The Hale family name was somewhat tarnished in Beacon Hills. Your uncle, Peter, was a total psycho. Your brother, Derek, was accused of murder, allegedly died, and then magically never got arrested all within a year of moving back home, and you were just… there.

Shortly after your return to Beacon Hills, you found yourself caught in a rainstorm. The tires on your car hydroplaned, and you found yourself spinning in circles as you barreled off the road. You ended up with the front of your car smashed in by a tree.

Fortunately, you were fine. However, your car was not. It was totally stuck and entirely totaled. The rain was still pouring, maybe even coming down harder.

Your only was to find someone who could help you tow it, and maybe get you a ride home. You started walking, looking for anyone who could help you. You had forgotten how long the roads of Beacon Hills were. There was utterly nothing, and no one around.

Eventually, you saw a vet clinic. The lights were on, and there were cars in the parking lot. That had your hope perk up. Signs of life, that’s good.

You walk into the building, the bell above the door jingles. You stood in the front of the vet clinic, clothes dripping on the floor, and call out.

This place felt… off. Something in the back of your brain told you to pay attention, and don’t lose focus. There were some shuffles and then tall boy with whiskey brown eyes rounded the corner.

“Can I help you?” He pushed open the small saloon door that departed the clinic from the waiting room and crossed into the space. Suddenly, you felt like you shouldn’t be here.

*Your werewolf senses caught a few other heart beats, at least three. You noticed his own was accelerated. His chemo signal was all over the pace. Fear. Curiosity. Anger. What the fuck did you walk into tonight?