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The detective Mark Graison sat down in the cold metal chair. He absentmindedly straightened his tie as he tossed the manila file to the boy across from him. The kid was clad in a leather jacket that looked two sizes too big for him and a tee emblazoned with the phrase ‘Bury the Lie’.
This was Stiles Stilinski, first name unknown, associated with at least ten murders, all of them brutal maulings. That was the odd thing about it. The bodies were covered with claw marks and hematomas from a bat. No one could figure out what the claw marks were from. Mark was betting they were from some homemade knife set.
“Now you understand you’ve waived your right to legal counsel?” Mark questioned.
The kid smirked, flicking open the folder, uncaring of the handcuffs. “I really don’t think I’ll be here long enough mister detective.”
“Stiles, can I call you Stiles? I really don’t think you’re the one behind these murders. I think there’s someone bigger behind them.” Mark watched the boy flip through the pictures, his face impassive.
“So, what? You gonna offer me a deal of some kind?” he asked, looking up. His molten brown eyes amused.
“If you can tell me what happened then we can work something out with the district attorney.”
Stiles reached the last picture, the oldest. It was a teenage girl from two years ago. The girl had shown signs of being tortured. First all the bones in her hands and feet had been crushed then a few deliberate cuts had been made. After that is was as if the person had lost all restraint. Her name was Allison Argent.
“Can you tell me what happened to them, Stiles?”
The boy paused in his admiration of the photos, eyes flicking first to Mark and then the glass window behind him. For a second Mark was sure the kid was going to talk, do something to help the case. But then the boy smiled.
“They got in the way,” he replied with a smile.
“The way of what, Stiles?”
“My pack.” The smile grew wider until it was more a show of teeth than a smile.
“What is your pack? Is it a cult? Is the person in charge of this cult making you do these things?” Mark asked.
Stiles laughed. He threw his head back and laughed.
Mark stiffened. He reached for the file and stood up.
Stiles paused in his laughter. “Wait you were serious?”
“Why did you come to the station and ask to speak to a detective then Stiles?”
The teen leaned forward, resting his head on his entwined fingers. “The pack needed challenge.” He gestured to the file. “A few people every now and then gets boring. Now, a couple armed police? That’s a little more interesting.”
Mark felt a sudden chill go down his spine as he moved to the door.
“Tell me detective, how many officers are here right now, ten? Fifteen?”
The truth was for the night owl shift there was typically only twelve officers on duty. Tonight, however, it was those twelve, an attorney and Mark himself. Mark glanced once more at the smirking teen before opening the door. Then he stopped short.
There in front of him stood another man. He was unshaved and wearing a wife beater. He glanced at Mark before shifting his eyes to the handcuffed teen.
“Hey Der-Bear.” Stiles waggled his fingers at the man.
The man gave a smirk back before turning back to the detective. Mark was reaching for the gun on his waist. Before he knew it the man had his hand around his throat and Mark was lifted off the floor. As Mark watched, the man’s eyes turned a bright red. He felt the fingers around his throat change and sharpen. Then the claws ripped through the skin and Mark dropped to the floor.
“Aw, I wanted to kill that one Derek.” Stiles waited as Derek ripped off the handcuffs before reaching up to pull his mate into a kiss. He felt the bloodied claws reach under the jacket and shirt to rest against his skin. Their teeth clanked together as they nipped at each other’s lips. “See? Isn’t this exciting?” Stiles asked, panting.
Derek’s eyes were still growing red as he gave a growl in response. That was when the heard the first shot. They listened as more shots were fired and the screaming began. Stiles began to grin in excitement. His pack started howling as well. Derek led the way to the door, his arm firmly clamped around Stiles.
Scott appeared in the doorway, his eyes glowing gold and a grin on his face. Blood was dripping off his claws as he handed Stiles his bat. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on all the fun.”
Stiles laughed again as he took the old, blood-stained bat.