Chapter Text
The pack discovers a few things over the next several weeks. One, the more Stiles drinks from Derek and no one else, the longer he can remain in sunlight. Today Stiles has spent almost the entire day outside with the pack without so much as a reddening hue forming on his pale skin. Isaac experiences the same effect from drinking Allison’s blood. They don’t know if this is due to being mates or if it would be the same with any werewolf blood and it’s not like any of the other wolves are jumping at the chance to offer theirs in an experiment. Peter balked at the mere idea and threatened to crush Isaac’s head.
Stiles was surprised to learn that after nearly a century Lydia is happy to remain in one place for more than a few weeks at a time. She’s found something here, with the pack, that she’s never had anywhere else. Hell, the little banshee has actually bonded with people other than Stiles. In fact, she absolutely adores Cora and dotes on the girl as much as she does Stiles or Erica. And Peter is just as infatuated with Lydia as Erica is. Between the woman being not only Stiles’ familiar—a secret only Derek and Peter know—but a banshee, the elder Hale is hardly able to contain his enthusiasm to learn as much as he can about her.
Lydia, while spending time with each member of the pack, still devotes a large quantity of her time to reading every book on magic she can get her hands on from the library. And when she’s devoured every one of them, Peter makes a trip to each of the vaults to collect any others that might interest her. Stiles spends almost as much time reading as Lydia does. And when he doesn’t have his face in a book, he’s plastered to Derek’s side.
Not that the wolf complains about that. Any excuse to put his hands on Stiles is taken without hesitation.
Boyd and Erica finally reveal their engagement and, as much as Erica was worried about it being the right time, everyone congratulates them. Lydia even offers to help plan the wedding. Cora announces herself as the maid of honor without a second thought. After school, Allison is there every day to train with her pack and now that Isaac can spend time in the sun without burning, he returns to school to finish out his education. Despite Stiles having told him it wasn’t a requirement, Isaac is determined to complete high school.
After a long day in the sun, training as a pack and having a cookout, the pack settles down for a movie. Lydia has a book open in her lap, tucked on the sofa between Erica and Peter with her feet propped on the coffee table in front of her. Allison and Isaac have taken over Derek’s favorite recliner. And Boyd has his arm draped over the back of the couch behind his mate, already fighting to keep his eyes open. Cora is settled on her stomach on the floor with a pillow under her chest to stare up at the screen. Derek sets the barrage of snacks on the coffee table and yawns while taking a step back.
“Seriously, Der! You promised you’d watch the movie this time!” Cora whines while grabbing a bag of chips.
Derek glances back at Stiles, who has his arms crossed over his chest while leaning against the doorframe. Stiles’ brows rise with a private smile at the corners of his mouth while gazing back. Neither of them have much interest in watching the newest installment of the Fast and the Furious, especially since neither of them have seen any of the other movies. Erica and Cora have been obsessed with them since the start. Boyd only tolerates them for Erica’s benefit. Peter only watches them to talk trash about the cars, from a mechanic’s perspective.
When Stiles surreptitiously shrugs one shoulder, Derek turns back with a little shrug of his own. “Sorry,” he garbles around another faked yawn, “you guys wore me out today.”
Cora scowls and throws a chip at him that bounces off of his boot. “Fine.”
“See you in the morning,” he says while patting the wall as he walks past before his hand settles in Stiles’. Derek notes that no one protests Stiles’ departure from movie night, as if they all were under the, rather correct, assumption that if Derek weren’t sticking around to watch, neither was Stiles.
As soon as they make it over the threshold in his room, Stiles closes the door behind him and presses his hand to the wood while muttering the now familiar incantation for his privacy spell. At the same time, Derek turns on his heel and flops onto the mattress on his back with his arms splayed on either side of him. His eyes close after only a moment of staring at the ceiling.
He doesn’t move when he feels the chill of Stiles’ hands on his calf through the denim of his jeans, skating down to unlace his boots. Nor when each boot is pulled off and tucked under the bed. Derek smiles to himself when Stiles straddles his lap and just sits there. Derek’s hands settle on his thighs, thumbs gently stroking.
When Derek looks up at him, Stiles is staring down affectionately and he can’t stop the way his smile widens. “What?”
Stiles shakes his head. “Nothing.” The response makes Derek’s eyes narrow suspiciously, which in turn causes Stiles to laugh. “Seriously, nothing. I can’t just look at my mate?”
Sitting up, Derek drapes his arms around Stiles’ waist to hold him, and Stiles’ arms come up to rest around his shoulders. His fingers comb through the short hair at the back of Derek’s head. Derek hums quietly, eyes fluttering shut as he revels in the cool touch. Both are quiet for a short time, just soaking in the other’s presence. He can’t be sure how much time has passed when Stiles’ forehead touches his own.
“There’s something on your mind, though,” the vampire says, his cool breath caressing Derek’s face from their closeness.
Derek can’t help the soft chuckle that escapes him as he tilts back just enough to properly see Stiles’ face. “You prying into my thoughts?”
Stiles snorts a laugh, brows rising minimally. “I only hear what you want me to,” he says while shifting his hands to cup Derek’s cheeks. “What are you thinking about?”
Derek chews the inside of his cheek and tightens his hold around Stiles’ waist, tugging him closer until their stomachs and chests are almost flush. He hesitates a few moments longer, feeling his cheeks heat up the longer he’s quiet. With a quiet sigh, Derek leans over, pulling Stiles with him, to grasp his mother’s letters from the bedside table. When he sits back up, Derek waves them in between them.
Stiles’ brows rise a little higher, clearly confused. “Not exactly an answer, Alpha.”
Derek tries to ignore the shiver that courses through him at the name. The only one that ignites that reaction is Stiles. Erica often teasingly calls him ‘alpha’ and it has never made him feel the same as it does when the word tumbles from Stiles’ lips, more a term of endearment than the honorific it’s used as when meeting other packs. Exhaling heavily, he pushes it aside to focus on the conversation he’s been avoiding. Mostly because he doesn’t know how to bring it up. “My mother.” That does nothing to clear Stiles’ confusion and Derek sighs before continuing. “You, you were meant to be her emissary.”
“Yeah…?” The word is drawn out, as though he hasn’t quite understood where Derek is going with this. And then all at once, clarity dawns on his features and Stiles grins at him. “Are you asking me to be yours?”
Derek drops the letters behind him and chuckles, his ears still tinged pink. “Well, I mean, you’re already ‘mine’.” His smile widens significantly at the gleeful laugh that escapes Stiles, his thighs tightening around Derek’s hips. “If you wanted to be, I don’t have an emissary, and I’d like it to be you.”
“Oh, I don’t know… that seems like such a big job for someone who’s just learning how to really control their magic,” Stiles says seriously, but the corners of his mouth twitching and the mischievous glint in his eye is all Derek needs to know the man is teasing. He shifts closer, his fingers gently gripping into Derek’s hair as he does. A soft, sad smile traces Stiles’ lips as he rests his forehead against Derek’s and murmurs, “I always knew I’d be emissary to the Hale pack, just never thought it wouldn’t be Talia’s pack.”
Those beautiful amber eyes dance over Derek’s face in that way that feels like the man is looking right down to his soul in search of something. Derek doesn’t break Stiles’ quiet contemplation, just loosely tangles his hands into the hem of Stiles’ shirt.
“I’d be honored to be your emissary, Alpha,” he finally says with a fond smile. Derek shivers, and Stiles seals their lips together.
⋅☾───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───☽⋅
“I want to take a photo of you,” Derek tells him, his fingers brushing through Stiles’ hair as they lie in bed. Derek’s room is permanently shrouded in Stiles’ sound spells now, his heartbeat resonating in Stiles’ ears and beneath his palm. He’s leaning on Derek’s naked chest, arms crossed under his chin as he gazes at Derek in fond reverence, lips curled in a smile.
“Right now?” Stiles asks, an eyebrow raised.
“Well… no, but now I do,” Derek says with a quirk to his lips, “I just want to shoot you. You’re really pretty.”
Stiles grins with a huff of laughter through his nose, and Derek’s fingers never cease in his hair, his smile lingering.
“Okay, baby. But you’ll have to use a digital camera. I won’t show up in analog.”
Derek furrows his eyebrows, his smile switching into a discontented frown. “That can’t be real. Seriously?”
“It’s only become a myth more recently. Silver is in most of the chemicals used to develop photos.”
“Well, there are other ways to develop without silver. I want to use my mom’s camera. You’re a worthy subject,” Derek says, his expression relaxing, biting his lip briefly as his thumb strokes over Stiles’ cheek as he asks, “Can you wear your old clothes?”
Stiles’ grin widens with a burst of laughter, and he sits up to slither his hands around the back of Derek’s neck, forearms pressing over his chest as their gazes meet. “You like my old man clothes?”
Derek colors a bit, his scent blooming between them as he huffs indignantly. “Maybe.”
Stiles can’t contain his grin and small spouts of laughter, his skin warm where he presses against Derek. “You’re in love with an old man,” he teases.
Derek purses his lips in a tight line with a slow blink. “Yeah, well, you’re the pervert dating someone eighty years younger than you. Creep.”
With more laughs, Stiles leans in for a kiss, and he can feel Derek’s gentle smile as his arms wrap around his torso with a tender squeeze. “Guess you’ll just have to lock me up and throw away the key,” he murmurs, nipping at Derek’s bottom lip.
“That can be arranged,” Derek mumbles between each of their lingering kisses, his fingertips pressing into Stiles’ cold flesh, and then he pauses, waiting for Stiles to pull back and meet his gaze. “You’ll have to wear the clothes, though, sorry to say.”
Stiles rolls his eyes with a pleased smirk, stealing another kiss. “Fine, but try not to jizz yourself when I walk out with a paperboy cap and suspenders.”
He can feel Derek’s heart speed up at that, their bond spiking with arousal, and Stiles snorts and shakes his head, his eyes rolling. “Jesus Christ, Hale, you’re ridiculous.”
Derek must decide he doesn’t care, their lips crashing together as he rolls them over and re-enters Stiles. Stiles imagines what Derek would look like dressed up in the smart kind of clothes Stiles has got hanging in his closet back at the Stilinski house, and he gets it, he gets why Derek finds it so fucking hot, coming as his teeth sink into his Alpha’s flesh.
They end up helping Noah clear out the house, and Derek geeks out a bit when he gets the chance to see Stiles’ childhood room, his hands scenting everything he touches. He picks up books and flips through them, thumbs through the clothes in his closet, plays with the wooden trinkets on Stiles’ desk before taking a seat on the bed.
“Where were you living before you made it back to Beacon Hills?” Derek asks, watching as Stiles picks out an outfit.
“I have a flat in London,” Stiles answers, holding a shirt against his chest as he stands in front of the mirror, only to realize he can’t see himself with an annoyed scoff. Derek is quiet, eyes following Stiles’ movements, a hint of insecurity peaking in their bond. Stiles turns to him, dropping the shirt to the side of Derek as he steps in between his legs and wraps his arms around the Alpha’s neck.
“What is it?” Stiles asks, his hooked finger tipping Derek’s chin up so their eyes can meet. Derek’s brows furrow, his hands settling on Stiles’ hips.
“Do you have to go back?”
The way he asks, all forlorn and uncertain, makes Stiles’ dead heart twitch in his chest, his fingers weaving into Derek’s hair with a tiny frown.
“Eventually, but you’ll be coming with me when I do. I don’t think there are ever enough werewolves in London,” he says with a playful curl of his lips, eyes reading Derek’s face. “We’re stuck together, angel. I’m not going anywhere without you.” He leans down and seals their lips together, and Stiles can feel his relief as the wolf’s hands squeeze his waist, his smile infectious as they kiss. Stiles just can’t keep his lips off him.
After Derek gets the snapshots he wants of Stiles in his promised suspenders and paperboy cap, he sets up the timer and places the camera on the front porch railing before jogging back over to where he stands, slipping an arm around Stiles’ waist. Stiles squeezes at his hip as they press against each other and smile at the camera, Stiles’ eyes peeking at him in a side glance. Cora comes out and snaps a few photos that turn out blurry once Derek develops them: one with Stiles placing the cap over Derek’s head and admiring him in it, another with Derek kissing his cheek. The last one is clear and centered, Stiles’ hands pressed over his scruffy cheeks, their lips sealed in a tender kiss as Derek’s arms wrap around his waist. Derek declares that one his favorite, and Stiles can't help but think he'll have these photographs much longer than he'll have Derek.
⋅☾───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───☽⋅
Walking under the sun is such a privilege which Stiles takes full advantage of these days, grabbing Lydia’s hand and running whenever the urge takes him. They pick spring flowers, the buttercups and violets more vibrant than he remembers in the open meadow they sit in, and she makes necklaces of them, as she does, while Stiles reads the books she’s assigned to him. Though Stiles loves reading, lately he’d rather be doing something else, like someone who has glowing red eyes and resplendent tasting blood. He smirks to himself as he flips the page of his book, eyes scanning but absorbing nothing as he lays on his stomach.
“As a vampire witch, I think blood magic is the obvious solution,” Lydia says as she spins a stem into a knot, fingers working expertly.
Stiles peeks up at her from under his brows, lips pursed. Teasing or not, calling him a witch is blasphemy. “Do banshees scream before their own death?”
Lydia’s lips curve, but she keeps her focus on her task. “I think the bond magic is strong, but I don’t think it’s enough,” she finally meets his gaze, “blood magic is a guarantee.”
“It’s also incredibly volatile. It’s only a guarantee if it’s done right. It could go wrong in so many ways.”
“If anyone can do it, you can,” she says, her voice soft but firm as she ties up the necklace and places it around Stiles’ neck. “I think we need help. Talia’s emissary is still beating, you know.”
“You don’t think that’s a bit indelicate? ‘Hey, you’re no longer the preferred Hale emissary but can you help me with some dark magic that can possibly kill you?’”
Aside from indelicacies, Stiles isn’t entirely convinced blood magic would work with so little data they’ve managed to find on vampire and werewolf bonds, and he’s terrified it could do more harm than good. Is the risk worth the reward—earn an eternity with his true mate at the chance of losing him after they’ve just found each other? Or should he just be happy with what time he has now with his beloved, instead of wasting their time figuring out ways to enjoy their life forever?
“It’s worth it,” Lydia says as if she’s read his mind, shooting him a severe look with pursed lips. “You deserve to try, at least.”
“What if Derek doesn’t want to?” Stiles asks, worrying at the inside of his cheek as he meets her gaze.
“Are you serious right now? That man would swallow wolfsbane for you.”
“I can’t ask him to do that for me,” Stiles protests, his face pinching in with a petulant shake of his head.
“If you never ask him, you’ll regret it.”
A frown twists his features, and he tears his gaze away as he twirls clover between the pads of his fingers. Lydia is always right.
When they return to the house, Lydia heads inside as Derek steps off the front porch to greet him, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he tugs Stiles in, his big arms wrapping around him, his scent warm and welcome.
“Missed you,” Derek mumbles, their lips pressed together, and Stiles huffs out a short laugh through his nose, his fingers threading in Derek’s hair.
“I was gone for an hour,” Stiles muses, stealing another kiss before meeting his gaze. “I missed you too.”
“It was the longest hour of my life. Never part from me again.”
A grin spreads across Stiles’ face, his head shaking as he laughs, “Oh god, you’ve been spending too much time around me. No one talks like that anymore.” Somewhere inside Erica groans, exasperated as she starts rambling about the two sickos outside.
Derek returns his bright smile, amused and unashamed. “There’s no such thing as too much time around you.”
Stiles is inclined to agree, kissing him again, tender and needy as he grips Derek close to him. When they break apart for air, their foreheads resting, Derek’s thumb swipes over his cheek before he pulls away to read Stiles’ face.
“What is it?” he asks, uncertainty vibrating along their bond. Stiles isn’t sure who it radiates from, their emotions are so enmeshed now. There’s nothing he can hide.
With a useless sigh, his arms around Derek’s neck, Stiles’ gaze flicks between his eyes with an unsure frown as he hesitates.
“Come on, tell me, I know there’s something,” Derek says, tipping Stiles’ chin up with a concerned pinch in his brows. He feels guilty for even thinking of asking, like he’s being greedy and should just enjoy this while he can. This kind of love happens once in a century, it can’t last forever—that’s not how the universe tends to work.
Instead of answering, Stiles kisses him again, and Derek indulges him only a little bit before he pulls away. “Baby, tell me,” the wolf insists.
Another sigh, and Stiles drapes over him, head on his shoulder as he squeezes him close and presses into his neck, his scent blooming with each precious pulse.
“If there was a way for you to stick around with me forever, would you take it?” Stiles murmurs against his skin, fingers clutching at the fabric on the back of his shirt.
“Of course I would. What’s the catch?” Derek’s arms squeeze around his middle, his scruff bristling against Stiles’ cheek. The corners of Stiles’ lips twitch. Derek’s too smart to believe anything in this world comes for free. Stiles can’t help but feel pride in his mate, grateful he’s met his match, his lips pressing against his hot pulse.
“I know there’s a way, but if it goes wrong, I could lose you forever, and I don’t know if I’m willing to risk it. There’s only one chance with blood magic.”
Derek is silent, and Stiles would be willing to bet if he could see the Alpha’s face right now, his brows would be knit, his lips in a studious frown as he contemplates. Stiles already knows what he’s going to say, because it’s the same thing he would say, too.
“If I had the power to keep you with me forever, I’d want to take the risk. I’d regret not doing it, and I can’t stand the thought of you being alone again.”
Stiles closes his eyes and squeezes his arms around Derek’s waist, too tight when the wolf starts panting to catch his breath. He loosens his grip, raising his head to meet his gaze again. “You don’t have to. I would be perfectly happy living out the rest of your life together.”
Derek’s jaw hardens and he shakes his head, reaching up to hold Stiles’ face in his big hands.
“If you asked me to, I would kill you before I let you have to live without me. If we have a chance to avert a homicide/suicide, I’ll take it.”
With blinking wide eyes, his mouth falling open in a stunned torpor, Stiles regards his Alpha, his heartbeat solid and steady under Stiles’ palm, his mossy gaze penetrating as his thumbs brush along Stiles’ jaw. It’s the same thing Stiles would say. It’s selfish and reckless and senseless, but if Stiles could kill himself, he would have done it long ago, and never even gotten the chance to meet him. That Derek even offered is a gesture so romantic it makes Stiles’ knees weak—he just feels so seen, so validated that Derek understands him, that Derek would do the same were the roles reversed. Enduring without him would be insufferable, but to die by Derek’s hand and side would be a heavenly way to die.
“I love you,” Stiles breathes out, overwhelmed with the emotion bursting along their bond—the relief, the ineffable love, the unfathomable gratitude he feels just holding Derek in his arms in this very moment.
“I love you, too,” Derek says, a self-evident lilt to his tone synonymous with ‘duh, that’s obvious’. Stiles snorts and presses their lips together, arms squeezing him again. Derek pants for air, and instead of asking for mercy, lets Stiles crush him, just as he’d let Stiles do anything else to him.
⋅☾───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───☽⋅
Stiles spends months researching the blood ritual. He visits Deaton, and while he’s a beacon of help, he’s also incredibly vague for no reason, and Derek tells him he’s only gotten worse with age. The books he passes along are more valuable than his expressed advice, and Stiles pours through them until every page is imprinted into his memory.
“Come sleep,” Derek calls from his bed, his voice groggy as he punches a pillow and presses his face into its cotton flesh.
“I’m not tired,” he says, hunched over his laptop, the only source of light in the otherwise dark room. It’d be so helpful if another reddit user was going through the same exact unique situation.
“Just come lay with me,” Derek huffs, shuffling around in the sheets.
Stiles slaps his laptop shut with a woeful sigh, having reached a dead end in his research weeks ago now. He’s known for a while he’ll have to come up with his own ritual. What’s available on eternal bonds has no mention of a werewolf and a vampire seeking one, or any cordial relationship, for that matter, which leads Stiles to believe it’s never happened before. They are the first, and perhaps the last inter-monster couple of their variety in existence, aside from Isaac and Allison. That itself is pretty extraordinary, let alone finding a proper spell that doesn’t involve killing someone he loves.
Like most blood magic, a sacrifice is required, something that holds true weight in one’s heart. The only thing that Stiles truly cares of in this world are the brightest bonds glowing behind his sternum, the one leading to his protegee in the parlor with his lover, another leading to his familiar, asleep in her bedroom, and the one extending to the other half of his soul five feet away from him. He’s not willing to part with either of those, and he’s determined to find an alternative, waiting for the proverbial light bulb moment when everything will come to him and he’ll know exactly what he needs to do.
Whatever the blood ritual will be, he is absolutely terrified of botching it, happy to put it off as long as possible in favor of spending nearly guaranteed time with Derek.
Stiles undresses, slipping under the warm covers as Derek shifts and drags him the rest of the way in, arms squeezing his middle as he burrows into the side of Stiles’ neck with a sleepy sigh. Stiles smiles and wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders, lips brushing over his forehead, nose nuzzling into his hair.
“I know what you’re doing,” Derek mumbles against his skin, his grip unrelenting.
Stiles’ fingers comb through Derek’s hair, his brows twitching in curiously. “Is cuddling a crime now?” A breath of air ripples over his neck as Derek huffs out through his nose.
“You’re delaying the ritual,” Derek says.
Stiles can hear the amusement in Derek’s voice, lips pursing in quiet acknowledgement as he closes his eyes. “Is that a crime now?” He lets his fingertips drag over the column of Derek’s spine.
“You know you already know what to do, right?”
“Tell me, what then?”
“I don’t know, I just know you know and you’re overthinking it. The answer is right in front of you.”
“How do you know that?”
Derek huffs and lifts his head, eyes narrowing, lips a thin line. His hair sticks out oddly, and Stiles presses his lips to keep from smiling. “Because you know, and I feel what’s in your heart,” he says, pressing his palm over Stiles’ cold heart, “and I know it’s gonna be fine.”
Stiles’ brows pinch together, his gaze doleful. “But what if it’s not? What if I make a terrible mistake and end up losing you because of it?”
“I think you’re underestimating the power of intent,” Derek says, and Stiles’ brows rise, checked and impressed as Derek continues, “your blood is already my blood, and my blood is yours. What if it’s already been done?”
Stiles blinks, his head rearing back a bit as he looks past Derek, eyes falling out of focus. It’s entirely conceivable he’s just had his light bulb moment.
“I know what to do,” he breathes out, gaze returning to Derek with an incredulous curl to the corners of his mouth, excitement and relief flooding their bond. “You’re a fucking genius, baby.”
Derek grins, his skin flushing as his gaze shifts bashfully, and Stiles cups his face, palms falling over Derek’s ears as he pulls the wolf in for a pressing kiss. Derek returns it fervently, soft scruff bristling under Stiles’ thumbs and against his lips, noses brushing.
Never tired now that Derek is his energy source, Stiles falls asleep in his mate’s arms nightly, regardless.
⋅☾───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───☽⋅
Isaac has been nervous his whole life, but since Stiles told him about the ritual and the risks, he’s been on another plane entirely.
“You’re sure there’s no other way?” Isaac asks, twisting his fingers as his gaze woefully shifts between Stiles’ eyes.
“This is the only way,” Stiles tells him, fingers threading through his hair before settling on his protegee’s shoulder with a squeeze. “It’s going to be fine.”
Stiles is still trying to convince himself of that sentiment, even moments before they leave to complete their ritual under the new moon. Derek believes in him, and that’s enough for it to work.
“Can’t I go with you?”
Shaking his head, Stiles brushes his thumb over Isaac’s neck with a careful smile. “No, I need you here. I don’t think you’d really want to bear witness, anyway,” Stiles says as his lips slant into a smirk.
“I could be there just in case. What if something goes wrong?”
“Then I’ll call on you. It’s going to be fine, I promise.” Stiles strokes their bond, sending along reassurance as Isaac’s arms squeeze around him for the fourth time this evening, reluctant to let go when Stiles begins to pull away. “I have to go, we’re on a schedule. We’ll be back before dawn.”
Finally, Isaac releases him, and next in line is Lydia. She hugs them both, wishes them luck with a tight squeeze, and just on the off chance this is the last time the pack sees each other alive and well, hugs are passed around before they slip away to the long path leading to the hallowed cemetery. Any blood that might be spilled would not go to waste, instead blessing the soil it bleeds into.
Derek closes the gate behind them, and just to ensure they are protected out in the open, Stiles casts a spell over the dark plot, the flickering candles laid out on the tombstones of the recently deceased their only source of light.
“This all feels very heathenish,” Derek says, pulling his shirt over his head before letting it fall to the wayside.
“I’ve got news for you.” Stiles smiles tentatively, mirroring him before tugging him close by his hand, body heat radiating. Derek’s hands rest on his hips, the warmth of them spreading, and he leans in, their lips sealing with a quick, tender kiss before their foreheads rest together. They rest like that for a few moments, the nerves jittering along the lifeforce beating between them, and Stiles brushes his thumbs over Derek’s cheeks as he takes another kiss. They could spend a thousand lifetimes together, and there would never be enough kisses, the interminable noise of one more popping into his head like an intrusive thought each time he pulls away. One more.
I love you.
I love you, too.
For this ritual to work, Stiles can’t just bring Derek to the edge of death—he has to drain him entirely. He has to kill his beloved, the one who holds the most weight in his heart. But first, Derek has to drain him to the brink of death.
“How will I know when to stop?” Derek asks, his voice small as his thumbs brush over Stiles’ hip bones.
“You’ll know, baby,” Stiles assures him.
Sex isn’t required for the ritual, but it certainly doesn’t hurt, strengthening their bond magic if anything. Their tie is what will bring Derek back to him, Stiles is about 99% sure of it. If he was any less sure, he wouldn’t go through with it.
He sinks over Derek’s cock, the wolf sweaty and feral beneath him, his fangs out, eyebrows hidden. Stiles thinks he’s just as beautiful if not more in this form, his growls vibrating between them, claws digging into Stiles’ hips as he ruts up into his mate.
“Do it, baby, knot me,” Stiles breathes out, his hole expanding around the knot Derek pulls him over, as if grounding him into place like he belongs there. Stiles in all his life has never felt such pleasure, the heavy weight of his Alpha’s cock filling him entirely, his eyes nearly crossing as he moans out and squirms just to feel more of him. Derek’s cock throbs as he comes, a perpetual flow filling Stiles up from within, and this is when Stiles leans in and bares his neck, knowing exactly how wild Derek’s wolf is for acts of submission.
“Bite me, Alpha,” Stiles whispers in his ear, and Stiles comes untouched as Derek indulges, his sharp teeth sinking into his cold flesh just as they have hundreds of times before. His fangs scar Stiles’ flesh, and Stiles elatedly surrenders to them every time, in awe Derek can permanently mark him, offer visual proof of Stiles’ Alpha mate status and alter his static body—a privilege he hasn’t had the pleasure of knowing since he was human.
Derek pulls heavily with wet swallows and reflexive moans as Stiles’ blood decants into him, flipping them over as Stiles starts to slump over. Derek is still stuck inside of him, the tie nearly as strong as their bond, his semen ever flowing as Derek drains him. Stiles can see the dark outline of the tree canopy above, stars peeking through their little windows, and if he does die like this, in his lover’s arms, tied to him through magic and blood and wrapped around the perfect cock filling him, he would die satisfied.
It is the closest he’s been to death, so close he could reach out and touch His fingertip, Death’s very own creation reaching back to Him. A gossamer veil separates them, so bright and mossy that Stiles knows he is safe from Death’s touch. Stiles doesn’t mourn it, his chance to end this life, because what comes after is what he’s been waiting for without even knowing it.
Behind the veil, he sees everyone he has ever loved and lost. His parents, his brother, friends he’s made throughout his long life, Malia. They all wave with tears in their eyes, and Stiles wants to touch every one of them, his heart replete as they whisper to him: we love you, Stiles, you were never unwanted.
A voice rings out above the rest, and Stiles knows it’s Talia before she emerges from the shadows, closer to him than the others. She’s young, the way he remembers her, her eyes matching the gossamer veil separating them as her hand presses against the barrier. Stiles reaches out, his hand pressing back.
I’m so sorry, Tallie. I never meant to abandon you.
She smiles fondly, a glint in her eye like she holds all the secrets Stiles has ever cared to know. He can feel the pressure of her palm against his, smell her perfume as tears stream over his cheeks.
If I had known this is what you were meant for, I wouldn’t have mourned you so severely, Mischief.
He smiles, incredulous laughter bubbling out of him as he shakes his head and flicks his gaze between her eyes, wishing he could hug her one last time.
Be good to him.
I will.
Warm blood trickles down his throat, golden and sweet like milk and honey, and Talia is swept away in a swirl of smoke and dust, her smile the last thing he sees. Everyone is brushed away with her, their words echoing between his ears, and Stiles’ instincts kick in as his teeth bite down on the hand that feeds him, sucking voraciously. Each swallow only drives him more insatiable, his hands coming up to grip Derek’s in place, and when he opens his teary eyes, Derek is staring back at him, his thumb brushing the tears away as he smiles in a daze.
Stiles hopes Derek gets to see her, too.
He fails to hold back tears as he carries Derek’s lifeless body to the grave they dug together, carefully dropping into the carved earth as he tucks Derek against him. In one quick flick of his wrist, the loam buries them, and Stiles hopes and prays to any deity who will listen that he can see Derek’s bright eyes again.
A strong hand pulls him from the earth, the pink dawn greeting him, and he’s tugged into a crushing hug before he realizes what’s happening. Briefly, he thinks this is heaven, where Derek’s scent envelopes him and his heart beats under his ear, strong and alive and eternal, and then Derek mumbles into his dirty hair, “I saw her,” with a crack in his voice.
Tears blur his vision as he presses into Derek’s neck, his arms squeezing around him. They made it. The ritual worked, and they’re both alive, and they made it.
“Me, too,” Stiles murmurs into his warm neck, and he listens more closely, the stream of their mixed blood rushing through his veins, the gurgling of his empty stomach, and something else, something new. Stiles leans back, brows drawn together curiously as he meets Derek’s gaze for the first time, his heart beating wildly in his chest.
“I know,” Derek says with a smile, swiping dust from Stiles’ face as best he can, and the wolf leans in to kiss him, their lips sealing briefly before he pulls back, his brows drawn just as curiously.
“You have a heartbeat.”
The mention of it sends new palpitations, and he reaches up to touch his sternum where all the bonds lie, his heart beating in sync with them, with Derek’s. Stiles can all but laugh, fresh tears spilling over.
“Your blood… it must have made me more like you.” That’s the best explanation he can come up with, his heart racing as he wraps his arms around Derek’s neck.
Derek blinks, his lips stretching in an awestruck smile. He remains quiet, his hand pressing over Stiles’ sternum, and then he shakes his head.
“No, it made you more like you. Alive.”
Their lips seal together, and their hearts beat as one.
⋅☾───⊱༺ Epilogue ༻⊰───☽⋅
Beacon Hills has never exactly been the quiet, quaint little town it’s known for, and in the eighty-seven years since Kali and her coven rolled through, the town has seen more than its share of supernatural happenings—witches and trolls, rival wolf packs or rogue omegas, selkies and goblins. One thing never changed: the Hale pack was there to protect it.
Peter passed almost thirty years ago, following injuries he just couldn’t heal from after a fight against a dragon he was convinced he could win. Erica and Boyd are gone, their children grown with children of their own. Erica went first, old age claiming her as her body slowly gave out. Boyd followed only three days later, the broken heart of losing his mate too much to bear. That was almost fifteen years ago, the etching on their gravestones darkened with age.
His gaze shifts toward Noah's headstone and the two smaller ones beside it. The Sheriff married a beautiful nurse not long after Kali’s death, their only attempt at a child of their own ended with both his wife and child's death during birth and he never saw it fit to marry again. Noah outlived them, longer than humanly possible thanks to his magic, and died peacefully in his sleep. The pack had seen it fit that, as Noah was pack and family, he would be laid to rest within the familial cemetery. Derek and Stiles have often spoken of how the Stilinski name will end with him, whenever that comes.
Derek holds firmly to Stiles’ hand as they watch her linen-wrapped body lower into the latest Hale cemetery grave, the powdered dirt crumbling over her fresh corpse. Stiles lets wolfsbane petals fall over her body, whispering a few words of love and protection before swiping his hand in the air, the pile of earth claiming her once again. He doesn’t cry, they knew it was coming. Cora lived a long life, longer than most wolves, but age had really begun to creep up on her in the last decade. She’d married a human when she was twenty-five, the same age Derek had been when he’d met Stiles, and they had three wonderful sons. Liam stands on Derek’s other side, huddled with his brothers as he sniffles quietly.
Allison squeezes Isaac’s hand, her gaze shifting up to meet Derek’s with a watery smile. He returns it while looking over his beta’s face, unchanged since the day he turned her, not one grey hair or wrinkle suggesting her true age. A youthful glow pours out of her like the sun spilling through breaks in the clouds, bright and ethereal, and her bond sings within him, intertwined with Isaac’s, intertwined with Stiles’. She feels his sorrow as he does, but even without their bond, she understands the loss of outliving their loved ones.
While immortal, they are still prone to the thousand heirs of the supernatural flesh, unimmune to wolfsbane or bullets. As wolves, they aren’t granted eternal life without their blood and bonds explicitly tied to the lives of their vampire mates. Should anything happen to Stiles or Isaac, their wolfy mates would follow them to the afterlife much like Boyd and Erica. Then again, that was never a question. Derek can’t imagine carrying on without Stiles, just as he knows Stiles would not go on without him.
Derek’s gaze wanders to the names surrounding them in the ever-growing land, hovering a few moments longer on his mother’s than the rest. He remembers her last intentional words to him, grateful for the proper chance to say goodbye, for the blessing she bestowed upon them as she touched his cheek and pushed him through the amber veil and back to life. He’d briefly thought of staying with his family, overwhelmed with the love that undulated off them—she didn’t give him much of a choice, but he knows he would have inevitably returned to his mate.
It’s only Kira’s squeal that pulls his attention back to the present, Liam lingering at the graveside with Corey and Eli as the rest begin to make their way back up to the packhouse.
Corey mated to Mason, Boyd and Erica’s son, when the two were in their early teens. And when they were in their twenties the two began building their own family by seeking out young orphaned supernaturals, adopting them as their own. Kira is their newest child and pack member, a young kitsune who had just begun to come into her power, abandoned but not unwanted, the pack welcoming her with open arms. Once Stiles cast a spell to bind her as a Hale, she stuck the closest to him more than anyone else, her favorite person that she has no qualms of declaring to the pack and the rest of the world.
A smile tugs at Derek’s lips as they walk along the path, the tiny eleven-year-old girl clinging to Stiles’ side. Derek easily falls into step beside the two, Allison and Isaac’s footfalls behind them. Most of the little ones have stayed behind at the packhouse, many of them too young to understand and too restless and full of energy to sit still.
Lydia opted to stay at the house with Tracy, Liam’s wife, and the children. She’d spent Cora’s final days with her, never leaving her side, unable to bear the funeral of her favorite wolf. The look she flashes tells Derek she regrets that decision as she jumps to her bare feet from where she’d been sitting on the porch steps. Stiles points toward Lydia while leaning down and murmuring to Kira. The girl grins, peeling herself away from the vampire’s side before darting over to the banshee and wrapping her little arms around her waist.
Lydia purses her lips at Stiles, although the aggravation melts away as her gaze settles on the girl. “Come, let’s go see if we can conjure a bit of lightning.” Kira’s smile turns mischievous as she laces her fingers with Lydia’s.
Derek shakes his head and winds his arm around Stiles’ waist. “They’re going to burn the house down,” he mutters.
Stiles laughs softly in response. “She’ll never learn to control it without practice.”
Braeden’s voice pipes up behind him as Allison and Isaac head inside. “If my brother had any sense he’d find another kitsune to train with her.”
“And if my sister weren’t such a sourwolf she’d offer to help instead of just bitching about it,” Mason counters from beside her before following Allison.
Braeden wrinkles her nose in response while passing the swaddled baby in her arms off to her mate. Danny beams at his little one with pride while ignoring everyone else on his trek into the house, their elder son walking beside him. She waits until they’ve gone inside and no one else is walking along the path to the house before speaking again. “I still don’t understand how you’re okay with this.”
Derek raises a brow. “With what? Having a full house? Or with your brother adopting hellhounds and kitsune and wolves and raising them all like siblings?”
Her lips purse as Stiles settles onto the step Lydia recently vacated. Braeden crosses her arms over her chest, “I thought foxes and wolves didn’t get along and here everyone is, just acting like she’s a wolf too.”
He can’t stop the chuckle that escapes him as he settles onto the step beside Stiles. “Didn’t you ever hear that vampires and wolves hate one another?” he asks, threading his fingers into Stiles’ with ease.
She huffs out a breath when she sees it. “Well, yeah, but mom always said that was just a myth.”
“What if all of it is?” Derek counters. “Kira is the first kitsune you’ve ever been around, and she doesn’t seem to hate any of us. Maybe what we all need is just a little more tolerance.”
Shaking her head, Braeden turns her gaze toward Kira and Lydia as the two practice. “Now you just sound like dad,” she murmurs. After raking her hand back through her hair, she steps around the two, ruffling Derek’s hair as she passes.
Derek lists to the side, leaning into Stiles until their heads come to rest together, his gaze settled on the red and gold leaves that slowly flutter to the ground. His thoughts drift to Boyd and Erica, their wedding held on a day like this, Braeden born on a comparable afternoon. They were his closest friends from birth, and he’d outlived them. He’d outlived all of the pack he’d been born into, and he misses each of them profoundly, an endless grotto inside him filled with all of his memories—their laughs, their tears, their hopes and dreams that he'll never hear again.
Today just marks another funeral, one of many he would see in his long life, but the last of the original Hale pack he’d belonged to. Now it is his job to watch after their children, and their children’s children. He would watch all of their births, watch them grow, attend their weddings and inevitably their funerals. And here he would remain, never aging with them.
Stiles’ lips press to the hollow beneath his ear, drawing him from his thoughts. “Do you regret it?”
Derek turns enough to look at him, a fond smile forming. “To be with you? No. I could never regret choosing you, and I would choose you every time.”
The smile that slips onto Stiles’ lips is more than a little bittersweet. “Der, you’ve just buried your sister…”
Derek cuts him off with a quick kiss while shaking his head firmly. “And my heart is broken but…”
“I love you. I’ll love you every day for the rest of my life, but that doesn’t mean you have to—”
Scowling, Derek slaps a hand over Stiles’ mouth. “I made my choice, almost ninety years ago, Stiles. Does it hurt to know that I will watch each and every one of these people that I love grow old and die? Yeah, like hell. But I also have the chance to spend my entire life with the person I love more than anything while having the opportunity to do something no wolf, no alpha, ever has before.”
Stiles’ brows dart upward, though his ‘what’ is muffled by Derek’s hand.
“I get to see my pack grow. I get to see what happens to Boyd and Erica’s children. I get to watch over Cora’s kids and their kids. I get to experience all of their lives.”
Stiles’ expression softens and Derek lowers his hand to cup his cheek instead. After pressing a kiss to Derek’s palm, Stiles sighs and nods softly. It’s not the first time he’s told Derek that they don’t have to share blood anymore and Derek knows it’s just his way of offering an out.
Derek doesn’t want it, and he never will, their golden bond so strong that not even Death could break it, one following the other into the dark along the brightness their tie offers them—devoutly and irrevocably bound.