The morning sun streamed weakly through the windshield of Stiles' Jeep, the rumble of the engine filling the quiet roads. Stiles gripped the wheel, Scott slouched in the passenger seat with dark circles under his eyes, and Asher sat in the back, his phone glowing as he scrolled for answers.
"So Laura's body was surrounded by wolfsbane?" Asher repeated, scrolling quickly as if an answer might pop up on the screen.
"Yes," Stiles said flatly, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.
Asher frowned, searching. "Wolfsbane isn't just poisonous. Maybe… surrounding a body with it is some kind of ritual. Like a burial practice for werewolves."
"Or," Stiles said, eyes narrowing as the thought struck him, "it's something you're supposed to learn. A skill. Maybe it's a part of what you can do, Scott."
Scott gave a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah, it's on the to-do list. Right under: figure out how to play in tonight's game without wolfing out in front of the entire school."
"Is it different for female werewolves—" Stiles started, but Scott suddenly snapped.
"Okay, stop it." His voice was sharp, cracking like a whip.
Stiles blinked, startled. "Stop what?"
"Saying it! Werewolf this, werewolf that! Do you enjoy it? Do you like saying it so much?" Scott's voice rose, his anger spilling over, raw and unsteady.
Asher lifted his gaze from the phone, worry creeping in. "Scott… are you okay?"
Scott's hands clenched, his breathing ragged. "No," he choked. "I'm not okay. I'm—" His voice broke as if the words themselves hurt. He doubled forward, clutching his chest. "I can't—"
Stiles' eyes snapped back to the road. "Scott?"
"No!" Scott gasped, pounding his fist against the roof of the Jeep. "I can't breathe!"
"Stop the car!" Asher barked.
Stiles swerved to the side, tires screeching as he slammed on the brakes. The Jeep lurched to a halt.
Scott collapsed against the dashboard, clutching his head now, sweat dripping down his forehead.
"What's happening?" Asher demanded, leaning over the seat, panic flashing in his eyes.
Stiles fumbled with his backpack, yanking the zipper open. "His inhaler—I still have his old one—"
But as the bag opened, a faint, sickly scent filled the car. Both Asher and Scott stiffened.
Asher's eyes went wide. "Stiles… you kept it?"
"What? What was I supposed to do with it?" Stiles shot back, panic in his voice. Inside the pack sat a bundle of wolfsbane—the same they had pulled from Laura Hale's grave.
Scott's body jerked, a pained growl ripping from his throat.
Asher was already moving. He snatched the bag and bolted out of the Jeep. With one hard swing, he hurled it into the trees, the flowers scattering into the dirt.
He spun back, racing toward the Jeep again. "Scott—"
The passenger seat was empty.
Asher's stomach dropped. "Stiles!" he yelled, his voice sharp. "Where's Scott?!"
"He is—" Stiles whipped around in his seat, eyes wide. "He was—he was right here!" He turned again, searching frantically out the window. His voice cracked. "Oh, shit."
...
The evening sky was already black. Only an hour left until the game.
Stiles and Asher hadn't seen Scott all day. They'd searched around the school, the locker rooms, even the woods, but there'd been no trace of him. And now, with time running out, Asher sat on his bed, his phone clutched tight in his hands.
He typed quickly.
[Ready for the match tonight?]
A ping came back almost immediately.
[I can't tonight, sorry… I'll make up. Please, forgive me.]
Asher frowned. The words looked strange, stiff—almost formal.
'She can't tonight?' he thought, staring at the screen. 'Her texting is weird… ever since that cancelled date, she's been so much bolder. This… this is how she used to text me before…'
And then it hit him like a slap.
His eyes widened. "Tonight's the full moon…"
The pieces clicked into place. The sudden change in her, the way she'd been stronger, sharper, different in just one night.
"She became a werewolf too," Asher whispered, his stomach dropping. "Just like Scott."
He grabbed his jacket and bolted out of the house, heart hammering. If this was Erica's first full moon, she wouldn't be able to control it. She could hurt someone. Or worse, kill.
...
The stadium lights blazed against the night sky, casting long shadows across the field. The stands were filling fast with students, parents, and the buzz of anticipation.
Coach Finstock paced up and down the sideline like a storm cloud ready to explode. His whistle dangled from his neck, but his voice carried louder than any shriek it could make.
"Where the hell is Sable?!" he bellowed, his face turning red as he scanned the players.
Scott and Stiles exchanged a nervous look. That gut-tightening feeling—something was wrong.
Scott had only just made it back, slipping into his gear in time to stand with the rest of the team. He looked calm on the outside, but his insides churned.
"Ah, fuck!" Finstock roared again, slamming his clipboard against his thigh. "Stilinski, you take his place!"
Stiles froze. His eyes went wide as if Christmas had just come early. "R-Really? I'm going to play?"
"Yeah, you wanna make me change my mind?" Finstock snapped, glaring at him.
"No! No, no, no," Stiles said quickly, fumbling with his helmet and pulling it on, grinning ear to ear.
The whistle blew, players running out into position. The crowd roared with excitement.
But even as he jogged onto the field, Stiles' smile flickered, a heavy thought gnawing at him.
Where the hell is Asher?
To be continued...
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Sorry if I am uploading much slowly these days, it's just that school is keeping me busy, I have a test tomorrow and I had to study (I am in highschool). Wrote this chapter just after finishing studying btw.