#atlatsofstoties

Beacon Hills was behind him — a reality that had been the present not too long ago which he wished to turn to past, to bitter memory. If the death of his family wasn’t evident enough that life worked in horridly interesting wars, nor his own gruesome and firey death, then an accident not one hour away from the accursed town certainly sent symbols. It was just dumb luck. No, lucky did not exist. It was just stupidity. A shit pile being dumped all over his head. For all the monsters he faced and lives he had taken, Peter Hale could honestly say it was his first car accident. 

An ugly, bitter laugh fell from his lips at first impact, then it was followed by a groan of complaint, hands slamming against the steering wheel. Pristine all-electric car now damaged goods. His inner wolf wanted to be released and tear the throat of the other driver. Teeth grinded together, and the all ready very angular features of his face became more prominent and stiff. Car was set to park before Peter exited the vehicle, and he did not feign any emotions as the car door was slammed. 

      ❝  If you don’t have any insurance, so help me god I will. .  ❞   Peter must have carried the energy and bravado of an inflated asshole, and there were many who would vouch that wasn’t too far from the truth. He was an animal, a beast who had tasted blood and flesh, and he was REALLY trying not to let the inner wolf out. Despite furious body language, hand moved for the wallet in the pocket of his jeans to retrieved his insurance information. So caught up in his own fury and thoughts however, it took too long for Peter to catch the familiar scent of WOLF. Expression transformed from anger to suspicion as blue hues studdied the other were more carefully.