Warning: This is a Derek/Oc McCall-sister fanfiction. It is rated M for violence and Sexual Situations (aka Lemons/Smut/Limes) in later chapters (S3-5) which will be marked with an MA next to the chapter title. Sorry if it's a slow start but please give it and my character time to develop and grow. Derek / OC, Slow build (lots of angst and feelings denial). This is a McCall sister fic: yes I know there are a lot, I don't care.

※ Chapter Rewritten 9/28/17 ※

"There should be a place where only the things you want to happen, happen..."

...Beacon Hills is not that place.

Where the Wild Things Are...

Prologue

(Hunted)

Beacon Hills, California. A growing, quiet metropolis, surrounded by woods far older than any of its inhabitants. A faint breeze rustled the crisp autumn leaves, the slightest of motion plucking them from their branches and blowing them to the ground.

At first sight, the preserve may seem peaceful, welcoming even, as it wraps itself around most of the county and threads itself in between city and suburbs alike. Yet on this night, the dark brush was anything but comforting. On this night, it held nothing but fear and dread.

Another oak leaf fell to the forest floor, resting among the dirt and moss for but a moment before being crushed by a thick black boot. It was only one of hundreds more that crunched and cracked under the line of sheriff deputies.

Rows of bright flashlights lite the ground while the sound of faded sirens and barking dogs littered the air. Orders were shouted left and right as wall after wall of officers were split apart and ordered in different directions. The silence of the woods had soon erupted into organized chaos as the search party began.

Noah Stilinski did not have the luxury of enjoying the woods the way the rest of his townsfolk did. Now in his third term as Sheriff, he found himself more stressed in these tranquil woods than he had ever been in all his years as an officer or widowed father.

"Make sure those dogs are tightly leashed, we can't lose one of 'em!" He shouted the K9 handlers. The three dogs each tried to pick up the scent of human remains, each seeming to lead their handler in different directions in a way that hinted at nothing but disappointment to come.

"Sheriff, some of the boys are wondering if we should issue a curfew? On the off-chance…" He didn't finish.

The Sheriff looked over his shoulder, eying the spots of light that made up the suburbs slowly fading to sleep below. "I'm not gonna cause a panic just because some mountain lion caught a poor girl after dark."

"We sure it's a mountain lion?" The deputy kicked his foot nervously. Stilinski gave him a stern look. The deputy would hint at, yet not speak, the fear the department had. A girl had been torn in half, a bit to evenly for the officers comfort. Mere Hours after being found, rumors already began to swarm through the station.

Stilinski pulled the hunting rifle from the trunk of the car, his usual weapon already holstered by his side. "It's Beacon Hills, Deputy," He slammed the car trunk closed. "-not the Black Dahlia."

The young officer swallowed thickly looking away ashamed only to let his heart skip a beat at the sight of the foreboding woods that lay ahead. Seeing the expression, Noah let his shoulders sink, heaving a heavy sigh. He didn't want his own stress about finding the body giving merit to these absurd rumors. "Look, son,-" He began fondly. "Beacon Hills has plenty of crime. Robberies, assaults, drugs, domestics and even the rare case of arson once in a blue moon." The Sheriff stepped closer, lowering his voice and staring the deputy in the eye, desperate to get his point across. "But serial killers ain't one of 'em."

The deputy jumped as Stilinski cocked the spring action rifle resting between them. The tranquilizers inside more than enough to handle any wild animal they came across. "It was a mountain lion." He said firmly. "There will be no curfew, there will be no panic. As long as people stay out of the woods at night,-" Stilinski nodded his head at the large sign under the preserve entrance ordering just that. "-there is no reason to think this is anything more than a tragic accident."

The deputy nodded, if reluctantly, in agreement.

Stilinski looked once more at the lights of the suburbs below them, a small part of him hoping beyond hope that his own words would be proven true.

Situated in the higher end of the middle-class, the house at the end of Oakridge Avenue wasn't much different from the rest of the suburban replicas. The spacious two-story home was a faded subtle green with white trim, just as quaint and well taken care of as the other houses on its street. The grass was freshly mowed, the bushes surrounding the home well trimmed, and the wrap around porch often swept clean.

While the rest of the house was dark in the oncoming midnight hour, the two upper bedrooms remained alight.

A figured watched patiently from across the street, hidden by the overgrown elm and the cover of darkness. Focused blue eyes watched the distorted figure move back around the eastern bedroom, the female silhouette clear even through the beige curtains.

Reagan McCall crossed her bedroom for the tenth time in as many minutes, desperately searching high and low in a double and triple check of where she could have possibly misplaced her school ID.

Brushing her dark blonde hair behind her ears, she tightened her grip and pulled in exasperation. Her cheeks puffed out before trying to release a forced calming breath. With a new suspicion, she narrowed her eyes and turned to her bed, pointing accusingly with gritted teeth.

"What did you do with it?"

As if startled by the accusation, the small kitten let out a squeaky meow, stumbling to the edge of the bed to argue.

"Where's your brother? I'm sure he had something to do with this." Reagan talked to herself, looking around for any sign of the larger, older, cat. Always one to be prepared Reagan felt her stomach stretched into an anxious knot the longer it took to find the ID she so desperately needed for the early morning. With her options running thin, she sat at the desk beside her bay window and opened her laptop.

For a few moments, all was quiet sans the clicks of the keyboard as Reagan messaged a few of her friends in the hopes she'd left it in their car at some point this weekend. Waiting for a reply, she stopped her Instagram scrolling when a feeling began pricking at her neck. Reagan raised her gaze, staring at herself in the mirror, trying to place the feeling that steadily began to sharpen. Her lips pursed in a confused pout, her brows furrowing in confusion as she looked to the window beside her. The curtains swayed under the force of a small breeze.

A moment of hesitation, before the pinprick seemed to burn into her very being. Reagan pushed the curtain aside, peeking into the dark and apparently empty street. As it had been for years, the streetlight across the street flickered with little success, the solar panels that powered it too covered in the overgrown elm tree to ever have a chance to work at night. Yet, in the flicker, her eyes caught a figure of something, a shadow or a movement or a trick of the eye that made something about the trunk of that tree seem thicker than it normally was.

Blue eyes straining against the sporadic flickering, she opened her curtain fully, sliding her hands through the cracked window and opening it completely.

Her entire upper body leaned out of the window, palms resting on the porch roof below her. "Stiles?" She almost whispered, not willing to admit a slight incline of fear was beginning to take hold as she could have sworn the figured moved. It wasn't uncommon for him to climb the porch roof to enter the house at odd hours now and again. For a second, Reagan held her breath, only for a headlight of a passing car to reveal the overgrown tree trunk to be just that: a tree. Reagan closed her eyes, hating herself for falling into a moment of superstition just because Stiles had made them watch the Halloween movies the night before. There was no Michael Myers hiding outside her home.

Giving one last look down each side of the street, she seemed to miss a small figure leap passed her.

What felt like a hand rested itself on her arched back, and with a start, Reagan straighten herself. The soft back of her head met the hard wooden window panel. Reagan grit her teeth, clutching the throbbing bump as she turned on her cat. "Thief!" She hissed, stomping to make the Bengal cat rush to the bed.

There in Max's mouth hung the lanyard with Reagan's ID. Ripping the impromptu plaything away, she turned and shut her window, putting forth the effort to make sure it was locked this time around.

Max protested the punishment, letting out a loud "Mawh". As he tried to bat at the plastic card attached. Tisking him way, she picked the large Bengal up and placed a kiss between its raised ears. While it was the kitten they had named 'Mischief', it lately appeared Max had been quite the little rascal himself. Disappearing for a day or two at a time and finding his way outside one way or another.

At the reminder, she checked the windows once more, opening and closing each one to check the sturdiness as she spied the still empty street once more. It was upon closing the third of the bay windows, her spine chilled at another sound. A small thud from her window was muffled by a much louder thud outside her bedroom door, the two felines on her bed jumping to attention at the noise. Two shadows of feet seeming to stand there in the crack of door bottom.

"Scott?" She called, a bit concerned. She received no answer. Assuming the worst of a possible asthma attack, Reagan leaped from the nook and rushed to the door. "Sco-." Reagan ducked at the last second, the name turning to a small scream in her throat as the metal bat primed to swing just barely stopped before her face. "Gah!" She blanched, holding up her hands in annoyed defense, the outstretched palms curling into fists as the moment of surprise passed. "What the fuck?!" Her voice raised a full octave, staring at her brother like he was insane.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she stared at her brother standing between their rooms, looking ready to strike at anything that moved. "Why do you have mom's bat?" She hissed in annoyance. Her hands reached to take it from him. Clearly, he had been much more affected by that movie than she had been. His brown eyes alight, equally surprised by the near accident. Still, he held the bat tighter, moving it out of her grasp.

"Shh!" He winced making her gawk. "I think there's a predator outside." He whispered back, glancing nervously at the window at the end of the hall.

"A pred-" She rolled her eyes at his dramatics knowing it was probably one of the stray cats in the neighborhood that'd chased Max home. "Really, Scott?"

"I'm just gonna check it out." He whispered still, as if not wanting to alert it to his plan. Slowly he crept down the stairs.

Reagan turned back, ready to let Scott have his little protector moment when she found herself staring at the curtains of her window. Maybe just a little look around outside wouldn't be too bad. "Scott, hold on!" She whispered back, falling into the same dramatic trap as he. "Damn it, Scotty!" She cursed as she started down the stairs.

Boyish screams echoed from outside the house. Putting here years of track practice to use, Reagan took two steps at a time, vaulting over the couch, her socked feet slipping and sliding as she ran through the porch and hooked her arm in the doorframe, stopping herself just short of running into her brother. "What?!" She shouted.

Mangled, lanky, and awful a sight as it was, the boy hanging upside down from their roof was no threat. Reagan rested against the rich mahogany door frame, rolling her eyes at the melodramatics of it all as she willed her heart to settle.

"What the hell, Stiles!" She breathed.

Stiles Stilinski's pale face was flushed with fear and exertion as he hung upside down from their porch roof. Their oldest and dearest friend, the son of the Sheriff was a normal sight, upright or not, around the McCall household.

Stiles gestured wildly to the siblings, still lightly swaying. "He wasn't answering his phone and you were online but wouldn't respond so..." He rationalized in his special logic before changing the topic. "Why do you have a bat?" He refocused his attention on the object of his near-beheading.

"I thought you were a predator." Scott defended.

"A pred-" Stiles scoffed at the idea, sharing Reagan's opinion on the ridiculousness of it. It was Beacon Hills for Christ-sake.

"Why were you being so creepy earlier?" She was swiftly ignored, a glance barely spared by her younger brother.

"Look I know it's late but you gotta hear this: I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called. They're bringing in every officer from the Beacon department and even state police." Stiles excitement was only fueled by the adrenaline pumping through his veins and blood pooling in his head.

"What's holding you up?" Reagan's brow furrowed, ignoring him to lean out and try to peer at whatever he was snagged on that was keeping him from breaking his neck.

"For what?" Scott asked at the same time. Once more, Reagan was promptly ignored as Stiles was indulged.

"Two joggers found a body in the woods." Stiles flipped himself up and down, landing in the flowerbed with more grace than he'd ever shown running on two legs.

"A dead body?!" Reagan's attention was finally taken away from the roof, her neck giving an audible crack with the force she turned her head.

"No, a body of water. Yes, dumbass, a dead body!" The paler boy winced when his hand was slapped before helping himself over the railing.

"You mean like murdered?"

"Nobody knows yet. Just that it was a girl probably in her twenties."

"If they found the body what are they looking for?" The woods that surrounded and trickled into the city were miles wide, and not made of skinny little sticks either. Surely they weren't looking for evidence that was probably already covered in the season's leaves.

"That's the best part. They only found half." Stiles bit his lip to contain his grin, his voice trailing off in excited laughter. Clearly, he'd overdone his Adderall again.

"Tone down the smile there, Bundy." Reagan chided.

"Sorry. But you know what this means, right?!" At their blank faces, he smiled, "We're going!"

"No. We're not."

"Scott!" Both teens looked at the boy expectantly, waiting for him to pick a side.

Said boy looked back and forth between the two before giving a groan.

"You know he's just going to do it even if I don't." He tried to plead with his sister. Reagan narrowed her eyes at him as she saw Stiles pump his fist in victory. The boy held their breath, anxiously awaiting what Reagan would do. And by that, let them do. Reagan sighed through her nose, extending her hand expectantly.

"I'm driving."

※ Lie (Instrumental) by Halsey ※

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