Hi, all! I have had many different accounts on this site, but I continually delete and remake them... so, I decided to post some of my old stories. Some I will be updating, some I may just leave alone. It's all up to the readers! Let me know in the reviews!

Enjoy!

Obviously, **I do not own Teen Wolf**... that won't change throughout this story, so this is the only time I am putting this here.

It was dark and Lydia had just parked her car in the big parking garage across the street from Stiles' apartment when a sudden uneasy feeling washed over her. It was similar to when someone was going to die, but somehow, she knew it was different. She began walking faster, as fast as her tall designer boots would allow her. Her rolling suitcase trailed behind her, slowing her down further.

Finally at the door to his small apartment, she took a deep breath to calm herself. Everything was fine, it had to be, she was just being paranoid. She should be excited, not worried, she is about to spend a whole week with her boyfriend—alone, in his very own studio apartment. Lydia knocked on the door and it creaked open. That was never a good sign.

"Stiles?" her voice was wobbly, she had flashbacks to the night he disappeared at the school just a few months back. She slowly entered the apartment and was met with a gruesome sight. Stiles lay, bathed in red, on what was once a pearly white rug in the living room. Above him stood a dark figure, looming, as if waiting for something. She gasped. The figures head snapped in her direction. His red eyes met hers and she prepared to scream—though not out of anticipation of a death, but out of pure hatred, fear, and dread. The figure was over to her in less than a second, covering her mouth. His hands were damp with blood—Stiles' blood.

"Tsk, tsk, my dear," his voice was soothing, she felt her muscles relax at its sound. Even though everything in her told her that she should be fighting, she couldn't seem to get her body into action. Her eyes met a pair of chocolate brown ones, they looked terrified, and then suddenly, they looked empty before slowly drooping closed. Lydia whined through the stranger's hand, wanting nothing more than to go to Stiles, to save him. "Okay, love, I am going to let go of you, but you will not move, you will not make a sound, you will listen to me."

She nodded, in a trance.

His caramel voice continued, "I know of you, as I have been watching your beloved for some time now. I have to say, you are an interesting match. But, I understand why you are so transfixed by him. He is intelligent, quick-witted, and brave. He is… good. But, there is also an air of darkness to him. Which is why he is perfect..." the man trailed off. Lydia began to make out some of his features by now. He had dark hair, peppered with grey, but full. His jaw was sharp, angular, making his rounded lips all the more prominent. His lips… were covered in blood.

Lydia didn't quite understand what the man was getting at. She wondered if he was a werewolf, an alpha. Perhaps from one of the packs that so often threatened Scott's. For some reason, however, she did not think that was the case. He seemed animalistic, yes, but in a different way than the wolves. He seemed more controlled, concise, like each move he made was calculated.

"But I digress," the man steps toward Stiles and kneels down next to his lifeless form. A single tear trails down Lydia's cheek as the man gently exposes Stiles' neck, seemingly examining it. The skin there was bloodied and torn, as if he had been attacked by an expert predator. Lydia began to hyperventilate, unable to control the panic that was building inside her. Though she still could not seem to move a muscle, so there she stood helplessly, falling to pieces. The man stood once more and waltzed over to Lydia's side. He took her hand in his and directed her face toward him, he was just inches away. His glowing red eyes held hers. They weren't like Scott's alpha eyes. No, there was something different about them, something darker. Something that said, if you see me you are dead. She felt like she might vomit.

"He is going to wake up soon," the man said softly. He wiped away Lydia's tear with his bloody hands, effectively smearing Stiles' blood over her cheek. "And when he does, and this is very important, Lydia, he will need to feed. He will need blood."

She didn't understand what was happening, the need to scream, or run, vomit, something was causing her to feel as if she might implode from the inside.

"More specifically." He trailed his fingers along her neck, exposed as she had chosen to wear her hair up that day. "Your blood."

Lydia's eyes widened, finally understanding just exactly what the man was.

"Can you do that for me, Lydia? Can you do that for him?"

"Yes," she heard herself choke out, though every part of her tried to fight against it.

He nodded, smiling. "Good, very good, Lydia. Now, I must go. But don't you worry, I will be back." With that, the man disappeared.

Lydia fell to her knees.

"Vampire," she whispered before sprinting to the bathroom and heaving into the toilet.