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*******Memories of the Past - During Current Day*******
I stand watching him get into the graduation line, hidden by the trees at the field’s edge. This isn’t one of my brighter decisions. If it weren’t for Peter, I wouldn’t be here—I’d still be far away, protecting him. My husband. My Stiles.
Instead, I observe him from the shadows, and he appears tired and miserable. Maybe I’m projecting. Maybe I’m not. Either way, I should leave before he spots me. Then Peter’s words echo in my ears: “I would choose him every time, nephew. Don’t make me hurt you for hurting him.” After all this time, I still don’t understand Peter and Stiles’s relationship. All I know is the Riders and that train station changed my uncle—for the better and the creepier. Stiles calls him “creeper wolf,” but he says it with such affection I don’t know what to make of it.
Standing here in the trees, my heart aches. Despite Peter’s words, I shouldn’t be here. There hasn’t been an “accident” or “incident” since I left. Not to Stiles. He’s been safe—as secure as I could make life for him—for the last fourteen days. It hasn’t been long enough, yet it feels like an eternity since I’ve seen him. Damn Peter and his threats. I might have been unafraid of my uncle in another life, but now I know he’d follow through. Now I know he’d castrate or kill me without hesitation for hurting Stiles. I don’t know what happened at that train station—neither of them will talk about it—but it bonded them in a way I’ll never understand.
The wind shifts, and his scent hits me. My eyes flash red before I can stop them. Another secret I have been keeping from Stiles. I was so terrified he would leave me after I killed that rogue wolf that I never told him my alpha status back. Hindsight tells me I should have been honest from the start. Maybe then we could have handled all the bullshit the local pack keeps throwing my way. My eyes drift shut, and I breathe him in, tasting the misery that rolls off him in waves. I sigh, knowing I should walk away right now—before I cause more trouble for Stiles—but I can’t. He has worked too hard for this moment, his graduation day. A day he almost lost because of me.
Looking back, I see the night of the pack run with the local pack. Stiles was studying for finals, and it was freezing outside. There was no way was I letting him get sick this close to Christmas—not with his dad coming for the holidays, not when we were finally going to celebrate. I told him to stay home and went to meet the pack. We were running outside the city, and with the blustery wind and snow, it took me almost an hour to drive the twenty-three miles to meet up with the local pack. I was probably a mile short of reaching the cabin when something or someone ran behind my Toyota. The storm made it hard to see, but I thought it might be one of the pack.
I was wrong. Dead wrong. The next moment, a heavy thud on the Toyota’s roof sent me swerving to a stop on the roadside. Growling under my breath, I figured it was just one of the teens from the pack being a shit in the storm. I threw open the door and scanned the darkness, only to barely dodge razor-sharp claws as the wolf on my truck’s roof took a vicious swipe at me. Eyes blazing red in full beta shift, I knew immediately this wasn’t our local alpha. I was completely screwed. If I somehow got out of this alive, I swore I would never drive on a night like this again.
Dodging swinging claws, it drove me further from the truck into the trees. If the bastard wanted a fight, I would give him one. I fought back to incapacitate—I didn’t want to kill the wolf. Howling surrounded me, and I thought I heard some of the others from the pack. My fear allowed the alpha swipe my chest, and I fell to my knees. Suddenly, from the undergrowth, a small wolf came running out, calling my name. It was one of the kids, Sally, and she didn’t see the alpha. I did the only thing I could—threw her back into the trees and attacked the alpha.
There are times when time stands still, and this wasn’t one of them. For every hit I managed to land, the alpha landed two. I was in bad condition when I heard roaring from where I’d thrown Sally. Her mother must have found her, and I had to protect them. I wasn’t sure how far I had thrown Sally or if she’d hit anything, but from her mom’s sounds, I was in serious trouble—more severe than a feral alpha. The alpha’s head snapped up at Pat’s roaring about Sally. While it was distracted, I took the chance to attack the wolf with everything I had left. Stiles was going to kill me if this wolf didn’t. I knew I might lose.
Why do I seem damned if I do and damned if I don’t? I swear it is my lot in life. With a final burst of speed, I ran past the alpha, and he swiftly gave chase. I slid to a halt as he ran past me. I threw out my claws, catching him in the stomach, and he pulled me with him as he slid to a halt. In that instant, I had a choice: dig my hand deeper and pray, or swipe for his neck. As I reached for his neck, I remember thinking Stiles would be pissed or grateful. Either way, I hoped to succeed in seeing my husband again.
*******Current Day*******
Taking another deep breath, I listen to the sounds of the crowd around Stiles. My husband looks incredible in his navy-blue robes and midnight blue sash. He looks beautiful and so sad. I know it is my fault that he is miserable, but I had to protect him. The local pack wants my alpha status, and I would have given it up in a heartbeat to have Stiles by my side. But they didn’t just want my status—they wanted me as alpha mate to their current alpha. I tried to politely decline, explaining that I loved Stiles and wouldn’t abandon him. I wouldn’t leave my husband for their alpha. She would have to accept it. Instead, I am the one dealing with the consequences. Without thinking, I step out from behind the trees. My light is about to graduate. I was going to watch and then disappear again. Peter’s threats be damned.
All I see is him, and I hear his breath catch. Before I can bolt, his gaze finds me. The expression on his face shows pure relief, then his features shutter closed. I deserve that. I deserve so much worse. He deserves to hate me and want to kill me in his unique and creative ways. Instead, he just stares at me, pulling me into his orbit without me realizing it. I can’t stay away from him. I can’t avoid being close to him. I need him like air, and I had forgotten how much I had been suffocating until I caught his scent. My moon. My brightness. My love. My Stiles. He’s coming closer. No. I am moving closer. He hasn’t moved. It’s all me. The man drives me to distraction, and I love everything about it.
His face and eyes search my face. I know I am searching his right back. He looks so tired and pained. I know I did that to him. I hurt him, and I had promised never to hurt him again. That first year he was in college, I couldn’t be with him. I was afraid of hurting him because of how broken I was. I must have left him a dozen times, only to come back apologizing for being an ass. My therapist kept telling me to stop running away. I kept running until I finally felt like I had solid ground under my feet. I kept running from Stiles because I thought I was protecting him, only to finally realize I was more afraid of getting hurt than actually trying to protect him. I stopped running because I couldn’t escape my demons. Instead, I finally stopped running and turned to fight them. Stiles stood by my side every damn time I came back. I don’t deserve him. I don’t.
A woman touches his shoulder and tells him they’re gathering in line. He will graduate, he needs to graduate, he must go, but I hear him mutter and shake his head. Then he is watching me again. The agony is written across his face. I can’t do this to him. Today is his day. Damn Peter and his threats. Damn the local pack’s alpha, that manipulative bitch. Damn that alpha wolf for causing all this. I don’t want to go, but if I don’t, he won’t graduate. He won’t have his day. He deserves this day.
People start moving, and somehow, I’m moving too. He doesn’t deserve this. I can’t be here. He deserves to graduate and receive all the accolades for his hard work and 4.2 GPA. To have John and Lydia screaming his name. To have the applause of his fellow graduates. To take his place on stage and receive his diploma holder. I can’t stop moving toward him. I have never been weaker than I am right now. What am I doing? I’m only hurting him further. Fucking Peter. His damn threats! What the hell was Peter thinking, forcing me back here on this day of all days? Stiles deserves all the good and happy moments. I shouldn’t be here ruining it for him and breaking him further by slowly moving toward him instead of away from him. What am I thinking? I am so stupid. So fucking stupid, but I can’t stop. He is right there. I need to be near him—just one more time. Please let me have that.
I check out the line as the music starts, and I can’t help but hope. Maybe he wants me here. After everything I’ve done to him, perchance he does want me to be here. Hope blooms in my chest, and I must be stupid or masochistic; either way, if he wants to yell at me or hit me or shoot me full of wolfsbane bullets, I’ll be here if that’s what he needs. If that’s what he wants. I deserve the pain and agony I see on his face. I deserve to be hurt the way I have hurt him. More than I have hurt him.
Staring at him, I smell the pain, confusion, and sadness rolling off him. I hurt so badly knowing I’m the one who put that there. He should go. I should go. I am only hurting him more. I knew I would. I knew this was stupid. I was stupid for listening to Peter. “Stiles would want you there, Derek. Stiles loves you and will give you another chance. Go home, Derek. If you keep hurting him, I’ll castrate you, then kill you. Stiles will always win, Derek. Go home, nephew. Go to your husband. Be at his graduation, Derek. Be there for him. He deserves the truth, Derek. Take care of him. Stop hurting him, Derek.”
My heart breaks because I can see now that Stiles didn’t want me here. No, Peter had lied to me. Stiles didn’t want me here or need me here. I am hurting him again. God, I am so stupid for listening to Peter. Once again, he’s steered me wrong. Manipulated me into hurting someone I love. Manipulated me into breaking another human. Just like Paige, only this time I didn’t kill Stiles. I just broke him beyond repair. I can’t believe I fell for this again. What the hell was Peter thinking? I thought he loved Stiles like family. That Peter loved him more than he loved me, but instead, I’m standing here breaking him further. The line has moved. The music has faded. The dean of the criminal justice department is speaking. There’s applause. Stiles is standing in front of me. He’s reaching out to me. What is Stiles doing? Is he going to hit me? I deserve so much more than him hitting me. I deserve a knife or lightning striking me down. I don’t deserve him touching me softly. He should throw me over his shoulder. Kick me in the shin and break it. Knee me in the groin. I deserve all our training practice rolled up into one solid hit. But he isn’t doing that. I reach out to stop his hand. I don’t deserve his touch anymore. I deserve his hate, his anger, his pain. He does flinch when my hand moves closer to him. I deserve that. I deserve more than a flinch. I deserve him hitting me and screaming at me. I deserve to feel all the pain he is in.
I can’t stop my hand now. I can’t stop reaching toward my moon. If I stop, turn around, and leave, I won’t have fully broken him. If I don’t touch him, I won’t know how badly I miss his touch, why I spent the last twelve days as a wolf in Vermont, why I only shifted back a few times when my phone rang—each time not answering Stiles’ calls. I couldn’t put him in more danger. The pack wants him dead. Moving to New York and out of their territory is no longer enough. Because of my stupidity and the hope that I deserved love in my life, they want him dead. It’s just that I need him like air. God, I need him so badly. If I just touch him quickly and run away, it will be enough. It will have to be enough. He deserves to graduate. To get the applause and love and have his father and Lydia be proud. He deserves it today, and here I am fucking it up for him. Fucking Peter!
Time moves like molasses now—an endless ooze. My hand can’t stop any more than my body can stop leaning toward his. I was lost before I even noticed I was lost. He has always had this power over me, the ability to make me lose myself in him. He is my moon and my wolf, and I want to nuzzle into him, to hold him, and to comfort him. To fix what I broke when I ran away. It doesn’t matter that I was protecting him. It doesn’t matter that I hoped to beg his forgiveness when he gets to New York. To tell him why I had to run. Why I hurt him. Tell him that I know how I screwed up and I don’t deserve him. I have never really deserved him, but my body moves on its own accord. I’m seeking the warmth and love Stiles has. The love I hate myself for abusing so severely. I have stayed as a wolf so much these last two weeks because my human mind kept reminding me how much I was like Kate. How I purposely hurt Stiles again and again. How I slowly destroyed his love for me. He deserves to kill me, because I fucked up.
*******Memories of the Past - During Current Day*******
I know I am nothing like Kate. I never intentionally set out to harm Stiles. But this time, I purposely hurt him. I remember the soul-crushing pain I felt when Laura and I reached the house the night of the fire. Smoke still smoldered, ash rained down on us, and the police and fire department tried to keep us back while I watched Laura climb into the ambulance with Peter. He was the only one who made it out. Peter has never told me how he escaped, I also never asked. I killed my family. We didn’t arrive in time to hear the screams of horror and pain, but Peter did. We know he survived the fire, but Peter burned both inside and outside—mentally and physically. It destroyed the uncle I knew. I killed my family because of my stupidity. Now I am killing my husband every second I stay here.
When Peter died the second time—when Stiles threw that Molotov cocktail at Peter—it must have been Peter’s worst nightmare returning. No matter how much of his mind had burned away in the fire, dying by flames had to be the worst possible way to go. Is that why Peter sent me here today? Revenge best served cold? I want to think Peter wouldn’t do that to Stiles. He wouldn’t purposefully hurt Stiles. I’d like to believe my uncle loved Stiles more than me. Definitely more than me. Maybe as much as he loved Cora. Then again, perhaps more than Cora. While they were too far apart in age, I don’t think Peter and Cora get along that well. Not like Peter and I did.
There is a look on Stiles’ face—probably the same one reflected on mine. Horror mixed with fear and nerves. Like, whatever is happening here isn’t real. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe I’m still lying in the ash outside my burnt-down home, watching the only family members I have left disappear into that ambulance. Maybe I am staring in horror at my house, knowing it was my fault my family died. Or perhaps I am lying on the floor after Lydia drugged me with wolfsbane to raise Peter from the dead. Perhaps, Peter orchestrated all this so I would remember what I did to him and his family. Maybe this horror isn’t just in my mind. Maybe my mind has finally snapped. I am lying in the woods a few miles from that little place we got married in Vermont, imagining that Stiles stands in front of me. That I am about to touch him. Touch the moon, which I don’t have the right to do. Maybe I am just as stupid as Kate claimed. Maybe I am standing in front of Stiles on his graduation day, ruining his life again.
My hand touches his gown, and he yells out as if I’d hurt him. I recoil. I am so stupid. Glancing up, I see John and Lydia headed this way. Oh god, I’ve fucked this up. Dammit, Peter. Why do I listen to you? What the hell was I thinking? What were you thinking? Oh god, I am stupid. Lydia and John arrive, and I step back. I am so screwed. They’re going to eviscerate me, but I deserve it. I should never have listened to Peter. I am stupid. So fucking stupid. His mouth opens, causing my eyes to fly back to his face. “Derek...” and I catch him as he faints. My moon, oh my moon. I have hurt you so much.
*******Current Day*******
Gently, I settle him in my arms as we sit on a nearby bench. John beats Lydia to the punch and stands in front of me when I glance up. “WHAT THE EVER-LOVING HELL, DEREK?” I can only hang my head in shame at his words. They aren’t loud—just hurt and confused.
Lydia moves to stand in front of us. Through my bangs, I catch sight of her heels positioned just ahead of Stiles’ shoes. When I lift my gaze to his face, exhaustion weighs heavy in his features—and I’m the one who put it there. I did this to him. Moving as carefully as possible, I slip out from beneath him, letting John take my place as Stiles’ support. I don’t deserve to embrace Stiles or protect him from anything. I forfeited that right.
John cradles him carefully, and I can barely bring myself to touch Stiles’ arm—just a tiny piece of him while he’s unconscious. If this is my last time touching him, I can’t let go now.
Lydia yells at me, but her words don’t register. All my attention stays fixed on Stiles. I stare at my husband’s worn face. His heart rate picks up again. “He’s waking up.” My voice sounds garbled from not speaking for nearly two weeks. Despite Peter’s words, I barely talked to him when I called. I let him yell and rail at me, but I never once defended myself. I don’t deserve pity, sympathy, or forgiveness. I hurt the man I love. I deserve nothing.
I hear Lydia’s voice buzzing in my ear, but I keep watching Stiles, hoping he’ll wake up and not hate me on sight. I don’t deserve that hope, yet I cling to it anyway. John cradles him gently, his entire focus devoted to his son. I don’t deserve to witness this moment. I should leave before Stiles opens his eyes.
It’s too late. Between one of Lydia’s painful promises and the next, Stiles’ eyes flutter open. He peers up at me, and there is a wince etched across his face—like he’s just remembered that I broke his heart and I am a painful vision he’s forced to endure. As if I didn’t do precisely that. If I hadn’t listened to Peter, he’d be down there graduating right now, and I’d still be in Vermont, waiting and hoping Stiles was safe. Praying to anyone who would listen to keep him protected from the local pack.
I can’t help but slip my hand into his. I have always loved his fingers—the things they could do, the ways he moved them. Those hands are so confident and sure, so solid and proud. I notice he isn’t wearing his wedding ring. I deserve that too. But I am greedy and will take whatever I can get. If he’s holding my hand until he kills me, so be it. I deserve it for hurting him so badly after promising never to hurt him again, to never run away, to talk things through first.
Stiles shudders at Lydia’s words. I’m still not paying attention to her. Sadly, I am going to pay for that for the rest of my life—if I get out of this. If I can convince Stiles that I fucked up when I left and hopefully explain why I ran. God, I am so stupid. What the hell am I thinking? He won’t be moving to New York for another month at least. Maybe longer. Shit, I should go. I am going to go. I need to go, but Stiles stands up and helps John to his feet, never letting go of my hand. Our hands are fused at this point. I don’t think I could let go unless Lydia chops it off, and I’m not even thinking about my hand anymore.
*******Memories of the Past - During Current Day*******
“Why?” God, that word. It carries so much weight, and I can offer so little in return. He whispers it like it’s choking him, like he is dying to ask. He stares at his feet as if he can’t believe the question escaped his lips. Lydia has stopped hitting me with her purse and fists. I own that I fucked up, but I don’t know how to fix it. Maybe I do know how to fix it. I owe him an answer. I need to give him a reason why I ran away and hid in Vermont. He will tease the hell out of me when he discovers where I fled to, but it was where some of my happiest memories live. The only other place with real happy memories was our Brownstone, and I shattered his heart there.
John and Lydia walk away. I am not sure if either of them spoke after Stiles’ question, but I have to answer this. I cannot ignore him when Stiles asks me, “why?” But how do I tell him that everything that happened was my fault? I killed a feral alpha, and suddenly the local alpha wanted me as her mate. She was decent enough, but tension had always simmered between us since I’d asked permission to occupy her territory while Stiles attended school and I worked. Virginia was nice woman and had inherited her alpha abilities from her late husband. He’d transferred them to her when he was dying from a hunter attack—to save her life, protect her and their pack. I had never really tried to know her or many people from the pack. I always knew my time in DC would be short because of Stiles’ schooling and FBI training. Our time here had limits, and I didn’t wish to get too close. But sometimes, I needed to run and let my wolf out. Although, I was careful never to let anyone from the local pack see me in wolf form.
But now, Stiles deserves an answer. A reason why I once again hurt him. Why I once again ran away. Why I disappeared, again, at the first sign of trouble. He has no idea how much I did behind the scenes to protect us both. My mouth opens and closes, but the words won’t come. Then again, I know what he deserves to hear and what I need to say. “I fucked up and got scared.” He looks worried, horrified even—shit, I didn’t mean it like that. “Not of us. I didn’t get scared of us. Well, I did, but not for the reason you’d think.”
His “huh” comes out almost silent, but I catch it anyway. Stiles tries to pull his hand away, but I won’t let him go. He deserves more than this. He deserves the truth. I ruined his graduation day. I destroyed our lives. Once again, I’ve somehow managed to hurt my family in ways I can’t even fully understand, and the damage feels impossible to undo. I have to give him what he deserves. He deserves the truth. “You are hurting me.”
I drop his hand instantly. I can’t do that to him. He doesn’t deserve any more pain on top of everything he’s already been through. I’m terrible at this. Damn Peter and his ideas! He really believed Stiles would be interested in me and what happened between us. His threats about killing me if I don’t fix things with Stiles are weighing on me. What was I thinking?
All my thoughts spill out—everything: the break-in, the car accident, the items going missing or ending up in different places. It all comes pouring out, everything I kept from him. Well, not everything. I can’t tell him about the alpha situation. I can’t explain that Virginia wants him dead because I saved her pack and that now she wants me for herself. She doesn’t care how she gets me—whether I come willingly or if she eliminates the competition first. She wants me to be her alpha mate.Once I finish, he stares at me. I know that I am a piece of shit. I know I don’t deserve anything from him. My stupid heart still clings to hope. It still beats in rhythm with his—just like it always does when we are together.
“You left to protect me?” His words drip with bitterness. My heart lurches. I am so stupid. I am SO SO SO stupid. Dammit, Peter. You might get your wish after all. Just kill me. I can’t keep doing this to Stiles. He doesn’t deserve any of this because of me.
I can’t hide the shame on my face—the ache crushing my heart. I screwed up. What did Stiles say once? “I screwed the pooch,” or something like that. Yeah, I screwed the pooch. I am an moron. Maybe even more of an idiot for listening to Peter than I was when I trusted Kate. I am so fucking stupid. I can’t keep doing this to Stiles. He should run far and fast away from me. Lydia or John can whisk him away and actually protect him. I failed as his husband. I’ve failed at every relationship I have ever had, but this failure cuts deeper than anything else. Ever.
“Derek, I…”
*******Current Day*******
I hold my hand up. “Wait. Before you say anything, there is more.” I hang my head and rub my face. God, when did I get so damn old? Scrubbing my beard, I sigh and look back up into his beautifully pained face. I flash my eyes. His eyes go wide as he sucks in a breath. This is it, I think to myself. This is where he decides I screwed up so badly he would never want me. His hand reaches out toward my face but stops—something flashes across his expression too fast for me to catch. “Don’t, Stiles. I screwed up. I don’t deserve these eyes. I don’t deserve you. Please?” I don’t know what I am asking for. His love again? His trust, which I shattered? For him to believe in me like some fairy tale prince? I failed him. I can’t let him get hurt any further.
Instead of stopping, his hand touches my cheek. My eyes are still red, and I see his face settling into confusion and sadness through the crimson haze. I knew I shouldn’t have listened. Stiles can’t love me like this. Not only did I kill someone, but my red eyes will get him killed if I don’t leave. If I don’t get out of here and keep him safe, I won’t ever heal from losing him. I can’t lose him. I don’t think I can walk away from him again. His hand scratches softly at my beard, and I realize I have hung my head. Looking back up, I see sadness so profound on his face that I know he’ll let me go. He will give up his happiness for me, so I can run away to keep him safe. We are fucking martyrs. Yay us!!
“Stop thinking so much, sourwolf.” His hand pauses. “Those are beautiful. Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice is so soft. I haven’t heard him speak this softly to me since the first time I ran away from him in fear. Fear of hurting him because of who I am and what follows me. The pain I bring to anyone who cares about me. “Shhhh, my wolf. I know there is a story behind your eyes. I can see the pain in them. Why didn’t you tell me what happened?”
I shake my head. I don’t know if it is the fear of his soft, compassionate voice or the pain stabbing through my heart—knowing I did everything in my power to break him. I never wanted to hurt him, but he deserved to graduate with his class. He’d worked so hard for it. He deserves so much more than I can give him. Why does he offer me such compassion when all I ever do is hurt him?
“Why?” It comes out more confused than I hoped. I am confused. He has this unlimited tank of forgiveness for me. Why can’t he see that I am so broken and damaged I will just hurt him again? Why give me tenderness? I deserve pain, rage, hatred. Not compassion. Not love. Surely not forgiveness. Right?
“Because as stupid as you can be, I love you despite it. While I’m so pissed at you right now, I can’t believe I still care—but I do care and never stopped. You are mine, Derek. Forever and ever. Remember? We said those words.” His smile is so soft. It is the one only I get to see. I don’t think John has ever seen it. Maybe Lydia or Scott, but maybe not. I like to live in the belief that it’s a smile only for me.
“Your ring?” It comes out halted and constricted. He took his ring off even though we said those words before I slipped it onto his finger.
His chuckle is two parts nervous and one part bitter. “In the basement storage area.” He shrugs slightly, and the movement shifts his palm so it’s resting fully against my face. “I couldn’t keep wearing it. It hurt too much.”
Nodding, I understand. I had hurt Stiles in my rash attempt to protect him. I swore I would never do that again. Yet at the first sign of trouble, I broke that promise. Before I can answer or do anything, Lydia marches over to us with John on her heels. She hugs Stiles from behind, and his hand drops. “I don’t want to be a downer, but I suspect the woman over by the BMW is staring at you. I’m pretty sure she is listening to us. We might want to go,” she scans around, “someplace safer?” She holds onto Stiles as she speaks. I nod quickly, but Stiles grabs my shirt. Lydia hasn’t let go of him, and John has walked past us to the Toyota parked slightly behind us.
I pop the locks, and we all climb inside. Before turning the car on, I peek over to where Lydia indicated the woman was standing. Her dark hair is pulled away from her face so I can see her smirk at me, and I know we won’t lose her. I stop, get out of the driver’s seat, and start looking around the truck. “Derek, what are you doing?”
I eye John and shake my head. “I dropped something. Just a minute.” He eyes me suspiciously but nods. He stands at the passenger side back door and waits while I crawl around on the ground. I search under the Toyota and meet Stiles’ curious face from the other side. He gives me a questioning look, and I can only raise an eyebrow, hoping he understands. I examine the truck quickly, praying there’s nothing that could hurt us. Carefully, Stiles reaches out and points at something under the passenger side seat. I spot the tiny device nestled under his seat. Swearing mentally, I crawl further under to check Lydia’s seat, then John’s. Nothing—except under the front passenger seat.
Nodding to Stiles, I see him stand up and turn toward John. “Dad, let’s take the rental. It seems Derek’s out of gas.”
When I stand, I see the confusion on John’s face. With a quiet swear, I know he’s accepting what’s happening without questions, for now. He turns to Lydia and gestures for her to hop out. “Yeah, let’s take my car. I’m sure Derek can have someone bring him gas later.”
Lydia surveys the three of us, uncertainty flickering across her face as she struggles to piece together what’s happening. But she trusts Stiles and John far more than me—that much is obvious. After studying whatever she reads in our expressions, she gives a small nod and walks toward John’s car. I can only hope Virginia didn’t catch the scent of every single vehicle in this parking lot.
She’s never met John, but he smells quite a bit like Stiles, and we can’t afford to be without transportation right now. Well, I guess it’s Stiles who smells like John. Whatever the case, we need to abandon the Toyota and hope for the best in the rental.
Slamming the doors and locking the Toyota, we all follow Lydia across the car park. John and Stiles position themselves between Lydia and me. I’ve learned a few things about Lydia over the years. One of them is: don’t mess with her family. Stiles and John are her family. I might have held that title at one point, but when push comes to shove, she’ll take you down without hesitation.
We came upon a Dodge Challenger, and somehow, I just knew Peter was behind this rental car. Lydia trips and spills a couple of things from her purse. John heads to the driver’s seat, and Stiles and I go around to the passenger side to help Lydia. Victoria is across the car park when Stiles bends down to pick up Lydia’s items, and I help her into the backseat. She quickly slides over, and Stiles yanks on my leg. “Can’t reach her lipstick.” I wait for John to get in and lock his door, then bend down to help Stiles. A quick check shows the car is clean, and he hops in the backseat, and I am about to crawl in when I catch Victoria out of the corner of my eye. She has a stern look on her face.
With the Challenger clean, we carefully navigate out of the car park, all the while watching for the she-wolf. We know she could spell trouble. Once on the street, John glances at me. “Brownstone. It’s safest, and Stiles can grab his stuff.” I give him a quick nod, and he takes the familiar path back to the Brownstone.
Meanwhile, Lydia and Stiles whisper urgently in the backseat, their voices barely audible. I don’t listen in—instead, I keep scanning for Victoria. She knows where we live, so being wary feels pointless, but the last thing we need is her causing an accident with three humans in the car. If Derek walked away from a crash like that, Peter would absolutely kill him. Slowly!!
*******Memories of the Past - During Current Day*******
The trip home will take close to twenty minutes, and Derek stays afraid the whole drive. He was periodically glancing between John and the two in the backseat. Derek caught the scent of mountain ash when Lydia pulled it from her purse once they started driving, but right now, there’s nothing they can use it on. It feels like the drive away from Beacon Hills after the fire. Laura was scared to death that the hunters would come back. Deaton had informed them there was mountain ash around the house. This is why no one escaped except for Peter. After this thing with Victoria, he was going to ask Peter how he got out! No more wondering how he managed to get out of the house without Lacey or their son, my namesake. God, I loved that boy. If we get—no, when we get out of this—Peter and I will talk. About so many things.
While I scan around and watch for trouble, my mind drifts back to the previous Valentine’s Day. Stiles had been in class all day, and I’d spent the day at work. We had made simple dinner plans—nothing fancy. It was our first Valentine’s Day as a married couple. We’d spent the previous couple of Valentine’s Days celebrating with just stay-in date nights: the two of us, burgers, movies, and sappy cards. But this time, I wanted to do something more special for us.
I had already reserved a table at a restaurant and ordered a dozen yellow roses for Stiles. The roses were waiting back at the Brownstone. Annie from the nearby grocery store had agreed to watch for the delivery and put them in our apartment. That woman is a godsend, I tell you. She befriended Stiles the first weekend he moved in, and after that, we always had someone looking out for us.
I planned to run home, shower, change, and wait for Stiles. Our reservations were for 7:30 since his last class ended at six, and I didn’t want to rush him. We had plenty of time—his first class tomorrow wasn’t until ten, and I’d taken the day off. I got home close to six to find the front door ajar. Sniffing, I caught a wolf’s scent but didn’t recognize it. Carefully, I made my way up to our apartment only to find the vase smashed and the roses torn apart. There was a note on the table informed me this was my only chance—time to choose between my husband’s life and my own. Growling, I quickly cleaned up the apartment and swept away all evidence of the roses. I couldn’t let Stiles go out tonight. Victoria was pissed, and I had underestimated her desire to have me as her alpha mate.
The little bistro where I’d made reservations was a couple blocks away. Thankfully, Annie’s place was on the way. Stopping by, I told her not to mention the roses—said I’d accidentally broken the vase and destroyed them. She smiled, called me a klutz, and told me to swing by the store where they’d have a bouquet ready. Hugging her tightly, I practically ran to the bistro to order takeout.
Once I’d placed the order, apologized for canceling our reservation, and explained I was popping over to the store, the owner’s wife laughed and said she understood wanting a night in. I chuckled, but it felt bittersweet. I didn’t want a night in—I wanted to show off my beautiful husband. I wanted to give him roses and take him out, give him a massage, and curl up next to him with both of us happy and safe. Victoria had ruined that.
Grabbing the bouquet and trying to pay, only to have Troy wave my money away, I sighed and added one more thing to the list of what I owed Annie. She was amazing. The food was ready when I got back to the bistro, and I quickly made my way home, listening for Stiles’ heartbeat the whole way. I wanted to beat him there, but I was cutting it close. Really close!
I had just finished plating dinner when the familiar sounds of Betty—Roscoe’s replacement, a Toyota RAV4 Hybrid—pulling into the driveway reached my ears. I smiled to myself. After a final peek around to ensure no evidence of the roses remained, I positioned myself by the door. When Stiles opened it, I handed him the flowers and took his school bag from his shoulders. It turned out to be an excellent Valentine’s Day, and we enjoyed a proper date night the following week. For several weeks after that, I stayed away from the local pack, claiming work and exhaustion as my excuses. I was not ready to face Victoria.
Shaking myself back to the present, I refocus on my surroundings. We’re almost back at the Brownstone, and John is looking at me expectantly. “Yes?” I hope I don’t sound as confused as I feel.
“Nothing, just curious why you couldn’t drive the Toyota.” He shrugs, waiting for an answer.
“Daddio, let’s just say it would have been an explosive ride,” Stiles’ voice pipes up from behind him. John nods quickly, then turns to carefully maneuver into our driveway. We all scramble out of the car and head up to the apartment as fast as we can. I don’t smell Victoria, but that doesn’t guarantee anything. The moment I cross the threshold, Stiles closes the mountain ash barrier. We were only in trouble if Victoria’s already inside. I place my hands on Stiles’ shoulders, holding him back. Everyone freezes while I listen for heartbeats or other sounds. Once I nod the all-clear, we head upstairs.
Safe in our apartment, I observe the emptiness around us. God, I had forgotten what I had done to Stiles on the drive home. Shit, I did it again—dragged him into my mess, and now John and Lydia too. “Stop it, Sourwolf, we’ve got your back.” Stiles steps in front of me, flashing that familiar self-deprecating smile that tells me he really does have my back, no matter how much I have hurt him.
“All right, Derek. Spill!” Lydia’s foot taps impatiently. John crosses his arms, and I think he pissed that Lydia beat him to the punch.
“Victoria.” Stiles cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. “That was her at the parking garage. She planted a nice little explosive under the Toyota, designed to blow up whoever ended up in the passenger seat.” Lydia sucked in a sharp breath, and John’s tense stance finally relaxed. “I told her I wouldn’t abandon Stiles to become her alpha mate. She has been hunting me ever since.”
*******Current Day*******
Lydia recovers first and grabs her phone. I must look confused because she gives me a sweet smile before pressing a key. The ringing fills the room until a familiar voice answers: “To what do I owe this pleasure, Lydia?”
“Drop it, Peter. Why does Victoria want Derek? And I don’t want any of your bullshit.” She transforms from sweet to livid in under a second.
“Is she there?” Peter’s voice carries genuine concern. If I think hard enough, I would say there was fear in my uncle’s voice—but he would never show that kind of weakness. Would he?
Lydia squints at me, and I shake my head. I recognize all our neighbors’ heartbeats. She isn’t here. “No, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be. Talk to me, Peter. Stiles is in danger.”
My husband squawks indignantly. “Hey. I am going to be an FBI agent, and I’ve trained with werewolves. I can take care of myself.” He looks at me, and I raise an eyebrow. “Hey, nothing out of you, doomwolf. This situation is your fault. Now Peter—talk.” He turns toward Lydia’s phone.
She has it on speaker. “From what I know, Derek piqued her interest when he killed that alpha last Christmas. Dear nephew, do they know about that?”
Sighing, I decide my uncle will die a slow and painful death. I will make sure of it. “Yes, Peter. I told Stiles some of it, but not everything. In any case, that doesn’t explain why she’s so insistent on making me her alpha mate.”
“She lost her husband to hunters. I am pretty sure she wanted you when you asked permission to be in her territory. Once you became an alpha, however, it became an obsession.” Peter chuckles to himself. “Only you, dear nephew, can become a husband, an alpha, and someone’s obsession in a few weeks. You do like to keep us on our toes.”
“Peter.” A low growl rumbles from my chest.
I catch movement by the window. “She is standing across the street,” John quietly informs us. “Peter, we are enclosed in mountain ash, so Derek can’t get out and she can’t get in. But we’re trapped in here too.”
A few shuffling noises crackle through the phone. “Give me fifteen minutes, and I will call you back. Stiles, I know I owe you a lot, and I will do plenty for you, but I think it is time you handle this yourself.” The sharp click of Peter hanging up cuts through the silence.
John beats me to the punch, “Stiles?”
A defeated sigh escapes from my moon. “Yeah, like I have any other choice.” Stiles hangs his head as he carefully peels off his graduation gown. “Give me a few minutes lead time, then get Derek out of here.”
“What? Stiles, what are you—” He holds up his hand to stop me. When he looks at me for the first time since we entered the apartment, I see pure sadness etched across his face. It was all I can smell radiating from him.
“Derek, some secrets deserve to be kept, while others don’t. I’m sorry. We’ve kept too much to ourselves.” After removing his gown and sport coat, Stiles unties his bow tie—my favorite one, the purple one with pink polka dots. I had gotten the bow tie for him as a joke the first time we bought him a suit for the agency. As he removes his cufflinks, I notice they’re the Batman ones John gave him for his 21st birthday.
He’s rolling up his sleeves when Lydia walks back into the room, carrying a small duffle bag that gives off no scent. “Thanks, Lyds.” He takes the bag and places it on the dining room table. “So, we both need to come clean, and since you shared with the class, it’s my turn.” He lets out a sad chuckle. “I wish I didn’t have to do this or even tell you about it. I am not overly worried about how you’ll react, but I am worried about what else might come up.”
As he unzips the duffle bag, I move closer to see what’s inside. I recognize a few herbs we grow in the greenhouse out back, but some of the liquids and other items are completely foreign to me. “Stiles?”
“So,” he shrugs almost to himself while digging through the bag. “When you would go run with the pack, I’d have some training of my own.” He pulls out a small dagger about four inches long. “Troy gave this to me the first time I hit the center of the target.” He lays it on the table, and I can only stare. Why would Troy give him a dagger?
Stiles pulls out a glass vial filled with clear liquid. “This is pretty potent, so you might want to step back, babe. It’s an extract of a plant we both hate.” He was talking in riddles. Why the hell is he speaking in riddles?
“Stiles,” John growls, his voice almost wolf-like now. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Dad, let me just say we have ears everywhere and leave it at that.” That’s when it clicks. Wolfsbane. Potent wolfsbane. “Derek, you really should step back. I don’t want to hurt you.” I nod slightly, take a few steps away, and round the table to stand next to John, who looks angry and worried—so much like my father did when Mom told him about Paige.
Carefully, Lydia takes my place and hands him a small baggie. “I brought it, but I didn’t think you would need it so soon.” He takes the Valerian and smiles slowly. “Be careful with that. You know what it can do.”
“I do.” Pulling out a pestle and bowl, Stiles quickly pours some of the liquid wolfsbane and crushed plant into the bowl and begins grinding them together. “Once this is finished, I need to coat Troy’s gift with it. Derek,” his gaze locks on mine, “can you call Troy and tell him that Helen sends her best wishes? Please?”
I nod stupidly. I get that Stiles is talking in code, but what the hell is going on? I grab the house phone and search for Annie and Troy’s numbers. Finding Troy’s cell, I hit dial. It connects immediately. “Hey Stiles. What’s up?”
“Uhhh Troy, it’s umm, Derek. Stiles is busy right now, but he says that Helen sends her best wishes?” I shrug up at John when he looks at me. He shrugs back.
Troy chuckles as if startled. “Tell him I said Helen has always been a bitch, but I’ll take care of her.” He chuckles again before hanging up.
“Ummm,” I repeat Troy’s words, and Stiles breaks into full-body laughter. So much so that tears stream down his face. “Stiles—”
He’s gasping as he continues crushing the plant matter into wolfsbane. Getting himself under control, Stiles looks up at the three of us. “So, funny thing—Troy hates Helen. Guess this will just have to do.” Despite his words, he smiles brightly and leans back down to coat the dagger carefully.
Meanwhile, Lydia has kicked off her heels and grabbed a book. She lays it on the table and quietly points to a page. Stiles nods. “Be careful. You will have one shot.”
“I know, but that Helen—what can you do?” Smirking, he covers the dagger with his hand and draws a deep breath. He mutters under his breath, but I can’t make out the words. They blur together like dominoes falling—one word tumbling into the next. Then he cuts off abruptly and turns to John. “Our guest still here?”
John moves back to the window and nods. “Yep. Same place.” He glances back at us.
“Good.” Stiles returns his attention to the book, muttering again. I shake my head. I’m pretty sure my husband is doing magic, and somehow Troy will be here soon, but I could be reading the situation wrong. Instead of hovering over Stiles and Lydia, I move to John’s side. Victoria still stands in her floral summer dress just across the street, a quiet smile on her face as if she is merely visiting friends. “Is she that desperate to separate you and Stiles?”
I shrug. “I knew she was losing it, but I didn’t think she would go this far. I should have stayed away.” She waves like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Maybe she doesn’t, but I do. My husband is preparing a dagger to—very likely—go attack her. I am not sure how I feel about that. “Why do I attract crazies? John, what did I do in a past life?”
A wry laugh comes from behind us. “Oh, Derek, you didn’t do anything to attract the crazy—that’s their own shit. Besides, do you think I’m crazy?”
I glance over my shoulder at Stiles, who is smirking at the dagger, and nod. “Yes, I do. But I think I love you more for that part of you than anything else.”
“Good.” Lydia claps her hands together. “Let’s get this done so I can go back to looking incredible, and Derek can take us out to eat. I’m starving.”
Chuckling, I look at John. “Is everyone crazy?”
John laughs outright. “You said it, son. Not me.” I have to chuckle too. Behind me, my moon is preparing to likely kill a woman for sending me away. I don’t know who is crazier—me for thinking he’s sexier now than he has ever been, or him for being about to defend my honor.
A few minutes of silence pass before Lydia’s cell phone rings. She hits answer. “Okay. I have you covered—don’t ask how because it would ruin the surprise—but I will say you are safe. Be careful, all of you, but especially you, Stiles. I do not want to break in another son.”
Painful laughter breaks from my chest. I get it now. I don’t need to bother asking Peter about how he survived or his connection to Stiles. In that moment, everything becomes clear. Their infant son, Derek. Lacey went back for the baby. That’s how Peter escaped. She saved him and returned for ther son. Now Stiles has filled a void Peter thought was lost and damaged beyond repair. The Wild Hunt trapped Peter and Stiles together, and somehow—I do not know how—Stiles healed Peter’s broken heart. It explains why he tried to be a better man for Malia, why he went so far for Stiles, why he forced me back today.
“Peter?” My laugh sounds painful even to my own ears.
“Nephew, you owe me. Do not ruin this chance too!” With that, he hangs up. I study Stiles with fresh eyes. I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me when Stiles raises his eyebrows and grins. He bares a resemblance to Peter when he was younger—it never occurred to me that Peter saw so much more in Stiles. So much of himself reflected back. I am so stupidly blind. I love this fool in front of me, and dammit, I love my uncle too! What a bitter pill to swallow.
“Ready?” Stiles smirks at me. I nod. I have his back no matter how this ends. If he takes me back, great. If he sends me away, I understand and accept it. As long as he’s safe, that is all that matters to me. Smiling brightly, he says, “Let’s go play with the dog!” Stiles leads the way, Lydia following, leaving John and me struggling to keep up. I love Stiles, but shit, he was fast when he wants to be. “Lydia, you’re the front line. Aggravate the doggie.” She nods and heads down the stairs ahead of him. “Derek, you’re the second line. When Lyds finishes, you make sure the doggie doesn’t bite me. Dad?” He peers over his shoulder. “You loaded?”
“Nope, this was supposed to be your graduation day.” I stop moving forward and race back up to the apartment. Digging through the end table by the door, I pull out a gun with a spare clip. After checking that it’s loaded, I head back to the group. They’ve formed a line in front of the door. I love they Brownstone front doors—a set of double-wide glass panels framed in beautiful antique wood. Trust Peter to have expensive taste. I would hate to lose the doors. I hand over the gun and spare clip, then move to Stiles’ right. “Wolfsbane?” I nod. It’s a real bitch when you’re grabbing for lube in the heat of the moment and accidentally grab wolfsbane bullets instead. Not that John needs to know that—though Lydia probably does.
Grimacing, I spot Victoria on the porch, smirking like Stiles calling her a dog is hilarious. He slowly opens first the left door, then the right. I really would hate to see these go. “Good afternoon, Victoria. To what do we owe the pleasure?” Stiles gives me a slight nod.
“I am going to kill your husband. Then you will be mine.” She beams like today’s just another ordinary day she’s planning to spend with friends.
“I don’t really like that idea, Vikki. I might have to kill you instead.” My sweet moon—he just loves stirring the pot. God, I miss his sarcasm. I can only hope to share in it again.
Victoria’s eye twitches slightly. She despises the name Vikki. It was one of the first things the pack told Stiles and me after Victoria granted us permission to stay in her territory. Never call her Vikki or bring up her husband Ben. Both topics were completely off-limits.
Now Stiles is purposely riling her up. I hate surprises, and even more than that, I hate Vikki—umm, Victoria. Awww hell, it is in my own head: Vikki, Vikki, VIKKI!!! “I asked you nicely not to call me that, Stiles. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.” This time, heat crept into her words, with far less humor than before.
If there is a God out there, please, I beg of you, please do not let Stiles say what I think he’s about to say. “Oh, Vikki,” emphasis on the V, “you threatened me. You tried to ruin my marriage, Vikki. I think I might call you whatever I want. Because of you, my husband ran away from home. Now you, my sweet little doggie, are going to pay for that. Vikki, you have no idea what hell you’ve brought down on yourself.” His smile fades, and behind Victoria, I spot Troy and strangely Annie. They are merely standing at the end of our walkway.
Victoria’s growl breaks my line of sight, and she’s now right next to the barrier. She’s smiling in a way I have never seen from Victoria before. I think this is the first time I have ever really seen who she is. My husband likes to point out I can be oblivious to many things, and I’ll admit I missed this completely. “Stiles, are you afraid to die? Because the moment you break that barrier, you’re dead.” She seems pleased with herself.
Chuckling, “you think you can beat me? I don’t think so, Vikki.” He turns slowly to Lydia and smiles softly. “If you would please aggravate the doggie, Lydia, I would be thankful.” His head turns back to Victoria.
I am pretty sure I know what Lydia’s about to do. I make the quick decision to cover my ears the moment her mouth opens. John does the same, but Stiles doesn’t—as if it won’t affect him standing less than two feet from a banshee who is about to scream. And scream she does. The scream is so powerful it shoves Victoria back several feet.
Four things happen at once. Stiles breaks the barrier, John starts firing his gun at Victoria, I grab her by the hair to expose her neck, and as I raise my arm to tear her throat out, Stiles plunges the dagger under her chin into her skull with a sickening sound. It is a thousand times louder now that Lydia has stopped screaming. Gross!!
Stiles turns his head to examine his handiwork, and for the first time, I notice how unnaturally still and quiet he has become. There’s something calculating in his expression that unsettles me—it’s the same mask the Nogitsune wore when it inhabited his face and body. His hand releases the dagger as Victoria gurgles, then he pushes against her chest. Victoria begins tumbling down the stairs, only to be caught by her second, Pat. Sally’s mom. The same Pat who would kill me without hesitation.
It does not matter that I threw Sally to save the girl’s life—not to Pat. Pat was the left hand for good reason. Ben was her brother, and I have learned she’s frighteningly similar to Peter.
Victoria has stopped gurgling, and Pat cradles her carefully near the ground. “I am sorry about this, Stiles. We didn’t know how bad it had gotten.” She turns to me, and I brace for her anger or hatred. After all, I threw her daughter and somehow cost her an alpha in the process. “Derek, I am sorry for being so angry at you over Sally. She’s my baby girl, you know. Victoria told us that you threw her as a distraction so you could steal the alpha power from the feral wolf. That you had been trying to seduce her.” She bows her head over her fallen alpha. “Alpha,” she says, bowing her head to me, “I meant no disrespect. I am sorry.”
I nod somewhat stupidly. Pat just offered me respect and an apology simultaneously. I am honestly speechless. I had no idea Victoria was poisoning her pack against me. Troy and Annie move up beside Pat. I don’t know their role in all this, but I know Stiles has some connection to them beyond grocery shopping.
“Pat, I’m sorry for the loss of your alpha. I was within my rights to defend my husband and myself.” Stiles bows his head to Pat. I know she never had issues with Stiles. Now that I understand Victoria was lying to her pack about me, I am certain Pat only feels sympathy for Stiles—thinking I was cheating on him.
“Stiles, I’m the one who should be sorry. My alpha and sister lied to me. To her pack. I thought Derek was hurting you. I thought he was trying to seduce Victoria. If I had known better….”
Stiles cuts Pat off. “No. No one but Derek knew, and he didn’t know what she was telling all of you. Please, take your alpha and go. I have no contempt for the pack or you. She lied to us all.” Stiles lifted Pat’s chin to gaze into her eyes. “I am sorry for your loss. If I can do anything? Help in any way? I will try and make amends.” Not that Stiles needed to make amends, but he felt the words needed to be said. Respect for the dead alpha and the pack that lost her. Even if we all know she wasn’t a good alpha in the end.
Pat nods and picks Victoria up. Pat isn’t a small woman—nearly 6’4” and 250 pounds—and Victoria’s more petite frame and dark hair make her give the impression she is a child in Pat’s arms. She turns to see Troy and Annie flanking her, nodding in respect. Pat continues down the walk to where a car sits idling. I hadn’t even noticed its arrival.
Cautiously, I watch Pat lower Victoria into the backseat and strap her into a seatbelt. A wild chuckle builds up in my chest as I think that they can’t go driving around with a dead body in the trunk. Not during midafternoon in the Washington DC suburbs. “Helen is a bitch, huh?” I hear Stiles say.
I’m still watching Pat and the horror show that is the end of Victoria when suddenly Stiles is running down the walk. “Pat, no. Don’t touch that.” She pulls her hand away quickly. “Sorry, it’s covered with some very unpleasant things.” Quicker than possible, Stiles pulls the dagger free, nods at Pat, and turns back to the Brownstone.
A sigh escapes my lips. Damn, but my husband is sexy as fuck! John chuckles and quietly says, “Remember, I am,” he enunciates, “staying here for the next few days.”
“As am I.” Lydia turns and heads inside, followed by Troy, Annie, and John. Stiles stops at the bottom of the stairs and focuses up at me. I smile softly at my moon. If I had been a better man, I would have told him about all of this months ago. He has always been my savior, always fixing my screw-ups. God, if he had been around after Paige and before Kate, my family would still be alive. He is always there for me, no matter what.
“Hey, big guy. Let’s go upstairs and clean up.” I am not sure when he stepped in front of me, but I look down and see my arms covered with blood and brains—just ewwww. I will never get used to brain matter, no matter how long I live. I nod because I couldn’t speak. How do you apologize to someone who just killed for you? How do you forgive yourself for hurting someone you love more than life itself? Turning, I begin walking into the house. We close the front doors that survived, thank you very much, and together head upstairs.
No, it isn’t over. No, it isn’t done. But for this moment—just this moment—it is all right. All fixed and finished. When we get to the apartment, it will be another story, but for this moment, staring at each other at the bottom of the stairs, it feels right. It feels finished. Maybe, just maybe, someone or something heard my prayers, and I will be allowed to have my moon back. Perhaps just this once, I didn’t destroy something perfect in my life. Maybe I have the chance to fix my fuck-up myself. Oh, please, let me have that chance.
Slowly and cautiously, Stiles reaches out his left hand to me. I take it, and I will take whatever he offers me, whatever he will allow me to have. But I have never felt so sure or right as I do in this moment. However this ends, we will be in it together. “Stiles, I…”
The End