This is largely inspired by the Season One Teen Wolf episode "Lunatic" and cbassluv's fic "Waiting" in the Teen Wolf fandom. As for the title of this fic, the full moon in November is called the Hunter's Moon, which is the month this story takes place in. You're going to want to read my stories The Nature of the Beast, "Thriller," and "Territorial Issues" if you want more stories set in this 'verse. Beast actually sets up this whole series plot. So this is probably Part 3 in that 'verse, which I'm calling Undercover Lupine.

Hunter's Moon

The instant Tom Hanson's eyes snapped open and he saw the full moon outside his window, he knew he was in trouble. Tonight was the night of the full moon—and it was only his second full moon as a werewolf.

He'd been bitten by accident when working a case in October, a month ago. Since then, he'd learned a lot about being a lycanthrope from the 'wolf that had bit him, a teenager named John Bryant, and he'd even spent a short time in John's pack. Of course, the case was long since over and he'd severed all ties with them—or tried to. It was hard refusing an alpha, especially when that alpha was dead set on having yet another pack member.

In any case, the full moon brought out a darker side of him, one he hadn't even known existed. Well, maybe he was exaggerating a bit. The full moon turned everything—his emotions, senses—up to ten.

Full moon or not, he still had to go to Jump Street Chapel and report for duty. Somehow, he didn't think Captain Richard Jenko would let him take the day off just because it was the full moon. For once, Tom wasn't working a case, so that was a good thing, he supposed. It still didn't mean today was going to be any easier just because he wasn't around warm bodies all the time.

The lupine shook his head to clear it, saw the time, and bolted out of bed. He dressed quickly in jeans, a black T-shirt, sweatshirt, and jacket, pulled on his white tennis shoes, and was out the door, grabbing his badge, gun and keys to the Mustang off the kitchen table on his way out the door. He could always eat something at the chapel.


"Hey, Hanson," Doug greeted him when he walked in the door. "How are you doing?"

"Not great."

Concern flitted across Doug's face. "What's wrong?"

Tom just gave him a hard look, yellow flashing in his chocolate-brown eyes.

"Oh. That time of the month, huh?"

"Seriously, Doug?" Tom's voice reflected his disgust. "That wasn't funny."

"I thought it was hilarious."

Tom growled quietly. "You don't want to be making jokes like that, not when I'm feeling like this."

Doug opened his mouth but was interrupted by Judy Hoffs and Harry Ioki as the other two officers greeted the lupine—Judy with a kiss on Tom's cheek and Harry with a verbal, "Morning, Hanson."

"All right, you lot," Captain Richard Jenko said as he came out of his office. "Gather round."

The team did as directed, Hanson snagging a slice of lukewarm pizza from the box in the center of the table. He took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and had just taken another when Jenko said, "Tom, I'm sending you in to help Doug."

Hanson nearly choked on his bite of pizza. Penhall pounded him on the back until he recovered. When he did, Tom gasped out, "You're what?!"

"Sending you in to help Penhall," Jenko repeated.

A slightly panicked look flashed over Hanson's face. "Coach, I can't. Not today."

Jenko frowned. "Why not?"

"It's the full moon tonight."

"Are you saying you can't control yourself?"

"Y— No. I don't know." Tom broke off in confusion and shook his head, a helpless look in his sepia eyes. Right now he absolutely hated being 'wolf. Usually he was okay with his dual nature and thought it was cool at times, but other days he wished that he had never received the Bite.

He snapped out of his self-pity when he realized the others were eyeing him warily. Confused, he checked his fingernails. They were normal, and so were his teeth. So that just left . . .

"Your eyes, Tom," Judy said.

It wasn't until she mentioned it that he realized his eyesight had wolfed briefly. Tom ducked his head, concentrated hard, and the amber color faded, reverting to its natural dark-brown. "Sorry."

Doug, Harry, and Jenko had been sitting in silence, but now Jenk sighed and said, "Sorry, Hanson, but I'm still putting you under with Doug."

"Why not Ioki or Judy?" Tom asked, a tinge of desperation in his voice.

"They're working their own cases. You're the only one who's free, Tom."

The werewolf rubbed his temples, blew out loudly through his nose. "Okay, I'll help. It's not like I have much of a choice, right, Jenk?"

"Got that right, sport."

"Don't call me 'sport,'" Tom said automatically.

"Hey, I'm your boss. I can call you whatever I want, sport."

Hanson curled a lip at Penhall and Ioki, revealing one fang. "What're you smiling at?"

Doug ducked his head and started shoveling cornflakes into his mouth; Ioki began chugging a cup of coffee. A small smile twitched at Judy's lips.

"Well, see you all after school," Jenko finally said.

The team took that as their cue and left.


"Okay, so here's the plan," Doug said as they sat in Hanson's Mustang in the parking lot of Westside High School. "You're my cousin, Tom Curtis, and you're looking to buy drugs from my guy, Isaac McLean."

"I'm not from Oklahoma again, am I? 'Cuz it seems like every time I come in as a relative of yours, I'm from Oklahoma."

"Okay, then you're from Nevada."

"Las Vegas?"

"Sure. Can we go in now?"

Tom cocked his head, thinking. After a few seconds, he said, "I don't wanna be from Nevada. How about Kansas?"

"All right then, you're from Kansas. I thought the very first time you helped me out you said you were from Omaha."

"No, I said I was from Buffalo. Jake assumed I was from Omaha. Your point?"

"Omaha's in Nebraska. Buffalo's in New York."

"So? Does it look like I care?"

"Um, no, not really." There was a strange look in Tom's eyes, one Doug couldn't interpret. And, in all honesty, he wasn't sure he wanted to understand that look.

Tom knew his partner was uneasy: He could hear the man's heartbeat speed up, smell the sweat. He smiled a little, more of a reflexive twitch than anything else, and then his face was in undercover cop mode. "Let's go." Hanson was out of the Mustang and ten feet away before Doug could react. Not that it mattered, because Penhall was on his five within seconds.

They had just entered the school when Doug stopped and jerked his chin in the direction of a group of boys in punk clothing. "Over there. Lemme introduce you."

"Doug, I don't—"

But Penhall wasn't listening. He had already grabbed Tom by the arm and was steering him over to the group of punk kids. As they moved closer, Tom noticed that many of them were wearing concert T-shirts: one had a Police shirt, one Metallica, another wore a Pink Floyd tee, and two were wearing Ozzy Osbourne shirts. Hanson himself preferred Bruce Springsteen, and he'd recently become interested in Def Leppard thanks to Judy. Penhall, he knew, was big on the metal/hard rock groups, while Judy liked Bon Jovi, Whitesnake, and Poison, among others. No one was sure about Ioki; and as for Jenko, he was stuck back in the sixties.

Going to Woodstock will do that for you, Tom thought wryly.

"Hey, Isaac," Doug greeted the guy in the Police shirt, jerking Hanson out of his observations. "This here's my cousin, Tom. Just flew in from Kansas. I've told you about him."

"Kansas, huh?" Isaac's eyes flitted over the lycanthrope. "What do you do for kicks out there, play checkers?"

"Nah," Tom replied. "Believe it or not, we do have cities in Kansas. So we probably do the same thing you do here. What do you do for kicks, besides sell drugs?" There was a dark, dangerous look in his eyes but he didn't know it.

Isaac eyed him coolly before replying, "We'll let you know." He and his gang walked off, but not before Hanson caught the flash of fear-scent. The 'wolf shadow stirred at the back of his mind, lifting his lips in an uncharacteristic smirk.

"Tom?" Doug's worried voice snapped his attention back to his partner. Tom said, "What?"

"Please tell me that's because it's the full moon tonight."

The werewolf shrugged. "Guess we'll find out. C'mon, we'd better get my schedule and head for class."


Great, Hanson thought as he sat in seventh-period AP US History II. My first day and already I have to take a test. The only consolation was that Penhall was in this class as well.

"Begin," said the teacher after he'd handed out all the tests.

Glancing down at his paper, Tom saw it was on World War I. He picked up his pencil and began answering the questions—only, five questions in, the words began rearranging themselves. These rearranged problems seemed to mock him; however, the one that hit him the hardest went along the lines of the following: When the moon is full tonight, you will kill:

a) all of your friends

b) most of your friends

c) some of your friends

d) none of your friends

Suddenly he was aware of every little noise in the room: the scratching of pencil on paper, the rasp of an eraser at work, the tapping of fingernails on a wooden desk, the click of a pen. It was deafening. He had to get out; he'd go crazy if he stayed . . .

Tom was at the door and out in the hallway without realizing how he'd gotten there. Dimly he was aware of the teacher calling after him—"Mr. Curtis!"—but he didn't care. The next thing he heard was "Mr. Winston!" as Doug left his seat. By then Tom was long gone, heading for the boys' locker room.

Penhall found him minutes later in one of the shower stalls. Hanson was shirtless, facing the wall, hands braced against it as if to support himself. Water ran down his hair and back. His dog tags would probably oxidize, but it didn't really matter, now, did it?

"Tom?" Doug asked. "You're not going 'wolf on me, are you?"

A shudder racked Tom's body as he turned off the water, twisted around to face his partner. Hanson slid down the tiled wall, breathing labored. He choked out, "Can't—breathe."

Doug knew instantly that this was a panic attack—he'd had them after his parents died. He also knew Tom didn't have asthma, but he pulled out an inhaler anyway and tossed it to his partner.

The 'wolf caught it easily, shook it, and breathed in the icy medicine. When the heavy breathing stopped, he looked up at Penhall in confusion. "I was having an asthma attack? But I don't have asthma. I never did."

"You were having a panic attack," Doug said. "I used to have them after my parents died. Anyway, thinking you were having an asthma attack stopped the panic attack. Make sense?"

"Yeah." Tom looked down, clenched and unclenched his fists. Finally he looked up. "You guys are going to have to lock me up tonight."

Doug's mouth went dry. He swallowed a few times before asking, "Why?"

Tom's voice was matter-of-fact: "Because if I get out . . . I might kill someone."


After school let out, Doug was still reeling over Tom's "I might kill someone" statement. How could geeky Tom Hanson ever kill anyone? That was so out of character for him that it was impossible for Penhall to visualize the scene. Hanson, a murderer? Ridiculous.

But he'd been in a strange mood all day . . .

"Hey, Doug, you in there?" a familiar voice asked.

Penhall blinked, coming out of a daze. "Yeah, I'm here, Tommy. I was just wondering—you know that new ADA, Jackie Garrett?"

"What about her?" Hanson's voice was wary, as if he knew what was coming and already didn't like it.

"Nothing, really. It's just, what made you run in History? The test wasn't that bad."

"It was like I could smell everyone's emotions. That, and the noise . . . it was too much. It's like the full moon turns everything up to ten. What are you getting at?" Suspicion laced his tone at that last question.

"Can you smell desire?"


"Yeah, you know. Lust. Passion. Arousal." Doug rolled the r in arousal, drawing it out. It sounded a bit odd, considering he used a weird Spanish-type accent.

"Coming from Jackie to you," Tom finished.

"Well, that was the idea, yeah."

Hanson sighed. "Since you're probably going to bug me until I give in, let's go and find out."


A half-hour later, the two of them were pulling up in front of the building that housed the DA's office. Tom parallel-parked and turned his head to face Doug. "You want to come in with me?"

Penhall suddenly looked nervous. "Nah, I'll just wait here."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Go on. Tell me what she says."

"Okay," Tom replied after a short pause. He exited the Mustang. "The keys are in the ignition if you want to listen to the radio."

As he headed up the steps to the front door, he smiled when his ears caught the strains of Def Leppard's "Love and Affection" coming from the car: Don't need a little love and affection. . . . Then it switched to "Animal": And I want, and I need, and I lust, animal.

The next thing Tom knew, he was looking at ADA Jackie Garrett, an attractive strawberry-blonde. She had opened up her office door and was looking at him expectantly.

His hearing rushed back, and he realized that she'd asked him a question.

About me? The Chapel? Uhh . . .

"You wanna come in, Officer Hanson?" Jackie asked.

"Oh, uh, yeah." Tom stepped inside, let her shut the office door. "I wanted to ask you something. It's for my partner, actually. He really likes you, and—"

"Do you?" Jackie interrupted.

Hanson blinked. "Uh, well, yeah, I guess. It's just that—"

He shut up when she placed her right index finger on his lips. A hint of the 'wolf crept into his eyes as she moved closer. Then they were caught in a hot kiss, and he forgot why he was there in the first place as he gave in to the darker animalistic urges.

But Jackie wasn't Judy, and something inside him rebelled at the thought.

When he finally made it back to the Mustang, the first words out of Doug's mouth were, "Well, does she like me?"

"Yeah," Tom said slowly, glancing away. "She's totally into you." A dark, uncharacteristic smirk crossed his face as his 'wolf slowly took over his human form.


Hours later, when night was falling, the entire team was in the Chapel. Jenko, Harry, Doug, and Judy were eyeing Tom as if he would go on a killing spree at any moment—and it was bugging the hell out of him.

"Will you quit staring at me like that?" he finally snapped. "It's annoying."

"Sorry, Tom," said Jenko, "but we're trying to figure out what to do with you."

"We could always chain him," Harry suggested.

A low growl from Hanson quickly debunked that idea.

"Handcuffs?" That was Doug.

This time it was a snarl and bared fangs.

"Okay, so no chains or handcuffs," Jenko said quickly in an attempt to calm the 'wolf.

"What about locking him in the cell?" Judy piped up.

"Sounds okay to me," said Tom from his leaning stance against the yellow-and-red fireman's pole. He shoved off the pole and walked with long, casual strides into the holding cell they had. The werewolf flopped down on the mattress inside, laced his hands behind his head. He said, "I'm fine. You guys don't have to stay with me."

"One of us should," Jenko argued.

"I'll do it," Judy volunteered.

"No," Tom growled, startling everyone. "My 'wolf wants to turn you, Jude. He sees you as his mate."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Well," said Harry finally, "we didn't need to know that."

Jenk just fixed Hanson with a cool, warning look. "You wouldn't, would you?"

Tom stared back, brown eyes hard. "What do you think? I don't want any of you guys here with me!"

Doug said at last, "I'll stay. You guys can go."

Hanson nodded an affirmative. "He can stay. I just don't trust myself around Judy or either of you two right now. Besides, Doug's been with me all day and nothing happened."

"You're sure?" Jenko pressed.

"Yes!" Tom snapped.

"Okay, okay." Reluctance showing in every line of their bodies, Jenko, Harry, and Judy walked out, Hoffs glancing back over her shoulder at Hanson. Then it was just Tom and Doug in the Chapel.

Hanson, when he was sure the others were gone, drew himself up into a sitting position, leaned back against the cell wall, dragged his knees up to his chest. There was a brooding expression in his brown eyes, and Doug couldn't help but watch his partner warily.

"Are you sure you're okay, Tom?" Penhall found himself asking.

"I'm fine," Tom said slowly, his voice low and slightly annoyed.

Doug rolled his eyes. If he had a dollar for every time he'd heard Tom say that today . . .

"No, you're not," he said. "Besides, you have this creepy serial-killer thing going on, and it's freaking me out a little."

"Doug . . ." Tom's voice was somewhere between a growl and a snarl. "I. Am. Fine. Now leave me alone."

"Sorry, can't do that. Besides, why do you want to be caged?"

Hanson grumbled something inaudible under his breath.

"What was that?" Doug asked.

"I don't," Hanson said more clearly. "It just seemed like the option my wolf liked best. Besides, I'm not an animal."

"Uh-huh," Doug said wryly. "I'm sure some would beg to differ."

Tom scowled. "That's an awful pun, Doug. It wasn't even funny."

"Ah, so you admit there was a pun."

"Yes, now shut up."

Doug smirked. It faded when he asked, "So, what happened with Jackie?"

Tom flinched, but only slightly. "What do you mean?"

Doug's eyes narrowed. "There was lipstick on your cheeks, Hanson. How could you do that? You know I like her!"

There was silence. Finally, Tom said, "I didn't kiss her."

"W . . . what?"

"She kissed me," Hanson said, that dark look back in his eyes, and smirk on his face, the uncharacteristic one that scared Doug so much. The scary thing was, Penhall knew that his partner was telling the truth. What Tom said next cut him to the bone: "She would have done anything I wanted. Anything."

"No." Doug's voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. He shook his head. "She wouldn't have. You're lying."

"I'm not. You know I'm not." Yellow sparked in Tom's eyes as he allowed more of the wolf in him to show. "She wanted it."

Doug started forward at that, hands reaching out for the door on the cell. "If you bit her . . ."

A dark laugh escaped Tom. "What will you do, kill me? I'm a werewolf," he said harshly. "If anything, I could easily kill you. And relax, I didn't bite her." The gold in his eyes faded. His voice softened: "I wouldn't wish this on anyone."

"Not even Waxer?" Doug asked referring to the very first kid Hanson had busted as part of the Jump Street program.

A small smile twitched at Tom's lips. "Not even him. Besides, who would want this for themselves?"

"I dunno, Judy?"

Tom, his Tom, looked up swiftly. "No way. Don't even mention it to her."

"Okay, I won't. Well, how about me."

"You're an idiot. Remember that conversation we had in your apartment a few weeks ago?"

"Yeah, I'll give you that." There was silence for a while; then Doug said, "You never answered my question."

"Which one?"

"Why do you want to be caged?"

"I thought I answered that already."

Doug ran over their conversation in his head. "Yeah, you did. How about this: Why no chains?"

Hanson let out a derisive snort. "Did you really think I would let you put them on me? Chain me up like a dog?" His lip curled in a sneer. "I'm not a dog, Doug."


They lapsed into silence again, Hanson moodily picking at the waistband of his jeans. Finally, he looked up. "You want it, don't you?"

Penhall blinked. "Want what?"

"The bite," Hanson said, as if it were obvious.

Penhall shook his head. "No. I thought we've gone over this."

Tom's lips quirked upward in a smirk. "Good, cuz I'm not going to give it to you. Maybe you'd enjoy it, though—the pain, I mean. Maybe you want me to hurt you."

A shiver ran down Doug's spine. "You know I don't. And you haven't hurt me." Not yet, anyway.

"It's only a matter of time, you know," Tom said darkly.

Again, there was a long silence. Doug decided to quickly change the topic. He hesitated before saying, "D' you want anything to drink?"

"Like what? The coffee here sucks."

"How about water?"

As soon as he mentioned water, Hanson was suddenly thirsty. He nodded.

Doug vanished from sight and returned minutes later carrying a plastic bowl. Tom's name was written on the side in Sharpie.

Hanson curled his lip in disgust. "Seriously? What part of I'm not an animal don't you get?"

Penhall shrugged. "It's water. You might as well drink it," he said, setting the bowl down inside the cell.

"That's low, Doug, even for you."

Penhall said nothing, and they lapsed into silence. Hanson shifted his weight on the cot, while Doug took up a position on the table they used for briefings. The 'wolf was restless, cagey. His breathing quickened and his chest heaved as sweat drenched his clothes. It was like the wolf inside had found it was somewhere it didn't want to be and had just found out there was no way to escape.

"Doug, please," Tom said at last, his voice a low whine. "It's the full moon. You know it is. I wasn't in my right mind. It's the moon. Please, just let me out of here . . ."

Somehow, Penhall managed to close his ears to the frantic pleas. Hanson suddenly stopped pleading and snarled angrily.

"Say something!" he roared, eyes glowing yellow, as he stopped pacing and clutched at the bars with both hands.

"Like what?" Doug asked, finally glancing up to meet the dangerous glare in the trapped lycanthrope's eyes.

"Anything!" Tom snapped. His voice softened. "Distract me. Take my mind off . . . this." He gestured at the cage, the window, the full moon outside.

For a while, Doug said nothing. He was too busy watching Hanson, taking in the effect the full moon had on his friend. It was creepy, the way the wolf would creep into his eyes. His lip would curl in a dark smirk, as if he was fantasizing how much he would enjoy ripping his partner to shreds, if only he could get his claws on him. That serial-killer look would be in his eyes, and Doug remembered Tom's "I might kill someone" statement from earlier in the day, as well as his own disbelief as to how Tom could ever kill anyone. Right now, he had no trouble believing it. Besides, the change was so obvious that he wondered how any of the students in the schools they went under in couldn't look at Hanson and not see the predator that lurked inside him. How did Judy cope with it, knowing that he could easily rip her limb from limb if his wolf took full control? That thought just conjured up images of Hanson and Hoffs in bed, and Doug closed his eyes, trying to banish the images—it really wasn't what he needed right now, as much as he enjoyed fantasizing about seeing Hoffs naked.

Then, for shorter lengths of time, the dark look and smirk would vanish, only to be replaced by panic. Tom's breathing grew shallower, faster, as he tried to find an escape route. It was almost like werewolf labor, Doug mused. He thought this was a brilliant metaphor; however, some instinct told him that Hanson wouldn't appreciate it. So he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Doug," Tom said at length.


"You're not doing a very good job of distracting me." There was no doubt it was a warning.

"Sorry. How are you hanging in there?"

"Like I said, you're not doing a very good job of distracting me."

"Do you want anything?"

"Yeah. Blood."

Doug looked queasy as Hanson continued, "Preferably yours. And it must be fresh."

"That's disgusting."

The werewolf grinned. "Have you never seen Little Shop of Horrors, Doug?"

Penhall tilted his head as he thought about it. "That's the one with the talking plant, right?"

"Yep. It's called Audrey II."

"Yeah, I saw it. That plant freaked me out a little—and I don't scare easily."

"Uh-huh," Tom commented dryly. "Especially now that one of your co-workers is a werewolf, right?"


Suddenly Tom released a hoarse cry and scrabbled back as far as the cell would allow. Doug glanced out the window and saw that the moon had risen even higher in the sky—and its rays were reaching out for the lupine.

"Doug, let me out! NOW!" Hanson's voice was frantic, as if it was a matter of life and death that his partner let him out right this instant.

Penhall couldn't move. He could only watch as Hanson's eyes flared gold and his canines slowly lengthened into fangs. Hanson's screams went on for what seemed like hours, but was in reality probably a few minutes. Then, finally, they were replaced by a low howl.

Doug snapped open his eyes—When had he closed them?—to see a large dark brown werewolf with dark eyes—Tom's eyes—crouched in the cell, eyes fixed on him as if he were prey.

He sighed. This was going to be a long night.


When he next opened his eyes, it was morning. Doug groaned as he forced himself into a sitting position, his muscles shrieking a protest after having slept on the hard table for the meager part of the night.

"Glad to see someone's up," a familiar female voice said.

Penhall blinked to clear away sleep and saw Judy. "Oh, hey, Jude. How's Hanson?"

"He's asleep. I bet last night was pretty rough for him," she replied, shooting a sympathetic glance at the sleeping werewolf.

Doug also looked at Tom, who was now back in human form—he must have shifted back during his sleep.

Last night. Rough. Yeah, that's a bit of an understatement.