The last light of day was fading, the sky painted in streaks of gold and indigo, when Scott and I finished our second round of drills in the preserve. The air was cool, the scent of pine and damp earth sharp in my nose, and the hush of the woods settled around us like a blanket. Scott was breathing hard, sweat darkening his t-shirt, but there was a spark in his eyes—a pride I hadn't seen in him before.
We paused at the edge of a clearing, the ground soft beneath our feet. I could feel the Nemeton's pulse, distant but steady, humming in my bones, but it wasn't what made me what I was. The Nemeton was a boost, a surge of power—like the alpha sparks I'd taken from others. But the bear in me, the ability to shift, that was mine alone. It had always been there, waiting beneath the surface, long before I ever set foot in Beacon Hills.
Scott leaned against a fallen log, catching his breath, and I watched him for a moment—measuring not just his progress, but his resolve.
"You did good today," I said, tossing him a water bottle. "Better than this morning."
He grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. "Thanks. I feel like I'm finally getting the hang of it. At least, until you start throwing curveballs."
I laughed, the sound echoing through the trees. "That's the point. The world doesn't fight fair. You have to be ready for anything."
He nodded, but I could see the question in his eyes—something he'd been holding back all day. I waited, letting the silence stretch, until finally he spoke.
"Ross… can I ask you something? Something big?"
I sat on the log beside him, the bark rough under my palms. "Anything."
He hesitated, chewing his lip. "Back at the house, you said you could shift—like, really shift. Not just claws and eyes. I've never seen it. I mean, I've seen Derek get all wolfed out, but you… you're different, right?"
I nodded, feeling the old weight settle on my shoulders. "Yeah. I'm different. I can shift all the way—full bear, and something in between. the alpha sparks I've taken they make me stronger, but they don't make me a bear. That's just me."
Scott's eyes widened, awe and a little fear mingling in his gaze. "Can I see? I mean… if it's not too much."
I smiled, standing and stretching my arms overhead. "You sure you're ready? It's not pretty. And it's not like the movies."
He stood too, squaring his shoulders. "I want to see. I need to know what's possible."
I nodded, stepping into the centre of the clearing. The last light of day painted the world in gold, and I started to unbutton my shirt, pulling it off and tossing it onto a low branch. My boots came off next, then my jeans, leaving me in just my boxers. I caught Scott's startled look and shrugged. "Clothes don't survive the shift. Trust me, it's better this way."
He laughed, a little nervously, but didn't look away.
I took a deep breath, grounding myself in the earth beneath my feet. The bear was always there, just beneath my skin, waiting. I didn't need the Nemeton's power to call it up—just my own will. I let go, let the change roll through me—bones shifting, muscles swelling, fur erupting across my arms and chest. My hands became paws, claws glinting in the fading light. My spine lengthened, shoulders broadening, until I stood on all fours—a massive bear, fur the colour of old earth, eyes burning with a deep, verdant green.
Scott stumbled back, eyes wide, but he didn't run. He watched, breathless, as I took a step forward, the ground trembling beneath my weight. I let out a low, rumbling growl—not a threat, but a greeting. The sound vibrated through the clearing, scattering a flock of birds from the trees.
After a moment, I shifted again—this time not all the way back, but into the hybrid form. My body shrank, standing upright, fur receding but not vanishing. My hands became claws again, my face a blend of human and bear, eyes still glowing. I towered over Scott, muscles coiled and ready, but my voice—when I spoke—was still my own, just deeper, rougher.
"This is the hybrid form," I said, my words thick but clear. "Stronger than human, faster than bear. It's what I use when I need to fight but not lose myself."
Scott stared, awe and fear warring in his expression. "That's… incredible. I didn't know anyone could do that."
I nodded, shifting back to human with a shudder. The change left me breathless, sweat prickling on my skin, but I grinned, shaking out my arms. ". I can shift like you do the cheek fuzzy and a slight deforming of the face but turning fully is natural to us, It's not easy. Takes practice. Control. You must know who you are, or you'll get lost in it"
He nodded, still staring. "And you can do magic, too? Like your mom?"
I shook my head, sitting back on the log and pulling my jeans on, not bothering with the shirt yet. "Druid magic isn't something you can just learn. You're born with it, or you're not. My mother passed it on just like my dad did. However, I can share it with your mother—maybe, through a ritual. But I can't teach you to be a druid, Scott. That's not how it works I might be able to share it with your mother because of what she is to me."
He looked disappointed, but I held up a hand. "But I can teach you other things. My mom started teaching me about healing—salves, herbs, how to treat wounds that won't close on their own. I had to learn later from others but That's not magic. That's knowledge. And that, I can share."
He perked up, curiosity brightening his eyes. "Like what?"
I smiled, reaching into my discarded backpack and pulling out a small tin. "This, for example. Good for cuts and bruises. And this—" I held up a bundle of dried leaves, "Chew it up, spit it on a sting or a bite, and it'll draw out the poison."
He took the tin, opening it and sniffing. "Smells… earthy."
I laughed. "Most good medicine does. I'll show you how to make it. It won't heal a werewolf wound, but it'll help with the pain. And if you ever get hurt bad enough that your healing can't keep up, it might buy you time."
He nodded, tucking the tin into his pocket. "Thanks. I never thought about that side of things."
I shrugged, pulling my shirt back on. "Most people don't. They think strength is all claws and teeth. But sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is help someone heal."
Scott was quiet for a long time after I finished showing him the basics of leverage and movement. The forest was settling into dusk, the air cooling, the hush broken only by the distant call of an owl. I could see the gears turning behind his eyes—worry, hope, uncertainty.
He finally broke the silence, voice low and a little shaky. "Ross… can I ask you something? About packs. About being an omega."
I nodded, sitting down on the log beside him. "Of course. It's not a simple thing, Scott. Take your time."
He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers as if he could feel the weight of the question there. "I've been an omega since I got bit. Part of me likes it—being on my own, not having to answer to anyone. But it's lonely. And dangerous. I see how Derek acts, how he's always on edge, and I wonder if that's what I'm headed for. But joining a pack… it feels like giving up something. Like I'd lose myself."
I let the silence stretch, feeling the ache in his words. "Being an omega means you're free, Scott. You don't answer to anyone. But it also means you're alone when things get bad. No one's got your back in a fight. No one's there to pull you out when you're drowning. And the world—especially the supernatural world—doesn't care if you're alone. Omegas are the weakest, most vulnerable. That's why most werewolves join packs. Derek's been on his own for a long time, and you can see what it's done to him. Your kind quite literally get stronger with a pack"
Scott's jaw clenched. "I see how he looks at me sometimes. Like he's angry I won't just… join him. But I can't trust him. Not after everything with Peter. I don't want to be like them. I don't want to be told who to hurt, or who to save. I just want to be… me."
I nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "A real pack isn't about control. It's about trust. Loyalty. It's about having people who'll fight for you, even when you can't fight for yourself. But it's not perfect. You give up some freedom. You must compromise. Sometimes you must put the pack's needs above your own. And if the alpha's bad, or the pack's broken, it can destroy you. Look at Peter—he's the Alpha now, but he's using that power for himself, not for anyone else. He wants you to join him, but only if you're willing to kill for him. That's not a real pack. That's just control."
Scott's voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm scared, Ross. I'm scared of being alone, but I'm more scared of losing myself. I look at Stiles, Allison, my mom… they're all I have. But they're not like me. Not really. Sometimes I feel like I'm not even part of their world anymore."
I put a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. "You're not alone, Scott. You might not have a supernatural pack, but you have people who care about you. People who'd risk their lives for you. That's more than some alphas ever have. But it's not the same as a true werewolf pack. You don't get the same strength, the same connection. You're still an omega, Scott. You're still on your own when it comes to the supernatural side of things."
He hesitated, then looked at me, eyes shining with something raw and hopeful. "You're an alpha, right? I mean, a real one. Could I… could I join your pack?"
I was quiet for a moment, letting the question settle between us. "That's a big question, Scott. And it's not one I take lightly. Being in my pack would mean trusting me with your life, and me trusting you with mine. It's not just about power—it's about responsibility. I'd have to be sure it's right for both of us. But… maybe, down the line, we could talk about it. For now, I want you to figure out who you want to be. What kind of pack you want. If you decide you want to stand with me, we'll talk. I promise."
Scott nodded, relief and longing in his eyes. "Thanks. I just… I want to belong somewhere. But I want to do it my way. Not just because I'm scared, or because someone tells me to. I want to be strong enough to protect the people I care about."
I squeezed his shoulder, feeling the truth of it in my chest. "That's all anyone can ask. And I'll help you get there. But you must put in the work. No shortcuts."
He grinned, the old spark returning. "I'm ready. What's next?"
I stood, brushing dirt from my jeans. "Next, I show you how to use your strength. Not just brute force—real strength. The kind that comes from knowing your limits and pushing past them."
We moved to the centre of the clearing, the last light of day fading into twilight. I picked up a fallen branch, thick and heavy, and handed it to Scott.
"lift this and try to break it" I said, stepping back.
He gripped the branch, muscles straining, and snapped it clean in half. I nodded, picking up a larger log.
"Now this one."
He hesitated, then wrapped his arms around the log, lifting with a grunt. His face reddened, sweat beading on his forehead, but he managed to lift it a few inches off the ground before dropping it with a thud.
"Not bad," I said, grinning. "But you're using your arms. Try using your whole body. Legs, back, core. Strength isn't just about muscles—it's about leverage. About knowing how to grip something and how to move."
I demonstrated, squatting low, gripping the log with both hands, and lifting with my legs. The log rose easily, balanced across my shoulders. I set it down, motioning for him to try again.
He mimicked my stance, focusing on his form, and this time the log lifted more easily. He grinned, pride shining in his eyes.
"See? It's not about being the biggest or the strongest. It's about being smart. About using what you have."
We spent the next hour running drills—lifting, carrying, pushing, pulling. I showed him how to fall without getting hurt, how to roll with a punch, how to use his opponent's weight against them. He picked it up quickly, his movements growing more confident with each repetition.
As darkness fell, we sat on the log, catching our breath. The stars were just beginning to appear, scattered across the indigo sky.
"You did good today," I said, clapping him on the back. "Better than the few I have taught."
He grinned, exhausted but happy. "Thanks. I feel… different. Stronger. Like I can manage whatever comes next."
I nodded, serious now. "Tomorrow, I need you to stay clean. No fights, no trouble. Focus on school. If you need help, call me. I'll be busy most of the day—I must go to the Argents, try to get Derek back. But if you need me, I'll come running."
He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "You're going to the Argents? Isn't that dangerous?"
I shrugged, a wry smile on my lips. "Everything's dangerous in Beacon Hills. But someone has to do it. Derek's in trouble, and I'm the only one strong enough to get him out. Besides, I have a few tricks up my sleeve."
He laughed, the sound bright in the darkness. "Just… be careful, okay? We need you."
I smiled, standing and stretching. "I'll be fine. You just focus on being the best version of yourself. That's all I ask."
He nodded, determination in his eyes. "I will. I promise."
We walked back to the house in silence, the night air cool and crisp. As we reached the porch, I paused, turning to face him.
"Scott," I said, my voice low. "You're stronger than you think. Not just because of the bite, or the training. Because you care. That's what makes a truly strong supernatural — not power, not fear. Heart. Remember that."
He nodded, a quiet smile on his lips. "I will. Thanks, Ross. For everything."
I clapped him on the shoulder, then headed inside, the weight of the coming day settling on my shoulders. Tomorrow would be a test—for both of us. But for the first time in a long time, I felt ready.
And as I lay in bed that night, listening to the quiet sounds of the house, I let myself hope that maybe, just maybe, we could find a way through the darkness—together.