—you said magic caster?"
"I'm afraid so," Derek said, glancing at Constantine. "Welcome to the deeper end of the pool, Iván."
"That would mean Rowan…" Iván muttered, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut.
Then—everything flipped.
A sudden jolt shot through his body like a warning siren. His instincts screamed louder than any thought. His head snapped up, eyes scanning the treeline.
Before anyone could ask, he said it.
"Something's coming."
Derek followed Iván's gaze, his expression sharpening. He listened—then he heard it.
The ground trembled with the distant weight of something massive. Twigs snapped. A low rumble carried through the air.
And it was coming from upwind—where they wouldn't be able to scent it.
"Run, Iván! Run!!" Derek shouted, eyes locked on the approaching threat.
Iván turned, panic flashing in his eyes, and bolted without a word. Derek watched his back for a heartbeat—then turned to face the danger.
"John, whatever you're here for—it has to wait," Derek said sharply.
"Gladly," John replied, pulling a blade from the inside of his coat.
"But quickly—before we deal with that beast, I thought you should know. I've found something. Someone close to you may be responsible for your sister's death."
Derek froze for a second. "You're actually helping?"
John gave a half-smile. "Of course. She was your sister—and you're her son."
"Enough. We need to slow it down," Derek growled, pushing the emotion aside.
"So, you've figured out who it's after," John said with a nod, taking a step back.
Derek ripped off his shirt. Bones snapped and twisted with sickening cracks as his body transformed—flesh stretching, claws extending, thick fur swallowing his skin.
A low, guttural growl rumbled from deep in his chest. In moments, he was no longer a man but a massive Wolf.
from the shadows, a terrifying figure emerged—an enormous Lycan, towering at eight feet tall.
Its eyes glowed crimson, and with a monstrous snarl, it began to grow. Muscles bulged, bones expanded, until it loomed at nearly twelve feet—radiating pure, feral strength.
"Let's do this…"