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Stiles groaned as the world swam back into focus. His head ached from whatever had connected with the back of it. The last thing he remembered was climbing out of his Jeep to head into his father’s house. He knew it was his own fault for not paying attention to what was going on around him, but he’d been so angry with Derek that all of his attention was turned inward. Now, he was captured because his husband was an insensitive lout.
Blinking, Stiles let out an annoyed huff when he recognized the men in front of him as hunters. “Seriously?” he asked. “You know you got the human, right? No fangs, no claws, yadda yadda yadda.”
“Shut up,” the smallest of the men growled.
“Give me a break. I’ve been told to shut up by things much scarier than you,” Stiles snapped. He ran his hands over the bindings on his wrists, relieved to feel that they’d left his watch wrapped around his wrist.
He ignored the hunters’ glares and turned his attention to popping open the secret compartment in the band of his watch. Pressing the hidden button, he then proceeded to bide his time by calling on his magic. Clearly, these hunters knew nothing about his Spark and hadn’t taken any precautions against magic because he felt it flare through him violently, practically stealing his breath.
He wasn’t in the mood to kill anyone, so he decided to have a little bit of fun. Using his magic, he projected ghostly images in the air around the hunters—werewolves in different stages of shifting, different ages. The hunters jumped, whipping their guns up. The idiot who’d told Stiles to shut up even shot off a couple of rounds before one of the other guys knocked him up the side of the head with the butt of his rifle.
Stiles bit back a laugh at the looks of terror on their faces. It shouldn’t take the Pack long to find him. They were all together at a Pack meeting that night. Remembering that fact flared Stiles’ anger, and the ghosts started going a bit crazier. This time he did laugh, and one of the hunters growled at him. “Big bad werewolf hunters afraid of a few ghosts?” Stiles taunted.
The one that had hit the other guy took a step towards him, and Stiles threw up another spell, this one creating a glass screen between them. The hunter walked right into it and let out another growl. He pulled his gun back and smashed it against the invisible wall, yelping when it was ripped out of his hands. It flew across the room and landed at Stiles’ feet.
Laughing, he flicked his fingers, and the bounds around his wrists fell away. Leaning down, he picked up the gun and twirled it in his hands like a drill team member. Grinning, he held it up and leveled it at the hunters, who finally looked terrified of the correct thing in the room. The ghostly images faded, and Stiles raised his eyebrows as one of the hunters aimed his gun at him. Shaking his head, Stiles wiggled the fingers holding the handgrip.
Just as the barrel of the gun melted, the door behind the hunters burst open, and Derek ran into the room in Beta shift. He roared and shoved the two closest hunters, throwing them against the walls. Scott and Liam followed, heading for the other hunters who dropped their weapons and backed away slowly when faced with more than they’d bargained for by taking Stiles.
Stiles could hear Lydia’s scream echo through the building, laughing when the hunters covered their ears; he’d long ago created an enchantment that protected the ‘wolves from Lydia’s screams. He would’ve enjoyed the chaos a bit more, but he was grabbed up into a princess carry and dragged out of the room by Derek, who was sniffing him and scenting him as he ran through the building towards the exit.
All of the Pack’s vehicles were parked haphazardly outside of the warehouse, and Stiles was surprised to discover they were only a few blocks away from the loft where Derek had lived when Stiles was still in high school. They were about five miles from their house, so that explained how quickly the Pack had arrived.
Derek didn’t put him down until he was able to slide him into the passenger seat of the Camaro. Frowning, Stiles slapped at his hands when he tried to fasten the seatbelt. “I can do it myself, asshole,” he growled, and Derek stepped back, eyes wide.
Closing the car gently, Derek hurried around the front of the car, his eyes never leaving Stiles. He slid into the driver’s seat and reached for Stiles’ hand, whimpering when Stiles smacked it away. Frowning, he started the car and pulled out of the lot, going fast enough that Stiles thought he was trying to outrun the hunters.
“Did they hurt you? We were on the other side of town searching for you. We got here as fast as we could when we got the signal.”
“Lucky for me, you called a Pack meeting for tonight,” Stiles grumbled, turning to look out the window.
“A Pack meeting you didn’t show up for,” Derek pointed out, having the nerve to sound hurt by Stiles’ absence.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Stiles screamed. Derek flinched and gripped the steering wheel tightly enough that it creaked. “You’re upset because I missed the meeting? It’s not like there might just be a reason I didn’t want to spend the evening in a house full with the Pack? A reason I might have wanted to be alone with you? Fuck you very much, Mr. Stilinski-Hale .”
“Stiles-”
“Oh no, you don’t!” Stiles snapped. “Just take me to my dad’s. My Jeep is there, and I can spend the night there.”
“Stiles-”
“Nope.” Stiles covered his ears and hummed under his breath, ignoring the frustrated eye-roll Derek gave him. It took until they were in the driveway for Stiles to realize Derek had ignored his request. “This is not my dad’s house.”
“No,” Derek responded. “This is our home . The place you belong.”
“The last place I want to be right now. I’m angry with you, and I need to go deal with it on my own.” He turned to glare at Derek when he turned off the car and got out of the vehicle. “You don’t even know why I’m angry, do you?” Stiles screamed at him through the windshield.
“I know why, but I know you shouldn’t be,” he said as he pulled open the door, squatting down in the opening and looking at Stiles. “Just come into the house.”
“Why? Do you need me to clean up after the Pack meeting?” Stiles sneered, crossing his arms over his chest.
Sighing, Derek reached across Stiles and undid his seatbelt, pulling him out of the car and throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Stiles gripped the seatbelt as if his life depended on it. “Don’t make me cut the seatbelt,” Derek said, his voice patient in the same way Stiles’ father’s voice would get when Stiles was incredibly stubborn.
Stiles complained, smacking Derek on the butt several times as he was carried into the house and set on his feet in the foyer. Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned to scream at Derek for manhandling him when his eyes caught on something in the opening to the living room. Strung up in the archway was a banner with the “Happy Anniversary” in silver letters against a purple background.
Stepping under the banner into the living room, he found a table set up with food and a punchbowl, the ice long since melted and the punch splashed over the edges where one of the Pack had probably bumped the table in their rush to search for Stiles. Turning, he saw a table with a small stack of presents on it. Derek stood next to the table with a crushed bouquet of blue, lavender, and red roses.
Stiles approached and took the bouquet, holding it to his nose and inhaling their scent. He looked up at Derek, blinking back tears. “You didn’t forget.”
Stepping closer, Derek held out a small box. “I would never forget the second happiest day of my life,” he whispered. Stiles took the box, and Derek reached out to cup Stiles’ face in his hands, leaning forward to press a kiss to Stiles’ forehead.
“The second happiest?” Stiles asked, setting the roses down on the table with the other presents and opening the one Derek had given him.
“The first was the day we met,” he responded. “The day I met my Mate and believed in fairy tales again.” Stiles gasped as he reached into the box and pulled out a small yet elaborate sculpture. “The tenth anniversary is tin or aluminum,” he explained.
Derek had taken pop cans, cut them, and shaped them into the Beast’s castle. He’d even styled a small painted glass window of the rose as a backdrop to the statue. “It’s beautiful,” Stiles breathed out, holding it up to the light. “It had to take you forever.”
Derek shrugged. “You’re worth it, Stiles.” He took the statue and set it on the table, pulling Stiles into his arms and burying his face in Stiles’ neck. “You have been my world since the day that we met. I wanted to surprise you, but I guess I blew it.”
“If you’d only said ‘happy anniversary’ this morning, this would’ve all been avoided,” Stiles muttered. “I would’ve come straight - No, you know what. It wasn’t your fault. It was my fault for not talking to you.”
Derek chuckled. “And you always say I’m bad with words,” he teased, laughing loudly when Stiles smacked him hard on the butt. “You keep spanking me today.”
“Well, I owe you ten,” Stiles said, sliding his hands into the pockets of Derek’s jeans and tilting his head to brush his lips against Derek’s.
“I think that’s for birthdays, not anniversaries,” Derek commented, deepening the kiss a bit on the next pass.
“Maybe we should start a new tradition.”
Derek pressed their foreheads together, smirking. “Next year, let’s skip the kidnapping.” He cut off Stiles’ bark of laughter with another kiss before lifting Stiles up and carrying him up the stairs to their bedroom.