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Summary
What he doesn’t expect, stupidly he should add, is the fucking werewolf that bit Scott.
Stiles runs into a clearing when a hush falls through the forest, spooking him into stopping just at the edge of it where the werewolf stands on the other side. He’s gigantic on two legs, feet twisted like an actual animal's are. And the arms hang on both sides brush the ground with their length, claws thick and black like Stiles remembers. His snout is long and formed into a loose snarl, eyes crimson bright and pupils narrowed into pinpricks.
Stiles stops breathing at the sight, goosebumps rattling up his skin and eyes catching on the blood that drips down the beast's fingers. He doesn’t see how this thing could be human at any time, so monstrous and terrifying as it is.