The confrontation between Damien and Peter was a savage dance of instinct and unadulterated strength. Peter, abetted by his recent Alpha status and a hunger for dominance, battled with a ferocity that was both primal and untamed. Damien, fueled by an instinct he didn't understand and the increasing strength of his Lycan heritage, flowed across the room with a surprising speed and ferocity, his reflexes sharpened by both Damien's athletic heritage and Leo's natural knowledge of werewolf fighting from endless hours of television watching.
Claws tore through the night air, shredding flesh and bark. Growls and snarls resounded through the trees, punctuated by the heavy thump of bodies crashing into each other. Scott was caught in the crossfire of this sudden fight, gaping in stunned horror as the two great werewolves clashed with a ferocity that far outweighed his own bumbling efforts at transformation.
Peter, taken aback at first by Damien's surprising strength and strange smell, pushed his luck, his red eyes gleaming with a feral glee. "You fight like a wolf," he growled, sidestepping Damien's swipe of outstretched, lengthened claws. "But you don't have the discipline, the control of an Alpha."
Damien, the burning agony of Peter's claws tearing through his chest, spat back in a raw growl. "Perhaps I like to play by my own rules." He longed to shift completely, to yield to the wolf inside him, but a shard of Damien's ingrained control kept him in check. He did not yet know the extent of his change, the boundaries of his abilities.
Scott, seeing Damien's unexpected fighting back against the Alpha who had bitten him, saw something like hope flash within his terror. This stranger, who had just appeared, was fighting on his behalf.
The battle changed, Peter's greater experience and Alpha strength taking their toll on Damien. Faster, more experienced in his movements. Damien was forced to draw more on instinct and brute strength, his blows less precise but inexorably powerful.
The night was shattered by a new noise – the unmistakable scream of tires, followed by the panicked shouts of Stiles and patently upset Sheriff Stilinski. They had arrived.
Peter, upon hearing the oncoming car, growled in anger. "More interruptions. This isn't over." He launched at Damien once more, a vicious swing at his face. Damien reacted out of instinct, throwing up his arm to deflect the blow. Peter's claws ripped through his forearm, the agony burning, but Damien leveraged the momentum to push the Alpha back.
Before Peter was able to strike back, Stiles's jeep skidded into the clearing, its headlights shining onto the confused melee. Stiles, being a pragmatist, held a baseball bat tightly in his fist, and Sheriff Stilinski had his service pistol out, his face set in grim determination.
Peter, noticing the sudden appearance of human reinforcements, let out a furious bellow. He looked at Scott, who was still fighting to stay in his human shape, his yellow eyes wide with terror. With one last, threatening look at Damien, Peter dissolved into the trees of the forest, vanishing with an otherworldly quickness.
The clearing went quiet, with the only sound being Scott's labored breathing and Stiles's frantic cry. "Scott! Oh my god, Scott! What is it?" He charged toward his best friend, his baseball bat still in a raised defensive position.
Sheriff Stilinski's gaze, however, was fixed on Damien. He took in the wrecked Aston Martin, the bloodstains on the forest floor, and the deep gashes on Damien's chest and arm. His eyes narrowed, assessing the newcomer with a lawman's practiced scrutiny.
"Who are you?" Sheriff Stilinski asked, his voice firm, his weapon still trained on Damien. "And what in God's name is going on here?"
Damien, his muscles sore, the adrenaline wearing off, stood face to face with the Sheriff. He knew, through Leo's recollections, the Sheriff's good nature and his commitment to keeping his son and the town safe. He knew Stiles's absolute loyalty and his flair for grand declarations.
My name is Damien," he stated, his voice gruff. He looked over at Scott, who was now shaking, his change fading away from him, leaving him gasping and smeared with blood and fur. "And it seems like your son just had a very nasty run-in with a very large. dog.
Stiles, though, wasn't taking any of it. His eyes flicked between Damien's gory wounds and Scott's wide-eyed horror, his brain already churning out a hundred far-fetched explanations. "Dog? That wasn't a dog! That was… that was… you!" He jabbed a trembling finger at Damien. "You did it! You attacked Scott!"
"Stiles!" Scott panted, shaking his head feebly. "No… he… he saved me. He fought… the other one.
Sheriff Stilinski relaxed his gun a little, his eyes moving from Damien to his son, confusion and concern on his face. "Other one? What other one, Scott?"
The pieces were finally falling into place, but in a haphazard and unplanned manner. Damien, the outsider, had just unknowingly inserted himself at the very start of Scott McCall's supernatural odyssey. And the friendships that would be forged, the trust that would be given, were now tainted by the ambiguity of that bloody clearing in the Beacon Hills Preserve. The tides were changing, and the game, Damien realized, was far from over.