Claire Novak and Malia Tate
That movement was Malia, who was about two steps from going feral. She'd woken up with similar stimuli, and similar thoughts. Kidnapping wasn't routine for her, but weirdness was. She lived in Beacon Hills, after all, and had lived half her life as a coyote. Not running around on hands and knees living with coyotes, but on four paws with a snout and teeth designed for tearing prey apart.
Waking up alone and confused stimulated that part of her, and she longed to give in and allow the Change to happen. The world was far less confusing when she was coyote, because her coyote brain was fairly cut and dry. She new food and shelter and run from danger, and that was about it. All those other confusing, frustrating, and annoying human thoughts and emotions didn't exist.
But she was human, like it or not. And she was going to stay human while she looked for Stiles or Scott, even Lydia or Parrish or Argent. Anyone who could help her right now would do. But who was this strange girl nearby? Malia didn't know her scent, and she froze, assessing the situation with her nose more than her eyes.