I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
Patréon/emperordragon
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Lucas's Perspective
The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of dew and clipped grass through the gardens of the Lockwood estate. My lungs filled with it as I ran, each stride eating up the gravel paths with ease. Beside , Milo bounded joyfully, snapping at a bird that dared to skim too close to the hedges.
Then—sharp, piercing, cutting through the morning like glass. A sound no human could hear. My stride faltered. My head snapped toward the woods beyond the estate walls.
Malia.
I slowed, whistled Milo to heel. "Stay," I told him firmly, crouching to look him in the eye. His ears flicked uncertainly, but he sat down, tail thumping once before stilling.
I scanned the windows of the house. Nothing. The staff wouldn't be out here this early. Good. I inhaled, braced, then vaulted the garden wall in one fluid leap, landing lightly on the other side.
The woods greeted with silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of branches. I moved quickly, weaving between the trees, drawn to the source of the call. And there she was—Malia, standing rigid, her face pale but hard, like she was holding a storm inside.
I knew instantly this wasn't a casual et-up.
"What happened?" I asked.
Her jaw clenched. "Derek was set up. Last night. They dumped a hunter's body on his car. Andrew—the one he beat up at so gas station. The Argents think he killed him."
I let that sink in, my mind turning. "Laura?"
"She told him to lay low." Malia's eyes flicked away, like she hated repeating it. "But soone wanted this. Soone wants blood between our family and the Argents."
I nodded, the gears in my head grinding. "Does Derek have any idea who?"
She shook her head, frustration flashing. "He said it looked like a werewolf. Threw the body right on his hood, then ran. But… sothing was off. He couldn't place it. Still, the Argents won't care about details. They just know it was a werewolf."
"They'll co looking," I muttered. "But they only suspect Derek right now."
"Right now," she repeated pointedly. Then she fixed with a look. "You might think you're fine, but what about Isaac? He's still learning, Lucas. He doesn't have proper control. And Allison—how long before she figures him out?"
I exhaled slowly, not wanting to admit she was right. "I'll handle it. I'll make sure Isaac stays away from Allison until this blows over."
Malia nodded, but her next words were sharp. "I'm not going back to school for a while."
"That's a mistake," I shot back. "You vanish and they assu your family has sothing to hide."
Her brow furrowed. "So what, you think I should just go back like nothing happened?"
"Yes," I said firmly. "That's exactly what we do. You, , Isaac—we keep showing up. No cracks, no gaps. Normal. The less suspicion, the better."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. For a mont, neither of us spoke. Finally, she muttered, "Normal. Right."
I glanced toward the trees, then back at her. "You've got and Isaac. Whatever this is, we face it together."
The tension eased just enough for her shoulders to lower, though her eyes still burned.
The forest around us seed to hold its breath, waiting to see which way the world would tilt.
anwhile, on the other side of town...
Even though Laura had told him—begged him—to lay low, Derek couldn't shake the feeling that ti was slipping through his fingers. Waiting had never been his style, especially not when the answers were locked away behind steel doors and toe tags.
The morgue was quiet—eerily so. Too quiet, even for Derek's taste. The sll of antiseptic and cold steel clung to the air, mingling with sothing heavier, tallic.
Andrew's body lay under the pale sheet, still and small beneath the fluorescent lights. Derek pulled it back slowly. For a mont, his chest tightened. He hadn't liked Andrew—hell, he barely tolerated the guy's mouth—but no one deserved this.
He leaned in, eyes narrowing, scanning with human precision and a wolf's senses. Every mark, every wound, every bruise. Claw rakes across the torso, deep enough to show everyone it was a werewolf kill. Too clean. Too deliberate.
Derek searched longer, using every instinct, every sense. Nothing. No hair. No scent beyond Andrew's blood, antiseptic, and faint traces of the coroners from when they handled the body. Whoever staged this had been ticulous.
Too ticulous.
Jaw tight, Derek slid the sheet back over the body. He had no choice but to leave.
The hall outside was dim, the ergency lights buzzing faintly. Derek kept his steps light, his ears straining. But just as he reached the exit—movent.
Shadows. Boots.
Three hunters stepped into the corridor, blocking his way. Among them was a familiar face, Edward, the older hunter. His face was grim, carved with grief and rage.
"You," Edward spat, voice low and shaking.
Before Derek could speak, the hunters lunged. Steel glinted under the light. Derek moved fast—parrying, striking, his fists slamming against ribs and jaws. He fought hard but held back, pulling his blows, careful not to kill. Each second of restraint cost him.
One hunter crumpled under a hard punch to the gut. Another slamd into the wall, groaning. Derek turned just in ti to block Edward's strike—but pain ripped through his side.
The blade slid deep, burning instantly. The sll of wolfsbane hit his nose before the sting even registered fully. His body recoiled, his strength faltering.
Derek snarled, shoving Edward back with raw force, then struck once, twice, three tis until the older man slumped to the ground, dazed but alive. The blade wrenched free from Derek's body as Edward fell.
His breath hitched, sharp and shallow. Already, the poison spread, crawling like fire through his veins.
Derek staggered, forcing himself forward, refusing to collapse here—not in front of them, not in this place. He bolted for the nearest exit, stumbling into the morning air.
By the ti he reached his car, his hands shook, his skin clammy, his vision swimming at the edges.
He drove anyway, jaw clenched, every muscle screaming against the wolfsbane coursing through him.
Whoever had staged this wanted him buried—by the Argents, or by any other ans, it didn't matter.
And for the first ti in a long while, Derek Hale wasn't sure if he could fight his way clear.
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