Chương 14: Chapter 14: First meeting With the Alpha

The night was still, and the sound of crickets filled the air as Scott stood beside Deaton outside his home. A soft breeze rustled the leaves in the nearby trees, but Scott's focus was on the thin line of mountain ash Deaton had meticulously laid around the perimeter of the house.

Deaton straightened up and walked over to Scott, his expression unreadable as always. "The barrier's ready. But, Scott..." He hesitated, a rare break in his calm. "You know if I activate this, you won't be able to enter your house. Mountain ash affects all werewolves. I can deactivate it, but..."

Scott grinned, a confident gleam in his eyes. "You're underestimating me, Doc. Trust me, just activate it. Let's see what happens."

Deaton gave him a curious glance, then nodded. With a quiet breath, he whispered a word under his breath, and the mountain ash flared briefly with a soft glow before disappearing from sight. The barrier was up.

Scott didn't waste a second. Without a moment's hesitation, he strode forward toward his front door, a lazy smile on his face. As he crossed the invisible boundary, he felt... nothing. No resistance, no burning sensation, nothing that other werewolves would experience. It was as if the mountain ash wasn't even there.

Deaton's eyes widened in disbelief. "Wait... Scott, stop." He rushed forward, eyes darting to the ground where the ash had been laid. He was sure he'd done it right. "That shouldn't be possible."

Scott turned to look at Deaton from his spot just inside the doorway, an eyebrow raised in amusement. "Well, guess I'm special." He flashed a playful grin.

Deaton stepped closer, his mind clearly racing as he tried to process what he'd just witnessed. "This... I've never seen a werewolf cross mountain ash before. You're immune to it?"

Scott chuckled. "Looks that way."

"This... this doesn't make sense," Deaton said, clearly baffled. He walked toward the barrier, carefully inspecting the line of ash to ensure it was still intact. Then, with a frown, he stepped forward and drew another circle of mountain ash around himself. "Come here," he instructed, his voice slightly strained.

Scott walked over, standing right outside the circle. Deaton watched closely, his eyes narrowed with concentration. "Now try touching me," he said.

Scott reached down and, without hesitation, patted Deaton on the shoulder, ignoring the supposed magical barrier as if it didn't even exist. Deaton stood frozen, and for the first time in a long while, he looked genuinely shocked. His composure cracked. "How... how can you ignore the ash? It's been a deterrent to werewolves for centuries. Even the strongest alphas are bound by it."

Scott just gave him that mysterious smile. "I'm different, Doc. Special. Let's just say I'm not your average werewolf."

Deaton studied him, his expression a mixture of curiosity, confusion, and even a little awe. "Different doesn't begin to cover it. We need to talk more about this. But not tonight."

Scott nodded, still wearing that smug smile. "Yeah, maybe later. Tonight, I've got dinner plans." He winked, clearly enjoying the fact that he'd just blown Deaton's mind.

Deaton finally shook his head, still looking perplexed. "We'll continue this conversation soon." With a final, puzzled glance, he left, walking back to his car with his mind clearly reeling from what he had just witnessed.

Scott closed the door behind him and sighed, feeling the tension of the day finally easing off his shoulders. He took a shower then he made his way to the kitchen, deciding to wind down with a little cooking. After all, cooking was something that always relaxed him in his old life—something about the rhythm of it, the control over the ingredients, the art of creating something satisfying from simple ingredients.

He grabbed some chicken, tortillas, cheese from the fridge. Enchiladas were a simple dish, but in his hands, it became more of a therapeutic process. He chopped up onions, sautéed them until golden, then mixed in some peppers and some spices. As the scent filled the kitchen, he felt a sense of calm wash over him, the day's stress melting away.

With a quick flick of the wrist, Scott seared the chicken to perfection, the spices filling the air as he wrapped it all in tortillas, covered them in sauce, and sprinkled them generously with cheese. While the enchiladas baked, he threw together a quick salad, chopping vegetables with the ease of someone who'd done this a thousand times before.

By the time his mom came home, the kitchen was filled with delicious smells, and Scott was sitting at the table, proud of his work.

"Wow, what's all this?" Melissa asked, eyes wide as she took in the sight of the spread on the table. "You cooked dinner, again?"

Scott grinned. "Yep. Just felt like making something nice."

She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're full of surprises, you know that?"

They spent the next hour talking, laughing, and catching up. Scott told her about school and his "boring" shift at the clinic, carefully leaving out the part where he fought a flesh-eating ghoul. Melissa laughed at his stories, and dinner was filled with light conversation, and the usual mother-son banter. Scott felt at ease, enjoying the normalcy of the moment. It was easy to forget, just for a little while, that his world was anything but normal.

After dinner, Scott cleaned up the dishes, exchanged a few more jokes with his mom, and then headed up to bed. The house was quiet, peaceful, the mountain ash barrier giving him an extra sense of security.

But that peace didn't last long.

In the middle of the night, a low, eerie howl cut through the stillness. Scott's eyes snapped open, instantly alert. He sat up in bed, glancing toward the window. The howl wasn't just any random wolf—it was a familiar sound.

He moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside. There, standing in the shadows beneath a tree, was Peter Hale, fully transformed into his werewolf form. His eyes glowed, watching Scott with an intensity that should have been terrifying.

Scott, though, wasn't the least bit scared. Instead, he just smirked and raised his hand, flipping Peter off with a lazy, casual gesture. "Nice try, dumbass," he muttered under his breath.

He dropped the curtain and flopped back onto the bed, completely unconcerned. Peter might be a problem for other betas, but Scott wasn't other betas, he wasn't even sure if he was a beta. Peter couldn't control him, and Scott wasn't about to let him think otherwise.

As he lay back down, a mischievous grin spread across his face. The thrill of the day was still fresh in his mind, and as he drifted off to sleep, a goofy smile spread across his face. He dreamed of Allison dressed as a sexy Red Riding Hood, teasing him playfully. In his dream, she laughed and called him a big bad wolf, and he couldn't help but laugh along with her.

Outside, Peter growled in frustration, his claws digging into the earth. He couldn't believe it—Scott had completely ignored him. No fear, no submission. He stalked closer to the house, ready to confront Scott—but as he neared the property line, something stopped him.

The mountain ash barrier.

Peter growled low in his throat, pacing angrily as he realized he couldn't get past it. He glanced back at the window, still fuming. How had Scott—a newly turned beta—managed to block him out? It wasn't possible. It was infuriating. How could a beta resist him? He was an Alpha, a Hale, a *dignified Alpha*, and yet here was a stupid beta, of his own making, treating him like nothing more than an annoyance.

Peter stared at the house one last time, feeling the sting of humiliation. He turned and stalked away into the night, his thoughts dark and brooding. How had he lost control so quickly? And why couldn't he bend Scott to his will? He had expected the boy to be a pawn in his game, but now... now, he wasn't so sure.

As Peter disappeared into the forest, Scott slept soundly, a content smile on his face. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new enemies, and more surprises, but for now, he was just a guy enjoying the best sleep he'd had in weeks.

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