The aftermath of the automobile accident was a bureaucratic nightmare, one that Damien's significant resources were able to polish over with ease. A few phone calls, an unexpectedly discreet towing service specializing in "high-end accidents," and a rental vehicle that practically shouted "subtlety is overrated" later, Damien was cruising the sun-kissed roads of Beverly Hills, the aroma of jasmine and gas a jarring contrast to the clean, fresh air he recalled in Seattle.
His mission now was tracking down his birth mother. The disjointed flashbacks from the merge, the brief glimpse of the woman with silver hair, seemed a vital piece in a puzzle he didn't yet know. He had a name, Coralia Laurent, and a last known address, a grand estate in the elite hills overlooking the city.
As he navigated the tidy, silver Aston Martin through the manicured boulevards, Leo's familiarity with *Teen Wolf* seemed an odd, untrustworthy compass. He was aware of the key players of Beacon Hills, the dangers they would confront, the alliances they would make. But Beverly Hills was new country, a secret level of supernatural society that the show had only been referencing. The vampires Liam had talked about, the hint of other supernatural forces he'd picked up on – they were all part of some bigger, unseen game.
The Laurent estate was all Damien had unconsciously anticipated: imposing gates with discreet guards, a long, curving driveway to a sprawling mansion that oozed old money and quiet authority. As he stepped to the great oak doors, anticipation blended with nervous uncertainty within him. She was the key to his past, to the latent power building within him, and perhaps to his standing in this odd new realm.
It was opened by a tall, well-dressed man whose gaze appeared to take in Damien with a single, fluid sweep. "Mr. Laurent awaits you," he said, his voice emotionless.
Damien trailed after the man through a palatial foyer, the air heavy with the smell of aged wood and high-quality perfume. The decor was rich, cluttered with antique furniture and priceless paintings, the antithesis of the spartan style of Damien's loft. He was taken to a large study, filled with bookcases full of leather-bound tomes.
Behind the massive mahogany desk sat a woman whose silver hair seemed to glow like moonlight in sunlight. Her eyes, a sharp blue, blazed with a regal intensity as she looked at him. Coralia Laurent. The similarity, subtle as it was, could not be denied – the quick intelligence in her eyes, the fine curve of her jaw.
"Damien," she replied, her voice measured and cool, with a hint of an aristocratic accent. "It has been… a long time."
The ensuing conversation was meticulously controlled, a delicate dance of subtle questions and guarded revelations. Coralia described his adoption, her "inability" to care for him, the "arrangements" she had made for his upbringing. There was sorrow in her eyes, but also a certain… detachment.
Damien, with the pieces of the merge's memories and a developing realization of his own alienation, probed softly. "My. father. You never mentioned him."
A shadow fell across Coralia's face. "Your father. his life was complicated. Hazardous."
"What sort of danger?" Damien questioned, the Lycan nature within him feeling a closely held secret.
Coralia hesitated, her eyes darting away briefly before they came back to his. "He was… attached to things you would never get, Damien. Things that should have been left behind."
But Damien sensed the deception in her well-crafted words, a barely perceptible quiver in her voice, a flash of something other than sorrow in her eyes. He knew, with a knowledge that ignored logic, that his father's "complex" life was bound up in the supernatural realm he had so newly entered. And the silver in Coralia's hair… it wasn't merely an indication of age. It was a sign of blood.
As they spoke, punctuated with polite questions regarding Damien's life and circumspectly vague responses regarding Coralia's, an undercurrent of tension came to rest upon Damien. There were too many things left unsaid, too many sidelong glances. He got the impression he was just skimming the surface of something far deeper, far more sinister.
Just as he was about to question Coralia again about his father, his phone vibrated against his pocket. He had a text message from an unknown number: *"Beacon Hills. The Alpha has claimed another. You need to see this."*
The news sent a shiver of ice through Damien's veins. Beacon Hills. The Alpha. The whispers Lydia had picked up on. The two worlds, Beverly Hills and the tiny, forever worrisome town hundreds of miles from here, were starting to meet in a manner he hadn't expected.
He looked up at Coralia, the carefully constructed façade of their polite reunion crumbling. "I have to go," he said abruptly, his voice now carrying a note of urgency.
Coralia's eyebrows rose, her composure momentarily cracking. "Go? We've only just begun to…"
"Something has occurred," Damien cut in, his eyes burning. "Something… related to what you're not saying." He rose from his seat, his jaw set. "I want to know, Coralia. And I have the feeling I'm not going to get my answers here."
He walked away from her, towards the door, and his birth mother stared after him, a blend of trepidation and reluctant comprehension in her searing blue gaze. The meticulously planned reunion had been sidetracked by a mysterious message and the inescapable call of a supernatural drama playing out hundreds of miles from his hometown. Damien didn't know precisely what would lie in store for him in Beacon Hills, but Leo's recollections and the awakening of his own Lycan heritage informed him of one thing: his new existence was about to become a great deal more complicated, and a great deal more *Teen Wolf*.