Teen Wolf: Second Howl

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Chapter Twenty-Six: The Final Test

Lucas's Perspective

A few months later.

I didn't pack much—just what I thought I might actually need, and even that felt like too much. A clean shirt, folded twice and pressed flat to save space. A handful of high-calorie protein bars for energy. A few vials of crushed herbs—medicinal, mostly—that Emily had practically stuffed into my hands before I could argue. I didn't question her. She always knew what I'd need before I did.

And then there was the knife.

It wasn't necessary, not really. My claws were faster, sharper, more reliable in a fight. But I wrapped the blade in cloth and tucked it into my bag anyway. It felt… symbolic. A reminder of where I'd come from. Who I used to be, and what I might need to become again. It was the kind of thing you brought because it meant something, even if it didn't make sense anymore.

The zipper rasped shut just as Richard appeared in the doorway, casual as ever. He didn't say a word, just tossed something at me with that practiced nonchalance he always wore like armor.

I caught it midair, reflexes kicking in before my brain caught up.

Two ID cards. A passport.

My eyes scanned the name printed on each.

Lucas Smith.

I blinked, confused. "Smith?"

Richard leaned against the doorframe, a knowing smirk curling one side of his mouth. "Yeah. As of this morning, you're officially my adopted son."

I stared at the documents again, then back at him. "Wait… your last name is Smith?"

He laughed—a short, sharp sound more amused than genuine. "Hell no. But 'Smith' is the blandest, most forgettable name on the planet. You try looking up Richard and Lucas Smith, see what you find. It'll be an avalanche of suburban dads, middle school coaches, and guys who do their own taxes."

I snorted, despite myself. "That's actually… smart."

Richard gave a satisfied nod and turned away like it was no big deal. But it was a big deal. My hand tightened around the passport, a strange weight settling in my chest. Not nerves—at least not exactly. It was something deeper. Heavier. Like the moment had more gravity than I was prepared for.

I slipped the documents into an inner pocket of my bag, right over my heart. It felt like the final knot in a thread that had been pulling tighter for years.

Outside, the car was already running. Richard sat behind the wheel, that familiar mask of grumpy patience on his face—the one he wore whenever he wanted you to think he didn't care, even though he did.

But I couldn't leave just yet.

There was one more thing I had to do.

Emily stood on the porch, arms crossed, back straight. The early morning sunlight caught in her silver hair, making it gleam like woven moonlight. She looked almost regal—like a queen in a comfortable robe. When I stepped up to her, she didn't say anything at first. She just opened her arms.

I stepped into the hug, and she pulled me close with a strength that caught me off guard.

"You've grown into a fine young man," she murmured against my shoulder. "Whatever happens, I need you to know I'm proud of you."

My throat tightened. My eyes stung, and I hated that they did. Emily wasn't one for soft words or warm sentiments. She didn't hand out affection lightly. When she did say something like that, it mattered more than I could ever explain.

I clung to her, maybe longer than I should have. "I'll be back before you even realize I'm gone."

She pulled back slightly, just enough to meet my eyes. Her smile was crooked, but her gaze was steady.

"You'd better," she said, voice dry. "If you keep me waiting, I'll kill you myself."

That made me laugh, even as I wiped at my eyes. I gave her one final squeeze and turned away before either of us could say anything else.

I was walking away from the only real home I'd ever known.

Two days later, we stood at the edge of a forgotten forest, in front of a cave that didn't want to be found.

There was no sound—no wind rustling through the trees, no birdsong, no crunch of underbrush. Just the heavy, oppressive silence of something ancient and wrong. The kind of silence that made your skin crawl, like the world was holding its breath.

The cave mouth loomed ahead, dark and yawning. I took a step forward.

And hit something invisible.

I staggered back, instinctively reaching out with my hand. The air shimmered, almost imperceptibly, like heat rising from pavement. But it wasn't heat I felt—it was force, pushing me back like a hand pressed flat against my chest.

"A barrier," I muttered. "Mountain ash... and sigils. Strong ones."

Richard nodded once. "You won't be able to cross it while it's active."

I turned to him, frowning. "What's inside? Why all this?"

He stared at the cave, his eyes shadowed by memory. "You remember what I told you about hunters and shapeshifters? That we're nature's immune system?"

I nodded, slow and cautious.

"Then tell me—what do you call it when part of the body turns against itself?"

"Cancer," I said without thinking.

"Exactly," he said, voice low. "A long time ago, I had a partner. He was a werewolf—like you. Strong. Loyal. Sharp as hell. We hunted side by side for decades."

He paused, jaw clenching.

"I made peace with aging. But he never could. He feared it—feared losing his edge. And fear… it opens doors."

I knew what he meant before he even said it.

"He let himself be corrupted," I murmured.

Richard nodded grimly. "Started using the wrong kind of power. Drawing on things no one should touch. He fed off fear. Off death. And the worst part? He believed he was evolving. Thought he was becoming something greater."

"And you had to stop him."

He looked at me then, something raw flickering in his eyes. "I tried. But I couldn't kill him. I wasn't strong enough. Or maybe I just didn't want to. He was my brother in all but blood."

"So you sealed him away."

"I bound him with everything I had," Richard said. "Sigils, wards, ancient rites no one remembers anymore. Locked him in that cave—body and soul. He's still in there, untouched by time. Still waiting."

I swallowed, my gaze drifting back to the darkness beyond the barrier. "Why now?"

"Because I'm running out of time. My body's failing. My bones are old. And if he gets free…"

He didn't need to finish.

"This is your test," he said. "The final one. He's got all my skills. More strength. He's a werewolf who embraced corruption and kept his prime. If he escapes, I can't stop him."

His words landed like a weight in my chest. Not crushing—but grounding.

I had been preparing for this moment for years. The training, the trials, the long nights spent aching and unsure—they'd all led to this. I wasn't a boy anymore.

Still… I'd be lying if I said I wasn't afraid.

I took a breath. Let it fill me. Let it steady the shaking in my hands and draw steel into my spine.

Then I looked him in the eye. "Do it."

Richard studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded once, slow and deliberate.

And raised his hand.