Chapter 1: The Apex Ride
The hum of the engine was a low growl beneath Jaxen McCall. Not the primal growl that lived under his own skin, but the smooth, purring rumble of his custom black bike. It ate up the miles, the wind a solid wall against him, carrying the damp, earthy scent of Beacon Hills. He hadn't been back in years, not since before Scott got tangled up in all the local weirdness. News traveled, even to a lone wolf like him. Or, more accurately, to an Apex Predator.
He wasn't here for a reunion, not really. He'd handled his business elsewhere – fifty Alphas and their packs were a testament to that. He'd chased down enough power, spilled enough blood. The playboy lifestyle had been a decent distraction, a way to move through the human world without leaving a trail of bodies, but it felt hollow now. He was here for a change of pace. And maybe, just maybe, for something a little less… solitary.
A flicker of something off in the woods, a discordant thrum in the air, pulled his attention. Not human. He eased the bike onto a dirt track, the tires kicking up dust as he navigated the familiar, yet subtly changed, terrain. His senses, always sharper than anyone else's, were on high alert. Something was wrong.
He cut the engine, the sudden silence filled with the frantic rustle of leaves and the distant, muffled shouts of familiar voices. Scott and Stiles. Of course. Already in over their heads, probably.
Jaxen walked his bike deeper into the treeline, his black Air Force 1s finding purchase on the uneven ground. His black jeans, the golden Louis Vuitton belt glinting, felt surprisingly comfortable for a hunt. The fitted black sleeveless shirt stretched over his eight-pack, letting the cool evening air kiss his skin. His gold watch caught the last rays of sunlight, a stark contrast to the growing shadows.
He rounded a cluster of ancient oaks and found them. Scott, half-shifted, looking like he was about to burst a blood vessel, lunging awkwardly at something low to the ground. Stiles, flailing with a flashlight, yelling a string of incomprehensible instructions. And a large, terrified coyote, eyes wild, backed into the base of a tree.
"Well, this looks like fun," Jaxen drawled, stepping into the clearing. His voice, calm and laced with an almost bored confidence, cut through the chaos like a laser.
Scott spun, eyes wide. "Jaxen?! What are you—"
Stiles screeched, dropping his flashlight. "Holy crap, Jaxen! You're back! And... are you shirtless under that jacket? Dude!"
Jaxen ignored Stiles, his gaze locked on the coyote. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his Alpha presence flaring, a wave of unseen power that made the air crackle. The coyote whimpered, trying to dig deeper into the earth. It wasn't just fear; it was instinctual recognition of an ultimate predator.
"You're not a normal coyote, are you?" Jaxen murmured, his red eyes glowing for a split second, a silent command. "Shift."
The creature trembled. Scott gasped, recognizing the Alpha glow. Stiles, however, just looked bewildered. "Shift? What's he talking about? It's just a regular—"
The coyote let out a high-pitched, almost human shriek. Its body began to convulse, fur receding, bones reshaping with sickening clicks and pops. In moments, lying naked and vulnerable in the dirt, was a girl with wide, terrified eyes. Malia Tate.
Jaxen took another step, his face unreadable, his gaze intense. Malia flinched, curling into herself, but she didn't look away from him. There was something in her eyes, a reflection of wildness that Jaxen recognized, a familiar spark of untamed power. And a raw, desperate fear that he found himself instinctively wanting to soothe.
"Jaxen, what the hell was that?" Scott finally managed, bewildered.
Jaxen barely glanced at his twin, his focus entirely on the girl. A subtle shift in his aura, less dominant command, more protective warmth. "Looks like you guys found your werecoyote." He held out a hand to her, not demanding, but offering. "Jaxen McCall."
Malia stared at his outstretched hand, then slowly, tentatively, reached out and took it. Her touch was electric, a jolt of recognition that went straight to his core. This was it. This was what he'd been looking for.
Stiles, meanwhile, was doing his usual flailing. "She's naked! We need a blanket! Someone get a blanket!"