Teen Wolf - Eclipse Fang

The woods of Beacon Hills had always carried an eerie silence at night, broken only by the occasional rustling of leaves or the distant hoot of an owl. But tonight, something felt different—something hunted in the darkness.

Scott McCall sprinted through the forest, lungs burning, heartbeat pounding in his ears. His breathing came in ragged gasps as he weaved between trees, adrenaline forcing him forward. He had just barely gotten away from the Beacon County Sheriff's Department, hiding in the underbrush while Stilinski and his deputies combed the woods. But as soon as they left, a new problem had arisen.

Something was out there.

A predator. A beast. Something far bigger than any animal that should've been in these woods. And now it was hunting him.

The snap of twigs behind him sent ice down his spine. He barely had time to turn before a massive shadow pounced, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him crashing onto the cold, damp earth.

Scott barely registered the weight pressing him down before a flash of white-hot pain seared into his side. He screamed. Teeth—massive, jagged, monstrous—had sunk into his flesh.

The thing on top of him wasn't just a wolf. It was bigger, more monstrous, a creature out of nightmares.

The bite was over in an instant. The pain lingered.

And then—

A deafening snarl tore through the night.

Scott gasped, twisting his head in time to see something explode from the darkness.

A black shape, moving with unnatural speed, slammed into the monstrous wolf that had just bitten him. The force sent the beast staggering, snapping its jaws in fury.

Scott barely had time to register the new figure. It was huge—easily the size of a bear, but sleek, powerful, and undeniably canine. Deep, burning amber eyes glowed in the darkness, locked onto the monster before it.

A wolf.

A real wolf. But impossibly large, its midnight-black fur rippling under the moonlight, muscles coiled like a predator about to strike.

The monster that had bitten Scott let out a guttural snarl, lunging toward the newcomer with fangs bared. But the black wolf was faster.

It dodged effortlessly, moving with deadly precision, then countered with a snap of its own massive jaws. The impact sent the beast staggering back, shaking its massive head in rage.

Scott, still clutching his wounded side, took the opportunity. He ran.

He didn't stop, didn't look back—not until he reached the edge of the forest.

Breathing hard, he turned.

In the moonlit clearing, he saw them—the two creatures clashing, teeth flashing, claws tearing into fur. The monstrous werewolf that had bitten him versus the towering black wolf that had saved him.

They fought like something out of legend—two apex predators, one unnatural, the other terrifyingly real.

Scott's vision blurred from the pain, his body burning from whatever venom or curse was already seeping into his blood.

And then, as his world began to spin, as he stumbled toward home, one final thought burned itself into his mind:

What the hell was that wolf?

The morning air was crisp as Scott McCall rode his bike into the Beacon Hills High School parking lot. The rhythmic hum of the tires against the pavement was almost soothing, but that peace was shattered when Jackson Whittemore swung open the door of his Porsche without a second thought. The metal edge clipped Scott's handlebars, forcing him to swerve and nearly lose his balance.

Scott steadied himself and shot a glare at Jackson, who barely spared him a glance.

"Watch the paint job, McCall," Jackson sneered, running a hand over his precious car as if Scott had actually damaged it.

Before Scott could respond, another voice cut through the tension.

"Or maybe you could watch where you're swinging that door, Jackson," someone said casually.

Scott turned to see a guy he didn't recognize. He was about Scott's height, lean but athletic, with brown skin and sharp, observant eyes. His posture was relaxed, but there was an edge to his voice that suggested he wasn't intimidated by Jackson in the slightest.

Jackson scoffed, clearly unimpressed, but the newcomer just smirked.

"Let me guess—you're the type who thinks a car makes up for personality?" the guy added.

Scott stifled a laugh as Jackson narrowed his eyes, clearly irritated but unwilling to engage. With a final glare, Jackson turned and walked off, leaving the new guy to glance over at Scott.

"Hey, I'm Malik. First day here...officially, and I already got on Jackson's bad side. That's gotta be a record."

Scott shook his head, still slightly thrown off by the whole exchange.

"I'm Scott," he said, gripping the straps of his backpack. "And, yeah… not exactly the worst person to annoy. But definitely the most arrogant."

"Good to know. See you around, Scott."

With a small nod, Malik turned and walked toward the school building, leaving Scott wondering why Jackson had backed off so easily.

Later that morning, Scott sat in English class next to Stiles, who was rambling about something unimportant—until Scott lifted his shirt slightly, revealing a bandaged wound on his side. Stiles immediately leaned in, eyes wide.

"Dude, what happened to you?"

Scott sighed. "I think I was attacked by a wolf last night."

Stiles frowned. "That's impossible. There haven't been wolves in California for, like, sixty years."

Scott hesitated. "I don't know, man… I heard howling before it happened. And then—" He lowered his voice. "—I found a body in the woods."

Stiles' eyes lit up in excitement. "No way! You actually found a—"

Before he could finish, his attention snapped toward the door. Lydia Martin had just walked past the classroom, and as expected, she didn't even glance in Stiles' direction.

"Great," Stiles muttered. "Scott, you're dragging me down into your nerd depths. I'm a nerd by association. I've been scarlet nerded by you."

Scott rolled his eyes, but before he could respond, something strange happened.

A phone rang. Loudly.

Scott turned his head, trying to find the source—but no one in class seemed to hear it. Then, his eyes landed on the window. Outside, sitting on a bench, was a girl he didn't recognize. Dark hair, striking eyes, wearing a jacket that looked effortlessly cool.

She answered her phone, and suddenly, Scott could hear her voice as if she was sitting right next to him.

"Mom, I left home without a pen. I know, I know… I should be more prepared."

Scott blinked. She was at least fifty feet away, outside the building. There was no way he should be able to hear her.

A moment later, the girl walked into the classroom, introduced herself as Allison Argent, and took the empty seat behind Scott.

Without thinking, he turned and handed her a pen.

"Thanks," she said, her lips curving into a soft smile.

Scott barely managed to nod before turning back around, his heart hammering for reasons he couldn't quite explain.

By the time lacrosse practice rolled around, Scott's mind was still spinning from the strange changes he'd been experiencing all day—super hearing, enhanced reflexes, and even a sharpened sense of smell. He and Stiles jogged onto the field, but his friend was still focused on the wrong thing.

"Scott, if you make first line, who am I supposed to sit with on the bench?" Stiles groaned.

"Stiles, my whole life is sitting on the sidelines," Scott said, determination in his voice. "Not this time."

Up in the stands, Allison sat with Lydia, watching the players warm up.

"Who's that?" Allison asked, nodding toward Scott.

Lydia barely spared him a glance. "No idea."

Scott's ears picked up the exchange, even though they were yards away. Before he could process it, the coach called out.

"McCall! You're in goal!"

A lacrosse stick flew toward him. Instinct kicked in. He caught it effortlessly.

The first shot came at him fast. Too fast. But in that moment, everything slowed down. He saw the ball's trajectory, its spin, the exact point where it would hit. His body moved before his mind could catch up, and his stick snapped up to block the shot.

Then another.

And another.

One after another, Scott stopped every shot thrown his way, until even Lydia was sitting up, watching him with interest.

Jackson clenched his jaw. Furious, he pushed past his teammates and took his shot. It was a bullet—one meant to knock Scott on his ass.

Scott caught it.

The field went silent for a moment before Stiles exploded into cheers. Malik, who had been watching from the sidelines, let out a low whistle.

"Alright, McCall. I don't know what kind of magic you got going on, but that was badass."

Scott let out a breath. Maybe this wasn't all bad.

Scott and Stiles walked through the woods that night, discussing his newfound abilities. Malik trailed behind them, his hands in his pockets, listening quietly.

"Okay, so we've got enhanced hearing, reflexes, and some serious athletic skills," Stiles said, counting on his fingers. "You know what that sounds like?"

Scott glanced at him warily. "What?"

Stiles took a dramatic pause. "Lycanthropy."

Scott frowned. "Is that… bad?"

Malik finally spoke up, his tone light but serious. "Only once a month. On the full moon."

Stiles grinned. "And then? You go full-on werewolf and start howling at the sky." He let out a loud, exaggerated howl.

Scott rolled his eyes. "Not funny."

Malik smirked. "Maybe not. But you gotta admit, man… something's definitely happening to you."

Scott sighed. "Yeah. And I have no idea what it means."

Malik looked at him for a long moment before giving him a pat on the shoulder.

"Then I guess we better figure it out."

Scott exhaled. If nothing else, at least he wasn't alone in this.

Not anymore.

Malik thought back to last night

That thing… that wolf. No, not just any wolf. The beast with burning red eyes, the one that bit Scott.

The creature was something different. It wasn't just an Alpha, it was something primal, something old. The sheer force behind its strikes was unlike anything he'd faced. If not for his speed and agility, he'd be dead.

His fingers curled into a fist as he recalled their battle. The Alpha had moved with devastating power, each strike meant to kill. Malik had barely stayed ahead, dodging and countering where he could. He'd landed a few solid hits—enough to make the beast wary—but in the end, the Alpha had chosen to leave. Not because Malik had won. No, if anything, it had been a draw.

Or rather… Malik had been losing.

He exhaled sharply, shaking the thought away. His instincts had saved him before, and they would again. Still, the way the Alpha had looked at him before vanishing into the night—it hadn't been anger or fear. It had been acknowledgment.

And now Scott McCall was showing signs of change.

Malik had noticed the difference immediately. The way Scott moved, how his breathing had subtly shifted, the restless energy beneath his skin—signs Malik recognized all too well. If Scott really had been bitten by that thing, it was only a matter of time before the full weight of it settled on him.

Malik didn't mind hanging around Scott and Stiles; they were cool enough. Stiles was sharp, observant, always looking for patterns in things. Scott, though? Scott was… different. He had a good heart, but good intentions didn't mean much in a fight against the supernatural. Malik had learned that the hard way.

So, while he didn't mind being around them, he also wasn't trusting them just yet.