For better or worse, Peter's change came earlier than the others. His name came on a breath of wind as the sun touched the horizon with the oncoming glow of twilight. By the time the sky shifted to velvet dark, and the full orb of the white moon hung high in the sky, Peter was already prowling the woods on four feet with black ears that twitched at that sound of a howl. It sounded like he was something maybe kind of like pack, which was enough to have Peter running, an answering howl on his breath, trying to get the werewolf's attention.

This way.

He'd talked enough with the others to know that they didn't always have control, and he didn't recognize the pitch of his howl. It said werewolf, but he couldn't put a scent to it, not yet. Which meant it had to be the Beta that Derek had texted him about. He'd offered to keep an eye out for him, and so fleet paws move the black shadow closer to the sound, to the scent that is all wolf, but not pack. Not yet, anyway.

And of course, Peter has all sorts of conflicted feelings, and he might have control during the moon, but that doesn't mean that there isn't a part of him that wants to pin Jackson to the forest floor and snarl if you hurt her-- into his throat. Lydia is his friend, which isn't quite pack, but it's special and different and is one of those rare things that Peter will fight for.

Peter might be very close to an Omega, but he's still a very large streak of black fur and gold eyes and teeth that Nature has christened as the last word of all things. It's a full moon, and there's a new scent, and typical teenage bravado is tangled up with wolf instincts that hum through him like heat.

He doesn't want a fight, he just wants to make a point, and by the full moon the black wolf promises there's a difference.