Teen Wolf: Second Howl

I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.

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Lucas's Perspective

By the time my foot crossed the threshold of Beacon Hills High School, the air was already thick with tension. Not just the usual hum of adolescent stress, but something sharper—more electric. A storm of whispers had begun to spread through the student body like a fast-moving current, unstoppable and eager.

The name Isaac Lahey floated from corner to corner, drifting over lockers and between classroom doors. People weren't just talking about him—they were obsessed. His name had become currency, traded in half-sentences and dramatic gasps.

The rumors were impossible to miss.

They said there had been an animal attack—something brutal, messy. They said Isaac's father was found dead, his body mangled beyond recognition. They said Isaac had been there. Something about Isaac being the sole survivor.

They said there had been blood.

No one had the full story, of course. But when has that ever stopped high schoolers? Speculation is a sport in places like this, and today, it was a championship game. I heard murmurs about wild animals—bears, mountain lions, maybe even a rogue coyote. One particularly enthusiastic freshman insisted it was aliens, which earned him a punch in the arm and a dismissive snort from his friends.

None of them had any idea how close they were. Or how far.

I tuned it all out. Slid through the noise like a shadow, avoiding eye contact, keeping my expression unreadable. People don't know what to do with silence—they fill it with their own assumptions.

Classes passed just like yesterday—slowly, and all at once. A blur of teachers talking at whiteboards, dry-erase markers squeaking out equations or grammar rules while students nodded off or pretended to take notes. I did my part—head down, work done, mouth shut.

Then came gym.

Most of the students were out on the court playing some chaotic hybrid of dodgeball and capture-the-flag—shouting, running, laughing too loud in that desperate way that teenagers do when they're trying to forget something heavy is hanging in the air.

I didn't care for games. I wasn't here to play.

My eyes scanned the bleachers, and I found her—Malia. Sitting alone, her posture relaxed but alert, a worn paperback open in her lap. The cover was cracked, spine curled from too many re-reads. She wasn't reading so much as hiding behind the book, letting the noise of the gym wash over her without truly registering it.

I approached quietly, stepping up the bleachers with the kind of stillness most people couldn't replicate. I sat beside her without saying a word. She didn't react. Just kept her gaze on the page, her eyes moving—but not really seeing.

"We need to talk," I said finally, keeping my voice low.

She didn't answer. Didn't even blink. Just reread the same sentence again, slower this time.

I gave her two seconds.

Then I dropped the mask. Stopped hiding my scent.

The shift in the air was immediate. Her reaction—instant.

Her head snapped toward me. Her nostrils flared, catching the change in my scent like a bloodhound catching a trail. Her eyes widened, sharp and calculating.

"You're the one who hunted the corrupted chimpanzee last night," she hissed, her voice barely more than a whisper, yet laced with accusation.

I nodded once, calm.

Her expression darkened. Her voice dipped into something rougher, tinged with suspicion. "How the hell did you hide your scent that well?"

"Doesn't matter," I said evenly. "What matters is this—I need to speak to your cousin. Laura Hale. She's the Alpha, right?"

Malia studied me. Eyes narrowed, jaw tight. She didn't like being surprised. Didn't like being backed into corners. I could feel the resistance building in her even before she opened her mouth.

"And I'm just supposed to take some random stranger to my Alpha because he asks nicely?" she snapped, lips curling slightly.

I met her glare without flinching. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important."

She didn't say anything for a moment. Just stared. Then something shifted behind her eyes—some instinct, some gut feeling. Maybe it was the truth in my voice. Or maybe she could smell that I wasn't lying.

After a beat, she sighed and shut her book with a snap. Slid it into her backpack and fished out her phone.

"Give me your number," she muttered. "I'll text you the time and place."

I gave it to her without hesitation. Watched as she typed it in, saved the contact.

She didn't even try to hide the name she saved me under.

Weirdo Lockwood.

I said nothing.

"Don't make me regret this," she warned, stuffing the phone back into her bag.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I replied smoothly.

Somewhere in the distance, the gym teacher barked orders about defense lines and sportsmanship.

Later, after the final bell rang and the halls emptied out, I made my way across the parking lot.

Jenny spotted me and waved from the back of her car. "Lucas! Patrick's waiting—are you coming or what?"

I shook my head. "Got something to take care of."

She rolled her eyes in dramatic teenage fashion. "Of course you do."

I waited until their car pulled out of sight before I moved. Only then did I start walking.

Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital stood under the same gray sky it always seemed to wear. The air outside was sterile, too still, like the building held its breath waiting for bad news.

Inside, the atmosphere was no better. The scent of antiseptic hit me first—harsh, almost metallic. Underneath that, I could smell the pain. Old and fresh. Invisible to most, but not to me.

I moved through the corridors quietly, fading into the background as much as possible. Nurses passed by with clipboards and tired eyes, but none stopped me. I made my way to the second floor, to the far end of the west wing.

Isaac Lahey's room was tucked in the corner. Curtains half-drawn. Machines humming softly. That steady beep of the heart monitor filled the room like a metronome, marking time in small, deliberate moments.

He lay still in the bed, pale and motionless. But not dead.

Far from it.

I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me.

And there it was—the shift. His scent had changed. No longer just human. Not anymore.

He was asleep, or pretending to be. Either way, I didn't speak.

I just watched him. Quiet. Steady.

The transformation had already been completed.

He had no idea what kind of world he'd stepped into.

No idea what he'd become.

But he would.

Soon.