The Mark Chapter 1

**Well, hello there! This one's set at the end of Battlefield but it doesn't follow the finale (not that I've seen it yet, LOL, but I have a pretty good feeling this isn't the storyline). This is my theory of what happened after Stiles disappeared at the end of the big championship game. The first few paragraphs will be a bit of a recall of Battlefield but then I veer off after that. I don't think this story will be all that long, but I never know until I get going! I hope you like. Thank you for reading.

It was the game that meant everything. The championship was on the line. But that was the least of it. The kanima had a brand new master and was ready to kill. The super duo of Scott and Stiles were once again poised to save the world from death and destruction. So, in other words, it was Thursday night.

Stiles sat nervously rubbing his palms together, feeling beaten before the game even started. He tried to voice his feelings to Scott, who looked equally as nervous as Stiles was. The young man was about to tell his very best friend that he couldn't be the Robin to his Batman anymore. It was just too damn dangerous, not only for him but also for his father as well.

And then Coach Finstock called Stiles to the field.

The young man put on his helmet and prayed for the best. It was a comedy of errors at first, as he tried to find his bearings. He dropped the ball several times, even losing track of it for a moment. He cursed his ineptitude, wishing the coach would decide he sucked even worse than Greenburg and pull him back to the bench. At least that way he'd save some of his dignity. But for some reason the feisty coach decided to keep Stiles in the game, so the young man made the best of it.

And then a miracle happened. Stiles actually scored a goal! And then four more! He watched in disbelief as each ball went into the net effortlessly. He knew he had good aim but he didn't realize just how good. His confidence soared as he heard the excitement from the crowd. They were cheering for him. His teammates all slapped his helmet in support and Stiles beamed at their win.

Stiles rejoiced at the proud expression on Lydia's face. She looked so beautiful in the stands, hair natural, wearing no makeup. Just how he liked to see her. She was perfect. His dream girl was actually cheering him on! No special signs for Jackson. No piteous look when she eyed him from the bench. Just pure appreciation for one sixteen-year-old boy that never thought he'd see the day that he'd actually get to play lacrosse with his team.

Not only was Lydia wholeheartedly supporting him, but his father wore such an expression of pride for his son as well. Stiles was totally overwhelmed. The night began as a macabre mish mash that threatened the lives of everyone he knew and it turned into a night of celebration and excitement.

Well, almost.

The lights on the field all clicked off, blanketing the field in darkness. Stiles went to call for Scott. The name was barely from his lips when he felt something slice across his belly button. He winced, instinctively grabbing the spot. He felt syrupy blood between his thumb and forefinger. "Scott?" he rasped. "Scott where are…?"

Then he heard the scream.

He went to move toward the sound but suddenly his legs felt weak and wobbly. Then he couldn't feel them at all. He dropped down, feeling the grass between his fingers. He marveled at the deep green hue of the blades, feeling as though he was high. Did Jackson catch him with his claws? No, it couldn't be. The feeling wasn't the same. When Jackson had paralyzed him, it was a frightening, suffocating feeling. But this…this was exhilarating. It was euphoric.

Stiles suddenly turned his attentions away from the crowd and crawled through the darkness into the woods surrounding the field. The breeze felt incredible on his face. He leaned up against a tree, sensing that the lights in the field came back on. More screaming.

But he didn't care.

He felt perfect. He felt like he could finally rest after three sleepless nights. His entire body relaxed on the floor of the woods. Something was moving soundlessly towards him, however, he wasn't afraid. Stiles knew the figure meant him no harm.

She knelt down in front of him, dark hair taken by the breeze. "You were pretty amazing out there tonight," she said in a velvety voice.

Stiles looked into her hazel eyes and sighed. "Thanks," he said, the word coming off his tongue like honey. "Are…are you the one that scratched me?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"It's okay," he said drunkenly. "I feel pretty damn good now."

She giggled, lifting him into her arms with ease. "Wheee!" he said, gleefully.

She chuckled. "I've never seen anyone get so giddy over the Mark," she said, throwing him over her shoulder. "It's like you're on good drugs, my friend. I'm jealous."

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, not really caring.

"Somewhere safe," she replied. "Somewhere you can rest."

Stiles heard his father calling him from the field as he felt his body being carried away into the darkness. His body seemed to be floating along in the atmosphere and he couldn't have cared less. When he felt himself being placed in the passenger seat of a car, his head fell back and he could no longer keep his eyes open. The last thing he remembered was the soothing vibration of the machine under him.

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Stiles moved under the crisp, clean sheets and stretched with a satisfied groan. He hadn't slept so well in ages. A warm spring breeze brought with it the sounds of birds and the beautiful fragrance of gardenias. He murmured something unintelligible into the pillow.

"What language was that in?" joked the feminine voice.

He shot up, now fully alert. Stiles faced the pretty woman from the woods, this time seeing a much clearer picture of her. She looked to be in her twenties or thirties, with dark, almost black hair. Her white tank top showed off a petite, athletic build. Her hazel eyes were glimmering with mischief as she swung her bare feet off the window seat and padded to the bed. "You slept like a rock," she said, sitting down at the edge of the mattress.

Stiles retracted against the headboard, looking around the room, confused. "I'm in my own bedroom?" he asked. He looked under the covers, noting that he was only in a pair of boxer briefs and socks. "Did we?" he started.

She giggled. "No, we didn't," she said. "My alpha male wouldn't like that very much. But I did give you something special."

"Your alpha male?" His mind raced as he tried to recall the events of the day before, recounting his meeting with the school counselor up until the lights went out on the field.

And the scratch. Yes, the scratch! He looked down at his belly and saw the jagged mark, roughly three inches in length and already scarred over. She reached over and traced it, sending waves of pleasure throughout Stile's body. His groans gave way to shudders and he didn't want her to stop. He quivered and locked eyes with her. "What—what did you do to me?"

She smiled. "Like I said, I gave you something special. To remember me by," she said, winking. She stood up "I just wanted to make sure you slept through the night. That kanima business has everyone in this town in a complete frenzy. But it's all over now," she said, slipping on her shoes and going to the window. "You don't have to worry about that anymore."

"Over? What do you mean it's over?" he asked, flinging the blankets off of him. He raced after her as she slipped through the window. "What happened?" he pleaded as he watched her effortlessly land from the second story window onto his driveway.

"You'll have all the answers soon enough, Stiles," she said.

"How do you know my…what's your name? How do I find you?" he asked, looking around the room for a shirt and pair of pants.

She grinned and gestured to the mark on his belly. "Oh you'll know how to find me." And at that she slipped out of sight. Moments later, Stiles heard the ignition of a car and the sound of tires slipping across pavement.

"Yeah that's not cryptic at all," he said leaving the window. He searched the room for his phone, only finding his lacrosse uniform strewn all over his room. He felt butterflies in his stomach at the thought of an attractive woman undressing him but his panic overshadowed any possible enjoyment he could have gleaned from it. "Shit," he said, remembering his phone was in the school's locker room where he'd left it the night before.

He raced to his father's room only to find his bed still made. "Where the hell is he?" he muttered under his breath, going to their landline phone. He dialed his father's cell.

"Stiles?" asked the panicked voice on the other end. "Jesus Christ! Are you okay? I've been looking for you for hours!"

He fought for a viable excuse and promptly fumbled over his words. "I-I just um, didn't feel well after the game and I went straight home."

"I've been calling your cell for six hours Stiles!" bellowed his father.

"I know, I'm sorry I left it at school. What happened after the game?" he asked, desperate to change the subject and to get much needed answers.

His father sighed. "Nothing good. Jackson Whittemore got seriously injured."

"What?" asked Stiles, his heart starting to race. "What happened?"

"We're not sure but he was bleeding from a wound to his abdomen. Scott's mom cared for him until the ambulance came. He's in the medical center this morning. Not conscious yet," said his father.

"Oh my God," said Stiles. "Was anyone else hurt?"

The sheriff hesitated. "Yes. This one's rough Stiles. The school principal was found dead in the woods. Hanging from a tree. He was…cut in half."

Stiles nearly dropped the phone. He traced the mark on his stomach with his index finger, shivering at the feel of it. "Dad, I…" He nearly jumped out of his socks when he heard the rapping on his front door. "Jesus," he said under his breath. "Dad someone's at the door. I'll see you when you get home."

He put the receiver down and saw the fuzzy outline of Scott through the stained glass on the front door. The young werewolf came bursting in, slapping his hands on Stiles' bare shoulders. "Thank God you're alright," he said. "What the hell happened to you? Have you spoken to your Dad? He's a freaking wreck much like your best friend!"

"Scott, I'm so sorry," said Stiles. "I don't really know what happened. I got scratched on the field and then everything just…"

"Wait, Jackson scratched you?" asked Scott.

"No it was this woman. A werewolf I think because she said something about her alpha male. Anyways she took me back here and put me to bed," said Stiles.

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Let me get this straight. A female werewolf just hops onto the field, scratches you, whisks you off into the night and, air quotes, puts you to bed?"

"Well when you say it like that it just sounds ridiculous," said Stiles, putting his hands on his hips. "Look," he said, pointing to the scratch. "Here's my proof. See?"

Scott cocked his head to the side. "Did you guys…you know?"

"She says we didn't," he said, grinning. "But she undressed me," he said, winking. "Would've been cool if we had."

"You would have been unconscious," argued Scott.

"Still would've been cool," said Stiles shrugging.

Scott sighed and had to giggle at his friend. "What happened after she scratched you?"

"I got all loopy. Like I was on some good shit. I'm talking even better than the stuff I had when I got my wisdom teeth out. I don't remember much after that. She was here when I woke up this morning, saying something about how I'll be able to find her soon, whatever the hell that meant. She didn't even give me her name."

"Wait, what? Find her?" asked Scott. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know, Scott. She didn't elaborate before she leapt through my bedroom window like a grasshopper," said Stiles. "But I'll tell you one thing. When she touches the scar, I go all melty like my aunt's cat, Seth, gets on catnip. Holy shit, that's good stuff," he said shivering.

"I've never heard of anything like that before. Do you think she's an alpha too?" asked Scott.

"I don't know," said Stiles. "No glowing red eyes that I could see so she might just be a beta. Strong enough to pick me up and carry me like it was nothing, though. I mean I know I'm barely a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet but still, that's rather impressive for a petite woman."

"Did she say anything else?" asked Scott.

Stiles nodded. "Well she knew about the kanima and knew that the problem had been solved," he said, going to the coffee maker. He flipped the switch and turned back to Scott. "My dad told me about Gerard."

Scott nodded. "Yeah, the cops found him like that a few hours ago. He'd disappeared from the locker room where he tried to kill Isaac and I'd lost track of him."

"So what happened? Derek served him a vengeance kill?" asked Stiles.

Scott shrugged. "I don't know. No one does."

"What?" Stiles asked, eyes wide. "No one has a clue on how our principal ended up in two pieces? Geez, I fall asleep for a few hours and all this shit happens. Am I the only one keeping tabs on things in this town?"

Scott took out his phone and snapped a picture of the mark on Stile's belly. "That better not end up online," warned Stiles. "I'm bashful."

Scott rolled his eyes. "I'm sending the picture to Derek. He might know what it is."

"Well," said Stiles going back to the coffee maker and pouring himself a cup. "I don't know how well he's going to take it that another pack is in town."

"And with possibly two alphas to boot," said Scott. "I wonder if they have something to do with Gerard's death."

"Eh, don't tell Derek just yet. Let him celebrate Gerard's death for a little while. Might erase the ever present scowl from his face for a change." He took his mug up the stairs. "Let's go see Jackson. I'll get dressed," he called over his shoulder.

"Thank God," said Scott, jokingly. Three seconds later Stiles' dirty underwear and socks flew from the top of the stairs and landed on Scott's head. Scott threw the items on the floor and shrank back in disgust. "Dude! Seriously? Grotesque." All he could hear was the sound of Stiles snickering from his bedroom.