Chapter 2: Knotting Preparations
Scott woke with the memory of her fingers on his claw. It was etched into his skin, a phantom touch more real than the morning sun cutting through his blinds. For a few disorienting seconds, he replayed the gold in her eyes—not a reflection of fear, but of awe. She’d looked at the monster and hadn’t flinched.
Then the panic set in.
It was a date. A normal, Friday night date. They’d texted about it last night, her messages a strange, thrilling mix of her usual casual emojis and sudden, serious questions. “Movie at 7?” Followed by, “Can you hear my heartbeat from your house?” He’d lied and said no. The truth was he could, a faint, steady rhythm he’d tuned into like a favorite song, letting it lull him to sleep.
Normal. He had to be normal.
He rolled out of bed and went straight to the floor, hitting push-ups. Not the human kind. He kept his body rigid, a straight line from heels to head, descending until his chest barely grazed the floorboards, then exploding upward. He did them in sets of fifty, the burn in his pectorals and triceps a clean, simple fire. The rhythm of it—inhale down, exhale up—steadied his breathing, corralled the static in his mind.
The problem was his body didn’t get tired like it used to. The burn was a suggestion, not a limit. After two hundred, he switched to one-armed reps, the strain shifting, a deeper ache. Sweat darkened the wood beneath him. His muscles swelled and corded under his skin, not with the soft bulk of a weightlifter, but with the dense, elastic power of a predator. He could feel the wolf in there, curled around his skeleton, lending him this endless stamina. He pushed until his human mind screamed for a break, and then he pushed for ten more, forcing the control.
He needed a shower. The hot water did little to ease the permanent, low-grade energy thrumming in his veins, but it washed the sweat away. He stood under the spray, head bowed, listening. His mom was downstairs, the smell of coffee and toast weaving up through the floorboards. A car passed outside. A dog barked three streets over. And underneath it all, the faint, persistent drum of Kate’s heart. It was faster than it had been last night. She was awake. Thinking.
He shut the water off and was wrapping a towel around his waist when a soft knock came at the bathroom door.
“Scott? You decent?”
“Uh, kinda. Just a sec.” He cracked the door. His mom, Melissa, stood in the hallway still in her scrubs from her night shift at the hospital. She looked tired, but her eyes were sharp, the way they got when she was diagnosing something.
“Got a minute?” she asked, her voice gentle.
“Sure.” He stepped back, feeling suddenly exposed. The bathroom was small, steamy. She leaned against the sink, crossing her arms.
“You’re going out with Kate tonight.”
It wasn’t a question. “Yeah. Just a movie.”
“Right.” She nodded, her gaze drifting to the fogged mirror, then back to him. She took a slow breath. “Look, I know we’ve… talked about this before. But things seem… serious with you two. More serious.”
Scott felt a hot flush creep up his neck. “Mom.”
“I’m a nurse, Scott. I see the consequences every single day. I’m not naïve.” She held up a hand. “I like Kate. She’s smart, she’s strong. But you’re both eighteen, and hormones are… well, they’re hormones. And now with your… new metabolism… I can’t even imagine what that’s doing to your drive.”
He wanted the tiles to swallow him. “Please stop.”
“I just need to know you’re being smart. And by smart, I mean wrap it up. Every single time. No exceptions. Not even once.” Her tone was dead serious, all medical professionalism now. “Do you have protection?”
“Oh my God.”
“Scott.”
“Yes! Okay? Yes, I have… stuff.” The image of Stiles, cackling like a madman as he shoved a strip of wolfsbane-laced condoms into Scott’s jacket pocket yesterday in the school lot, flashed in his mind. ‘For when your knotting instinct kicks in, you beast.’ He’d been joking. Mostly.
“Good.” She studied his face, and he saw the worry deepen, edging past parental embarrassment into something else. “And it’s not just about pregnancy. There are other risks. But you know that.”
“I know.” He did know. The risks were just… different than she imagined. How could you explain that the biggest danger wasn’t a disease, but the chance you might literally lose your humanity during sex and lock yourself inside your girlfriend?
She reached out and squeezed his damp shoulder. Her hand was small but strong. “I just worry. More now. Everything’s so… intense for you. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
The words landed with a weight she couldn’t understand. Anyone getting hurt. Kate’s face, pale against the shattered tile.
“I don’t either,” he said, the words thick. “I’m trying.”
“I know you are.” She gave his shoulder a final pat and turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Have fun tonight. Be safe. And by safe, I mean—”
“I got it, Mom.”
She left, pulling the door shut. Scott stood in the steam, the echo of her lecture mixing with the phantom echo of Kate’s heartbeat. He looked at his reflection in the clearing mirror. His eyes were just brown. His hands were just hands. He took a deep, shuddering breath.
Control. It was all about control.
He got dressed with deliberate focus: dark jeans, a simple grey henley, his leather jacket. He checked his pocket. The strip of condoms was there, nestled next to his wallet. The wolfsbane in them was a faint, prickling scent, like ozone and poison. A safeguard. A reminder.
He headed downstairs, grabbed his keys from the hook. His mom was in the kitchen, sipping coffee. She gave him a small, knowing smile. It was almost worse than the lecture.
“Love you,” she said.
“Love you too.”
He stepped out into the cool evening air. The sky was a deep bruised purple, the first stars pinpricks overhead. He walked to his bike, the familiar ritual of checking the tires, strapping on his helmet, calming him.
He was about to kickstart the engine when his phone buzzed. A text from Kate.
Running 5 mins late. Don’t be mad. Picking out the right necklace is serious business.
He smiled, a real one, feeling the tight coil in his chest loosen a fraction. He typed back.
No rush.
He swung his leg over the bike, the leather creaking. He fit the key into the ignition but didn’t turn it. He just sat there in the gathering dark, listening. Waiting for the sound of her car. Listening for the rhythm of her heart, wondering what necklace she’d chosen, and if she had any idea what she was really inviting into her life tonight.
The rumble of her car was a smoother sound than the bike’s growl, a low purr that pulled him from his thoughts. Her headlights swept across the driveway, painting the garage door in twin beams of white before cutting out. The door opened and she stepped out.
The porch light caught her. She’d worn a simple black dress, the kind that clung to her waist and flared just above her knees. Her hair was down, a cascade of brown waves over her shoulders. But his gaze snagged, locked, on her throat.
A narrow band of black velvet encircled it. A choker. In the center rested a small, silver pendant. A crescent moon.
His breath hitched. It was just jewelry. It could mean nothing. But it felt like a signal, a deliberate echo of the secret they now shared. The air seemed to get thinner.
“Hey,” she said, smiling as she walked over. Her heels clicked on the pavement. She smelled like night-blooming jasmine and that underlying, forever-vanilla. And something else, a sharp, eager tang. Anticipation.
“Hey.” His voice worked. He nodded toward her neck. “New necklace?”
Her hand rose, fingers brushing the silver moon. A slow smile played on her lips. “Yeah. Do you like it?”
“It’s… noticeable.”
“I hoped you’d think so.” She stopped in front of him, close enough that the scent of her overwhelmed the oil and gasoline smell of the bike. Her blue eyes searched his face, which he knew was carefully, painfully neutral. “You look tense.”
“I’m okay.” He forced a smile. “Ready for the movie?”
“In a minute.” She took another step, closing the final distance between them. She wasn’t touching him, but her heat radiated against his chest. She tilted her head back, exposing the line of her throat, the black velvet band, the moon. A deliberate offering.
“Scott,” she whispered, her voice dropping, intimate and rough. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Not anymore.”
He swallowed. The control he’d forged in push-ups and cold showers felt brittle. “I’m not pretending.”
“Aren’t you?” Her gaze was fearless, challenging. “I saw you. The real you. And I came back.” She lifted her hand, her fingers hovering near his temple. “You’re holding it all in. For me. Don’t.”
“Kate, you don’t know what you’re asking for.” The words were gritted out. The memory of cracking tile was a sonic boom in his skull.
“I’m asking for you.” Her whisper was a blade, slicing through his resolve. Her fingertips finally made contact, tracing the line of his jaw. The touch was electric, a live wire connecting directly to the knot of wild energy in his core.
Her scent deepened, that sweet-metallic tang of desire blooming, mixing with the jasmine. It was the same scent from the shower, the one that had unraveled him. It clouded his mind, called to the thing coiled in his bones.
“I want to see them,” she breathed, her lips now close to his ear. Her other hand came up, resting lightly on his chest, over his hammering heart. “Just for a second. Your eyes. Please.”
It was the please that broke him. It wasn’t a demand. It was a request, vulnerable and fierce. A sharing of the burden. His carefully constructed walls crumbled.
The shift wasn’t violent. It was a surrender. A warm, rushing tide that swept up from his stomach, flooding his veins with liquid gold. His canines pressed sharp against his lips. The world snapped into hyperfocus, every stitch in her dress, every fleck of silver in the pendant, every rapid beat of the pulse in her throat.
HIS EYES TURN GOLD.
The molten color bled across his irises, igniting them from within. The human brown was completely swallowed, replaced by a luminous, predatory amber that glowed in the low light of the driveway.
Kate’s breath caught. Not in fear. In awe. Her blue eyes widened, reflecting the unearthly light. Her fingers on his jaw stilled. She didn’t pull away. She leaned closer, drawn in, her gaze locked on his.
“There you are,” she murmured, her voice full of wonder.
He was laid bare. The monster was in the open, and she was smiling at it. The rightness of it, the terrifying acceptance, flooded him. A low, involuntary rumble started in his chest, a purr of pure, unrestrained feeling.
The sound made her smile widen. Her thumb stroked his cheek. “Thank you.”
The world beyond them—the movie, the normal date, the pretense—melted away. It was irrelevant. She had asked for the truth, and he had given it. Now they stood in the quiet aftermath, something new and fragile and potent humming in the space between them.
He didn’t know what came next. The night yawned before them, vast and uncharted. But the fear was gone, replaced by a different kind of tension, one thrumming with possibility.
He brought a hand up, his movements careful, and cupped the back of her neck, his thumb brushing the velvet choker. His glowing eyes never left hers. The rumble in his chest deepened.
“We’re skipping the movie,” he said, his voice layered with a growl that was entirely new. It wasn’t a question.
A slow, knowing smile spread across her face. She understood. The game had changed.
“Yeah,” she whispered, her own breath coming quicker now. “We are.”
<｜begin▁of▁sentence｜>
He didn't take her to his house or hers. The bike was a living thing beneath them as he guided it out of the suburbs, the wind stripping away the last pretense of a normal night. He followed no road he knew, just an instinct, a pull toward the deep, green silence of the preserve. The air grew cooler, thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, swallowing the roar of the engine. She held onto him tight, her cheek pressed against the back of his leather jacket, trusting the monster with her life as they hurtled into the dark.
He stopped where the asphalt dissolved into a gravel fire road. He killed the engine. The sudden quiet was immense, a velvet blanket of crickets and rustling leaves.
Kate slid off the bike, her legs unsteady, but her eyes were bright in the moonlight filtering through the canopy. "Where are we?"
"Away," he said, his voice already closer to its human register, the gold having faded from his eyes during the ride. The wolf, however, still paced just under his skin, alert and pleased by the wild surroundings.
"You're full of surprises tonight," she said, turning in a slow circle, taking in the towering trees, the absolute isolation. A shiver ran through her, but not from cold.
"You asked to see me." He leaned the bike on its kickstand. The metallic clack echoed. "This is where I don't have to hide."
She walked toward him, the gravel crunching under her heels. The black dress seemed out of place here, a fragment of another world. She stopped an inch away, her gaze searching his face. "Is it always there? The… feeling?"
"Always," he admitted. His hands found her hips, the delicate bones under his fingers. "Like a second heartbeat. Right now, it's calm. It likes it here. It likes… you being here."
"And the other times? When it's not calm?"
"Then it's a scream." He remembered the shower, the unbearable pressure. "It wants things."
"What does it want right now?"
He didn't answer with words. He leaned down and kissed her. It was different this time. There was no frantic desperation, no fear of discovery. It was slow, deep, an exploration. He tasted the mint of her lip gloss and the unique, warm flavor of her beneath it. She opened for him with a soft sigh, her hands coming up to tangle in his hair. The metallic-sweet scent of her desire bloomed again, richer here among the trees.
His control was a conscious choice now, a firm hand on the wolf's leash. He let his senses expand, drinking in the symphony of her: the rapid flutter of her pulse, the soft friction of her dress, the heat radiating from her skin. He broke the kiss, trailing his lips down the column of her throat. He paused at the velvet choker, nuzzling it aside to press an open-mouthed kiss to the frantic beat just below her jaw.
She gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair."Scott."
He lifted her then, his hands under her thighs, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as naturally as breathing. He carried her off the gravel path, into the softer mulch of the forest floor. He didn't go far, just to the massive, sprawling root system of an ancient oak. He leaned back against the rough bark, holding her weight effortlessly, her body pinned between the tree and him.
"This is insane," she whispered, laughing a little breathlessly against his neck."Yeah." He kissed her again, and his hands slid up her thighs, pushing the hem of her dress higher. The cool night air hit her skin, and she trembled against him. He found the edge of her lace underwear and hooked a finger in it.
"Wait," she breathed, pulling back slightly. Her eyes were dark pools in the moonlight. "Did you… bring anything?"
The wolfsbane-tainted condoms in his pocket felt like a lead weight.A necessary poison. A reminder of the barrier between what he was and what she needed him to be to be safe.
"Yeah," he said, his voice rough. "I have some."
"Good." She nodded, a quick, decisive motion. Then her expression shifted, growing more curious, more daring. "Is it… is it different for you?Now?"
He knew what she was asking. "Everything is more. Louder.Brighter." He pressed his forehead to hers. "You feel like the only thing that makes sense."
That was all the permission she needed. Her mouth found his again, hungry and demanding. He worked her underwear down, freeing one of his hands to fumble with his jeans. The practical mechanics felt absurdly human, a clumsy counterpoint to the primal hunger roaring in his blood. He got the condom on, the wolfsbane a faint, sickly-sweet prickling against his sensitive skin. He hated it.
Then he was pushing into her, and the feeling obliterated everything else. The tight, wet heat of her, the way her back arched, the choked-off cry she muffled against his shoulder. He moved slowly, a deep, grinding rhythm against the tree. Each stroke was an exercise in exquisite control, feeling every internal tremor of her, every gasp, every clutch of her muscles.
"Harder," she pleaded into his ear, her nails digging through his shirt.
He obeyed, snapping his hips with more force. The tree bark scraped against his back. She cried out, the sound swallowed by the forest. Her climax built quickly, her body tensing like a drawn bowstring around him. When it broke, it was a silent, shaking convulsion, her mouth open against his neck in a soundless scream.
He followed her over, his own release a deep, rolling quake that started in his core and radiated out to his fingertips. He saw bursts of color behind his eyelids. But he held onto himself, kept his teeth blunt, his claws retracted. The wolfsbane in the condom seemed to hum, a bitter barrier that held the final, animal part of his biology at bay. There was no knot. Just a human climax, shared in the dark woods.
They slid down the tree root together to the soft ground, a tangle of limbs and ragged breath. The condom was a grim reality he disposed of quickly, discreetly, in a crumpled tissue from his pocket. He pulled his jeans up and lay back, pulling her against his side. She curled into him, her head on his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his stomach.
They didn't speak for a long time. The forest breathed around them. An owl called. A breeze stirred the high branches.
"That was different too," she finally said, her voice sleepy and satisfied.
"Better or worse?"
She tilted her head up to look at him. "Just different.Less… frantic. More you." She touched his face. "You were in control the whole time."
"I was," he said, and it felt like a victory. A fragile, costly one.
They stayed until the moon climbed higher and the damp of the forest floor began to seep through their clothes. The ride back was quieter, her arms around him, her body relaxed against his back. He dropped her off at her house with a kiss that tasted of pine and promise. She slipped inside with one last glance, the silver moon at her throat catching the porch light.
He drove home, the wolf inside him sated and calm. For the first time since the bite, he felt a sliver of hope. Maybe he could balance this. Maybe he could have this.
The next day at lunch, the sun was too bright, the cafeteria too loud. Scott picked at his food, his senses dialed down to a dull roar but still absorbing everything. Stiles was holding court, recounting a convoluted theory about their chemistry teacher’s suspiciously perfect lawn. Scott half-listened, his gaze constantly drifting to the other side of the room.
Kate sat with her usual group, the popular girls who smelled like expensive shampoo and gossip. She was laughing, the sound ringing clear across the chatter. She hadn't texted him all morning, which was normal, but it felt different now. He watched the line of her throat, bare today, no choker in sight. A small, irrational part of him felt its absence like a loss.
He saw one of her friends, Alyssa, lean in, saying something with a sly grin. She gestured with her chin toward Scott and Stiles' table. The whole group looked over, their collective gaze a tangible pressure.
Scott looked down at his tray, heat creeping up his neck. He could hear them, if he focused. Fragments pierced the din.
"...Stiles is kinda hilarious, in a spastic way," Alyssa was saying.
Another girl, Jordan, giggled. "He looks at you like you're a snack, Kate. And not the kale kind."
Kate's laugh was light, dismissive. "Oh, give me a break."
"I'm serious! There's history there. You and Scott are like, epic, but you and Stiles had a moment.Admit it."
Scott went very still. His fork hovered over his mashed potatoes.
Stiles, oblivious beside him, was now theorizing about geothermal weed-killing techniques.
At Kate's table, she took a slow sip of her drink. She rolled her eyes, a picture of casual exasperation. "I slept with Stiles twice. That's it."
The words landed with the weight of a sledgehammer.
Scott’s hearing tunneled. The cafeteria noise dissolved into a static hiss.Twice. The word echoed. Not a flirtation.Not a kiss. Not a "moment."Twice.
Across the room, Kate’s friends burst into exaggerated squeals and ooohs. Jordan nudged her. "You never told us that!"
"It was forever ago," Kate said, waving a hand. Her voice was still light, amused. "Freshman year. It was nothing. We were bored."