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“You think someone’s coming for you?” The hunter’s voice is scornful as she laughs. “No one is coming for you. We have eyes on everyone. No one even knows you’re gone!”
“Everyone?” Derek can’t help but wonder. Or does she mean just —
“All the filthy animals in your pack,” the hunter spits. “All of those mangy, dirty mutts — nobody has even noticed you’re missing. Dogs are supposed to be loyal, but I guess you’re all even lower than that.”
She continues to rant, launching into a whole spiel about, god, where is she going with this — man’s best friend? Crossbreeds? Something like that — Derek doesn’t need to listen. It’s always the same song, different verse. He tunes her out, because she’s revealed exactly what he needs to know.
She and her team are watching the other werewolves.
Not Stiles.
When she notices his smile a minute later, her fury increases, and she soon matches her scathing words with painful blows, but Derek rides it out. After all, he knows what’s coming.
Luke hates being put on guard duty. Not only is it boring, but he’s stuck up in the middle of the night with Bill, of all people. And he hates Bill. Especially in the middle of the night. Bill’s been around for a long while — he’s one of those hunters who thinks that everything should be done the way they’ve been doing it since the dawn of time, which is about when Luke figures Bill was born.
Bill’s an asshole who’s constantly telling Luke that he’s doing things the wrong way, as though Luke doesn’t have enough kills under his own belt to make any wolf quake in their boots. Bill spent the better part of a half-hour earlier tonight showing Luke the ‘right’ way to wake up a wolf after making them pass out: apparently, Luke’s been throwing cold water in wolves’ faces at the wrong angle this whole time.
Luke can feel Bill judging him even now, as they sit in silence in the basement. Luke is cleaning his rifle — correctly, damnit — and Bill keeps making non-subtle noises.
He’s just done it again and Luke has had enough. He puts the rifle down on the table between them. “Listen,” he starts, “if you’ve got somethin’ to say, you oughta —”
He cuts himself off as something clangs in the wall just behind him. He glances over his shoulder. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what? Your dumbass trying to start something you’re not prepared to finish?” Bill’s stupid, wrinkly face works itself up into a condescending frown.
Luke shoots him a hard glare. “No, I —”
Another clang comes from the opposite side of the room, behind where the wolf is suspended. It’s followed by a shhing , skittering noise.
“There,” he says, brow furrowing, “didn’t you hear that?”
“I ain’t heard nothin’,” Bill says. He crosses his arms over his chest, settling back into his chair. “You young’uns are always gettin’ all riled up over nothin’.”
“I am not,” Luke denies. “It’s your hearing that’s messed up, it is. I keep telling you you oughta get hearing aids.”
“My hearing’s just fine.”
“If it was, you’d be hearing that!” Luke gestures at the wall. “It sounds like there’s somethin’ in there.”
“In the walls?” Bill fixes him with a scornful look. “Boy, this house is older ’n you are. It’d be strange if there weren’t a pack a’ rats or two in these walls. Ain’t no need to get all worked up about it.”
“I’m not gettin’ —” Luke is interrupted by a laugh from the wolf. “What are you laughing at, dog?”
The wolf’s head hangs low between his shoulders, but Luke can make out the curve of a smile as he starts to shake, making the chains above his head jangle.
“Fuckin’ animals,” Bill mutters. “Always turn crazy before they die, makes it even easier to put ‘em down.”
“Maybe you should be getting worked up,” the wolf says. He slowly lifts his head, and the smile on his face makes Luke want to recoil. Crazy is right.
“You talk big talk for an animal that’s strung up right where we want you,” Luke says. He resists the urge to shift in his chair, even as the wolf’s eyes flash.
“Maybe that’s cause I’m not,” the wolf answers.
Bill scoffs. “No? Didn’t know you mutts were able to make jokes, ‘cause it sure does look like you’re the one in chains, hooked up to 1100 volts of energy, just like we want you.”
“Does it? I don’t think so.”
Luke frowns, glancing quickly at Bill. What is he talking about?
Bill doesn’t waste time with asking. “Sure does.” He reaches across the table to pull the switch for the electricity towards him. “Now you watch and learn, boy,” he tells Luke. “You gotta always remind these dogs who’s in charge if they get chatty, y’hear?” He flicks the switch.
But instead of the werewolf, Bill’s body starts shaking. The hand on the switch spasms up into the air as his head is thrown back. Tendons in his neck strain as pure electricity, set to a voltage meant to make an alpha werewolf howl, races through his veins.
“Bill!” Luke shouts. He’s paralyzed for a second before he lunges across the table to flip the switch off.
Bill slumps in his chair, head lolling to the side, unconscious. Luke stares at him for a moment before turning a furious gaze to the wolf. “You —” he fumes, “how did you do that?
The wolf smiles, exposing teeth bloody from earlier beatings. “I didn’t do anything,” he says. “I’ve been here all along.”
Luke stands. “You did something, you gotta have.” He doesn’t move forward, wary, but his hand jerks down to the rifle, and he picks it up, aiming it at the wolf. “You switched it, you —”
“Didn’t do anything,” the wolf repeats. He cuts his chin toward Bill. “How could I remove the clamps and get them onto him?” He rattles his chains in demonstration.
Luke glances down at Bill. When he looks long enough, his eyes are able to make out the clamps that had been attached to the wolf’s feet. One is now on Bill’s bad arm, the one that lost all sensitivity to a wolf attack a decade ago, and the other is attached to his opposite sleeve, the one still damp from when he’d thrown water at the wolf earlier tonight. Smoke rises from where the metal touches skin and wet cloth.
“How did you —”
“I didn’t.”
“You fucker,” Luke seethes. He raises the rifle up. As long as he doesn’t kill the animal, Clarissa won’t mind too much if Luke gives him a couple more holes. “I’m gonna —”
There’s a loud thump from upstairs.
Luke freezes, glancing up. Another thump follows, then Clarissa yells something he can’t make out and three shots are fired in rapid succession. Something heavy falls with a slam.
And then there’s silence.
“Clarissa?”
There’s no response.
“What did you do—” Luke takes a step forward.
And then falls as his foot is yanked backward. He’s got just enough time before his face collides with the wolf’s raised knee to see that his shoelaces are tied together.
Then he sees nothing at all.
“Hey babe,” Stiles says, once he’s shed his fur and is standing naked in front of Derek. “Sorry it took me so long.”
Derek raises his eyebrows meaningfully at the two unconscious hunters on the ground around them. “I think I can forgive you.”
Stiles grins, and his nose crinkles up in a way that’s almost as cute as it is when he’s in his mouse form. “You sap,” he says. “You’re so easy to impress.”
Derek jangles his cuffs meaningfully.
“Right.” Stiles spins and kicks away the line of mountain ash circling Derek, before striding toward the hunter who’d been entrusted with the keys during this watch. Derek doesn’t not watch appreciatively as Stiles bends over to root around in the guy’s pockets, and he absolutely keeps his gaze on Stiles’ triumphant fist when he lifts the keys into the air, definitely not any lower.
God, how he’d appreciated being able to tell Stiles that turnabout was fair play after he was bitten. Derek has years of naked ogling to make up for.
Stiles makes quick work of undoing the cuffs. He runs his hands up and down Derek’s arms as he drops to the ground, helping to massage the blood back into his stiff joints. Derek lets Stiles take his weight, leaning into him, head pressed into the crease between Stiles’ neck and shoulder. It serves double purpose: any ounce of strength he regains by resting his weight is matched by the life that breathing in Stiles’ scent — of fresh earth, of love, of home — fills him with.
After a moment, Stiles stills. “Are you ready? We probably don’t have long before they wake up.”
With a long, drawn-out breath, Derek pulls back to meet his gaze. “Yeah.”
Stiles smiles, then presses forward for one, two, three featherlight kisses. “Good,” he says. “How do you wanna do this? Your decision.” He glances at the nearest hunter, the young, big one who was surprisingly alarmed when his partner was electrocuted, after how irritated he’d been by him all night. Stiles studies him for a moment before looking back at Derek. Mischievousness lights his eyes, clear as day. “So how are we playing this? Was I ever here?”
Derek knows exactly what he’s suggesting. Stiles and his need for drama. “Nah,” he answers, “I don’t think you were. At least — that jacket looks like it’ll fit me, doesn’t it?”
“Kinda big, and it’s not leather, but it’ll do,” Stiles says. “Payment for the trauma; it’s the least he owes you.”
Derek shakes his head, but quickly divests the hunter of his jacket, slipping it over his shoulders. He wrinkles his nose at the smell, but needs must. “Not your fanciest ride.”
“Worth it, though,” Stiles says, and in a flash, he’s shrinking back down.
Derek kneels, extending his hand. Stiles scampers forward, tiny paws skittering up Derek’s arm over folds of cloth in a familiar patter. Stiles reaches his shoulder, then his front paws latch onto the collar of the jacket, hooking in, allowing his body to drop into the breast pocket that Derek holds open for him. He twists in the pocket, settling in, then pokes his head out.
Derek runs a finger from the tip of his nose to between his soft, flickering ears. “I’ve got you.”
Stiles squeaks, a tiny, admonishing thing that doesn’t need words for Derek to recognize as the “Obviously, idiot,” that it is. He winks — which is a strange expression for a mouse to make, they should talk about that — then ducks his head down, nestling into the pocket.
Derek runs his hand over the pocket gently. The heartbeat that races against his palm is faster than Stiles’ normal, human heart rate, and it’s familiar, comforting — it’s exactly what he needs to feel. Derek nods decisively. He can make quick work of the two down here before heading upstairs.
When Clarissa wakes, her hands are bound behind her, arms twisted back uncomfortably, and she’s drenched, water dripping from her hair and face. She shakes her head, trying to clear it. The last thing she can remember is frantically shooting at the ground around her, aiming for some kind of invisible something that had bit her on the foot. Something — but how, what could’ve — She lifts her head.
The wolf is standing in front of her.
He’s fully dressed now, wearing a jacket that he hadn’t had on when they captured him yesterday. It doesn’t fit him well, thick and bulky, sleeves hanging down his hands so that just the tips of his claws are exposed. She can’t help the shudder that wracks through her.
“But — how —? The mountain ash, you shouldn’t’ve been able— ” She stumbles over her words, tongue thick in her mouth.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The wolf prowls forward, coming to a stop just in front of her.
He bends down toward her, brutal teeth exposed when he smiles as she leans as far away as she can. “You made a mistake.” His eyes flash. “Several, in fact.”
She shakes her head, but fear keeps any words locked behind her teeth.
“You should not have come here. Beacon Hills is peaceful. We’ve got a treaty with the Argents. You broke the code.” He runs a single claw down the side of her face. It doesn’t break the skin, but the threat is enough that cold terror washes over her body. She can feel her heart pick up past its already racing pace. It feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest.
“Do you know what we do to code breakers around here?” he asks. His voice is a low, threatening rumble.
She tries to answer, but can’t. The whimper that forces its way from her mouth might bring her shame in the future, if she lives to feel it.
What kind of wolf is this? To be able to break out of wolfsbane-laced cuffs, escape from a mountain ash circle; to disarm – or kill, for all she knows – two of her crew? Is he magic? Did he send up some kind of hallucination for her to shoot at earlier? What is this place? She should never have come here. The stories she’d heard were bad, but she’d never thought they were serious.
She shudders again. This is a nightmare.
He hums, considering. “No? I thought surely the word would’ve gotten out by now. Our examples have always been so…extreme .” His claw comes up to tilt her chin towards him.
She tries to fight it, but the tip of his claw digs in, and she can’t resist. She whimpers again, knowing what awaits her. She wants to keep her eyes closed, but they open without her consent.
Before her is a monster. Blazing red eyes flash from between a cruel, twisted brow. Jagged teeth fill her vision, death a hellish promise at their end. She chokes on a breath, closes her eyes, and tries to get out one last prayer to a god to save her from this demon.
“‘So extreme,’ talk about hitting that menacing tone just right. Pairing that with the Alpha-eyes and the whole claw thing? God, I thought she was gonna piss herself.”
“I’m kind of disappointed she didn’t.”
“Too good, holy shit. If only she hadn’t passed out. Though to be honest, that’s a pretty good bar to meet, too. Man, I wish we’d hung around for them all to wake up. It’s always so great to see how they react to Chris.”
“Stiles, you’re still naked.”
“Yeah, but it’d have been worth it.”
“…”
“Don’t make that face at me. Fine, okay, next time I’ll make sure to stash clothes outside of the murder cabin I’m rescuing you from.”
“I don’t know, I don’t mind this so much.”
“Euughh — Do not touch me with those hands, Derek!”
“Since when do you mind a little blood?”
“It’s more about the fact that your hands were all up in that jacket, dude. I’m pretty sure that guy wouldn’t recognize Tide if a washing machine hit him in the face.”
“You’re one to talk. Remember, your whole body was in here until a minute ago.”
“Oh god, why did you have to remind me? I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“I’ve had enough body fluids on me for one kidnapping, thanks.”
“Even without the head hunter lady pissing herself. Ew, I just heard that. How do our conversations always end up so gross?”
“I think that’s a you thing. Kind of like how you sometimes go into those territorial fugue states. This group is lucky that didn’t happen.”
“Would you stop, I do not. That’s a thing mother mice do with their babies, not me with my, my you.”
“Tell that to the incubus who tried to capture me last month.”
“Nobody wants an incubus all up in their boyfriend’s business! You can hardly call what I did an overreaction! It was a fair reaction! On level! On par! Equitable!”
“Stiles. You literally stabbed her through the heart with a piece of rebar.”
“And how is that any different from you slashing people with your claws?”
“...”
“No, those eyebrows are uncalled for. Put them away. Overreaction, pft. You’re the one who went all Peter-y with the ‘Grr, I Am Werewolf, Hear Me Argh’ tactics. It’s like he’s been giving you lessons.”
“...No.”
“He has! He absolutely has!”
“Get in the car, Stiles.”
“Fine, fine, jeez, no need to shove me, Sourwolf. Is this really the thanks I get, I mean, after all I do—”