Chapter Text
Derek had avoided the phone calls from his sisters. He knew they would be able to tell something was wrong, even before he got the chance to lie about it. He focused on the heft of the ax in his hands, his ears aching with the sharp snapping of the logs coming apart under the blade.
It wasn’t enough to distract him from the arrival of the car pulling into his driveway.
He pretended it was.
Rainfall, crisp linen, the barest sweetness of peaches.
Derek wished he had forgotten how good Stiles’ scent was.
Stiles patiently waited for Derek to acknowledge him, only taking a hesitant step forward when too long had passed. “Should I wait until you run out of wood?”
Derek slammed the ax into the last piece of wood before releasing the handle. He left it embedded in the tree stump. He finished picking up the pieces of wood, walking the few steps to put them on the growing pile next to the house. He paused when he turned around to find Stiles standing there with his hand outstretched, a piece of firewood being offered. The few other pieces were neatly tucked against his chest.
Stiles offered a faint smile.
Derek took the wood from him. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he stated.
Stiles’ smile vanished, nodding his head in agreement. “I know, but … Can I explain myself?”
Derek turned to look at Stiles, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched Stiles place the last pieces of wood onto the pile. “Explain why you’d rather run away than drink my blood.”
Voicing the words made Derek feel dumb. It sounded like such an insane and stupid thing to say–petulant in nature.
But Stiles’ adamant rejection of the idea had Derek feeling subspecies. Like dirt thrown onto a fine rug–outcast, filthy. Undeserving.
Stiles instinctively reached a hand out to Derek before stopping. “Please.”
Something in Stiles’ voice cracked the last defense around Derek’s heart.
Derek cursed under his breath, dropping his arms to his side. “Fine,” he agreed, turning to walk towards the house, Stiles trailing close behind him.
Stiles lingered on the porch steps, looking unsure of himself when Derek opened the door.
“You, um, well, you can come in,” Derek mumbled.
Stiles blinked a few times. “Did you just invite me in?”
Derek sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”
Stiles’ soft laughter pulled at the ache in Derek’s heart.
Derek smiled in return, unable to stop himself even if wanted to. He walked into the house, aware of Stiles following him.
“I’ve heard that werewolves can be territorial,” Stiles offered as explanation. “Then again, that’s from pop culture so I’m not sure what is real about werewolves, the same way so many get vampires wrong.” He bit his lip to stop himself from rambling, turning his attention towards closing the door.
“We can be defensive if there is a threat,” Derek offered. He had walked through to the kitchen and was pouring himself a glass of water as a distraction.
Stiles drew his coat off, turning to preoccupy himself with hanging it on one of the many hooks. He took his time to turn around the rooms. He lingered in the living room, looking at the fireplace with a soft fondness. He could imagine how comfortable the fire would make the already domestic space. He had forgotten what a fire felt like against his skin, and it was just another reminder of the difference between himself and Derek.
“Nat called,” Derek announced himself.
Stiles turned to see Derek leaning against the doorframe leading to another room. His eyes dropped to the glass dangling from Derek’s hand, faintly nodding to show he heard him. “Charlotte said Lydia picked them up from the airport.”
Derek nodded out of habit. “John’s still searching for traces of the newborns’ layer. He’ll want to know you didn’t go with the kids.”
Stiles took a turn to sit on the couch. “If they’re in Beacon Hills, John will find them.” He ignored the latter part of Derek’s comment.
Derek walked around the other furniture, setting the glass on the fireplace’s mantle. He crossed his arms over his chest as he turned to face Stiles. “You remember what John said.”
Stiles looked up at Derek. “I know,” he simply stated.
“Maybe I’m not offering anymore,” Derek pressed. It was cruel to put that doubt in the air, but he wanted the truth from Stiles.
Stiles weakly laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “You don’t have to do that,” he stated.
“Do what?”
“Act as if you’re angry instead of hurt.”
Derek was surprised by Stiles’ observation.
“But it isn’t you–it has nothing to do with you, Derek,” Stiles continued. He shook his head. “John helped me as a newborn,” he offered, knowing that Derek knew that much. “I was lucky enough to get control over my hunger. And then the clan John brought me to … his own family … they helped me realize I didn’t need to drink human blood to live. And I lived in peace like that for so long.” He looked down at his hands, fingers twisting together. “Deucalion took that away from me.”
Derek dropped his arms to his sides, slowly walking over to the couch. He kept space between them as he sat down next to Stiles.
“He’d starve me,” Stiles finally admitted. “He pushed me to the point of desperation, and then … he’d lock me in a room with them.” He pressed his palms into his eyes. “Innocent, frightened humans. It’s why I can’t trust myself to stop. What if my control vanishes again?”
“Stiles,” Derek softly uttered his name. “You’re stronger than you think.”
Stiles reluctantly looked at Derek, unsurprised to find him looking back at him.
“You’ve proven that you have control. You have saved countless lives at the hospital,” Derek explained. “Even when faced with me bleeding out in the woods, you didn’t attack me.”
Stiles faintly nodded. “Yeah,” he reluctantly agreed.
Derek glanced down at his hands. “We’ll find another way then.”
Stiles looked at Derek in surprise.
“John is still looking for newborns and Deucalion,” Derek explained. “I could reach out to other packs–see if they are willing to send someone. Maybe broker a deal.”
Stiles’ brow furrowed. “You’d do that,” he weakly commented.
Derek snuck a look at Stiles. “I’m not going to force you to drink blood, Stiles,” he plainly stated. “Deucalion has stolen enough–” he cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his forehead, pinching down the bridge of his nose. “I’m not going to put you through that, I mean.”
Stiles shared the silence with Derek as they allowed the words to hang in the air between them. “Would anyone come?”
Derek was reluctant to answer. “With persuading, possibly,” he offered.
Stiles’ brow furrowed, realizing that there was something Derek wasn’t saying. “Derek,” he gently spoke his name. He waited until Derek looked at him.
Derek felt the question in Stiles’ stare. “I’m an unmated Alpha,” he answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “My family’s land is old and coveted by more than one pack. It would be inherited by my sisters’ packs if something happened to me. Or…”
“Or by whatever pack you choose a mate from,” Stiles finished for him.
Derek shook his head. “You don’t choose a mate like that, our wolves choose,” he simply explained. “We’d be bound by obligation–maybe we’d come to have a deeper bond.”
Stiles tightened his hands into fists. “Why would you offer that– why would you do that to yourself, for me?”
“I know we never really finished the conversation we started in the hospital,” Derek softly addressed what was still bothering him. He looked down at his hands hanging limply between his knees. He folded them together, pinching at his palms in an idle manner. “Well, maybe you finished what you had to say.”
Stiles waited for Derek to continue.
“But I’m not ignorant, Stiles.”
“I know you’re not–”
“Don’t treat me like a child then,” Derek quickly countered, looking at Stiles. “I know–my wolf knows how it feels.”
“I already told you, there's nothing I can do to change it,” Stiles started.
“I’m not blaming you. But you said your glamour affects people in your presence, correct?” Derek patiently waited until Stiles hesitantly nodded in agreement. “My feelings don’t change when I’m not around you, Stiles.”
Stiles looked at a loss for words.
“I know Deucalion has messed with your sense of safety,” Derek continued. “But someone has to say it–you are not responsible for how he acts, even when in your presence.”
Stiles’ hands trembled as he stared at the ground, avoiding Derek’s gaze.
“He wants to control you,” Derek continued. “And that, no matter what he says to guilt you, is his own doing.” He clenched his jaw. “I only want you happy, Stiles. And if that is a life where I pretend I never got to know you, then I’ll do that. Because that’s what you do when you care about someone.”
Derek sighed, moving to stand up. “I’ll make a few calls to my sisters–arrange for them to make the trip out here–that will maybe avoid any unnecessary attention.” He hesitated before forcing himself to walk away.
“How can you…”
Derek paused, turning back to look at Stiles.
Stiles stood. “How can you say any of this when I’m a monster?” He looked at Derek. “How– I died, Derek. Do you understand that? I’ve been dead for centuries,” his voice trembled as it grew louder.
“Stiles,” Derek’s voice was gentle as he took a step forward.
Stiles tried to snatch his arm back when Derek grabbed ahold of his forearm, but Derek refused to let him shy away. He stumbled, unsure, when Derek pulled him in close.
He wanted to flee–to run away from the disgust gripping his chest, though his hold tightened on Derek’s biceps as he started to fall apart. “I’m a walking corpse that feeds off of other things. A leech.”
“Stiles,” Derek’s voice held a low rumble–a hum of the wolf as he spoke his name like a prayer. “You’re more than that.”
Stiles shook his head.
“He wanted you to believe he was the only one who could love you,” Derek explained. “Trust me, I’ve been through that with my ex-wife, and it took me a long time to realize that it was never true. She wanted me to love only her. But you don’t hurt someone you want to love and have love you back.”
Stiles clamped his eyes shut as he struggled. This was everything he had ever wanted, but now it left him hollowed and terrified to know it was real.
“You are here with me, Stiles,” Derek vehemently declared. His thumb brushed away a stray tear. “So be here with me.”
Stiles pressed his forehead against Derek’s throat, folding himself into Derek.
“Stay here with me, Stiles,” Derek gently requested. “Let me hold you in my arms, even if it’s just for the night.”
Stiles clung to Derek as he was enfolding in the wolf’s warm embrace. He forgot about the cold, about the loneliness, and just existed in Derek’s arms.
~*~
Warmth.
It was the warmest Stiles had been that he could remember.
He looked up at Derek, eyes scanning his face. He brushed his fingertips over Derek’s chest, curling up against his side. He kept his head resting against the curve of Derek’s shoulder.
“I know you don’t sleep,” Derek’s voice noted with a soft tinge of sleep to it. He kept his eyes closed as he spoke, “But you don’t have to stare at me while I sleep.”
“You’re not sleeping,” Stiles replied with a soft smile.
Derek grunted in agreement. “Not now that you hooked your leg over my hips.” He opened one of his eyes to look at Stiles.
Stiles innocently smiled back at him. He leaned closer, placing a delicate kiss to Derek’s lips. “You should go back to sleep,” he murmured. “It’s early.”
“I should call the other packs,” Derek reasoned, though he sounded as if it was the last thing on his mind. He shifted his body, tightening his hold on Stiles as he rearranged them. He pulled Stiles up on top of him, his arms resting across Stiles’ waist as his hand lingered on Stiles’ bare thigh. “Or I could stay here, in bed, with you.”
Stiles settled his weight on top of Derek, his hand moving to cup Derek’s cheek, as his other braced against the pillow by Derek’s head. He kissed Derek with a delicate passion. The lilt of Stiles’ laugh bubbled up between them when Derek left a trail of kisses and lover’s bites down Stiles’ throat.
Derek nuzzled his nose in the curve of Stiles’ throat, breathing in deeply before grazing his teeth against Stiles’ skin. He felt Stiles’ shudder as a soft moan left him.
Stiles’ skin wasn’t cold like before. It thrilled Derek to know he helped to heat him.
Derek spent what felt like hours touching every inch of Stiles he could. Diving through that ice and sharing the burn of his body. His wolf howled, so close to the surface he was sure he’d be tempted to shift for a moonlit run. But Stiles’ fingernails dug into his skin, grounding him as they came together in the most vulnerable of ways.
Stiles. Lover. Pack. Mate.
Mate, mate, mate.
Stiles sat up, pulling Derek into a sitting position with him.
Derek faintly growled in disagreement when the position stole away his personal haven of Stiles’ neck.
Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s hair, shifting forward when Derek’s arms tightened around him. He slowed their kiss before pulling away, brushing his nose across Derek’s cheek as they remained embraced in one another’s arms. “You don’t have to call them,” he softly spoke, his lips touching the lobe of Derek’s ear.
Derek pulled back to look at Stiles, reaching a hand up to touch Stiles’ face.
Stiles pressed his cheek into Derek’s offered palm, cherishing the touch. He closed his eyes for a brief moment. “If you are still offering,” he started, allowing his eyes to slip open. “I trust you’ll stop me if I can’t,” he weakly added as explanation.
Derek drew Stiles in for a kiss. “I trust you.”
It was the reassurance Stiles needed.
Stiles kissed Derek once more before his lips dropped to caress Derek’s throat. He brushed his nose beneath the curve of Derek’s jaw. His hands roamed over Derek’s chest until they landed on his shoulders. He spoke softly in Derek’s ear when he felt the tight grip Derek had on his hips. “Some spots are easier than others.”
Derek couldn’t help the faint huff of a chuckle that escaped him. It wasn’t nerves–it was anticipation. “You’re not going to go for my throat?”
Stiles pulled back to look at Derek. “The wrist is actually better than the throat,” he offered. “But the…” He looked down between them out of what Derek thought was shyness.
“Where?” Derek asked, his gaze exploring Stiles’ vacant features.
Stiles looked up at Derek as he allowed his hand to drop.
Derek jolted some when he realized where Stiles’ hand was going. “You’re not biting me on the dick,” he stated with a bit of amusement in his voice.
Stiles started to laugh, snorting some as he leaned his forehead against Derek’s shoulder. “Your thigh,” he finally stated. “Your femoral artery runs through here,” he continued, his hand confidently moving to caress Derek’s inner thigh.
“Oh,” Derek plainly uttered, his gaze dropping between them as he watched Stiles’ hand dance dangerously close to where he would rather be focused. “Would be the most hidden,” he mused. He didn’t even know if that made sense–if Stiles would leave a mark.
Stiles leaned forward and kissed Derek. “I can use the wrist,” he stated instead, pulling his hand away from Derek’s thigh. He didn’t want to make Derek uncomfortable, almost feeling a blush heat his cheeks the moment he spoke the words.
Derek’s hand snatched Stiles’ wrist, keeping their hands hovering between their bodies. He pulled Stiles back into their kiss, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue into Stiles’ welcoming mouth as they shared the softest of moans. He felt the hint of a fang catch on his lip. His hand gripped the back of Stiles’ neck, grounding them both. “Use my thigh, Stiles,” he spoke in a low voice, the edge of a command dripping from his words.
Stiles nodded his head in agreement.
~*~
Stiles’ senses were on fire. He had forgotten how he felt after feeding on human blood. How … alive. Fire poured through his veins as he fed on Derek, an electricity shooting through his spine the moment his fangs pierced Derek’s skin.
It was intimate.
The caress of Derek’s fingers moving through Stiles’ hair.
The splay of Derek’s thighs to welcome Stiles close.
The hiss of pain that slipped through Derek’s teeth the moment Stiles’ fangs breached his skin. A hiss that turned into a low moan just as Derek’s thumb brushed Stiles’ cheek in practical reassurance.
Stiles kept his eyes closed as he drank. He could hear Derek’s heartbeat–how steady and loud it was despite each morsel of blood he stole. His hand tightened on the outside of Derek’s knee as he held on.
The pinprick of claws scraped along Stiles’ scalp, reminding him that he sat in supplication to the mercy of an Alpha werewolf.
Stiles opened his eyes, looking up at Derek. His lips lifted from the soft tautness of Derek’s thigh, his fangs slipping from his skin as he started to pull back. He was afraid he triggered something in Derek’s wolf when he saw red eyes staring down at him.
In the moonlight, Derek’s eyes glowed the brightest red.
Stiles slipped a hand over his mouth, prepared to flee to the bathroom in order to clean himself up while hiding from Derek’s gaze. He felt a sudden shame overwhelm his near euphoric state. He was still thirsty–hungry for what he denied himself for so long.
Stiles started to apologize, “I’m sorry–”
His words snapped Derek into action.
His apology died on his tongue when Derek lifted him off his knees and into his arms. His moan startled him when Derek captured his mouth in a searing kiss. He knew his mouth tasted of blood, positive Derek would be able to tell as their tongues met.
Derek didn’t seem to be bothered by the reminder of what Stiles was doing kneeling between his legs.
Claws scraped along the sensitive skin at the base of Stiles’ skull, a faint cry of pleasure escaping Stiles when Derek pulled on his hair. Their lips still touched, only enough room between them for Derek to speak.
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” Derek’s voice was a low rumble, his wolf so close to the surface. He tasted the blood– his blood–on Stiles’ tongue, and it unleashed a deep yearning in him. He never imagined he’d let go this much–that he’d show anyone this side of him in such a vulnerable way.
But Stiles showed him just as much trust.
“And I sure as hell didn’t ask for an apology.”
Pleasure spread through Stiles’ gut in a warm wave of desire. “It’s enough,” Stiles weakly answered. He jutted his chin out some, desperate to press his lips to Derek’s once more.
“Enough?” Derek’s deep chuckle nearly vibrated Stiles out of his skin. “But you want more.”
The question seemed to disappear from Derek’s inquiry.
And Stiles was helpless to deny it.
His head nodded in quick and enthusiastic succession.
“Then keep going,” Derek instructed him. He pressed his face along Stiles’ throat, inching his nose along the sharp line of Stiles’ jaw before nipping at the skin there. “Take what you want, because when you’re done, I plan on keeping you in this bed.”
~*~
Stiles intertwined his fingers with Derek’s as they walked through the small parking lot of the Sheriff’s station. He pressed his body against Derek’s side despite the difficulty of keeping the position while walking. He pressed a kiss to Derek’s clothed shoulder.
Stiles wore a pair of Derek’s sunglasses, knowing that his eyes were burning a deep crimson red now. There was no way to explain the sudden change in his eyes. He was relieved he had enough vacation time to plot an easier solution before returning to the hospital.
A fluttering roiled in Stiles’ stomach when he realized he was planning to return to normalcy. He was planning the future. He was ready to go back to a life where his only concern was the gossip mill coming up with some absurd rumor concerning him and Derek.
Though, anyone could see them pressed together and know there had been a major development.
Stiles had been waiting for his fangs to ache with hunger–for the telltale sign that he was unable to stop. But he had drunk his fill from Derek. He wouldn’t have to feed for at least a month.
And Derek wasn’t even tired from the ordeal.
Well, he had claimed he was tired, but Stiles knew it was from other activities that had followed.
Derek had made love to him after Stiles drank his fill, Stiles’ fangs clamping down on the soft curve of Derek’s throat as their hips met in a timed and practiced manner. Stiles clung to Derek as bliss erased the stress and fear that had all but consumed him in the building years.
Derek had seen him–accepted him. And it erased some of the guilt he had in embracing what he was.
“Anna-Marie is going to be very nosey,” Derek offered as they reached the door of the office.
Stiles lightly chuckled. “She can announce it to everyone then,” he offered, looking over at Derek.
Derek paused, his hand dropping from the door handle as he turned towards Stiles. He reached a hand up, slipping the sunglasses from Stiles’ face and placing them on his head. He untangled his hand from Stiles’ in order to reach up and cup Stiles’ face.
Stiles wasn’t ashamed to look at Derek, knowing the dark red of his eyes wouldn’t be rejected. He blinked up at Derek.
“Is this you formally asking me out?” Derek asked, a playful edge in his voice.
Stiles smiled, pressing his body in close to Derek, only a small breath between them remained. He slipped his arms around Derek’s waist. “I’m tired of running,” he admitted. “And I like it here. Here with you.” He brushed his lips against Derek’s. “So yes, this is me officially asking you out.”
Derek turned the brushing of their lips into a full-bodied kiss.
Stiles mumbled Derek’s name when he felt Derek’s hands roam his body. “You’re going to get us in trouble,” he laughed. “The Sheriff shouldn’t be written up for indecent exposure.”
Derek pulled back, arching an eyebrow at him. “You’re implying I was about to take our clothes off out here.”
Stiles smiled at Derek. “I’m sure you’d love to have me naked in the woods.”
A twitch of Derek’s brow prompted Stiles to file that fact away for later.
Stiles reached a hand up to pull his sunglasses down. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to wrap up our errands. I have plans for a certain man out of uniform.”
Derek smirked at that, releasing his hold on Stiles before taking his hand again.
Stiles was certain nothing could pull the smile from his lips as Derek escorted him into the station.
Derek hesitated as he looked around the darkened station. The lights were on an automatic timer to shut off if there was no movement throughout the station. He looked at the main desk, surprised to find it empty.
Stiles furrowed his brow as he looked around. He lifted his sunglasses back off his face when he was confident no one was going to spot him.
Derek walked forward, scanning the station for any signs of life. He hesitated when he pinpointed a faint heartbeat behind the desk. He felt at home with the scents that surrounded him, but there was a faint acrid smell–one he hadn’t been used to. He slowly walked up to the desk, leaning over far enough to see who the heartbeat belonged to. He startled into action when he saw the legs of someone laying on the floor.
“Jesus Christ, Anna,” Derek suddenly uttered as he hurried around the desk.
Stiles followed him, seeing that the chair was upset and Anna-Marie was laying on the floor. He rushed to kneel beside her, checking her pulse quickly. “She’s alive–she’s breathing,” he offered Derek as a comfort.
Derek was already on the dispatch radio to the hospital, requesting an ambulance for her.
“Anna,” Stiles softly spoke her name, leaning down closer to the older woman. He moved her glasses out from under her, stopping them from imprinting on her cheek. He touched her forehead, eyes scanning her body for a sign of any bite marks. He was thankful not to detect any.
There was once a time that Stiles would have seen a woman like Anna-Marie as a maternal figure–someone Stiles had lost early on in his life. She was kind, amusing in her sarcastic nature and the ability to call out any bullshit someone swung her way.
Anne-Marie groaned as she started to come to.
“Derek,” Stiles called out to gain the other man’s attention.
Derek held the receiver of the dispatch in his hand as he looked at Stiles.
“She’s waking up–besides the head injury, I think she’s fine,” Stiles offered as a diagnostic once he saw the bruise welting her forehead. He was hopeful that she had merely bruised and had not fractured anything.
“Where the fuck are the deputies,” Derek growled under his breath as he surveyed the bullpen. It was a typically quiet Thursday, the day most of their deputies would be either off or out monitoring the streets.
But without a single deputy in the station, Derek’s hackles started to rise.
“He told me to,” Anna-Marie’s voice suddenly cut through the silence.
Stiles’ brow furrowed. “What?”
“He … said …” Anna-Marie took in a shaky breath. “He said I hit my head. And then I hit my head.” Her words sounded confused by the unfolding events.
A weight slammed into Stiles’ stomach.
“Derek!” Stiles yelled in a panic, his hand dropping from Anna-Marie as he jolted upright like a spring. He paused when he saw that Derek was standing between him and the vastness of the empty station.
A disembodied clap started to shake the eerie silence that had settled over them.
The clapping grew louder as more hands joined in.
Stiles reached out to take a hold of Derek’s arm, pressing in close to his back.
Derek’s eyes dashed back and forth between the origins of the noise. He watched as two familiar faces walked out into the bullpen. He recognized them from their missing person reports.
“There’s only two,” Stiles mumbled, having realized what Derek had.
“You have John to thank for that.”
Ice pulsed through Stiles’ veins in a wave of fear as Deucalion’s voice washed over him. His hand involuntarily tightening on Derek’s bicep.
“He killed three of my pets before I could get them out,” Deucalion mused, a forced expression of regret taking over his features as he walked out of Derek’s office. He had a folder in his hands, inspecting the open case about the missing hikers as he idly paced near the two newborns. “But even John isn’t infallible.”
“Where is he?” Stiles demanded. He hated the smug implication in Deucalion’s voice.
“Ran away to lick his wounds,” Deucalion simply uttered. “He’ll be out of the fight for a while.” He closed the folder with a finality, dropping it onto a nearby desk. “Enough time for us to play before we go home.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes at Deucalion. “I am home.”
Deucalion’s head tilted slightly, a dangerous shadow falling over his expression when he noticed the change in Stiles’ eyes. “I see you finally stopped pretending,” he spoke in a low tone.
Stiles took a step forward to stand beside Derek. “You don’t have to listen to him,” he spoke to the two newborns. “You don’t have to act like this–you can live a life without killing.”
Deucalion released a bitter laugh. “Live a life? Hardly.” He stepped forward, touching a hand to each of the newborns’ shoulders. “They enjoy it, as they should.”
Derek couldn’t stop the shift pulling at his bones.
The moment Stiles’ scent spoiled with a tinge of fear, he knew who the man was.
Stiles had been wrong–Deucalion wouldn’t watch from the sidelines.
Derek’s irises flooded with crimson, his fangs dropping the moment Deucalion gently tsked at Stiles.
“You stink,” Deucalion declared. “Like a dog.”
Stiles took a small step in front of Derek, reaching a hand out to placate Derek into not attacking. “John will kill you if you don’t run,” he reasoned.
In truth, Stiles didn’t know where John was. He couldn’t tell if Deucalion was bluffing. He had been naive to think it would be safe enough to escort Derek to the Sheriff’s station for the day.
And yet, it was insanity for Deucalion to make a move in the open, during the day. It made Deucalion that much more unpredictable. It led to the horrifying realization that they didn’t know what else he was willing to do.
“Why don’t we see just how much you remember,” Deucalion replied, taking a step back as he gently clasped his hands in front of him. “Kill the human first.”
Both newborns didn’t turn towards Derek, but seemed to target someone behind them.
Anna-Marie .
Stiles moved when he saw the newborn to his right nearly vanish. He was able to easily grapple the young vampire, his hand gripping the man’s arm in a punishing hold before slamming him into the adjacent wall. His gaze only flickered to Derek when he realized the vampire was unconscious, relief striking him the moment he saw Derek had the other newborn pinned easily.
Derek tightened his hold on the vampire’s throat, his claws dragging down into the typically concrete like skin. He bared his fangs when the vampire tried to lash out with the snapping of their own teeth. He didn’t want to kill the woman, but he knew he couldn’t release her either.
“Humoring,” Deucalion noted in a bored tone. “But you know that’s not how this works, Stiles.”
Stiles froze when he felt the other newborn rise from his spot. He underestimated the situation.
The vampire bit down into Stiles’ shoulder, momentarily startling Stiles into inaction.
“Stiles!” Derek yelled to him when the coppery stench of blood invaded the air.
Stiles stumbled, his claws digging into the vampire’s shoulders. He used his strength to pry the man’s fangs out of his skin. He struggled to get the creature off of him.
Derek allowed his shift to take over. The heat burned in his chest as the Alpha spark overtook, his skin tearing to give way to inky fur as his bones popped and rearranged to accommodate the wolf.
Derek had shifted less frequently since the passing of his family. The smoke and terror would always be fresh in his mind, the stench staining his senses. He couldn’t forget how he isolated himself from his sisters once the Alpha spark tore through his body as soon as the house caved under the groaning weight of the snapping beams.
Their whole world was engulfed in flames. But the spark survived.
The burn of the Alpha spark tore through his body–his mind–and replaced everything he had grown up knowing. Loving. He was no longer a Beta. His family was dead–his mother and Alpha had died, and all that was left was the cursed Alpha spark passing from parent to child.
Fear. Grief. Pain.
All encompassed in the power that tore through him.
The pain was the easiest part to remember when he had transformed for the first time as an Alpha.
But now, in this moment, he could only focus on protecting. Keeping Stiles safe.
And the wolf agreed.
Stiles managed to pry the vampire off of himself, kicking the man backwards. He lashed out with his claws when the vampire lunged back at him. He clawed out the man’s throat. He ignored the wetness of the blood seeping through his clothes as he scrambled to his feet.
He wasn’t surprised to find that Derek was fully shifted into his wolf form, the limp form of the other vampire sprawled out next to his feet.
“Well,” Deucalion’s expression was pinched. “Looks like you have your dog well trained.” He turned his gaze on Derek.
“Deucalion stop!” Stiles yelled at him when he realized what was about to happen.
“Stay,” Deucalion ordered.
Stiles wasn’t sure who he was talking to, but his blood ran cold when he saw Derek’s advancing form stop.
“Should I make him sit and roll over?” Deucalion asked as he looked at Stiles.
“Leave him alone,” Stiles shakily uttered.
“He fucked you for a night and you’re already under his thumb,” Deucalion angrily snapped at Stiles. He took a step towards Stiles.
Derek lowly growled, eyes watching Deucalion.
“Bite your tongue,” Deucalion stated.
Derek whined lowly before his head turned down to hang limply.
Stiles took a stumbling step towards Derek.
“I’ll tear his jaw off if you take another step,” Deucalion threatened Stiles. “Be a good boy and stay there.”
Stiles tightened his hands into fists. He tried to calculate how much time he had before the ambulance arrived. Before Deucalion sped things up and hurt Derek more.
“You want to shift back,” Deucalion ordered Derek.
Derek’s wolf appeared to resist for a moment before a whine escaped. Bones popped and snapped as fur ripped and vanished in the wake of skin. Derek’s face was one of the last things to shift back. His brow was still prominently shifted and changed, snapping into human form when Deucalion stepped on his hand.
Derek was kneeling, his hands on the ground where his wolf’s paws had been seconds ago. He was breathing heavily, as if he was fighting his control.
“You’re good at being a dog,” Deucalion noted.
Derek clenched his teeth.
“You’re going to stay here.” Deucalion turned his back on Derek, looking at Stiles. “And we’re going home.”
Stiles shook his head.
“No,” Derek ground out the word, sounding in pain as he voiced his protest.
Deucalion turned to look at Derek. “What?”
Derek let out a heartfelt laugh, his shoulders shaking with the action.
Stiles was confused as he looked at Derek.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Derek finally stated. “And I’m not staying here.”
“You are,” Deucalion forcefully stated as he took a step towards Derek. “You think a dog knows better?”
“I’m going to tear your throat out,” Derek answered, looking up at Deucalion. “With my teeth .” His words were punctuated with the sharpness of his fangs.
“Tear your own throat out,” Deucalion ordered.
“Derek!” Stiles yelled as he took a step forward.
It happened in a flash.
A shadow of inky fur launched from where Derek had been kneeling, tackling Deucalion with ease. Growls, the sound of flesh tearing.
Stiles didn’t know who was wounded more.
He startled at his own yelp when a hand touched his shoulder. He released a heavy breath when he realized it was John.
Stiles looked back at Derek and Deucalion, relieved when Derek stood up, shifted back into his human form. He didn’t hesitate to run to him, overjoyed when Derek instinctively turned to catch him.
Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, pressing his face into Derek’s bare shoulder. “You’re okay,” he stated with a shutter raking through him.
Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ torso, hugging him tightly to his chest. He buried his nose in Stiles’ neck, breathing in deeply. Nothing mattered but the feeling of Stiles in his arms, the metallic taste of the blood on his tongue meant nothing.
Nothing.
It had been a long time since Derek felt the calm wash over him at the thought that nothing was threatening his territory–his pack.
Stiles took a step back, looking up at Derek. He cupped Derek’s face in his hands. “Are you hurt?”
Derek shook his head, brushing a faint kiss to Stiles’ lips in reassurance.
“I suggest you get dressed,” John’s voice offered to cut through the moment. “I can hear the ambulance sirens coming,” he noted with disinterest.
Stiles nodded in agreement, releasing Derek long enough to put space between them. They had a bloodied crime scene to explain without the mention of vampires or werewolves. And Stiles wasn’t sure what excuse would be accepted.
~*~
“You’re heading back,” Stiles noted when John descended the steps.
John nodded his head in acknowledgement.
With the situation under control, John had been called back to bring a curt end to the bloody affair. He had a few choice words for the Council, but he was confident all would be handled in Derek's territory.
“I need to give my full report to the Council, now that one of their members is dead–at the hands of an Alpha werewolf.”
Derek bristled slightly. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.
“A member of the Council who was making newborn vampires to kill people,” Stiles replied.
A faint smile pulled on John’s lips. “I’ve already filed the complaint that it was their own fault for not listening to you. I'll be sure to give you a written playback on what happens when I send the children home.”
Stiles smiled back at him, finding comfort in John’s words. "I'm sure they'll be thrilled to be leaving Italy to return to Beacon Hills."
Derek faintly smiled at that thought. As much as he wanted his daughter to have fun traveling, he would be at ease once she returned home and was away from the covens of vampires surrounding her.
“There is just one thing I need to confirm before I leave,” John started, placing his travel bag on the floor by his feet. He looked at Derek.
Stiles’ gaze flickered between John and Derek.
“Deucalion’s suggestion didn’t work on you, did it?” John asked.
Derek straightened up, allowing his arms to drop to his sides.
“Derek was struggling with his shift, it probably helped,” Stiles replied.
“I don’t think that’s right,” John replied with a furrow of his brow. “You were struggling with your shift because your wolf wanted him dead.”
Derek nodded. “I figured he had drained himself, that’s why it wasn’t working when he gave me a suggestion. I used his hubris to my advantage–I wanted to make sure he was close enough that I had a clean kill,” he explained with a shrug of his shoulders.
Stiles’s features fell. “That’s… that’s not how Deucalion’s ability works,” he offered.
“I grew weak from the bloodloss when the newborns attacked me,” John explained to Derek. “It’s why I had a harder time fending them off. The weaker we are without blood, the weaker our abilities are.”
Stiles looked at John in confusion. “What are you trying to say?”
Derek looked at Stiles.
“I want to test a theory,” John answered.
Derek tore his gaze from Stiles to look at John.
“I’m going to use my ability on you for a moment,” John started.
Stiles grabbed John’s arm in protest. “You’ll hurt him,” he vehemently shook his head. “You can’t do that.”
“If my theory is correct, you’ll thank me,” John remarked.
Stiles’ brow furrowed in confusion. He relaxed some when he heard Derek call his name. He looked at Derek.
“It’s alright,” Derek replied. “I’ll heal.”
Stiles shook his head.
“I’m going to electrocute your mind,” John answered Derek’s reassurance with the bluntness of what was about to happen.
Derek’s brows rose in question. “What?”
John shrugged his shoulders. “It’s going to feel as if your mind is on fire, your whole body will be electrocuted. If I keep a focus, I can essentially fry a person’s brain.”
Derek clicked his tongue in response. “Of course you have that ability.” He took a step closer to John and Stiles. “Do you want me to sit first?”
Silence cut through the room, Derek briefly looking to Stiles when he felt his gaze.
John finally narrowed his eyes at Derek. “No need.”
Stiles looked startled. “What?”
John looked back at Stiles. “It didn’t work.”
“You already tried to electrocute my brain?” Derek incredulously asked. “What if it had worked?”
“Then you’d be on the ground in pain,” John answered.
Stiles looked quickly between Derek and John. “But I don’t understand.”
“Your grandfather,” John started as he looked at Derek. “He said something to me when we met that I never fully grasped. And I’m sorry it took me that long to understand it.”
Derek’s expression softened some.
“He said the wolf wasn’t just who you were,” John stated. “The wolf has its own wants and desires, and when you are unsure of or doubt yourself, you follow your wolf.”
Derek minutely nodded his head.
“He always said that your gift–your healing and your youth–it comes at the cost of connection,” John continued.
Derek frowned. “We’re connected to our pack through bonds.”
John shook his head. “I’m not talking about your kind, but ours. Our abilities work very similar to the vampire virus,” he offered. “It’s an intrusion–an infection that takes over the body and mind. It can be felt as a bond when using specific powers, and only used for the worse depending on who is in control.”
“If your ability did work because I’m a werewolf, then…” Derek’s voice slowly teetered off.
Stiles looked at John. “Our abilities don’t work.”
John looked at Stiles, a small smile of reassurance covering his lips. “It means your glamour doesn’t work with him.”
Stiles felt the tears burning his eyes before he looked at Derek. He opened his mouth to say something, but words dried up in his throat. What could he say?
Derek took a step forward, reaching out for Stiles.
Stiles lurched forward like a magnet, grabbing a hold of Derek as he fell into his warmth.
“I told you,” Derek gently uttered along the edge of Stiles’ temple.
Stiles released a faint laugh. “I know, I’m sorry.”
~*~
Beacon Hills was a quiet little town where everyone knew everybody. Strange things occurred, and most people decided to turn their back on what they couldn’t explain.
As strange as seeing a giant wolf running through the woods could be.
Regardless, it made Derek’s life easier.
Simple.
Though there was nothing simple about a life with Stiles Stilinski.
Stiles thought too much and laughed too little, but in their shared moments, Derek could see just how bright Stiles truly was. His beauty was a warmth in the moonlight that was Derek’s life. Stiles had given up so much–sacrificed more than he thought possible. But that pain all faded when Stiles chose to look at Derek, and only him.
The moon was no longer a shadow to hide behind–for either of them.