Chapter 7: The Derek Hale Problem
Scott is waiting by my locker before first period, arms crossed, eyes darting like he expects something to jump out of the shadows.
"We need to talk."
I close the locker. "About?"
"Someone's following me."
Stiles appears from nowhere, sliding between us. "Define 'following.' Because if it's just someone walking behind you in the hallway, that's called 'going to class.' If it's a mysterious figure in a trench coat—"
"Stiles."
"What? I'm helping."
Scott ignores him. "Tall guy. Dark hair. Drives a black Camaro. I've seen him three times this week. Outside my house. Near the school. At the grocery store."
My stomach drops.
Derek.
The name surfaces from my meta-knowledge, automatic and certain. Derek Hale. Werewolf. Survivor of the Hale fire. And currently stalking Scott because he thinks Scott is connected to the Alpha.
Which he is. Just not the way Derek assumes.
"Serial killer," Stiles says immediately. "Has to be. Classic stalker behavior. We should tell my dad—"
"No cops," I say.
Stiles blinks. "Why not?"
"Because if this guy wanted to hurt Scott, he would've done it already."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's realistic." I look at Scott. "You said he drives a Camaro?"
"Yeah. Black. Looks like it's from the seventies."
"Then let's find him."
Scott's eyes widen. "What?"
"You want answers, right? Let's get them." I pull out my phone. "Stiles, where would someone go if they wanted to avoid being found in Beacon Hills?"
Stiles' eyes light up. The thrill of investigation overrides his concern. "Abandoned buildings. There's the old mill, the warehouse district, and—" He pauses. "The Hale house."
"The what?"
"Hale house. Big property on the west side. Burned down like six years ago. Entire family died." He pulls up a map on his phone. "It's been abandoned ever since. If someone wanted privacy, that's where they'd go."
I meet Scott's eyes. "After school?"
He nods, jaw tight.
Stiles grins. "Road trip."
The Hale house is worse than I expected.
The structure is a skeleton—blackened beams jutting toward the sky, walls collapsed into rubble. Everything reeks of old smoke and decay. Trees press in from all sides, reclaiming the property inch by inch.
Stiles parks the Jeep at the end of the overgrown driveway. We climb out, and the silence is oppressive. No birds. No wind. Just the weight of tragedy hanging in the air.
My Haki flares before I take three steps.
Danger. Close. Watching.
"Someone's here," I say.
Stiles spins around. "Where?"
"I don't—"
Derek Hale steps out from the tree line.
He's exactly like I remember from the show—tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of face that looks carved from stone. Dark hair. Darker eyes. And an expression that makes it clear we're not welcome.
"This is private property."
Stiles jumps. Scott tenses. I step forward, surprising both of them.
"You've been watching Scott," I say. "Why?"
Derek's eyes narrow. He shifts his focus from Scott to me, and something changes in his posture. Like he's reassessing.
"You're not human."
It's not a question. It's a statement.
My pulse spikes, but I keep my face neutral. "Neither are you."
Silence stretches. Stiles glances between us, confused. Scott looks ready to bolt.
Derek moves closer—slow, deliberate, predatory. My Haki screams at me to run, but I hold my ground. If I flinch, this conversation is over before it starts.
"What are you?" Derek asks.
"Worried about the same thing you are."
"And what's that?"
"The Alpha."
His expression doesn't change, but his Haki signature shifts. Surprise. Suspicion. And underneath it all—grief so deep it feels like drowning.
He lost everything in that fire.
The knowledge surfaces, fragmented but certain. Derek's family. His home. Everything burned because of Kate Argent. And now he's alone, hunting the Alpha that killed them.
"You know about the Alpha," Derek says.
"Yeah."
"How?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
I glance at Scott. "Because Scott got bitten. And if we don't figure out who the Alpha is, more people are going to die."
Derek's jaw tightens. He looks at Scott, really looks at him, and something shifts in his expression. Not sympathy. But recognition. Like he's seeing himself in Scott—a kid who didn't ask for this, thrown into a nightmare he doesn't understand.
"The Alpha is building a pack," Derek says finally. "Killing people. Turning others. Scott's a target now."
Stiles steps forward. "Wait. Hold on. Back up. Alpha? Pack? Scott got bitten?" He turns to Scott. "You got BITTEN? By a WEREWOLF?"
Scott winces. "I was going to tell you—"
"WHEN? After you sprouted fangs?"
"Stiles—"
"This is insane. This is ACTUALLY insane."
Derek ignores him. "The Alpha will come for Scott. Try to force him into the pack. Or kill him if he refuses."
"So what do we do?" Scott asks.
"You learn control. Fast. The full moon is two weeks away. If you can't control the shift, you'll hurt someone."
"Can you teach him?" I ask.
Derek's eyes flick to me. "Why would I?"
"Because you're a werewolf. You know how this works. And because if Scott loses control, the hunters will find out. And then everyone in Beacon Hills with fangs becomes a target."
"Hunters?" Stiles squeaks.
Derek's expression darkens. "You know about hunters too."
"I know enough."
He studies me for a long moment. Then nods. "Fine. I'll teach him. But if I'm risking my neck, I want something in return."
"What?"
"Help me find the Alpha."
Stiles throws up his hands. "Oh sure. Let's just hunt the GIANT MURDER WOLF. Great plan. No notes."
I ignore him. "Deal."
"Adam—" Scott starts.
"We don't have a choice, Scott. You need to learn control, and Derek's the only one who can teach you."
"And if he's lying?" Stiles demands. "If this is some kind of trap?"
I look at Derek. My Haki reads him—grief, rage, exhaustion. But underneath it all, a genuine desire to protect. To stop the Alpha before more people die.
"He's not lying," I say.
"How do you know?"
"I just do."
Stiles mutters something about "terrible decision-making," but he doesn't argue further.
Derek crosses his arms. "Training starts tomorrow. Preserve. Eight PM. Don't be late."
"We won't."
He turns to leave, then stops. Looks back at me.
"You couldn't stop me if I wanted to hurt them."
"Maybe not," I say. "But I could try."
The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost a smile. Then he's gone, disappearing into the trees like a ghost.
The drive back is tense.
Stiles grips the steering wheel, knuckles white. "We just allied with a WEREWOLF. A creepy, stalker werewolf who lives in a BURNED HOUSE."
"He's not that creepy," Scott says weakly.
"He's VERY creepy."
I lean back in my seat, watching the trees blur past. My Haki is still buzzing from proximity to Derek—his emotional signature was overwhelming. Layers of trauma wrapped around a core of determination.
He's dangerous. Volatile. But he's not the enemy.
My phone buzzes.
Coach: Where are you?
I type back: Study group.
Coach: At 9 PM?
Big test.
Coach: You're LYING.
I don't respond. There's nothing I can say that won't make things worse.
Stiles glances at me in the rearview mirror. "You really think Derek can help?"
"Yeah."
"And you trust him?"
"I trust that he wants the Alpha dead as much as we do."
"That's not the same thing."
"No. But it's enough."
Scott is quiet. His Haki signature is a mess—fear, confusion, and a flicker of hope. He's desperate for answers. For someone who knows what he's going through.
Derek might not be the mentor Scott deserves. But he's the one Scott has.
And maybe that's enough.
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