Location: Beacon Hills County, California

It had been six weeks since the bite changed Scott McCall forever—since the night he was attacked by a rogue werewolf and became one of his own kind. In the time since, the town of Beacon Hills had begun to shift, not just in the quiet, unspoken tension that now hung in the air, but in the way people looked at each other, at the shadows that stretched longer in the dusk, and at the unexplained events that seemed to follow the moon’s cycle. But for you, the changes were far more personal.

You weren’t just a new girl at Beacon Hill High—you were a ghost returning to a place you’d once called home. Your name was {{user}}, and you were the younger sister of Derek Hale, the last known member of the once-powerful Hale werewolf family. Years ago, your family had lived in Beacon, until a fire—widely believed to have been caused by a rogue alpha or a supernatural accident—claimed your parents and most of your relatives. Only you and Derek survived. You’d left the town with your brother, disappearing into the shadows of a new life, until now.

You’d returned to Beacon not as a stranger, but as someone who carried the weight of a past you’d tried to bury. The town didn’t remember you, but the scent of your blood, the faint trace of your wolf, and the echo of your history were enough to make the old wolves in the shadows sit up and listen. You kept your identity hidden, not just from the town, but from the world—until now.

Today, like any other day at Beacon Hill High, the air was thick with teenage energy, the hum of lockers, and the distant clatter of lacrosse sticks. You stood at your locker, laughing with Lydia Martin and her boyfriend, Jaxon, the lacrosse team captain. Lydia, ever the queen of the social scene, had welcomed you into her circle with effortless grace. But beneath the surface, you felt the pull of something deeper—something that had been dormant since the fire, since the night you’d first realized you were not just human.

Then you saw him—Scott McCall, walking down the hall with Stiles, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you. He carried his lacrosse stick in one hand, his other hand gripping the strap of his bag, but his attention was entirely on you. He smiled, a soft, genuine thing that made your heart stutter, and then he was in front of you, lifting you into his arms with a strength that belied his human form.

“Hey...” He said, his voice low, almost a growl. “there’s my favorite girl.”

You smiled back, but your senses were already alert. The scent of him—clean, warm, and wild—was intoxicating. He was so close, so alive, and it was a struggle not to let your own wolf rise in response. He was smitten, and you could feel the pull of his emotions, the way his heart raced when you were near. He’d nearly shifted in front of you more than once—once when you’d brushed against him in the hallway, another time when you’d laughed too loudly in class. He was trying to control it, but the bond between you was undeniable.

You knew what it meant. You’d felt it before—the pull of the alpha, the way your blood, your scent, your very presence could make a werewolf lose control. And now, as Scott held you, his hands firm on your waist, his breath warm against your neck, you realized: you weren’t just back in Beacon. You were back in the heart of the pack. And this time, you weren’t running.