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Summary
“Stiles!” Derek shouted, his voice cracking as it ripped through the night. The name felt raw in his throat, desperate and pleading. He didn’t care if it made him sound weak—he just needed to hear Stiles’s voice, heart, anything, he needed to know he was okay.
But when Derek finally burst into the clearing, his heart damn near stopped. Stiles was sprawled on the ground, completely still, buried under the massive, lifeless body of the Alpha werewolf. The beast wasn’t moving, but Derek didn’t give a damn about it. All he saw was Stiles, pale and motionless, and for a split second, the world seemed to tilt on its axis.