Chapter Text
“We don’t have time,” came the agitated voice, and Scott threw a glance back at Derek, making sure his anger was apparent.
“There are scouts all over these woods, dude. They know it’s a harvest moon tonight, and they’ll shoot at anything that casts a shadow,” he said, kicking up leaves as he stomped ahead, pushing at low hanging branches.
Derek marched along behind him, his features made harsher by the on-setting darkness of the dipping sun. His lips drew tightly together before he repeated what he’d said earlier.
“We’ve got roughly six hours before the moon’s at its peak. That’s not enough time to get me to one of the districts, Scott.” He sounded resigned, though it was obvious that Derek was just angry at the whole situation; about getting held up in the past town and not having time to properly plan for tonight.
“I’m going to turn, and I’m going to kill someone.”
“Or turn them,” Scott offered, trying to lessen the drama of what was happening. It wasn’t the first time a blood moon had risen and they hadn’t been at a safe house, but they’d had the rest of the pack then, so containing Derek hadn’t been an issue.
Well, it hadn’t been easy, but they’d managed. But now the pack was scattered, gathering intel in smaller groups, trying to make it harder for them to be tracked. They’d gotten on the bad side of a few packs, and were making a conscious effort to stay below the radar.
Scott stopped abruptly, his thoughts distracted by a scent that was oddly familiar. He turned around before taking whiff of air. “Where are we?”
Derek paused, looking even more dangerous still than he was in motion, and sniffed a couple of times himself. “South. By the town you came from. Beacon Hills?”
Sucking in a deep breath, Scott nodded. “Yeah,” he said, and then started digging through his pockets. “Yeah, we’re by Beacon Hills.”
Derek watched him, his head tipping to the side every time a noise invaded their silence. It was dangerous to be out in the open. Not with how many hunters were prowling for blood, and how many authorities they’d managed to get on their side.
Especially here.
“Are you trying to get us caught?”
The phone was a beacon in the darkness, and Scott quickly covered its screen with his hand.
“I’m trying to find you a place to stay,” he pointed out, and he moved around, peeking underneath his hand, looking for reception. “I may know somewhere we can go tonight.”
Even shadowed, it was easy to see Derek stiffen. “I’m not going to a town, Scott. I’ll kill someone—“
“Not him,” Scott said confidently, and he pressed his phone against his ear, waiting for someone to pick up on the other line.
“What does that even mean?” Derek took a few steps forward, and Scott danced backwards, out of reach.
“It means you need to trust me.” And then, the person on the other line picked up and Scott’s attention was on them. “No, not—well, yeah, you too. I know I said I wouldn’t call unless there was an emergency. Can I come by?”
Derek eyed Scott as he nodded against his phone, and when Scott said goodbye, he almost felt like the conversation had been cut short.
“His house isn’t too far into town,” Scott said, already taking a few steps forward, not really waiting. “You’ll be safe there.”
From behind him, Derek followed, but not without mumbling, “Sometimes, I think you forget that I’m the alpha.”
Scott glanced back at him and grinned. “I wouldn’t risk my neck for you if you weren’t.”
“You’re risking someone else’s,” Derek countered, and Scott shook his head, and his expression became serious.
“Trust me on this, okay?”
Derek grunted, and that was all the permission that Scott needed to press onward.
***
The same seven photos had been staring at him for the past four days, only this time, one was stuck to Stiles’ cheek because he’d fallen asleep on top of it. He peeled it off in horror when his eyes had finally blinked open, wiping it smudge-free before dropping it back to the pile. He rubbed his face blearily.
He was 21, but barely. Still, there was a bottle of hard liquor on the desk in front of him, more for show than anything else. It made him feel like he was channeling his dad, because the guy could solve any case with a shot of whiskey and the right motivation.
It didn’t help that he had a sixth sense towards these types of things—with werewolves. For instance, he knew that there were about six in Beacon Hills at the moment, and that while one was an alpha, they weren’t all in the same pack. Walking down the street, he’d be able to recognize them right away.
Walking down the street they’d be able to recognize him right away, though they wouldn’t know why. They’d watch him though, drawn like a moth to a flame, and all Stiles had to do was pretend like he was completely unaware.
It had always been that way, and only two people knew about it. And now, one of them was declaring an emergency.
What the hell did emergency mean in werewolf terms, anyway? That he had hunters on his tail? That he was hurt? That he needed someone to play fetch with?
It had been at least a year since Stiles had seen Scott McCall, though he got at least one letter or email a month. Scott asked for this and asked for that, and Stiles catered because really, he had nothing better to do. He was holed up at home, doing endless amounts of homework for college.
Boooring.
Not that he wanted a more exciting life. Exciting usually meant danger in the real world, and he was positive that he’d get enough of that when he became a detective. That was years off, though, and at the moment, he enjoyed worrying about the little things, and not the bigger picture.
Like why the neighbor’s dog was barking up a storm after ten o’clock at night.
Stiles didn’t have to wonder long though, because he sensed it—a werewolf, no—there were two, and they were right outside of his house. He raised an eyebrow, thinking that Scott hadn’t mentioned bringing anyone.
He crept downstairs and waited in the living room. He watched the doorknob jiggle. Heard a key get jammed into the lock, and held his breath when the door opened, revealing Scott…
…and someone else.
Stiles almost immediately let his arm drop to his side and stared at Scott, who had a look in his eyes like he was going to say “Surprise!” any moment, only this wasn’t a good surprise, and Stiles was completely flabbergasted.
“He’s an alpha,” Stiles stated, and pointed at the man behind his childhood friend, who was only a few years older, but Stiles could feel the power he had, and whoa, was it slipping.
“He’s my alpha,” Scott amended, as if that made a difference. And great, now he looked guilty. It was a good thing that Stiles had long since become immune to his puppy-dog eyes.
“Let me get this straight. You brought an alpha to my house?” His attention drifted to his friend, lingering on how exhausted he looked, and how disheveled they bothlooked, covered in dried mud and dust.
“I had to bring him here.”
“Um…” Stiles stalked over to his front room window, catching the faintest reflection of his own pale skin and amber eyes before he pointed outside, to a corn-colored moon that looked like it was swelling with every passing second. “There’s a harvest moon tonight, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Scott, let’s go.” The alpha stated, and his voice was ruggedly tuned. “I can’t stay here.”
“Wait,” Stiles paused, and looked between the two others, his heart thudding as they both looked over to him. “Did you bring him here because of the moon?”
The alpha was eyeing Stiles the way most werewolves did, like he wasn’t sure what to make of him. No surprise there. Most days, Stiles didn’t know what to make of himself.
Scott floundered for a reply that wasn’t a blatant ‘yes’ and focused his efforts on his friend. “Stiles, this is Derek, my alpha,like I said, and—“
“Stiles,” Tossing a glance Derek’s way, Stiles introduced himself briefly. He then returned his attention to Scott. “Your best friend, if I remember correctly, and you brought an alpha to my house—my house, on the night of a harvest moon.”
He wanted to ask Scott if he knew what that meant. What he was asking. But instead, silence ate up the room as they stared at each other, and Derek seemed to become a distant shadow near the doorway. He was rubbing circles into his temples, and Stiles noticed.
A heavy feeling settled in his stomach.
Scott deflated a bit, looking completely serious. “Stiles, we need help.” And then Scott added, “I’ve never told anyone. I wouldn’t have even thought about coming to you, but things got tight and we were just here, and—“
“How bad does he get?” Stiles interrupted, feeling a mixture of emotions. Scott had promised that this was their secret, but he could see the look on Scott’s face; the panic there, and the hope that Stiles would come through for him.
“Uh…” Scott glanced over to Derek, who attempted to walk to the couch and sit own, but half stumbled there while breathing harshly through his nostrils. “It took six of us to restrain him, last time.”
Stiles felt the sharp buzz of fear stir his adrenaline, and he stared at Scott.
“Stiles, I’m sorry.”
Figuring that he would accept the apology once he lived through the night, he replied, “You can’t be here with us. You’ve got to go someplace else.”
And really, he had to. There was only one way that Stiles knew to do this—and it didn’t involve his best friend sleeping two doors down. He wondered if Derek knew what Scott had dragged him into; by the looks of it, he had no idea.
“Really Scott, take off.” Stiles said again, and when Scott made a move to leave, Derek’s head snapped up, his eyes glowing a brilliant shade of gold.
“What the hell are you two even talking about? There’s no way you’re leaving me alone here.”
Stiles could feel Derek’s pulsing presence, and he knew it would only get stronger the further into the night they got. He could sense the bloodlust growing, even if Derek was doing an impressive job holding it back.
“Scott, you’ve gotta get out of here,” Stiles said more urgently, and Derek growled, bearing fangs.
“He’s not going anywhere.”
Stiles stalked over to Derek and grabbed one of his wrists with his free hand, and almost immediately, Derek’s yellow eyes faded back to blue.
“You need to calm down,” Stiles could feel his heart racing, and was sure that the others felt it as well. Sure, he knew how to handle this. But that didn’t mean he was in control, and anyone who wasn’t afraid of an alpha threatened to go dark side was an idiot with a death wish.
“Scott, go.”
Scott paused a moment, as if awaiting approval from Derek, and then he was gone through the front door.
Quiet settled in the room, and Derek and Stiles couldn’t seem to tear their gazes away from each other. Energy buzzed between them, rooted at the place where Stiles’ fingers touched Derek’s skin.
Stiles tried to swallow down the sensations that flickered through him, knowing that this was actually a little unusual. For a werewolf to be attracted to him,yeah, that was normal…but for him to feel so suddenly drawn to an alpha?
“What are you?” Derek was staring at him, his eyes a thousand shades of green and blue, swirled together, and Stiles felt like his entire body was on fire, just from clutching at Derek’s wrist.
Stiles shrugged. “I think the technical term is Lupicinus.”
Derek’s expression changed, briefly, to disbelief. “They don’t exist. There aren’t any.”
“There’s at least one,” Stiles said, halfheartedly. “And he’s foolishly offering to help you through the night.”
Stiles felt like he should have made a pun there, but from the way that Derek was looking at him…he didn’t know what to expect. And Stiles didn’t want to scare him off. He’d take one for the Beacon Hills team, for tonight, and hey, as long as he came out without any substantial injuries, he was definitely getting the better end of the deal.
Derek frowned and his eyes flickered from left to right, like he was figuring something out. “Is this why Scott’s never talked about you?”
Stiles thought about it for a moment, and settled on, “Probably.” There were other reasons, but none that an alpha needed to know about. “I’m sure you can imagine what kind of trouble a boy like me could get into if werewolves and hunters knew what I could do.”
Derek simply watched him, still unbelieving, until his gaze slowly lowered to where Stiles’ fingers were wrapped so tightly around his wrist. “You have power over us.”
“I wouldn’t go as far as to say that,” Stiles shrugged. “But on nights like tonight, I make a pretty good anchor.”
Stiles could feel Derek’s pulse rushing beneath his thumb, and it was too much, somehow, so he pulled his hand away.
“It’s going to get worse the closer that we get to midnight,” Stiles watched the clock warily. “You should take a shower. You’re covered in dirt, and I don’t want to explain the mess to my dad.”
Which was a half-truth.
Derek peered up skeptically, but Stiles indicated a spot near the door, where muddied footprints had been trailed in.
“Go. It’s upstairs, and to the left. I’m not going to leave. I’ll be here when you get out.”
Shaking his head, Derek pulled off his shoes and thrust them at Stiles, and started for the stairway. “You’re asking to get hurt.”
Stiles agreed, so he didn’t argue. He simply watched as the alpha ascended his stairs, his skin still tingling from when they’d touched. He clenched and unclenched his hand, trying to get the sensation to go away, and as Derek reached the top of the stairs, he yelled, “And just throw your clothes on the floor. I’ll wash them.”
Derek looked at him briefly, but didn’t acknowledge the request.
Shaking his head, Stiles went to go clean up the footprints and finish washing the dishes he’d left in the sink earlier.
Minutes passed. He heard the pipes of the house groan as water rushed to the upstairs shower, and he scratched his nose before letting his hands fall to the countertop. He couldn’t stop his eyes from flickering to the clock, watching as minutes ticked by, dragging midnight closer and closer.
Butterflies erupted in his stomach, and he couldn’t tell them apart from nerves.
Suddenly, he was heading upstairs, and was pleased to see a pile of dirty clothes outside of the bathroom door. He combined them with some of his own clothes, and started up a load of laundry. The smell of earth and woodlands was overcome with detergent, and Stiles breathed deeply, trying to mentally prepare himself from what he knew was coming.
In his room, moonlight filtered in through his window, bright and devouring. Stiles drifted to his desk, looked at the photos he’s been studying, and began to pile them up, along with the case notes. He needed to hide it, since he wasn’t supposed to have it, anyway.
Plus, his dad’s name was scribbled on each page…
Footsteps sounded from behind him, and Stiles almost jumped. He slid the papers into the top drawer of his desk and turned around.
“Clothes?” Derek half-asked, half-demanded, soaking wet. Stiles felt something catch in his throat, and he forgot what clothes even were, because who in their right minds—with a body like Derek’s—even believed in them?
“Uh…” A moment passed and Stiles eyes drifted upwards, meeting Derek’s. He ignored the fact that Derek had an eyebrow raised. “You, uh…won’t need them.”
“What?”
Stiles’ eyes wandered to the towel neatly cinched at Derek’s waist, and then he was breathing deep, and stalking towards Derek with a confidence he could only seem to manage when he knew that lives depended on it.
And at the moment, his life depended on it.
“There’s only one way I’ve figured out how to do this,” Stiles said, and even though his head was slightly bowed, he was watching Derek, wondering how this was going to play out.
“The truth is that…I can’t control you.”
Derek stiffened while his eyes narrowed. Stiles came up in front of him, looking away on briefly while he chewed on his upper lip, and finally sent his gaze upward again.
“But I can distract you really well.”
Green eyes burned into him, and Stiles felt his heart beating thick and sluggish against his ribs. He could feel the heat rising from Derek’s body, and Jesus, why did he suddenly want this so much?
“What are you talking about?”
Stiles’ palms were sweaty, and his nervousness faded to irritation. Like this wasn’t awkward enough, and now Derek couldn’t even read between the lines?
He took Derek by surprise as he moved forward, quickly, making Derek step backwards against his bed. As he slipped into a sitting position, wide eyed, Stiles nearly closed the gap between them, letting his lips hover just barely above Derek’s.
“Please don’t make me say it.”
Derek’s fingers found Stiles’ wrists, but more to hold him at bay. The alpha’s eyes flickered back and forth between Stiles’, before his lips pressed tightly together.
“No.” But even as he said it, Stiles could see something else behind his eyes—the lust that he had expected, sans the amount of self control that Derek seemed to have. But even that was slipping. His eyes were beginning to change, again, and suddenly he was standing, like he was going to run away—
And Stiles grabbed his arm and the sparks flew again, only this time, he could see how much it affected Derek, too.
“You can’t turn me,” Stiles stated, “And if you leave, you’re going to turn, and you’re going to do something you’ll regret.”
“And what makes you think that I wouldn’t regret this?” Derek said, quietly, having a hard time meeting Stiles’ eyes.
Tipping his head to the side, Stiles was suddenly fidgety, and did what he always did when he was obviously nervous; he rambled. “Well, I’m uh…not really that experienced, but it’s not like I’m a virgin, and—“
“Not what I meant,” Derek growled, and Stiles hissed when he felt Derek’s fingernails start to lengthen, and break his skin. It was sour to the sweet and intoxicating feeling that Derek had on him otherwise, and so he clenched his eyes closed, and said, “When it’s over,” and then he winced, breathing through the pain, “you can pretend it never happened. But Derek…it’s almost midnight.”
The alpha looked around for a clock and sure enough, Stiles’ alarm clock read true.
“It’s not about sex,” Stiles kept talking, knowing that he wasn’t as strong as he could be, being an enchanter and all. “It’s more about contact. And this…this is the easiest way; I’m just learning this all on my own, and this is the best that I can do.”
“I won’t be gentle,” Derek breathed, and whether he was trying to frighten Stiles off or be brutally honest was hard to tell.
“Okay,” Stiles replied, and Derek countered with, “I’ll bite you.”
Stiles felt the electricity behind his words, and nodded. “Just not too deep, because I can’t heal like you.”
“And in the morning,” Derek leaned in closer, his lips trailing the fabric of Stiles’ shirt, “I won’t be here.”
And Stiles swallowed, nodded, and Derek soaked him in, and then Stiles wash crashing down onto him, too busy gripping at the sheets when midnight struck to realize he had been devoured whole.