The air inside the Beacon Hills Preserve was charged with tension, the raw power of the two werewolves opposing the sudden presence of Damien. Peter Hale's fiery red eyes glinted with a feral intensity, his gaze scrutinizing the newcomer like a predator. Scott, thrashing on the forest ground, his transformation a torturous and imperfect blend of human and wolf, emitted a strangled, whining snarl, his yellow eyes frightened and tormented.
Damien stood firm, the chilly night air failing to damp down the flush of sudden heat in his veins. His senses hummed, a plethora of smells – the metallic glint of Scott's blood, the muskiness of dominance exuded by Peter, the wet earth and pine needles – battering him with an almost suffocating intensity. Underneath it all, a low, vibrating hum thrummed deep within him, a primal echo resonating to the raw energy coming from the two werewolves.
"Well, well," Peter drawled, his voice a low, guttural growl tinged with an icy amusement. "What do we have here? A lost traveler? You've wandered into a pretty. private moment." His eyes flicked dismissively at the struggling Scott. "Nature taking its course.
Damien's jaw clenched. Leo's recollections of Peter's manipulative and cruel spirit ignited within him. This was not going to happen. Not if he had anything to say about it.
"Nature has a funny way of being interrupted," Damien said, his tone soft but with an undercurrent of steel even Peter appeared to feel. He stepped forward, his stance changing, a soft tensing of muscles he hadn't consciously done before.
Peter's red eyes narrowed even more, a flicker of something close to curiosity combining with his hunting intent. "And who are you to intrude?"
"Someone who doesn't enjoy bullies," Damien replied briefly, his eyes never wavering. He looked at Scott, the raw pain emanating from the younger werewolf and rousing something protective in him. It wasn't merely Leo's inherent sympathy for the characters; it was something more, a deeper, more primal tug, one of… kin.
Before Peter could answer, Scott emitted a strangled yell, his transformation building to a painful peak. His body twisted, bones breaking and reforming, fur erupting across his skin. He was still smaller than Peter, his movements awkward and uncoordinated, but the untempered strength of the bite was starting to show.
Peter laughed, a cold, victorious sound. "Good. Another pack member." He stepped closer to Scott, his claws coming out.
Damien responded then, with speed that astonished even himself. It wasn't a decision, merely an instinctive reaction. He vaulted forward, a raw, animalistic sound wrenching from his own throat, a sound that vibrated with a power reminiscent of Peter's own, though it was a different, more primal quality.
He crashed into Peter with unanticipated strength, knocking the Alpha back on his heels. The collision shook Damien, a rush of raw power running through him. He sensed something changing inside of his own body, muscles tightening, his senses honed, a near-primal need to shift, to *become*.
Peter bellowed in shock and anger, his eyes blazing red. He struck with his claws, but Damien, darting with a speed he hadn't had moments earlier, avoided the blow. He sensed a queer perception of Peter's actions, a preternatural understanding of what he intended.
Scott, caught off guard by the quick intervention, leapt to his feet, his yellow eyes rolling with dismay and terror as he stared from the larger red-eyed werewolf to the equally powerful newcomer who had so attacked him.
"Back off!" Damien growled at Scott, his voice low, vibrating with the guttural force of the Lycan power growing inside him. He held Peter's gaze, his eyes refusing to leave the human, who was now steadying himself, his face twisted into a rage-fueled mixture of surprise and curiosity.
A new player," Peter sneered, wiping a droplet of blood from his lip. "And one with. unique perfume." His scarlet eyes swept over Damien, a hungry glint in their depths. "You smell. familiar, yet. different.
Damien said nothing, his own gut instincts bellowing at him to be careful. He didn't quite comprehend the strength that was building within him, the full extent of his Lycan lineage. But he knew he couldn't allow Peter to take Scott.
Peter charged again, quicker this time, his claws raised to strike at Damien's throat. Damien responded instinctively, his own hands changing, his fingernails lengthening, growing sharper, tougher. He met Peter's strike, the two of them releasing their embryonic claws in a loud clash in the still forest. A burning pain traveled up his arm as Peter's claws scraped across his skin, but it was soon overcome by a rush of adrenaline and a feral rage he had never experienced.
He bellowed again, a wolfish sound more than human, more ancient than Peter's Alpha howl. The sound echoed through the preserve, a challenge and a proclamation. And when the sound had passed, something changed inside Damien. He was drawn further into the raw power of the wolf, into the primal knowledge of what he could do.
The battle was on. The life of a just-bitten werewolf was at stake. And deep within the Beacon Hills Preserve, a sleeping line began to stir, its initial howl ringing across the night, a harbinger of potential unfurling.