The air in the locker room still rang with the cold taint of Peter Hale's voice, his threat seeping into Scott's thoughts like poison. *"A loose Beta is easily culled."* Scott's own heart racing against his ribs, he was frozen, locked in a battle between creeping, insidious fear of Peter's ability and an increasing, seething rage. He was afraid, yes, but more than that, he was *angry*. Peter had bitten him, wrecked his life, and now attempted to dominate him through threats and manipulation. The idea of submitting to him, of betraying Derek despite all his grating demands, repulsed Scott to his very foundations.
His phone rang. It was a text message from Stiles: *"Dude, where are you? Derek just appeared at the station again, asking questions. He's like, really angry. We have to plan!"*
The letter confirmed Scott's determination. He was more than a pawn in Peter's game. He had Stiles, a human ally who put everything on the line for him. He had Coralia, the reserved Druid who gave advice. He had Damien, a strong, mysterious ally who battled for a different form of balance. And here was Derek, a murderous, imperfect werewolf, who, whatever his means, was struggling for something genuine, for his domain, against the anarchy Peter and the Darach embodied.
Peter Hale was the monster.
A growl vibrated in Scott's core, one that was more Beta panic than incipient predatory rebellion. He would not be controlled. He would not be culled.
---
Meanwhile, the actual mastermind behind the mayhem, the Darach, was putting the finishing touches. The sacrifices made so far were mere tinder. She required a deep, ancient power in order to fully taint the Nemeton, to corrupt its sacred energy into something dark and controllable by her. Her sights trained on specific individuals now, her targets becoming the ancient bonds that connected certain families to the very heart of Beacon Hills.
She lurked in the Argents' ancestral house shadows, a strong, fortified manor at the town's edge. The land itself vibrated with a subtle, defensive power, a reminder of generations of hunters. But beneath that, she felt a deeper, older line, a connection to the Nemeton's original design that made them the most perfect, most powerful sacrifice. The Argent bloodline. Their strength, their past, their very nature, would be distorted to aid her dark ritual.
With the cover of pre-dawn darkness, the Darach slowly broke down the protective wards upon the Argent land, a wicked hum thrumming through the night. She extended tendrils of dark magic, not yet an all-out assault, but an icy invitation, an enticement to bring her selected sacrifices onto her stage.
---
Later that evening, Scott discovered Derek in the Preserve, attracted by the enraged battle of scents – Derek's desperate urgency and a lingering, bitter remnant of Peter's dominant Alpha pheromones. Derek was stalking, his senses heightened, evidently on the prowl.
"Derek!" Scott shouted, emerging from behind a group of trees.
Derek spun, his eyes flashing red, his stance at once defensive. "McCall. What are you doing here? I told you to get out of my way."
"Peter… Peter's been attempting to reach me," Scott confessed, his voice firm against a quiver in his hand. "He wants me to be on his side. He said… he said you're a problem."
Derek laughed and scoffed. "He's afraid. Good. He should be." His eyes flashed at Scott. "And what did you say to him?"
Scott looked back at him, a determination that was new to him firming his jaw. "I told him I'm not his. And I'm not yours. But I'm not going to stand by while he hurts people. Or let him use me. Or you. He's dangerous, Derek. He's manipulating everyone. He's the monster."
A flash of shock passed over Derek's face, immediately replaced by his characteristic grim façade. He could feel the change in Scott's smell – less fear, more pushback, more control. The young Beta was finally standing up for himself.
"He murdered Laura," Derek stated, his tone laced with pain, more of a confession than an accusation. "He used his power to slaughter her. To take the Alpha position."
Scott nodded, his jaw clenched. "I know. Stiles and I. we figured it out. Peter's been playing us the whole time, even when he was supposedly helping us with the Darach. He's trying to solidify his control, and he's most likely just using the Darach breakdown to do so."
An uncomfortable silence hung between them, punctuated only by the shifting leaves. Derek eyed Scott, measuring. He saw more than a frightened kid, but a stubborn Beta, one who'd stared into the face of true evil and decided to resist.
If you're not with him," Derek finally spoke, his tone still a little rough, but laced now with a trace of reluctant acceptance, "then you're against him. You want to assist? Then don't interfere. And learn to master that smell before you kill us all.
It wasn't an invite to join his pack, not really. But it was a recognition, a tentative peace between two wolves on the same path against a common foe. Scott nodded, relief gushing through him. He no longer walked alone in this.
---
As the darkness of night gathered, the Darach's shadowy work grew stronger. Its uneasy hum filled the air about the Argent house, no longer a seduction, but a physical threat. Within the manor, the Argent household – Chris, Gerard, and the newly apprehensive Allison – sensed it. It was a sympathetic deviation in the atmosphere, a tingle at the back of their necks that promised intruding supernatural shadows.
Chris Argent, his hunter senses screaming, stepped through the house, testing every lock, every alarm, his senses tingling. Gerard, who was normally stoic, paced the war room, a map of Beacon Hills laid out on the table, dotted with the Darach's victim sites.
Allison couldn't sleep and was in the living room, doodling in her notebook. But she hesitated. She had a cold, creeping feeling of dread. Her family had always. been different. Her father's late-night visits, the strange weapons in the basement, the whispered conversations. She was beginning to understand the "animal attacks" in Beacon Hills were far from ordinary, and that her family wasn't simply worried about wildlife.
Then, out of nowhere, there rang out a piercing, otherworldly scream and the smashing of a window. The air grew cold and was filled with a metallic sheen that seemed all too familiar.
"They're here!" Gerard roared, seizing a hunting rifle off the wall. "Chris, Allison! To the safe room!"
The Darach had begun her frontal attack. The battle for the Argent lineage, and for the Nemeton's soul, had finally started. The stage was set for the final, bloody showdown.