The morning air felt crisp, but beneath it, the hum was different. It was still there, the ancient pulse of Beacon Hills, but now it was overlaid with a chaotic, vibrant energy emanating from somewhere across town. It felt like a knot of frayed wires – powerful, sparking, and deeply unstable.
Nikolai sat up in bed, listening. That was Scott. Or rather, the werewolf-in-progress inside Scott. The raw power he'd felt last night was now contained, struggling, manifesting in a young human body. It felt… painful. Confused. Like the energy itself was screaming.
'Must be the transformation starting,' he thought, rubbing his temples. The echo of last night's shockwave still throbbed faintly behind his eyes. 'Heightened senses overloading, instincts kicking in, body starting to change. Yeah, that sounds about right.'
He got ready for school, the mundane routine feeling like a thin veneer over the pulsing supernatural reality he was now keenly aware of. His senses felt sharper today. The smell of his toothpaste was intense, the fabric of his clothes felt distinct against his skin, and the distant sound of a siren miles away seemed unnervingly close. He tried focusing this new sensitivity, pushing it outwards, but it was hard to control, like trying to listen to a hundred conversations at once.
Eleanor was in the kitchen, sipping tea, looking calmer than last night but still with a watchful air.
"Morning, darling," she said, setting down her mug. "How are you feeling today? Did you sleep?"
"Sort of," he replied, pouring himself some juice. "The hum... it's different. Chaotic. Feels like someone's in pain."
Eleanor nodded slowly. "Yes. The energy from last night. It's... settling, but violently. The body that received it is fighting it, adapting to it. It's a difficult process."
"You can feel it too?"
"Less intensely than you, now," she explained. "My senses are different. More about the underlying currents, the ancient flows of power. Yours are newer, raw. More attuned to recent changes, to the imprint left by magical or supernatural events."
'So I'm like a supernatural seismograph,' he processed. 'Can feel the shockwaves and aftershocks.'
"The person who received the bite," she continued, her gaze thoughtful. "They'll be struggling today. Heightened senses, strange physical changes, disorientation. It won't be easy for them."
'Poor Scott,' a part of him genuinely felt. He knew how overwhelming it would be. But the strategic part of his mind immediately countered. 'Useful. A struggling, confused new werewolf. Someone who needs help. Someone who might be malleable.'
"Is there anything we can do?" he asked, testing her.
Eleanor considered this, a faint frown on her face. "Direct intervention is rarely wise unless necessary. The path of a bitten is theirs to walk, initially. Interfere too much, and you disrupt their connection to the power, or attract unwanted attention. For now, observing is best. And learning. Use your senses today, Nikolai. See if you can isolate their specific energy signature at school. Understand what that kind of power feels like."
Beacon Hills High. The usual morning chaos felt amplified. The cacophony of smells and sounds was almost overwhelming. He focused, pushing back the sensory overload, trying to filter it, like learning to use noise-cancelling headphones.
He walked towards the main entrance, scanning the crowd, using both his eyes and his nascent sensing ability. He could feel the general energetic buzz of the student body, but he was searching for that specific chaotic, painful signature.
And there he was.
Scott McCall stood near the lockers, looking pale and drawn. His eyes darted nervously around, occasionally squeezing shut as if in pain. He flinched visibly when someone dropped a book nearby. Stiles was beside him, talking rapidly, looking confused and concerned.
Nikolai felt that specific energy signature strongly now, pulsing erratically from Scott. It was a whirlwind of conflicting sensations – sharp pain, heightened awareness, deep fear, and an underlying current of something wild and untamed.
'That's it,' he confirmed. 'The werewolf energy. Raw. Untrained. It's like a storm in his body.'
He walked past them, deliberately not making eye contact yet. He needed to observe, to gather more information, to understand the feel of this power up close.
In English class, Scott sat a few rows ahead. Nikolai focused his sensing on him subtly. He could feel the waves of discomfort coming off him. Scott kept shifting in his seat, scratching at his neck, his eyes wide and darting around the room, seemingly picking up on every tiny sound.
The conflict arose immediately – an internal one. Part of Nikolai felt a pang of sympathy. This was a kid, completely blindsided, suddenly burdened with something terrifying and uncontrollable. He knew the confusion, the fear, the isolation Scott would feel.
But the other part, the strategic mind honed by years of watching the dangers of this world, saw an opportunity. Scott wasn't just a victim; he was the key. The True Alpha potential. He was a connection to the Alpha who bit him (Peter), and eventually to Derek, to other werewolves, to all the conflicts that would follow.
'He's a piece on the board,' Nikolai thought, a cool detachment settling over him. 'A valuable piece. But raw. Needs refinement. Can I be the one to refine him? Not like Derek, with brute force and secrets. More subtly. Guide him towards my goals.'
He tried another experiment with his sensing. Could he distinguish between Scott's human energy and the werewolf energy? He focused, trying to separate the layers. It was difficult, like trying to separate water from wine. They were mixed, blended. But he could feel the core of Scott's human self, still there, overwhelmed by the new power.
Later, during lunch, Scott suddenly cried out, covering his ears, his face contorted in pain. The entire cafeteria went quiet, staring. Stiles rushed to his side, trying to figure out what was wrong.
Nikolai felt a surge of energy radiate from Scott – not aggressive, but defensive, overwhelmed. 'Super hearing overload,' he identified instantly. The sheer noise of the cafeteria was probably torture.
Seeing Scott's public display of distress sparked another thought. 'He's going to need help. Someone to explain this. Someone to guide him. Stiles will try, but he doesn't understand the supernatural. Derek will eventually step in, but he's… Derek.'
Perhaps he could be that someone. Approach Scott not as a fan with future knowledge, but as someone who sensedsomething was wrong. As someone who understoodenergy, who felt the unnatural presence within him. He could gain Scott's trust. Position himself as an ally, a confidant. A mentor, even, with a different kind of knowledge.
'But how? Just walk up and say, 'Hey, I feel the monstrous power rippling through you, need a hand?' Probably not the best icebreaker.'
He needed an angle. Something subtle. Something that used his abilities without revealing everything.
During lacrosse practice, Scott was a disaster. His reflexes were off the charts, making him clumsy and uncoordinated. He kept dropping his stick, tripping over himself, his enhanced senses making him react to everything. Coach Finstock was yelling, Jackson was sneering.
Nikolai, while still not exactly a star player himself, focused on trying to sense Scott's energy on the field. It was wilder here, less contained than in the classroom. He could feel the raw power bubbling just beneath the surface, the struggle for control.
As practice ended, the setting sun casting long shadows, Nikolai saw Scott slump against the goal post, looking utterly miserable. Stiles came over, trying to cheer him up.
'Now?' he wondered. 'Is this the moment?'
He decided against a direct approach. Not yet. Scott was too raw, too confused. He might lash out, might not believe him. He needed a less direct opening. He needed to show Scott something real, something undeniable, that pointed towards the supernatural, and present himself as someone who could make sense of it.
Walking home, the hum of Beacon Hills felt denser, more layered. He could still feel Scott's chaotic energy signature, a pulsating beacon across town. But he also felt something else tonight. A fainter, older energy, lurking in the shadows, moving with a predatory grace. It felt cold, ancient, and powerful.
'The Alpha,' he identified, a chill running down his spine. 'Peter's close. Watching. Probably waiting for Scott to shift.'
He quickened his pace. Sensing Peter Hale nearby was a stark reminder of the dangers. His mother's power might rival a Peter, but his own was barely a spark. He needed to get home, talk to Eleanor, understand more about shielding himself, about defensive magic.
Reaching the house, he felt a wave of relief. Stepping inside felt like stepping into a different kind of energy field, one that was protective, stable, imbued with his mother's magic.
Eleanor was waiting in the living room, eyes focused on him.
"You sensed him," she stated, not a question.
Nikolai nodded, breathless. "The Alpha. He's... nearby. The energy is cold. Old."
"Yes," she confirmed, her expression grim. "He's here. Drawn by the power he created. He'll want to monitor his... creation. To see if it takes. And to ensure it doesn't betray him."
'Peter's charming mentor phase is about to begin,' Nikolai thought wryly, despite the fear. 'And then the killing.'
"You felt the new one too?" Eleanor asked. "The bitten?"
"All day," Nikolai confirmed. "It's chaotic. Painful. Strong."
"He will need guidance," Eleanor said, her gaze distant. "Werewolves, left untrained, are dangerous. To themselves and others. And this Alpha… he is unstable. Ruthless. If he becomes the bitten one's only teacher..." She trailed off, a look of deep concern on her face.
This was it. The opening.
"Maybe," Nikolai said, meeting her gaze, "he doesn't have to be."
Eleanor looked at him, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. "You see a path?"
"I see a boy drowning in something he doesn't understand," Nikolai said, choosing his words carefully. "And I see an opportunity. He has the power. I have the… knowledge. About this world. And now, about… us."
'And the future,' he added silently.
"Magic and the bite," Eleanor murmured, a thoughtful look on her face. "It's an unusual combination. But potentially... formidable."
"A wolf and a warlock," Nikolai mused, a slow, strategic smile beginning to form. "Or maybe... more than one wolf. And more than one warlock."
The first conflict of the day – sensing Scott's struggle and his own strategic assessment – had led to a potential plan. He wasn't just observing the board anymore. He was considering how to move the pieces, how to introduce his own.
"Let's talk strategy, Mum," Nikolai said, the weariness replaced by a sharp focus. "How do I approach a kid who thinks he's going crazy, without telling him I know the future? And how do I make him see that a warlock might be a better ally than the psycho who bit him?"
Eleanor smiled then, a thin, intelligent smile that hinted at layers of cunning Nikolai was only beginning to understand. "Ah, Nikolai. That is where our unique talents truly come into play. Subtlety. Influence. And perhaps... a touch of orchestrated circumstance."
The first night of the werewolf had passed. The new era of Beacon Hills had begun. And Nikolai Ashworth was ready to start building his pack, one strategically placed magical interaction at a time.