Teen Wolf - Eclipse Fang

The bass from Lydia Martin's party rumbled faintly in the distance, but Malik Ward was far removed from all that. He had no interest in drunken teenagers or social politics. Not when there were far bigger things lurking in the woods.

He stood outside his temporary base, an old, abandoned cabin hidden deep in the forest. It wasn't much—just four walls, a roof, and a solid door—but it served its purpose. He had no pack, no backup. Just himself, his instincts, and the wilderness.

Malik took in the scents carried by the night air, inhaling deeply. Pine, damp earth, lingering traces of animals… and then—

Something new.

His golden eyes sharpened. The scent was faint but distinct. Werewolf. But not the Alpha. And definitely not Scott.

His body tensed as his instincts kicked in. This was someone unknown. Someone is moving through his territory.

Without hesitation, Malik let the shift take over. His transformation was smooth and natural, unlike the painful process most werewolves endured. Within seconds, his form had changed, dark fur covering his body as he dropped to all fours. His golden amber eyes glowed in the darkness as he took off into the trees, his powerful limbs carrying him silently through the forest.

The trail wasn't fresh, but it was strong enough to follow. Malik weaved through the underbrush, his senses fully engaged. Whoever this was, they moved well. Controlled, precise. Not like a newly turned wolf.

He pushed forward, adjusting his pace. His instincts urged caution—this wasn't prey he was chasing. This was a predator.

Then, he spotted movement ahead. A shadow in the moonlight.

Malik slowed, lowering his body against the forest floor, his ears flicking forward.

A man.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark clothing. His movements were careful, deliberate. He wasn't running. He was searching.

Malik crept closer, keeping to the shadows. But the moment he shifted his weight—

The man stopped.

His head turned slightly, his posture shifting just enough to show he was aware.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, without warning, the man spun around—fast.

Malik barely dodged as a clawed hand slashed through the space where he had been. The attack was quick, precise—trained.

Malik leaped back, landing smoothly, baring his fangs. His fur bristled as he growled low, a deep rumble that carried through the trees.

The man—werewolf—narrowed his eyes. His fingers curled into claws, his stance shifting slightly, ready for another strike. But he didn't attack immediately.

Instead, he stared at Malik with a mix of suspicion and confusion.

Malik held his ground, watching, waiting.

"…What the hell are you?" the man finally muttered.

Malik didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Not like this.

The man—his scent stronger now, more familiar—exhaled sharply, taking a slow step back. He was still tense, still wary, but not as aggressive.

"You're not the Alpha," he said, almost to himself. Then, his gaze sharpened. "And you're not a normal werewolf."

Malik huffed through his nose. No argument there.

The two circled each other for a moment, sizing one another up. The man was strong, experienced—but Malik was faster, more agile. If this turned into a real fight, it wouldn't be one-sided.

Then, after a long pause, the man straightened slightly.

"…Derek Hale."

Malik flicked an ear. That name. He'd heard it before. The Hale family. The fire. The lone survivor.

He held Derek's gaze for a moment longer before taking a step back, his posture shifting just enough to show he wasn't looking for a fight.

Derek watched him, still cautious, but after a moment, he nodded slightly.

It wasn't trust. Not yet.

But it was enough for now.

And as the night stretched on, both wolves remained aware of the real danger still lurking in the shadows.

Malik exhaled through his nose and took a step back, his golden eyes locked onto Derek's. The standoff had lasted long enough. He had no reason to fight this guy—not yet. And it was clear Derek was more curious than hostile now.

With a subtle roll of his shoulders, Malik let the shift take over. His body moved seamlessly, muscle and bone rearranging with a quiet smoothness. The thick black fur receded, claws shrinking back into fingers, until he was standing on two legs again. His clothes, already loose to accommodate his transformations, settled back into place.

Derek's eyes narrowed. He had seen plenty of werewolves shift before—but never this effortlessly.

"You change fast," Derek muttered, arms crossing over his chest. "No pain?"

Malik rolled his neck, cracking it slightly. "Nope." His voice was smooth, calm. "Didn't think it was supposed to hurt."

Derek scoffed, shaking his head. "It is."

Malik just shrugged. That was a problem for other werewolves, not him.

Derek's eyes remained sharp as he studied Malik. "You're not part of Scott's pack."

"I'm not part of any pack," Malik corrected." Also Scott's to fresh to have a pack."

Derek tilted his head slightly, taking that in. "Then why are you here?"

"Same reason as you," Malik said. "That thing—the Alpha. I ran into it a few nights ago."

At that, Derek's expression hardened. "You fought it?"

Malik exhaled sharply. "If you can call it that. Didn't win. Didn't lose either."

Derek's brows furrowed. "…It left?"

"Yeah," Malik nodded. "Hit hard, but it was slower than me. Think it realized I wasn't an easy target and decided not to waste time."

Derek's jaw tightened. That definitely wasn't normal behavior for an Alpha.

"What about you?" Malik asked. "Had your own run-in, I'm guessing."

Derek hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. It's strong. Too strong." His voice was lower now, edged with frustration. "And it's turning people. Scott was bitten."

Malik's expression didn't change, but inwardly, he made a note of that. He had already suspected Scott wasn't normal anymore—this just confirmed it.

"And you don't know who it is?" Malik asked.

Derek's jaw clenched, his hands curling slightly into fists. "…Not yet."

Then—both of them tensed.

A shift in the wind.

A new scent.

Malik inhaled deeply, filtering through the different smells. Human. Metal. Gunpowder.

Weapons.

His gaze flicked to Derek, who had already turned toward the source.

"Hunters," Derek muttered darkly.

Malik didn't react at first, just continued listening. His senses picked up at least three—maybe four—moving carefully through the trees.

"They after you?" Malik asked casually.

Derek glanced at him. "They're after any werewolf."

Malik huffed softly. "Great."

They could hear the faint clicks of safety switches being flicked off, the rustle of movement in the underbrush.

"We need to move," Derek said.

But Malik just smirked slightly. "Or we could see what they're up to."

Derek shot him a sharp look, but Malik's eyes gleamed with something almost amused.

Neither of them was in the mood to get shot. But knowing who was hunting in these woods? That was worth sticking around for.

And so, silent as shadows, the two wolves disappeared into the trees—stalking the hunters just as carefully as they were being stalked.

The forest blurred around them as Malik and Derek raced through the trees, their senses locked onto the hunters' trail. The damp earth softened their steps, leaving barely a sound as they weaved between the thick trunks.

Despite his experience, Derek found himself glancing sideways at Malik. He moved fast—faster than any werewolf Derek had seen who wasn't using their claws to boost speed. He was keeping pace effortlessly—no partial shift, no glowing eyes, no extended fangs.

And that was the problem.

Derek hadn't been a werewolf his whole life, since it takes time for even a born werewolf to show signs, but he'd been one long enough to know how they worked. He'd seen young Betas struggle to control their shifts. He'd seen Alphas revel in the raw power that came with their transformations. But this?

This was something else.

Malik had shifted into a full wolf earlier—a real wolf, not just a humanoid with claws and fangs. And now, in human form, he was keeping up without breaking a sweat.

"…What are you?" Derek finally asked, his voice low but pointed.

Malik smirked without looking at him. "That's a hell of a way to ask someone their business."

Derek's expression remained flat. "I've never seen a werewolf like you."

"That's 'cause I'm not a werewolf."

Derek narrowed his eyes. "Then what are you?"

Malik exhaled through his nose. "A shapeshifter."

Derek frowned. "That's the same thing."

Malik shot him a sideways glance. "No. It's not."

Derek waited, but Malik didn't seem like he was going to explain unless pressed.

"…You don't partial shift?" Derek guessed.

Malik shook his head. "Either I'm human, or I'm a wolf. No in-between."

Derek's brow furrowed. That was already unusual. Every werewolf he had ever known had some form of partial shift—the claws, the fangs, the glowing eyes. It was part of their nature.

Malik continued, voice calm but firm. "Even in human form, I'm not just 'normal.' I'm stronger, faster, and my senses are always sharp. I don't need to grow claws to fight. I don't need fangs to hunt."

Derek processed that. If what Malik was saying was true, then he was something entirely separate from the werewolves Derek knew. Not a Beta, not an Omega—not even an Alpha.

Something else.

Before Derek could push further, Malik slowed, sniffing the air.

Derek mirrored him, catching the same thing.

Human.

Cloth.

Fabric softener—something floral.

Malik's eyes narrowed as recognition clicked. Allison.

Up ahead, through the trees, the hunters were setting up a trap.

And they were using Allison's sweater as bait.

It was an obvious trap, but one Scott had walked straight into.

He could still hear their voices echoing through the trees.

"They're already here. Run!"

Derek's warning had come just in time, but Scott had hesitated—long enough for the hunters to get a clear shot. Malik had seen the flare light up the woods, followed by the sickening thunk of an arrow embedding itself into flesh.

Malik had tensed, ready to intervene, but Derek had acted first. He moved through the hunters like a wrecking ball, tossing two of them aside and yanking the arrow from Scott's arm before they both took off into the night.

Now, with the hunters retreating and the forest silent again, Malik turned away. Scott's learning the hard way.

It wasn't his problem.

Not yet.

---

The Next Day – Beacon Hills High School

Scott sat at the cafeteria table, his head down, running a hand through his hair. His forearm was fully healed, but the night's events still weighed heavily on him.

Stiles sat across from him, leaning in. "Dude. You look like you just walked into a horror movie and forgot to run."

Scott gave him a look. "Yeah, because that's exactly what happened."

Stiles waved him off. "Well, if it makes you feel better, you were already the weird, quiet guy before all this. Now you're just the weird, quiet guy with freaky glowing eyes."

Scott sighed. "I need to talk to Allison."

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "Okay, but do you have an excuse? 'Cause right now, you've got 'sorry I vanished in the middle of our date' and nothing else."

Scott looked away, jaw clenched. "I don't know what to say."

"Then let me handle it. I am the king of damage control."

Scott gave him a flat look. "Since when?"

Stiles grinned. "Since five seconds ago."

Before Scott could argue, the cafeteria doors opened, and Allison walked in. She spotted him almost immediately, her expression unreadable. Scott stood as she approached.

"Allison—"

She cut him off. "Scott, what happened last night?"

He swallowed. "I… I don't have a good explanation."

She crossed her arms. "You just disappeared."

Scott hesitated. He couldn't tell her the truth. Not yet. "I'm sorry. I—I freaked out. It wasn't about you, I swear."

She studied him for a long moment before sighing. "I don't like being ditched, Scott."

"I know. I'll make it up to you."

She gave him a small smile. "One more chance. That's it."

Scott let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Thank you."

A car horn honked from outside, and Allison turned toward the exit. "That's my dad. I gotta go."

Scott nodded, watching as she walked out the door.

But then—he caught something.

A scent.

Something familiar.

Scott turned, his gaze following Allison as she approached the burgundy Chevy Tahoe parked outside. The driver-side door opened, and a man stepped out.

Scott's breath caught.

It was him.

Chris Argent. The hunter from last night.

Scott froze, realization hitting him like a freight train. Allison's father had been one of the men in the woods.

The man who had nearly killed him.

Scott's hands clenched into fists. He forced himself to turn away before he did something reckless.

Stiles, noticing his expression, frowned. "Dude? What's wrong?"

Scott swallowed hard. "Her dad…" He took a shaky breath. "Her dad is the one hunting me."

Stiles blinked. "Well. That's… that's bad. That's very, very bad."

Scott didn't respond. He was too busy watching Chris Argent pull away from the school with Allison in the passenger seat, completely unaware that the boy she had just forgiven was the very thing her family hunted.

And from the shadows near the cafeteria doors, Malik watched.

A faint smirk crossed his lips. Things are about to get interesting.