Ariel McCall never expected the supernatural shitstorm that was Beacon Hills to infiltrate her life. The 18 year old, shadowed by a painful past, was thrown into a whirl of mates, alphas, weirdly attractive werewolves and it was safe to say she wasn...
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The night sky had long fallen into inky blackness by the time Ariel Mccall made it to the house. She had parked half a mile away, on the outskirts of the preserve to keep her arrival secret. That, and to save her car from any malicious hunters who had a penchant for breaking windows of werewolves cars.
It still seemed so odd to her that she was a werewolf. Ariel Mccall, the skittish blonde with a personality too big for her body, was a supernatural creature. It was hard for her to grasp- her brother had it down. Scott was everything she would imagine a werewolf to be, as were Derek and Peter. But her? She didn't think she fit into the same category as the three.
Sure, she had claws and fangs and glowsticks for eyes. But she wasn't like them. She had surmised long ago that she didn't just feel different- she was different. Being bitten by her mate must have made her into a different type of werewolf- one without bloodlust and sudden black belt karate skills.
Now, standing in front of the burnt shell of the Hale House, she wished dreadfully that she could be an ass kicking bad ass like her werewolf peers.
Ariel's lack of blood lust was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because she didn't get overwhelming urges to rip peoples heads off and grind their bones to dust. A curse, because Derek had never deemed it necessary to teach her how to fight like he had Scott.
"God damn sour wolf." The blonde muttered angrily under her breath. "Why the hell am I saving him anyway?"
Because you're stupidly obsessed with his back muscles.
Ariel scoffed loudly at the voice inside her head.
For the seventeenth time that night, she found herself wondering what her plan was. It had been a good one in the beginning- despite the loss of her elder wand, Ariel had managed to find out the coordinates of Scott's phone. She hoped dreadfully this was because Derek had it with him. If Scott had just dropped the thing during the gunfight and it had absolutely nothing to do with Derek's capture- well, Ariel might begin to feel some blood lust.
The black hat on Ariel's head inched forward as she tilted her chin up, leaving a lock of golden hair to fall from its confines. She had sped home after leaving the dance, simply to pick up one of Scott's old beanies from his emo phase. Good idea? Not sure. Waste of time? Up for debate. But now that it was safely on her head, wrapping her in a little cocoon of warmth, Ariel felt that it was worth it.
Her sharp hearing picked up on the chattering of two hunters half a mile away. Ariel couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but buzz words like werewolf and hale and torture were enough for a wolfish grin to grow on her lips. Was she torn up that Derek was most likely getting tortured right now?
Slightly- the girl has some empathy- but in her opinion, he kind of deserved it. Derek betrayed her to work with his predator murderer uncle. If he wasn't evil, he was dumb and Ariel hoped a couple of taps with an electric prod could straighten his priorities out.
