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Summary
“Derek, we, uh. We found something.” Scott says over the phone, and if it weren’t for the fear in his voice and the panic seeping through the bond, Derek wouldn’t have acted as quickly.
When the pack arrives, Scott is knelt down beside an amber-colored wolf, hand stroking through the fur in smooth movements. It’s barely breathing, chest rising and falling with obvious effort. There’s a chain collar wrapped around its throat, silver spikes digging into skin and fur.
Derek stalks up to the body and scents the air around the he-wolf, trying to decipher whose pack he belongs to, but all he can smell is fire and ash.
Or the one where Stiles is a werewolf from another pack and Derek's pack takes him in as their own.