The Howl Of Awakening

Scott rushed up the stairs, his heart racing and his mind a chaotic storm of thoughts and fears. He flung himself into his bedroom, locking the door behind him. Slumping down against the door, he crouched there, breathing heavily as he looked at the open window. The full moon hung in the sky, glowing like a beacon, and it seemed to call to him in ways he couldn't understand.

Groaning in pain, Scott stumbled into the attached bathroom, stripping off his jacket and T-shirt in a desperate attempt to alleviate the burning sensation creeping over his skin. He climbed into the bathtub, turning on the shower so that hot water cascaded over him, providing momentary relief as steam filled the small space. But the soothing warmth was short-lived.

Suddenly, an agonizing jolt shot through him, and he grit his teeth, trying to distract himself. His right hand rubbed over his face anxiously, seeking some semblance of comfort. The headache from his heightened senses intensified, pressing against his skull like a vice as he gripped the sides of the bathtub, the porcelain cool against his heated skin.

But then, a new pain blossomed in his fingers. Horrified, he looked down at his palms, the sight making his stomach drop. His fingernails were lengthening, stretching into long, sharp claws, glistening under the harsh light of the bathroom. Panic surged within him.

Frantically, Scott leaped out of the shower, water streaming down his body as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the medicine cabinet. What he saw made his breath hitch. His canine teeth were growing into fangs, protruding from his mouth in a terrifying display. And his irises glowed a brilliant gold, reflecting the primal force awakening inside him.

A loud, frantic pounding on his bedroom door jolted him from his thoughts.

"Go away!" he shouted, pressing his forehead against the cool surface of the door, trying to ground himself.

"Scott, it's me!" came the familiar voice of Stiles, laced with worry.

Relief washed over him at the sound of his best friend's voice, but fear quickly took its place. He unlocked the door just enough to allow Stiles a glimpse, leaning against the door as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Let me in, Scott. I can help," Stiles urged, his voice urgent.

The thought of Stiles getting any closer sent a jolt of panic through him. What if he couldn't control himself? What if he hurt his best friend?

"Leave! Please!" Scott lisped slightly, his words tumbling out awkwardly around his growing fangs.

"Dude, just let me in! We can try—" Stiles pressed, concern flooding his tone.

"—It's Derek. Derek Hale is the Werewolf! He's the one that bit me. He's the one that killed the girl in the woods!" Scott shouted, desperation lacing his voice.

Outside the door, Stiles rattled the doorknob, panic rising in his throat as he realized Scott wasn't letting him in. He began pounding on the door, urgency in every strike.

"Scott!"

That was it; he couldn't take it anymore. In a surge of fear and instinct, Scott opened the window of his second-floor bedroom and leaped out. The rain from the previous night had left puddles on the ground below, and he landed in a three-point stance, splashing into the cold water. The shock of the temperature grounded him for a brief moment, but it wasn't enough to calm the storm raging within.

As he stood upright, the transformation surged through him, igniting every nerve. His brow ridged, the shape of his face altering as his ears became pointed, and the hair on his arms thickened into dark tufts. His fangs elongated further, dripping with saliva, a primal instinct roaring to the surface.

He could feel the power surging within him, a wild energy coursing through his veins as he looked up at the full moon hanging high in the sky. The light enveloped him, and he threw back his head, unleashing a deep, guttural roar that echoed through the night. The sound was both a release and a proclamation of his newfound identity.

As he completed his transformation, Scott stood tall, a fierce werewolf with gold glowing eyes, sharp claws, and a powerful presence. He felt the exhilaration of the hunt flooding his senses, the moon's light igniting a fire within him that he had never known before. Tonight, he was not just Scott McCall; he was a force of nature, free and wild under the gaze of the full moon.