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Being born on the Ides of March was nothing if not prophetic, if you happen to believe in those kinds of things.
There were differing opinions about whether he actually had good or bad luck because of it. His Mom had been fond of pointing out that the Ides of March were Anna Perenna festival day, the celebration of the Goddess of the year. The first full moon of the New Year in the Roman calendar.
She had followed the old ways. The Hunter traditions and lore that were passed from generation to generation, that she had leaned at the feet of her clan’s historian. Lore that she had started to teach him before she had passed. Bits and pieces he’d learned from her journals and books. Teachings that his wider family had finished when he'd come to them with questions.
Others took great pleasure in telling him that the Ides of March were when all debts were due and being born then meant there was a debt to be paid.
Stiles though knew something else was a play.
Like his Mom he followed the traditions of his clan, if not the religious beliefs that came with them. He was a Stilinski not a Gajos, his father didn’t practice, and he followed him in that out of love and respect.
The Stilinski’s were neither clan nor pack. They were considered neutral in most cases and were often the arbiters, defenders, and the police of the supernatural world.
Sometimes though they threw up magic users from basic Hedge Witches through to Sparks. Which brought it own lore and teachings. Something that the Stilinski’s kept hidden, buried in myth and legend.
A tradition that had led him to an old tree stump, one that sat at the heart of the preserve. The one that he was sitting against, breathing the night air, letting the land speak to him. The sounds of the preserve slipped away as foot falls brought a wolf into the clearing, one that stopped just out of touching distance. Curious and inquisitive grey eyes looking at him, eyes that had flashed red briefly.
He did nothing more than look back waiting on the Were before him to make its choice. Hot breath and a wet tongue on his neck had him up and following the wolf.
The preserve seemed to take a breath. The Hale pack had found its new Emissary.