Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6302929.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Sheriff_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Derek
      Hale, Jackson_Whittemore, Lydia_Martin, Isaac_Lahey, Erica_Reyes, Vernon
      Boyd, Allison_Argent, Other(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Post-Season/Series_02_AU, Magic!Stiles, Secrets, Shapeshifting, Snarky
      Peter, Stiles_brings_the_Sheriff_into_the_loop, Sheriff’s_name_is_John,
      Stilinski_Family_Feels, Przemyslaw_is_Stiles’_real_name, because_he_is_a
      genius, Snarky_Stiles, Trust_Issues, Mildly_Dubious_Consent, First_Kiss,
      Non-Graphic_Rape/Non-Con, not_involving_Stiles_or_Peter, Sleepy_Cuddles,
      Hand_Jobs
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-03-20 Updated: 2016-10-25 Chapters: 14/? Words: 30193
****** The vedmak and the werewolf ******
by footlooseandfancyfree
Summary
     Aligning oneself with the devil isn’t always a stupid idea,
     especially if said devil is opportunistic, smart and handsome. Okay,
     the latter isn’t actually a beneficial prerequisite, but it certainly
     doesn’t hurt to have something nice to look at.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Peter is late to the pack meeting.
But what else is new? And why should he be on time? It’s not like he wants to
be there. He’d rather finish the book he just started reading, or watch some
stupid television show. Hell, he would even go grocery shopping even though he
hates to do that.
Maybe things would be different if he was still the one calling the shots, but
he is not. After losing his power – to his nephew no less – he is back to where
he started.
Being a Beta.
Sure, things could be worse. He could have ended up being an Omega, and that’s
like getting the shit end of the stick. Everybody knows the lone wolf doesn’t
last long, especially with hunters lurking around every corner.
So, all things considered, being demoted to Beta isn’t that bad. Sure, it’s
annoying as hell, but definitely not the worst.
Needless to say, not every member was enthusiastic to accept him into the pack.
Actually, that’s the understatement of the century. Some of them were outright
against it, others had fewer reservations, but none of them were enthusiastic.
And if Peter was truly honest with himself, after what he did, he probably
deserved to be left out in the cold, all alone, fending for himself. Not for
taking his revenge on the people who killed his family and put him in a coma
for six years. He will never feel regret about that. Sure, human authorities
frown upon those ‘eye for an eye’ actions, but things work differently in the
supernatural world. And he knows Derek doesn’t really fault him for that
either, but the Alpha still hasn’t forgiven him for killing his sister Laura.
And yes, now that he has regained most of his sanity, he feels bad for
resorting to such a drastic action.
In his defense, he never really planned to kill his niece, but when the
opportunity presented itself, he simply couldn’t resist taking it. He is
nothing if not opportunistic.
Derek wasn’t the loudest voice of dissent, though.
Not even close.
It’s Scott, his own former Beta, and Lydia, the girl who for some weird reason
immune is the Bite. And the Argent girl, of course, but she doesn’t count,
since she is not part of the pack. Not officially, anyway.
Granted, they all have a reason, or two, to detest him, but seriously, they are
still alive. So what’s their problem?
Especially Scott. After all, the Bite is a gift. It made him healthy and
strong, and incidentally improved his social status. He should be grateful.
Maybe he made a mistake by choosing to bite Scott instead of Stiles. Then
again, given everything Peter has learned about the Sheriff’s son in the last
couple of days, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway. And considering how
defiant Scott was, and still is, Stiles would be even less inclined to bow down
to him.
Actually, it’s a character trait Peter admires, but only in Stiles, because he
doesn’t take shit from anyone. Not from him, not from his best friend, not even
from his Alpha or any of the other Betas. He has a strong and willful mind, an
unshakable sense of loyalty for his family and his friends, a keen sense of
perception … oh god, he really should stop making lists why he likes Stiles.
Because he doesn’t. Sure, he likes him better than the rest, but that isn’t
saying much.
Jackson and the three newest members of the pack – Erika, Isaac and Boyd – were
more or less ambiguous on the issue whether Peter should be allowed to join the
pack, which was neither here nor there. They just didn’t know him like the
rest, or, in Jackson’s case, fear him.
In the end there was only one person who came down for him, well sorta.
“Look at it this way. If he is part of the pack we can keep a close eye on
him,” Stiles pointed out, daring Peter with a fierce look.
But Peter doesn’t take the bait, only shrugs and remarks, “Well, we are all
works in progress.”
Back then he had no idea how close to the truth he really was.
Literally.
 
+ + +
 
The hallway is quiet.
No wonder, there is no one living in the building except for Derek.
Why his nephew spent a large chuck of his money to buy this particular building
is still beyond him. Sure, far away from any human eyes and ears, which
provides them with a safe place to meet, but still. Living here? Peter prefers
something with more comfort, something like his apartment downtown, a place he
wants to return to sooner rather than later.
Not wasting another second Peter pushes open the slide door and steps inside
the loft, his newly acquired shadow following right behind him.
No one greets him, well not with words anyway. He receives a curt nod from
Derek and Jackson, but the rest – aka Scott, Erica, Boyd and Isaac – just
ignore him as usual.
Well not exactly, they do stare at him, or rather at his four legged, furry
companion.
“What’s with the dog?” Scott speaks up first, frowning.
“Really? And you call yourself a veterinarian’s right hand,” Peter scoffs,
shaking his head.
“Okay, let me rephrase that. What’s with the wolf?”
“Why? Does he scare you?” Peter mocks, dropping down into the armchair by the
window, far away from the rest of the pack. The wolf sits down on his haunches
next to him, scanning the room with his dark, intelligent eyes.
“No, of course not,” Scott shoots back, from his seat on the couch.
“Care to put that to a test? Why don’t you come over, and try to pet him? I’m
sure he won’t bite you.”
“Cut it out, the both of you,” Derek snarls, his eyes blazing bright red. It
has the desired effect on everyone. Well, everyone except on the wolf. He just
lets out a huffy whine, resting his head on the armrest. “I don’t mind if you
bring your pet or whatever he is with you, Peter, just make sure he does his
business outside and not in here.”
“No worries,” Peter smiles, “I think he is smart enough not to try and mark his
territory in here. Right, pup?”
The wolf snaps at him when he tries to ruffle his furry head, but misses. If
it’s due to Peter’s quick reflexes or if he didn’t really want to bite him is
hard to tell. Peter hopes it’s the latter, for the wolf’s sake.
“Looks like he doesn’t like you much either,” Scott comments, the glee in his
voice hard to miss.
“I said stop it,” Derek growls, “Just ignore the wolf. We’ve got work to do and
you guys have school tomorrow. So, let’s get started.”
Scott ducks his head in submission, but Peter doesn’t. He just smirks.
“What about Stiles?” Isaac interjects. “Shouldn’t he be here?”
“He isn’t coming,” Scott grumbles, clearly unhappy about that.
“I thought he was released him from the hospital two days ago,” Derek frowns.
“He was, but he is still homebound.”
“You didn’t talk to him in person?” Derek’s frown deepens. He might not like
his Beta’s best friends very much, but he clearly considers him pack.
“Not face to face, only on the phone. His dad doesn’t want him involved in any
of this … at least not until he is fully recovered.”
“I get it,” Derek nods, solemnly. “Not being able to safe someone and almost
dying in process … it’s not easy to come to grips with something like that.”
Peter meets the Alpha’s eyes for a moment. There is something about the way
Derek looks at him, that makes him really, really uncomfortable, which is why
he breaks the connection first. He doesn’t need his nephew’s pity, or anyone’s
for that matter.
“Yeah, he is still pretty freaked out about that. Well, at least the Sheriff
gave me these,” Scott says, clearly needing to change the subject. He opens his
bag back and retrieves a stack of papers. “Copies of the police and autopsy
reports.”
“Well, I’m sure we can solve this one without Stiles,” Derek says, trying his
best to sound confident, but failing.
And Peter is not the only one who notices.
 
+ + +
 
The meeting lasts for hours.
They go through every piece of evidence, which actually isn’t much.
The killer didn’t leave anything behind, almost like he or she appeared out of
thin air and disappeared the same way.
“Whatever we are dealing with, it’s smart and quick. And unfortunately it has
no scent, we can follow. Did you find something in Argent’s bestiary?” Derek
looks at Scott.
“No,” Scott says, hanging his head. Clearly, things between him and Allison
still aren’t fully resolved. After the whole Gerard business and her mother
dying, it’s a wonder they are still talking to each other. The Beta’s sadness
is disturbing and really annoying. Sometimes Peter wants to throttle the boy.
Bedding a hunter? Really? And why Derek doesn’t put his foot down and outright
forbid him to see the Argent girl is yet another thing Peter will never
understand. He, of all people, should know how dangerous it is to put one’s
trust in a hunter.
In an attempt to distract himself from his aggravating train of thoughts, Peter
goes over the list of the names again. “Did anyone of you notice that victims
are only men?”
“Yeah, so what?” Scott remarks, dryly.
Peter simply ignores him. “And two of the victims were excellent swimmers. So
why would they drown?”
“Maybe they were sick or drugged?” Erika offers.
Peter shakes his head. “The autopsy says they were in perfect health and they
found no narcotics in their systems.”
“They also show no signs of struggle, like they went under willingly,” Boyd
points out. “Who wouldn’t fight back when he gets drowned?”
“Stiles did. He had scratch marks all over his body,” Scott contributes.
“Too bad, he doesn’t remember anything. Whatever made him fight back is
probably an important clue …” Isaac mumbles, quickly adding, “but I’m glad he
wasn’t the fourth victim.”
“There will be no more victims,” Derek growls. “We have to stop and we will.”
Peter rolls his eyes. He doesn’t doubt the Alpha’s resolve, not at all. But no
matter how determined he and the rest of the pack are it doesn’t mean the odds
are in their favor.
They come up with a plan.
Well, sorta.
It’s more a reconnaissance mission, since they still haven’t found much to go
on. Staking out every body of water in town from the local swimming pool to the
lake in the woods isn’t going to be easy, but it’s all they can do for the
moment.
The wolf gets more and more agitated with each passing minute. Peter isn’t
completely sure why, but he has an inkling. That’s why he excuses himself, and
the wolf, and leaves just when they agree to order pizza. Sure, he is hungry
too, but hanging around a bunch of teenagers trying to act all noble and self-
sacrificing is getting on his nerves.
Nobody tries to stop him.
Not even Derek. He only makes Peter promise to meet him at the old Hale house
the next new moon, which is two days away.
Peter quickly drives home, ignoring the wolf’s growls when he breaks the speed
limit. He only stops at his favorite Chinese restaurant to pick up the order he
placed right after leaving Derek’s loft. Half an hour later they both enter
Peter’s apartment.
After dumping the food onto the coffee table, the werewolf goes into the
kitchen and returns with two bottles of water. “I still don’t understand why
you just don’t come clean to Scott and the rest of the pack?”
The wolf stares at him for a moment, before his form begins to ripple and blur.
A moment later a young man stands before him, not naked as one might suspect,
but dressed in jeans, a worn-out t-shirt and sneakers.
The boy stretches himself, replying, “I have my reasons.”
“Care to enlighten me, Stiles?”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     A chapter full of nothing but Stilinski men, well, okay, and a short
     appearance of Melissa McCall.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Two days earlier …
Stiles hates hospitals.
For so many reasons.
But what he hates even more is losing.
He thought he was prepared but clearly he’d overestimated his strength. It
doesn’t really make sense though. After all, he was able to hold Derek above
water for hours, and the Alpha is anything but a light-weight. Then again, the
circumstances hadn’t been exactly the same. Sure, Derek didn’t move a muscle,
but not because he didn’t want to. He would have fought tooth and nail if it
hadn’t been for the Kanima venom paralyzing him.
The boy from the other night hadn’t been poisoned, though. Sure, he wasn’t
nearly as buff as Derek, but he wasn’t a weakling either. He simply didn’t want
to put up a fight, allowing himself to be drowned.
Stiles is still a bit hazy on the details.
He can’t remember how he ended up at the local swimming pool that night, but
when he got there he immediately knew something was wrong.
Just like he always does.
Anyway, there was a boy and a girl … well, something that looked like a girl.
She was beautiful, stunning even, but kinda ghostly. Not a real ghost, though.
She was definitely corporeal, and she seemed to have the boy under a spell or
something, luring him into the pool, and he just followed her.
Stiles yelled out to them, but neither one heard him. Or rather one of them
did, but chose to pay him no attention. Realizing he didn’t have another
choice, Stiles went after them, not even bothering to take his shoes off first.
He tried everything to pull the boy to the surface, but every time he got a
good grip on the boy, the thing lashed out, literally. Her claws didn’t go in
deep, but it still hurt like a bitch. She didn’t go on the offensive, though,
only thwarted his attempts to pull the boy away from her, and vice versa.
It felt like fighting on two fronts. It was exhausting, and in the end,
apparently completely futile.
The boy is dead and the girl, or whatever she is, vanished without a trace. Not
to mention the fact that Stiles almost drowned himself.
And that’s actually the most baffling thing.
Not the drowning part – that was scary, beyond all question, and something he
has no intention to experience ever again – but the fact that someone happened
to show up the second he blacked out from the lack of oxygen.
Stiles has no idea who pulled him from the pool, but whoever it was, stayed
with him until the paramedics arrived.
He will figure it out, though.
He always does.
 
+ + +
 
“The doctor signed his release papers, but he should take it easy, at least for
next couple of days,” Melissa McCall says, in her usual motherly way.
“I’ll make sure he does,” John Stilinski avows, daring his son to defy him.
Of course, Stiles has a few witty comebacks ready on his tongue, but for once
he keeps his mouth shut. Not because it’s pointless, but because he put his dad
through enough as it is, and to be completely honest, he still feels a bit
under the weather. A few more days of rest actually sound good.
So, he just shrugs, gets out of the bed, grabs the clean change of clothes his
dad had brought and vanishes into the bathroom to get dressed. The sooner he
gets out of here, the better. He has things to do.
When he reemerges, Melissa hands him a small tube. “You should put this on the
scratches. It contains aloe vera. It will help with the healing.”
“Thanks,” Stiles accepts the medicine.
“Please, listen to your dad. There is nothing more important than you getting
better,” she says, giving him a pointed look.
“I will,” Stiles promises, not having the slightest intention to go back on his
word, at least not for the next two days or so. Scott’s mom might not know what
exactly transpired but she knows something is going on, and he can’t just sit
on the sidelines and let the pack handle it.
“Good,” she smiles, “Now go, before I change my mind and convince Dr.
Vandenburg that you should stay here.”
Both Stilinski men don’t need to be told twice, and leave in a hurry.
 
+ + +
 
They drive home in silence.
Stiles doesn’t mind, though. It gives him time to think and make plans. That’s
something that will probably never change.
Halfway between the hospital and their house, his dad yanks him from his
thoughts, thankfully with something trivial. “I didn’t get the chance to go
grocery shopping, and since I’m sure none of us is in the mood to cook
something anyway, how about we get some takeout from Nate’s?”
“Sure,” Stiles agrees, for once not starting an argument about bad cholesterol
and clogged arteries. After two days of hospital food he deserves a burger, or
two, and some curly fries, and so does his dad for spending almost every free
minute at his bedside.
They stop at their favorite diner and get everything they need. Stiles smiles
when his dad orders a salad without being ordered to, but doesn’t comment. They
make it home in record time. And if the Sheriff goes over the speed limit a
couple of times, he ignores that too.
They finish their dinner in record time, both too hungry to care. When they are
done, his dad gathers up the empty boxes and paper bags and throws them into
the trash.
“How about some coffee?”
“Sounds great,” Stiles sighs, leaning back in his seat. He feels happy and
sated, but still kinda restless, and he knows exactly why. “But first I need
help moving something from the attic.”
“What?” The Sheriff asks casually, already busy preparing the coffee maker.
“Grandma’s hope chest.”
“That old thing? Why? It doesn’t even open.”
“It does now,” Stiles smirks.
“Really?” his dad looks up, frowning. In fact, his doubt is written all over
his face.
“You don’t believe me? Come on, I’ll show you,” Stiles is on his feet and
halfway up the stairs before he hears his father moving.
 
+ + +
 
Even though it’s dusty and cramped with all kinds of stuff, Stiles loves the
attic.
He can practically taste the memories packed away in the countless cardboard
boxes and plastic bags, now more than ever. It makes him both sad and happy,
but most of all it makes him curious. He sits in front of his grandmother’s
chest, but doesn’t open it, just waits for his father to catch up.
“Trouble?” the Sheriff crouches down beside his son, going right for the latch.
It doesn’t budge. “See, it doesn’t open.”
“Here let me,” Stiles says, having a hard time hiding the glee in his voice. He
barely needs to touch the latch with his index finger and the lid pops open.
“How?” his dad gasps, clearly shocked.
“I don’t really know for sure,” Stiles shrugs. “I came up here a few nights ago
… and I don’t know why or how, but the chest was calling to me, or something. I
just touched it, and wham, it opened. I didn’t even have to say ‘Abracadabra’
or ‘Open Sesame’. Clearly, I have the magic touch.”
He wiggles his fingers and grins at his father. It’s a joke, well more or less,
but it falls flat with the Sheriff. Something flickers over his face, though,
but it’s gone before Stiles can decipher it.
“Okay, smarty-pants,” his dad says, pushing the lid shut. Apparently, the chest
doesn’t mind that. Then he gets on his feet, pulling his son with him. “Let’s
do this. You grab one handle, I’ll take the other.”
Beaming, Stiles follows his dad’s instruction. His smile falters a little when
he lifts up the chest. It’s heavy, very heavy. Sure, Stiles could have just
emptied the contents and taken them to his room, but something tells him,
keeping them stored inside the chest is very important, crucial even.
Evidently, nobody but him can open the chest, which means he is the only one
who has excess to the things hidden inside.
It takes them a couple of minutes to carry the chest from the attic to his
bedroom, mostly because Stiles has to set it down a couple of times, but they
finally make it there.
“It doesn’t exactly go with the rest of your stuff,” his dad comments dryly.
Stiles huffs out a laugh. “I didn’t know you had a knack for interior
decoration.”
“I don’t,” the Sheriff rolls his eyes, “I’m just saying … someone will notice
it and ask uncomfortable questions.”
There is that look again, the very same one from before. Stiles has always been
good at putting two and two together, and now is no exception.
“You know, don’t you?”
“What?”
“That I’m more than just a seventeen year old spazz with concentration issues,”
Stiles answers harshly, not buying the puzzled look on his face one bit.
“Don’t take that tone with me, Przemyslaw,” his dad warns, before continuing in
a gentler tone, “Yes, technically speaking, I knew. Your mother … she kept
talking about it a lot in her last days, about you inheriting the family’s
power. But for obvious reasons I didn’t believe her …”
He sounds sad, apologetic even, and Stiles can’t have that. “I know, Dad, but
neither did I. For God’s sake, she kept talking about her shoelaces, trying to
convince me that they were actually rain worms under a stasis spell …”
His dad huffs out a laugh at that particular memory. “I hope she wasn’t right
about that too.”
“Well, you’ll never know,” Stiles shrugs, grinning. “Stranger things have
happened.”
“Yes, especially in this town,” the sheriff remarks, wryly. Stiles can’t detect
any undertone, hinting that he knows more. But given the circumstances, he
probably should.
“Umm, while we’re on the subject, there is something else you should know,
other than me being a vedmak.”
“And what’s that?”
“I run with werewolves.”
 
+ + +
 
Stiles returns from the kitchen with the coffee pot. It’s their second one.
Decaf this time.
“Are you sure you don’t want something stronger?” he asks, refilling both their
mugs with the steaming beverage, before retaking his seat on the family couch.
“I’m good, son,” the Sheriff grumbles, adding milk and sugar to his coffee. He
stirs it a couple of times, takes a sip and leans back in his armchair. “So,
let me get this straight. Scott is a werewolf, and so are the rest of all your
friends.”
“Yes,” Stiles confirms, quickly adding, “Well, everyone except for Lydia and
Allison.”
He wisely glances over the details surrounding Lydia’s apparent immunity to the
Bite. No need to revisit the worst night of his life, well his second worst
night. He also leaves out the part about Allison and her family being
professional hunters. Not because he wants to protect them, which he doesn’t,
but because his dad is a law enforcement officer and probably wouldn’t take too
kindly to people running around his town with loaded guns and arrows, shooting
at (innocent) people. For now, he needs him focused on the main details.
“And my friend Deaton is not just a veterinarian.” It’s both a statement and a
question.
“I think he is something like me. Well, not exactly. As far as I can tell he
has no real magic, he is more like an advisor. He may be a Shaman or a Druid. I
don’t know. He isn’t very forthcoming when it comes to things like that.”
His dad nods, clearly stowing it away for further analysis at some other time.
“And you are a … what did you call it?”
“A Vedmak. Well, more accurately, given my heritage, I’m a Wiedźmak. But in
simplest terms, I’m a warlock.”
“That’s a male witch.”
“Correct,” Stiles smiles, slightly surprised.
“What? I’m not a fool,” his dad replied, brusquely. “So, what does that mean?
Are you starting to ride a broomstick from now on instead of your jeep?”
“I’m pretty sure that isn’t part of my skill set,” Stiles snorts, glad that he
didn’t just take a sip of his coffee. Because that would have been just … bad.
But he is also glad that despite everything, his dad still hasn’t lost his
sense of humor. “Honestly, I have no idea what it means. And it’s not like I
can ask someone. All I have are these books and journals, and I haven’t even
finished the first one yet. Unfortunately, most of them are written in Polish,
and I’m a bit rusty.”
“I’m sorry, but you know as well as I do, I’m not going to be much help to you
in that department.”
“That’s okay,” Stiles says, waving his hand dismissively. “I will figure it out
eventually.”
They spend the next few minutes in silence, both sipping their coffee. It’s his
dad who speaks up first.
“With all of this new knowledge … maybe I should go over some old cases …”
“Don’t!” Stiles stops him mid-sentence, quickly rephrasing when he sees his
dad’s startled if not irritated expression. “What I mean is, don’t go over your
old cases just because you feel the need to make up for something. You didn’t
know. Nobody is supposed to know. I only got mixed into all of this because
Scott got bitten. I promise I will help you fill in the gaps, on future events,
but please, please, don’t waste your time and effort on things that are over
and done.”
“Fine,” the Sheriff relents, somewhat reluctantly.
 
+ + +
 
Stiles goes to bed that night completely exhausted, but with a smile on his
face.
Telling his dad was long overdue, and surprisingly it went a thousand times
better than he’d imagined it would. It’s obvious that the Sheriff will still
need some time to digest all the information, but at least Stiles wouldn’t have
to lie to him anymore.
It’s like a heavy burden has been lifted off his shoulders.
His dad did ask a lot of question, but he also listened very carefully,
probably making a mental list, maybe even a real one now that he is in his
bedroom, to look into certain things further.
He also had a good point; Stiles should tell someone. Scott should probably be
his first choice. After all, he is his best friend. But he would tell Derek,
and given the strained relationship the Alpha has with Deaton, Stiles isn’t
sure how Derek would react to finding out that the fragile human is suddenly
packing power. Real power, power that might be able to rival his own.
So, no, telling Scott is out of the question. At least for now.
It takes Stiles a while to fall asleep, and when he wakes up the next morning,
he knows exactly who his confidant will to be.
 
Chapter End Notes
     Thoughts?
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     Back to Peter’s POV.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
An hour or so before the pack meeting …
Peter loves his apartment building.
The rent is a bit steep, especially since this is Beacon Hills and not Santa
Barbara, but it’s nice and quiet, and that’s all that matters. And it’s not
like he can’t afford it. In fact, he could have bought a house if he wanted to,
but he didn’t. Sure, he has no qualms about spending his money on things he
desires, like eating at great restaurants or buying clothes not off the rack,
but he has never been one for pouring his money down the drain. Keeping the
apartment in top shape is already big enough of a nuisance to him, which is why
he hired Lucía. The small, middle-aged Hispanic woman comes over twice a week,
doing all the things he doesn’t like to do.
He likes her.
She doesn’t talk much, just flits through the apartment, doing her job. He
can’t tell whether she knows about his family or not. She could be completely
unaware, since she is living two towns over and just moved to California three
years ago. Maybe she just has more tact than some people; or she simply doesn’t
want to risk her job.
After all, he is paying her very well.
Peter looks up and glances at the clock. It’s almost six. Derek called him
earlier, telling him to come over at half past six and join the pack meeting.
And he gets it. There is yet another supernatural being running around Beacon
Hills, killing people, but that doesn’t mean he is all too eager to get
involved.
Peter turns another page of his book, making no move to leave yet. It takes
about twenty minutes to get to Derek’s loft, and if he turns up a little late,
nobody will truly mind. Without feeling even an ounce of shame he spends the
next ten minutes or so finishing two more chapters. Just when he is about to
start another one, he gets sidetracked by a sudden shift in the air. It’s gone
before he can get a clear read on it, but his instincts kick in nonetheless. He
learned a long time ago, ignoring even the tiniest signs can be very foolish,
not to mention dangerous. That’s why he is always on his guard. Just like now.
He drops his book and partially shifts into his Beta form, focusing all of his
senses.
He can detect a heartbeat. It’s fast, clearly not belonging to a human. It
could be a dog or a cat, but then again none of his neighbors own a pet. Maybe
a stray got in, although, that’s highly unlikely, since the front door is
always locked.
It has to be an animal, because that’s all Peter can smell. There isn’t even
the slightest trace of human scent he can pick up, well except for the ones
that live here. So, it’s probably not a shifter, which is good, but not enough
to put him completely at ease.
With the stealth of a jungle cat Peter moves towards the door, and listens more
closely. He can hear the animal coming up the last flight of stairs and down
the hall, its soft paws barely making a sound on the carpet. It stops right in
front of Peter’s door, clearly expecting him to open it.
Not sure he should do it, Peter hesitates. True, unless it’s a full grown
grizzly, he doesn’t really have to fear any animal. Apparently, he takes too
long to make up his mind, because the next thing he hears is a scratching
sound.
Sharp nails against hardwood.
Furious, he tears open the door.
 
+ + +
 
Peter didn’t really know what he expected to find, but certainly not this.
There is a sandy wolf sitting on his welcome mat, staring up at him with its
dark eyes, eyes that are way too intelligent for an animal. And if he didn’t
know it better, he’d say the wolf is smirking at him.
“Are you lost?” he barks, not really expecting an answer, but unable to stop
himself from asking the obvious, yet stupid question.
The wolf just huffs and walks right past him.
“I didn’t say you can come in,” Peter growls, but for some reason he doesn’t
stop the wolf from entering his apartment. “But by all means, why don’t you
come in and make yourself comfortable.”
Grumbling, he turns his back on the wolf to close the door. It’s only for a few
seconds, but still, it’s stupid and reckless, especially given the fact that he
doesn’t what, or who, he is dealing with. But before he can realize his
mistake, he feels the strange energy again, like static electricity in the air,
combined with the smell of burnt ozone. It evaporates just as quickly, only
this time its disappearance is accompanied by a very familiar voice.
“Wow, courtesy clearly doesn’t run in your family.”
Peter whirls around, this time shifting completely.
“Put away the claws and the fangs. It’s just me; Stiles,” the Sheriff’s son
sighs, clearly more annoyed than threatened by his reaction. Come to think of
it, Peter hasn’t been able to detect any sign of fear coming from the teenager
for quite some time, which equally intrigues and unsettles him.
“I can see that,” Peter snarls, not ready to put away anything.
So much for not having to deal with another shifter … but it can’t be. He would
have sensed that. He takes another whiff just to be sure. He can’t tell what
Stiles is, but he is certainly not a shifter like him. From the looks of the
aura around the boy, he has changed though, significantly. He is more than he
was a couple of days ago.
“What happened to you?” he blurts out, immediately regretting his lapse in
control. He is usually more suave than this, rarely ever allowing people to see
when things rattle him. Showing weakness means being weak. But even if Stiles
notices his slip-up, he doesn’t comment, which is odd. Usually, the Sheriff’s
son doesn’t leave any chance to make a snide remark.
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time,” Peter says, folding his arms across his chest, casually
leaning against the door. He is still not sure what to make of him, but by now
he is pretty certain, Stiles doesn’t mean him any harm.
“No, actually you don’t,” Stiles argues, quickly amending his statement, “well,
we don’t. I need you to take me with you to the pack meeting.”
It’s more an order than a polite request. Bold, but again, kinda intriguing.
“Did your jeep finally die?” Peter smirks.
“Roscoe is fine, thanks for asking,” the boy glowers, clearly miffed that the
werewolf dares to make fun of his car. But really, who can blame him? Stiles’
jeep is a piece of crap. “And I didn’t mean that I needed a lift. I could have
asked my dad to give me one if that was the case. No, I mean, I need you to
take me there … while in my other form.”
“Why?”
“I really don’t want to get into that right now, but I promise I will tell you
everything later.”
He sounds sincere. Peter cannot detect even the slightest sign of a lie.
“Fine,” he shrugs, retrieving his keys from the table next to the door. “Let’s
go.”
 
+ + +
 
Back to the present …
 
Peter hands one of the bottles to Stiles, who accepts it graciously, well more
than that actually. He reaches for it like he hasn’t had a drop of water for
days, quickly opening the bottle and emptying half of its contents in one gulp.
The werewolf just smirks, but doesn’t comment. He knows exactly how a parched
throat feels like.
On his way to his armchair he grabs one of the Chinese food boxes and a pair of
chopsticks, before he makes himself comfortable, with his bottle safely tucked
at his side.
“Well,” he prompts, staring pointedly at Stiles.
The boy bites his lower lip, obviously contemplating what to say or how to
phrase it, which is quite the novelty. Usually, he can’t keep his mouth shut,
speaking his mind whether it’s appropriate or not. Peter likes that about him,
even though he isn’t showing it.
But maybe something more has changed about him, than just his sudden ability to
magically transform himself into a wolf.
It’s a nifty talent, though, but clearly much more exhausting than shifting is
for his kind. Stiles looks strung out and his eyes keep wandering between him
and the Chinese food on the table.
The werewolf rolls his eyes and huffs. “I didn’t buy the food just for me. Just
take what you want.”
Apparently, that’s all the boy has been waiting for. “Thanks. I’m starving.”
Stiles sits down on the couch and pulls the plastic bag toward him and opens up
the first carton. He carefully sniffs at it, before quickly closing it. He
repeats the same action with the next two. Only the forth, the Kung Pao
Chicken, seems to meet his tastes. He pulls the box completely open, eyeing the
second pair of chopsticks with disdain.
“The kitchen is right through there,” Peter waves his hand dismissively, not
even trying to hide his amusement. “Top drawer right next to the dishwasher.”
Stiles just sticks his tongue out at him, before quickly disappearing into his
kitchen to retrieve his preferred choice of cutlery. Peter notices that he
doesn’t trip over his feet, not even once, wondering if his newfound steadiness
has something to do with his ability to shift into a wolf.
They eat in silence. Well, mostly. It’s not that Stiles is a noisy eater per
see, but he makes quite a few appreciating, if not distracting noises. Peter
can’t really blame him, though. For a place like Beacon Hills, it’s pretty good
Chinese food.
Otherwise occupied, it’s clear that Stiles isn’t going to answer his earlier
question any time soon. But since patience isn’t exactly one of Peter’s strong
suits, he tries a different approach.
“So, your father knows.”
“Yes,” Stiles mumbles, taking another bite.
“It’s about time,” Peter comments, dryly, and he means it. Sure, generally
speaking the more people know about the supernatural world the more dangerous
it becomes for his kind, but the Sheriff is too involved already, and not just
because of his position as a police officer.
“That’s actually what he said,” Stiles snorts, his eyes betraying his
nonchalance, though. He clearly still has his doubts, but not because he
doesn’t trust his father to keep his mouth shut but because he is worried about
his safety, and with good reason. “The thing is I probably still wouldn’t have
told him about the supernatural world if I had another choice, but apparently I
don’t, since I’m not a human bystander anymore, but a full member.”
‘Now we’re getting somewhere …’
“Which is?”
“Isn’t that obvious? I’m Sirius Black,” Stiles exclaims, his smirk quickly
turning into a grimace when he takes in Peter’s annoyed expression. “Seriously,
what is it with you Hales? No sense of humor, whatsoever.”
“That may be true when it comes to my nephew, but I do have a good sense. I
just don’t like it when people push their luck with me.”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Stiles relents, somewhat miffed. “No more jokes, just
the facts. I can do that.”
He pushes his empty box away and takes another swig from his bottle. Then he
leans back and talks frankly.
As it turns out his joke was actually dead-on. He may not be a wizard with a
magic wand, but he is a warlock. Well, a vedmak, as he calls it. He doesn’t go
into detail, just gives Peter the cliff-notes about his newfound identity. The
werewolf doesn’t press for more information, partially because he knows Stiles
is still unsure what it all means, but more importantly because he knows he
wouldn’t get a straight answer. There is still a lot the warlock doesn’t know
about werewolves either. Some things simply should remain a secret.
Stiles also fills him in on what they are dealing with. It’s called a rusalka,
some sort of water spirit. But unfortunately that’s all he has found so far. No
indication who she is, how to find her, and most importantly how to kill her.
But at least it’s more than he and the pack have figured out so far.
“That still doesn’t answer my question? Why come to me?”
“When I was in the pool, I saw her face. She is in pain, and angry, very angry.
I think she is out for vengeance, either killing these men because they had
something to do with her death or as substitutes. I have my dad looking into
the recent deaths and all the missing person reports from the last two years.”
Peter nods in approval, and then something dawns on him. “That’s why you sought
me out instead of Scott or Derek. Because you think I have something in common
with the rusalka.”
For the first time that night Stiles averts his gaze in discomfort.
“Smart,” Peter remarks, not sure whether he should feel insulted or honored.
For the moment he goes with neither, storing it away for further analysis at a
later time. “What’s in it for me?”
Stiles’ smile returns at once. Clearly, he has been expecting that question.
“Well, I can teach you how to turn into a wolf, a real one, like me. I’ve seen
you come close.”
Peter doesn’t bother to tell him that that was just his inner turmoil, his rage
coming to the surface, manifesting itself in a monstrous shape. Of course, he
wants to learn how to fully transform into a wolf, but he doubts that’s even
possible for a Beta. As far as he knows, only an Alpha posses that gift. But
who knows, maybe with some magical help it can actually work. He is certainly
not opposed to give it a try.
“And why would you do that?”
“Because I owe you.”
“For keeping this,” Peter waves his hand between them, “a secret?”
“No,” Stiles shakes his head, swallowing audibly. “For setting you on fire last
year.”
Chapter End Notes
     I'd love to hear your thoughts.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     Stiles’ POV – I will be switching back and forth. Oh, and I’m totally
     ignoring “Visionary”. Peter is dark, but not that dark.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The Sheriff picks him up after his shift ends, which is around midnight.
“I don’t like him,” he grumbles under his breath, glaring at Peter.
Stiles has no idea why the werewolf came down with him. Maybe he just wanted to
do the appropriate thing for once, ending their date the right way. Not that
this has been a date. Though maybe it was, depending on how you define a date.
Okay, maybe clandestine meeting is the more appropriate term, but whatever.
Of course, Peter hears the Sheriff just fine, his mouth quirking up into a
devilish grin. Stiles probably should remind his dad, again, that sensitive
hearing is part of the whole werewolf package, but then again, maybe his dad
doesn’t actually need a reminder. Maybe he intended to be overheard.
“Believe me, nobody likes him,” Stiles assures his dad, shooting Peter a
challenging look, which is actually more teasing than anything. The werewolf
just flashes his bright blue eyes at Stiles before he turns around and vanishes
into the building.
‘So much for being able to take a joke.’
Stiles huffs and gets in the back of the police cruiser, changing into his
other form. Better safe than sorry. Sure, the new moon – the rusalka’s
preferred time to strike – is still two days away, but he knows that at least
one wolf is out there, prowling through town, checking the boundaries, looking
for clues.
“I’m not sure I will ever get used to this,” his dad shakes his head and starts
the car, pointedly ignoring his son’s answering snigger. Well, actually it
sounds more like a cross between a sneeze and yip. “Though, it has its
advantages. At least this way you have to listen to what I have to say and
can’t interrupt me.”
Stiles begs to differ. He could easily give mouth by barking or howling, but
refrains from doing either. Not just because it would defeat the purpose of
staying under the radar, but because he wants to give his dad this rare
opportunity. He kinda earned it.
“I understand why you want to keep your … inheritance a secret. I do. People
haven’t exactly changed since the Salem witch trials. If anything they have
gotten even more bigoted,” his dad lets loose a deep-felt sigh, before he
continues. “But what I don’t understand is why you would choose someone like
Peter to confide in. I know you are still keeping things from me, that you
haven’t told me everything, especially about him, and maybe the less I know the
better, but I’m a cop. I read people for a living. And Peter Hale definitely
spells trouble to me. With a capital T.”
‘Duh,’ Stiles agrees with a snort-like noise. ‘Trouble is Peter’s middle name.
Though, I like to call him Peter Crazypants Hale.’
“I take it you agree with me. Good,” his dad remarks, sounding a little more at
ease, but not completely. “You know I’ll always have your back and help you out
whenever and wherever I can. But we both know there is only so much I can do.
And if you think he is the right person, I’ll go with it. I might not trust
him, but I trust you. But if he gets you hurt, or so much puts lays a hand on
you himself, I will not hesitate to put a bullet through his head.”
Stiles huffs softly, not doubting a word. His dad may not have any supernatural
powers, but he would do everything in his power to protect his son. He might
not be as practiced as Chris Argent is in dealing with werewolves, but Stiles
knows he wouldn’t miss the target.
They drive the rest of the way in silence.
Stiles is a bit surprised that his dad doesn’t have more to say, but mostly he
is glad, that that is all, at least for the moment.
When his dad pulls into their driveway, Stiles shifts back into his human form,
unable to hold back a pained groan.
“Are you okay?” the Sheriff asks, looking over his shoulder with a deep frown
on his face.
“Yeah,” Stiles quickly assures him. “I’m just a little sore from all the
shifting back and forth today.”
“I can imagine,” his dad nods, adding with a laugh, “Well, I can’t, but I take
your word for it. Come on, let’s get you inside. You can take a nice long
shower, while I make us some tea.”
“Sounds perfect,” Stiles sighs, following his dad inside the house. He quickly
toes off his shoes and makes a beeline for the stairs. When he reaches it, his
dad calls his attention once more.
“One more thing, son. I do respect your decision to keep your friends in the
dark for the time being, I do, but you shouldn’t ignore them. Actually, I think
you should text Scott and tell him you’ll meet him tomorrow.”
It’s not a friendly advice, it’s an order.
 
+ + +
 
His dad is right, though.
Ignoring his friends, especially Scott, isn’t the right way to do this. If
anything, it would make them suspicious, and that’s a risk he can’t and won’t
take. But more importantly, he feels bad for making his dad into his
(unwilling) accomplice.
Not Peter though.
The werewolf is completely comfortable with lying to people, and damn good at
it.
It’s a skill Stiles both admires and hates in him.
It makes him dangerous, but also perfect.
Well, at least perfect for the task Stiles had assigned him to.
After getting rid of his clothes Stiles steps into his shower and turns on the
tap, sighing in pleasure when the hot water hits his body. He is stiff, his
muscles tied in knots. Of course, he knew beforehand that today was going to be
taxing, leaving him aching all over and utterly depleted. Unlike a real
shifter, the change doesn’t come naturally to him. He has to use magic, and a
lot of it. Sometimes it feels like more than he actually possesses, but he
blames that on his inexperience. Or rather he hopes that’s the case. It would
really suck if he wouldn’t find a way to counteract those side effects, or at
least lessen them considerably.
Needless to say, Stiles is still surprised how quickly he had managed to master
the skill of shape shifting, but for the most part he is proud. And why
shouldn’t he? It only took him only two days.
What’s not surprising is the shape his subconscious chose. He doesn’t mind,
though, especially since it could have been much worse. He could have
transformed into a moth, only to be swatted by either his father or Peter.
Well, more by the latter, since he had prepared his dad what to expect before
he actually showed him.
Stiles stays under the shower until the water turns cold, which actually isn’t
that long due to their shitty water heater. Maybe twenty minutes or so. He gets
out and dries off, feeling much better. He quickly gets dressed and heads
downstairs, grabbing his phone on the way out.
There is cup of tea and a sandwich waiting for him. He smiles at his dad,
grateful for the small gesture. Sure, he just ate at Peter’s, but he is still
hungry. Shifting really takes a lot of energy. Then again, he has always been a
hungry boy.
Munching on his sandwich, Stiles checks his messages.
There are only three.
Two text messages, one from Scott and one from Isaac, asking how he is doing
and when he will be back at school, and one voice message from Lydia, just
telling him to check his emails. He doesn’t need more information. He knows
what those will entail. A mountain of schoolwork. Stiles smiles nevertheless.
It’s her way of showing him that she cares.
Stiles doesn’t know if he should feel disappointed or glad that he didn’t
receive more messages. True, he isn’t particularly close to any of the other
wolves, especially Jackson, but a part of him had expected to get a short
message from Derek. After all, Stiles is supposed to be pack. Shouldn’t the
Alpha make sure that he is okay in person, and not rely on second hand reports
from his Betas?
This must be how Peter feels, being treated as a nuisance, an afterthought, and
at the same time exploited for his sharp mind.
No wonder, Stiles sought him out instead of Derek.
Heaving a sigh, Stiles pushes the feelings of anger and disappointment aside
and concentrates on the matter at hand.
First, he shoots Isaac a short message, assuring him that he is doing much
better and that he will be back on Monday.
The curly-haired werewolf is his favorite next to Scott. Sure, they had their
problems in the beginning, but after seeing him with Scott at the clinic,
treating an abused and abandoned dog, it became clear that Isaac had only been
acting out back then. What he craves above all else is approval and love, not
power. As it turns out, Isaac is actually very shy, and probably the most
cuddle-hungry wolf in the pack.
Smiling to himself, Stiles remembers how the Beta had reacted earlier in
Derek’s loft. He’d tried his best not to show it, but Stiles didn’t miss the
way he kept glancing at him and how his hands were clenching and unclenching,
like he was itching to come over and pet Stiles, well pet the wolf.
They really should get him a puppy, but knowing Derek, he probably wouldn’t
approve. And since he owns the loft, he naturally has the last word, not to
mention that he is the Alpha.
Stiles rolls his eyes and refills his cup. Then he starts typing a message to
Scott.
Sorry, man, misplaced my phone and the battery died. Good news, though. My dad
says it’s okay if I come over tomorrow.
It’s a bit scary how easy it is to lie to his best friend. Hopefully, one day
Scott will forgive him for it. It doesn’t take long that Stiles receives a
reply. Of course, Scott is still awake, probably busy mooning over Alyson.
Awesome. When?
Practice is over at 4, right? How about 5ish? I bring snacks.
Deal.
Cool. Now go to bed. Coach will have your balls if your grades start to slip
again.
You’re right.
Of course I’m right. See you tomorrow.
See you tomorrow.
Stiles puts his phone down, feeling both guilty and relieved. “I’m going over
to Scott’s tomorrow at five.”
“Good,” his father acknowledges with a nod. “I’m going to bed now. You are
doing the clean up.”
“Sure thing, Dad,” Stiles laughs. “See you at breakfast.”
“I want bacon with my eggs.”
“We’ll see,” Stiles calls after him, getting up to do the dishes.
He goes to bed not long after, completely exhausted, physically and
emotionally.
Lying to his best friend feels wrong. Aligning himself with Peter feels even
more wrong, because it doesn’t. It probably doesn’t make sense to anybody else
but him, but he knows it’s the right choice. He can feel it in his bones.
Sure, Scott is brave and loyal and the best buddy anyone can hope for, but he
lacks certain finesse. And so does Derek. Stiles hasn’t even considered
confiding in someone else, not even Isaac. Well, perhaps in Lydia, and he is
pretty certain she wouldn’t rat him out, but she would give him even more grief
about his secretiveness than his dad.
A disgruntled dad he can deal with, but a pissed-off Lydia. Not so much.
Chapter End Notes
     Okay, this one is a bit shorter, but it’s just a filler. Next time
     there will be more Steter, although, I do prefer to call them Piles.
     As always, I’d like to hear, well read, your thoughts.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Peter dreams that night.
But not about flames licking at his skin, burning and scorching, hot air
choking him, people he loves screaming in agony; dying.
No, he dreams about being on all fours, running through the woods. He can feel
the air ruffling his black fur; the surroundings are rushing by him in a blur.
He is fast, very fast. Well, certainly faster than the one chasing him. He is
not afraid, though. He can tell this is just a game of playing tag, one that he
is obviously winning.
Deep down he knows that this is just a dream, but he wants this. Desperately.
He wants to feel that extra spark of power again, the one that doesn’t make him
a nuisance, but sets him apart from the pack for a different reason. But more
importantly he wants to be free.
Panting, he slows down, giving his pursuer a chance to catch up. He sniffs the
air. He can’t tell by scent where the other wolf is, but he can hear his
heartbeat and his paws hitting the ground. It’s weird not being able to use his
sense of smell. Well, he can. He can smell everything else, but for some reason
he can’t smell the other wolf, like he doesn’t have a scent.
It’s weird and a bit disconcerting, but nothing he can’t handle.
The other wolf is getting closer, and a few moments later he is being tackled.
They tumble through the bushes, rolling through mud and leaves.
When Peter lands on his back, he is human again, and so is the other wolf. The
only difference is, that he is stark naked while the boy above him is wearing
sweatpants and a shirt.
“Gotcha!” Stiles laughs, not the least bit freaked out by his nudity.
If anything he rather seems to enjoy that …
 
+ + +
 
For the first time in a long while Peter wakes up with a smile on his face, and
a boner.
Well, okay, the latter isn’t an unusual occurrence. That happens quite often.
He may not be a teenager anymore, but he is still a werewolf, and werewolves
are known to have a strong sex drive.
The fact that he was dreaming about Stiles doesn’t really surprise him. It’s
not the first time it happened, and it probably won’t be the last time either.
Why? Because Stiles fucking intrigues him, that’s why. Sure, most of the time
he annoys him to no end, but not necessarily in a bad way. To tell the truth,
Peter knew from the first moment he laid eyes on the boy that there was
something special about him. He wouldn’t have offered him the Bite if he hadn’t
deemed him worthy.
Worthy, and not just as a means to an end … but it’s a mute point now.
He still wants to bite him, though, and lick each and every mole on his body.
Honestly, Peter can’t understand why no one seems to notice how gorgeous Stiles
is, but he certainly does.
It’s hard to miss how much the boy has changed in the past two years. For one,
Stiles has finally gotten over his unhealthy obsession with a certain redhead.
Not that Peter blames him. Lydia is a very attractive woman, smart and feisty.
But he knows it would have never worked out between them. They are too much
alike.
But more importantly, Stiles really has grown into himself. Gone are the
childish buzz cut and the gangly limbs. Sure, he still isn’t as muscular as any
of the werewolves, but he certainly filled out in all the right places. Well,
as much as Peter can tell from the baggy clothes the boy is always wearing. But
going by the pair of jeans Stiles was wearing last night, it’s obvious that he
does have a nice ass.
So what if Peter fantasizes about him every now and again? It’s not like he is
going to act on his attraction. Well, correction, he won’t make the first move,
but he definitely wouldn’t refuse the boy if he took the initiative. And if he
did, Peter knows exactly where to start – showing him how to put that mouth of
his to good use.
With that thought in mind, the werewolf gets out of bed and walks into his
bathroom to take a long, hot shower and deal with his raging hard-on.
 
+ + +
 
Peter is just on his second cup of coffee when his cell phone buzzes with an
incoming message.
He doesn’t even need to check; he knows exactly who it’s from. Derek would call
him, if he needed something. Or he’d just drop by. And none of the others would
send him a text message out of the blue.
My dad just left. Come over.
Peter growls under his breath, not liking the tone. It’s not a polite request,
it’s an order. No one orders him around.
And why would I do that? You need someone to take you for a walk?
Funny. But no. I’m going to save my strength for tomorrow. Which is what we
need to talk about.
True, they didn’t get around talking about theplanlast night. In fact, things
had become a bit … strained between them after Stiles apologized for his
participation in killing him. It wasn’t an empty phrase, though, he really
meant it, but he didn’t say why he felt the sudden need to express his regret.
And Peter didn’t ask.
Maybe some other time …
They talked a bit more about Stiles’ ancestry and about his new powers.
Interestingly enough, Stiles was pretty forthcoming. Needless to say, Peter
still has a lot of questions, but so does he. Apparently, the learning curve is
very steep. On the other hand, knowing Stiles, he will make progress faster
than anyone would in his situation.
Smirking, Peter types back. You mean the dumb idea to stake out every pool of
water in the area.
I wouldn’t call it dumb, but yes, essentially I think it’s a waste of time and
effort.
And why is that?
It takes longer for Stiles to type an answer than before, like he is thinking
about how to phrase it or if he should answer it at all.
Not over the phone. Will you come over? Please?
Peter’s smirk widens. Well, since you are asking so nicely. Give me an hour.
Great. I leave the back door open.
Peter refrains from responding this time, even though he has a couple of
naughty retorts ready on his tongue, just chuckles.
He doesn’t rush to get ready, though. An hour is plenty of time. He reheats
some of the leftover Chinese from last night and eats it while watching the
news on TV. When he is done he calls Lucía, telling her that he doesn’t need
her services today. She sounds very happy about that, telling him about her
family from out of town coming to visit. He only half listens, but wishes her a
good time anyway.
After brushing his teeth, he grabs his jacket and his keys, and leaves.
 
+ + +
 
Peter parks his car a few blocks away from the Sheriff’s house, making the rest
of the way on foot.
He doesn’t need anyone to tell to be covert, he knows better than to pull into
their driveway. His car might not be as flashy as Derek’s Camaro, but its
presence might still cause unwanted attention.
The backdoor is unlocked as promised, leading into a small pantry-like room and
from there right into the kitchen, which is empty. And so is the living room.
It’s not a surprise, though, Peter was able to pick Stiles’ steady heartbeat
from outside. He is somewhere on the second floor, probably in his bedroom, and
clearly unaware of his presence.
He should probably announce himself. It certainly would be the civil thing to
do. But he doesn’t, and with good reason.
This is his first time in the Stilinski house, and who knows if he will get
another chance. He just wants to take a few moments to get a feel of Stiles’
home, without being observed or judged. It’s mainly a werewolf thing, checking
out uncharted territory. He doesn’t open any doors or drawers, just walks
around the living and looks at the pictures. One in particular captures his
attention.
It’s a typical family picture, one taken by a professional in a photo studio.
The background is generic and kinda ugly, but the subjects are not.
The Sheriff is standing behind a chair, beaming proudly into the camera. There
are quite few lines missing in his face, some of which he clearly gotten from
raising his son. A beautiful woman with long, light brown hair is sitting in
the chair, holding a bouncing baby. Of course, you couldn’t see it actually
moving, but it’s easy to tell from the way she is holding him that she is
having a hard time making her son sit still. But from the way she smiles she
doesn’t mind, probably already used to Stiles’ hyperactivity.
They look so much alike – the same upturned nose and the moles – it’s kinda
eerie. It must be rough for the Sheriff to look at his son every day and always
be reminded of his late wife. Peter knows how that feels. After all, Derek
looks so much like his mother, too, his dead sister.
Taking a deep breath, Peter shakes off the stifling feelings of grief and
sorrow and makes his way towards the staircase.
 
+ + +
 
He moves very quietly, practically sneaking upstairs.
Unfortunately the floorboard right outside Stiles’ bedroom creaks, effectively
destroying his plan to catch the human off guard and scare the living crap out
of him.
“Damn it,” he mutters.
“Hello Peter,” Stiles replies from inside the room, not hiding his amusement.
He probably already knew before he made the noise that Peter was in the house.
The werewolf pushes open the door and finds the boy sitting on the floor with
his laptop in his lap, surrounded by countless books and papers.
“Doing your homework?” Peter asks, casually leaning against the doorframe.
“Pfft,” Stiles snorts. “I finished that two hours ago.”
“It’s only half past eleven.”
“I’m up since six,” Stiles shrugs, feeling the need to elaborate when he looks
up and sees the incredulous look Peter is wearing. “Yeah, I know. Pretty
freaking weird for a teenager, especially one who doesn’t have to go to school
at the moment … well what can I say, I don’t sleep much these days.”
“Me neither.” The words are out before Peter can stop himself.
There is a moment of awkward silence between them, like he isn’t the only one
realizing that they just admitted to having a weakness. The reason behind their
insomnia might be different, but still.
Strangely, it’s Stiles who is the first to recover, his voice calm and
collected. “There is coffee in the kitchen, if you want some.”
“I’m fine,” Peter refuses, walking into the room right over to the see-through
Lucite board. “What’s all this?”
“Oh, just something I like to do. Putting up all the clues, adding information
as the investigation moves along … trying to see the big picture.”
“Like father, like son,” Peter comments, looking at the teen.
“I guess,” Stiles smiles, not looking or sounding smug just flattered. “He
actually helped a lot, still is … well as much as he can.”
Peter nods in understanding. The Sheriff is taking a huge risk sharing all this
sensitive information not only with his son but with a bunch of other teenagers
as well, plus Derek and him. If word got out, he could lose his job, or worse.
Not knowing what to say, Peter turns around to study the wall.
The centerpiece is a shapeless head, obviously representing the rusalka.
Ordered around it are pictures of the three victims, underneath each one a list
of information from their age to their occupation, as well as hobbies and the
names of their closest friends. There are no connecting lines between the
victims, no indication that they knew each other.
True, at first Peter didn’t want to get involved, but now, seeing all of this,
he can’t help but feel curious. He wants to solve the case, if only to prove
himself, and other, that he could.
“So, you wanted to talk about the plan.”
Chapter End Notes
     I do love kudos, I really do, but I love comments even more. So,
     don’t be shy and leave me one.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     Stiles POV
The werewolf looks at him expectantly.
Stiles smiles and sets his laptop aside, waving his hand in invitation. Peter
seems to get the message, taking a seat on Stiles’ desk chair. Of course, he is
too mature to just drop down to the floor. Although, given the mess; all the
papers and books scattered around, he can hardly blame Peter for taking the one
seat that is empty aside from his bed. But that is still rumpled, just the way
he left it this morning. Not that Stiles wants Peter to make himself
comfortable there. Well, maybe some other time, under different circumstances …
okay he is getting way ahead of himself. Like light years, because seriously,
that’s never going to happen.
“Well, as I indicated in my text message, I don’t think Derek’s plan is very
practical. It could work, but I think the chances are rather slim. Especially
since I’m pretty sure she doesn’t need a lake or swimming pool. Any body of
water would do, as long as it’s large enough to drown someone in it.”
“So pretty much every bathtub in town …,” Peter remarks, pensively.
“Yeah.”
“I see your point, now. It’s too much area for us to cover.”
“Exactly. That’s why I came up with this,” Stiles says, reaching behind to
retrieve a small satchel from a box.
“What is it?” the werewolf asks, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
Stiles tries his best not to laugh at the sight. It’s not easy because it’s a
really good look on him, kinda adorable even. Again … off topic. He can
understand Peter’s reaction. Even to him the concoction smells like horse poop.
It must be ten times worse for a werewolf.
“It’s a hex bag. They can be used for protection or to put a hex on someone.”
Stiles explains, handing it to Peter for further examination. “This one,
though, is meant for summoning spirits.”
Still making a face, the werewolf carefully sniffs at the hex bag. “Dandelion,
a touch of tobacco and wormwood …,” he correctly identifies some of the
ingredients, concluding, “and blood, but not yours.”
“No, it’s not. I managed to get a vial of blood from the latest victim. Don’t
ask me how. I just hope it will work.”
“You hope?”
“Well, I’m still new at this,” Stiles reasons, not the least bit perturbed by
Peter’s harsh tone of voice. “It’s the best I can do, for now.”
“Okay, your plan is to summon this thing, the rusalka, to the lake. Then what?
Do you have an idea how to kill it?”
“Not yet,” Stiles allows, deliberately leaving out the part where he thinks
killing her should be their last option. First and foremost he wants to stop
her, and maybe talk to her, find out why she is doing this. “But I have to do
something. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt or killed. And with you there
and Derek, I think we can handle her. Or at least distract her long enough.”
“What’s the catch?” Peter presses, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed
over his chest.
Stiles is not surprised by the question. This is why he chose him over
everybody else. “Well, she is like a siren, charming her victims with her
voice. I think her song actually works like a sedative. That’s why they didn’t
fight back.”
“Which means Derek and I might become susceptible,” he surmises correctly.
“Yes.”
“But not you.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one immune to her … allure.”
“So, what are saying is you’re gonna use us as bait?” the werewolf’s eyes shine
bright blue, but only for a second.
“Kinda,” Stiles confesses, smiling sheepishly.
He carefully gauges the werewolf’s reaction. It’s hard to tell if Peter is
pissed or impressed by his boldness. Stiles thinks it’s a combination of both,
which is probably a good thing. Sure, there is a knife right next to him, but
he doubts he will be fast enough to actually us it. Peter might not be able to
change him anymore, but he can still rip his throat out with his teeth or his
claws.
The werewolf lets him stew in his own juices for two, agonizingly long minutes,
probably enjoying himself immensely.
“Fine,” he finally agrees with a grumble. “But if I end up dead, I’m going to
haunt your ass. For the rest of your life.”
It’s both a warning and a promise.
“I guess that’s fair,” Stiles concedes with a nonchalant shrug. “Although, you
can always do what you did the last time …”
“I was wondering when you were going to bring that up,” Peter remarks, wryly.
“True, I’m more familiar with magic than the rest of the pack, but my knowledge
is still rudimentary at best.”
“I doubt that,” Stiles snorts. “Resurrection isn’t an easy thing to
accomplish.”
“True, but it was a very special spell, one I came across years ago. You need
to understand, Stiles, what I did was … a fluke, maybe even an accident. I
doubt it will work a second time.”
Peter sounds sincere. And even though he doesn’t know the specifics, yet,
Stiles knows the circumstances had to be perfect for a spell of this magnitude
to work out like it did. Things are different now. For one Peter isn’t an Alpha
anymore, and secondly, there would be no one to assist him this time, knowing
or unknowingly. Well, okay, Stiles might be inclined to help, might being the
operative word. He no longer wants the older Hale dead. He enjoys spending time
with him, slowly but surely getting to know him better, but Stiles would never
mess around with nature like that. Granted, he still has a lot to learn about
his new powers, but he knows this much. Bringing people back from the dead is
just wrong, and quite frankly he fears the consequences of pissing off Mother
Nature.
“Will you show me the spell?”
“Maybe,” Peter muses, “If we make it through the new moon in one piece.”
“Fair enough,” he says again.
 
+ + +
 
The next few hours practically fly by.
They go over every detail of the police investigation, again and again.
Needless to say, they don’t make any progress but they bounce some ideas back
and forth. It’s interesting, to say the least.
Afterwards Peter retakes his seat in Stiles’ desk chair, religiously studying
the few pages Stiles has managed to translate so far. They tell stories about
their newest nemesis, a few of them are even eye witness reports of other
vedmaks. It’s not much, but enough to keep the werewolf busy for another hour,
while Stiles makes another batch of summoning potion in the kitchen. One hex
bag wouldn’t do them much good. The lake may not be that big, but in order for
it to have even the slightest chance to work they have to burn four hex bags,
one for each cardinal direction.
Stiles just finishes with the last bag, when his eyes slide over the clock on
the microwave. It’s almost half past four.
“Shit,” he exclaims, quickly gathering his stuff together and hurrying
upstairs. “You need to leave. I have to get ready.”
“Ready for what?” Peter looks up, a half eaten piece of Red Vines hanging from
his mouths. He looks so young, and really adorable. Again with the unhealthy
obsession …
“I’m going over to Scott’s. Hang out, you know, spend some quality bro time.”
“That’s good,” he sounds just like his dad, effectively eradicating any
untoward thoughts. Stiles certainly doesn’t have any daddy issues. “You should
definitely take a shower before you go over there.”
“Why?” Stiles frowns.
“Because you smell like me.”
“Why would I smell like you? We haven’t even touched.”
Peter cocks his head in consideration, smirking devilishly. “Is that something
you would like us to do?”
Stiles blushes, spluttering, “No, of course I don’t want that.”
“Do you know what I heard just now? Your heartbeat beating slightly faster over
the words I don’t want.”
Stiles is caught between surprise and irritation. Those are the exact same
words Peter had thrown at him after he rejected the Bite. “Is that your answer
for everything?”
“No,” Peter simply says, already getting on his feet. “Just pointing out the
obvious. I’ll see you tomorrow. Be at my place an hour before sunset.”
“You are not the boss of me.”
“We’ll see about that,” Peter chuckles, leaving the room without another word,
not even a goodbye.
Typically, but it’s probably for the better.
 
+ + +
 
“Hey Scott.”
“Hey,” the werewolf replies, ushering Stiles into the house. “Dude, you look so
much better.”
“Thanks. I’m pushing back quite nicely, you know, for a human. Tell your mom,
the cream she gave me has been working wonders. The scratches are almost gone.”
It’s a lie. Well, more or less. Sure, Stiles is still using the cream, because
it’s really nice stuff, but he wouldn’t have healed by now if it hadn’t been
for the little extra assistance. After moving the chest into his room he went
through the entire trunk. Aside from the books and journals he found numerous
glass jars filled with herbs. At first, he considered throwing everything away.
The herbs should be no longer be useful, but when he opened the first jar he
discovered they were still fresh. Apparently his grandmother had put a stasis
spell on everything in the chest. Even the books don’t have any yellowed pages.
Anyway, they settle down on the living room couch and Scott brings him up to
speed. Sure, it’s unnecessary since Stiles has been present at the pack
meeting, but Scott doesn’t know that. Stiles makes a few pointed comments, as
always, in order to keep up appearances, but he withholds any information about
the rusalka. He decides to leave that part up to Peter. With the library he
owns it isn’t that much of a stretch that he could stumble upon the name by
sheer coincidence. It’s not like nobody knows about their existence. Even
Wikipedia has a small entry about them.
On Stiles’ insistence they put an end to the discussion pretty quickly.
Constantly lying to his friends is starting to give him a migraine. The
werewolf doesn’t seem to mind, though. Not the lying part. Strangely enough
Scott is completely oblivious about that, but he is happy to change the
subject. He rambles about school and lacrosse practice while helping Stiles set
up his Xbox. They are just halfway through their first game when someone knocks
on the front door.
Scott doesn’t look surprised by the interruption, more like he has been
expecting it to happen sooner or later. He puts the game on pause, getting on
his feet. “I hope you don’t mind, I told Isaac that you were coming over. He
insisted on dropping by.”
“Of course not,” Stiles snorts, rolling his eyes for good measure. “Just let
him in already before he kicks down your door.”
Following his order like the puppy he is, Scott walks over to the door and lets
the other werewolf inside.
“Hey Stiles. Nice to see you up and about,” Isaac greets him, clapping him on
the back, before dropping on the couch right next to him.
“Right back at you,” Stiles smiles. “Nice scarf.”
“Thanks,” Isaac grins back.
They take turns playing against each other. Stiles might be a little of his
game given all the recent distractions, but he still manages to kick both their
asses.
“Did Scott tell you about Peter?” Isaac asks out of the blue.
“What about him?” Stiles frowns.
“He has a pet now.”
“Let me guess, a cat?” he jokes, playing dumb. “He seems like a cat person,
considering what a creepy loner he is.”
“No,” Isaac laughs. “It’s a wolf. Weird, right?”
“It’s disgusting that’s what it is,” Scott grumbles. “Wolves are not pets. They
should be living in the wild, among their own kind.”
“Wolf, werewolf … what’s the difference,” Stiles shrugs, earning himself a
stern look from Scott. “Did he tell you where he got it from?”
“No, and I didn’t ask,” Scott scowls, sounding like he is angrier with himself
right now. Stiles makes a mental note to give Peter the heads-up. He really
should come up with a good explanation; otherwise Scott might actually sic the
wildlife service on him.
“It’s a beautiful animal, though, light-brown with a small strip of white on
his left hind leg …,” Isaac trails off.
“Wow, it sounds like you are in love,” Stiles snickers, feeling more amused
than embarrassed. He might be blushing a bit, though, even though the curly
head is raving about Stiles’ alter ego and not him. Details …
“Maybe,” Isaac mumbles, matching his blush with one of his own.
“Can we please stop talking about that stupid wolf?” Scott groans.
“Fine,” Stiles sighs, trying his best not to take it personally. “I’m hungry.
Let’s order some pizza.”
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Peter leaves the house the same way he came in, through the backdoor, without
making any noise or drawing even the slightest attention of any of the
neighbors. Of course, it’s a little trickier now that most of them are at home,
but not impossible, especially not for a werewolf like him.
He strolls back to his car and gets behind the wheel. But instead of driving
straight back to his apartment, he makes a U-turn and drives in the other
direction. A few minutes later he stops by a small family diner. Sure, he could
easily order something in, like he usually does, but he has plans.
Well, a plan.
There is something the werewolf wants to do first before returning home and
retiring for the night.
Thankfully, the diner is not packed. There are a few empty tables left. Peter
chooses the one in the furthest corner, which provides privacy as well as a
good view over the entire room. He orders a double cheeseburger and a large
basket of curly fries. After having nothing but a few sweets for lunch, he is
quite hungry.
The food is good, way better than at one of those fast-food chains. He makes a
mental note to come here again at some other time, maybe invite Stiles along,
knowing how much the boy loves greasy food, especially curly fries. Or maybe
not. It might send the wrong message.
Peter takes his time, eating slowing, savoring each bite. He even orders a cup
of coffee and a piece of homemade cheery pie as desert. It’s not that he is in
any hurry to be anywhere. As a matter of fact, it probably would be more
prudent if he’d wait for nightfall, but since it’s almost six it should be safe
to venture over there. After all, it’s Friday, and everybody, even the geek
squad, should have vacated the building by now.
Eventually he asks for the check, adding a generous tip to the bill, and
leaves.
Just like earlier that day, Peter parks his car two streets away, making the
rest of the way on foot. The parking lot is empty except for one car. He can
detect two heartbeats, though, both of them somewhere on the second level. One
of them certainly belongs to the janitor, doing his rounds, checking if the
cleaning crew forgot to empty the trash cans, etc. The other is probably a
teacher who decided to hang behind, preferring to grade papers at school rather
than at home … but, who cares.
Peter sneaks inside the building. Sure, he could have used the external
entrance, the one hidden underneath the sign spelling Beacon Hills High School
in large letters, but he doesn’t want to take any chances. Better safe than
sorry. And it’s not like he is breaking and entering. The vault has been there
long before the High School was built. One entrance had been added, the other
one simply adjusted. As far as he is concerned he has every right to be here.
Even though he has never used it before, Peter quickly finds the right hallway,
leading up to the underground entrance. There is a metal rack blocking the way,
but it’s only a nuisance not a hindrance. Careful to not make too much noise,
he pushes the rack aside, revealing the doorway. Without any further delay he
inserts his claws into the wall grade and twists. The door opens with a hiss.
The air inside the vault is dry and stale, void of any familiar scents.
Nobody has been here in years.
Not even Derek.
It’s both a relief and a surprise.
Sure, he didn’t expect his nephew to seek out the place as soon as he got back
into town, but that was almost two years ago. Then again, he hadn’t been here
either.
After he woke up from the coma Peter thought about it. Of course, he did. It
was where all of their prized possessions were stored away, safe from
everybody, only accessible by someone with Hale DNA. But he had been
distracted, driven by his rampant need to hunt down and kill the people
responsible for his pack’s demise. Well, most of his pack. And after his
miraculous resurrection he decided to concentrate on the future instead of
indulging in reminiscences. Which means unless he doesn’t have another choice
he tries his best to stay clear of everything remotely related to the fire and
his family.
It’s a work in progress.
Peter quickly finds what he came here for. Not daring to linger any longer than
he needs to, he exits the vault the way he came in, and leaves the premises.
 
+ + +
 
It’s a little after seven when Peter and Stiles make their way towards the
preserve, or more precisely towards the lake behind the Hale house. The sun is
still halfway up, peaking through the clouds, a slight breeze rustling the
leaves in the trees.
It’s a nice night.
Well, it would be, if it weren’t for the reason they came here for – to hunt
down yet another supernatural creature. Maybe he should leave Beacon Hills and
settle down somewhere else, somewhere far away from this place which draws in
supernatural beings, indiscriminately, incessantly, predictably. Like moths to
a flame. But who is he kidding? Only himself. He may not care much about the
humans in this town, if at all, but he does care about protecting what is his.
And he certainly does enjoy the rare opportunities when he is allowed to give
into his feral side.
Peter silently follows Stiles’ lead. He doesn’t interfere with the ritual, just
watching the boy doing his thing. They begin in the east, walking around the
lake like the sun wanders.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Stiles sighs, lighting up the last of the four hex
bags. Curiously enough, the smell of them burning is a lot easier to tolerate.
It fades away rather quickly, too, which is good, he supposes. No need to make
Derek more suspicious of him than he already is.
“It is,” Peter agrees, somewhat wistfully. “We used to go skinny dipping here
every summer.”
Stiles doesn’t make a remark, snide or otherwise, just hums. It’s obvious
though that he is not unaffected by the mental image Peter just managed to
implant into his mind. Unintentionally, of course.
“You are blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“I may not be back to full strength, but I’m not blind or deaf,” Peter points
out, smirking at the red-faced teenager. “You didn’t by any chance picture me
getting all naked and wet? Or was it my nephew?”
“Oh my God, never!” Stiles exclaims, sounding actually appalled by that idea.
Peter doesn’t know if he should feel offended, after all, the boy just managed
to insult his own genes, if only by proxy, or amused. He settles for a
combination of both.
“You don’t think Derek is attractive?”
Stiles stares at him for a moment or two, with his eyes narrowed, probably
wondering where Peter is going with it. If he asked, Peter would be stuck for
an answer, but thankfully he doesn’t.
“Well, I guess, he is, what with all those muscles, the scruffy beard and the
green eyes,” the vedmak says, shrugging nonchalantly. It’s a simple statement,
not a confession, and for some unknown reason it pleases Peter immensely. “But
that doesn’t make him attractive, at least not to me. Maybe if he dropped the
scowl that seems to be carved into his face permanently every once in a while
…”
Before Stiles can finish his sentence, Peter’s phone buzzes with an incoming
message.
“Speak of the devil,” he huffs. “Derek’s at the house, waiting for me … well
for us. You’d better change.”
 
+ + +
 
The Alpha leans against the hood of his Camaro, his arms crossed over his
chest, scowling.
Stiles is right. It’s not an attractive look.
“This is weird,” he greets Peter with a grunt.
“What? You and me working together?”
“Well, that too,” his nephew allows with a snort, “but I meant you and … him.”
Right next to him the wolf growls, clearly not liking the implication in
Derek’s voice. Peter reaches down, scratching Stiles, well technically the
wolf, behind the ears. The growl slowly but surely subsides, turning into
something that almost sounds like a purr. Peter smirks.
“Why? I’m a wolf, he is a wolf. I don’t see a problem here. In fact, I think we
make a pretty good team, right?” he addresses the wolf, receiving a huff and a
lick as an answer which he interprets as a sign of agreement.
“How did you even find him?” Derek asks, watching their interaction with
interest.
“I didn’t. He found me,” Peter says, completely telling the truth.
“Huh,” is Derek’s only response before he pushes off his car.
They walk around the lake five times. Every now and then Derek checks in with
the rest of the pack, but there is no sight of the rusalka anywhere. Well,
anywhere where the pack is. If Stiles is right – and Peter has no reason to
doubt him – the water spirit could be at someone’s home waiting for her next
victim to take a bath.
After two hours they finally call it a night. Derek leaves without so much as a
decent goodbye, driving off in his beloved car to meet up with the rest of the
pack at his loft. Sure, he asked Peter to tag along, but it didn’t feel like he
actually meant it, so naturally the older werewolf declined.
“So much for my plan,” Stiles grumbles, stretching his arms above him.
Peter can hear his joints popping. He is just about to offer the boy a massage
when something else is suddenly capturing his full attention.
“What is it?” Stiles asks, catching on fast.
“Can’t you hear it?” Peter counters.
“No. What is it?”
“It’s … beautiful.”
“Oh my God. She is here. It worked.”
Peter doesn’t hang around to congratulate Stiles on his first successful
conjuring. He wants to, he really does, but he is already moving towards the
lake. He barely even hears Stiles calling out his name. The desperate, pleading
edge in his voice registers with him, but it’s not enough to persuade him.
The allure of the song is stronger, pulling him in …
 
+ + +
 
He is under water.
It’s dark.
It’s cold.
And the pressure of the water is weighing him down.
Sure, Peter is a werewolf, both man and wolf at all times, a fact that will
never change, but at this particular time of the month his human side is
stronger. Or rather his wolf side is at its weakest.
He knows he will be drowning soon, but he doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t want to,
not really. The rusalka is manipulating him, he can tell, well, the wolf can
tell. His human side is completely under her spell, weak and utterly useless,
and the water spirit seems to sense that, her mouth twisting into a vicious,
almost victorious sneer. Her sharp claws dig deeper into his chest, one set
right above his heart, the other into his upper right arm.
It hurts.
In fact, it goes beyond any pain he has ever felt, and that is saying something
after everything he has been through. He can still remember what it feels like,
being trapped in the burning house surrounded by a thin but impenetrable
barrier of mountain ash. He can still hear the agonizing screams, his own moans
of despair when he feels the family bonds sever, one after another, as members
of his pack die in the blazing fire. It’s worse than the scorching heat on his
skin, engulfing him.
He will never forgot the six years of sheer agony he spent alone in the
hospital, again trapped, but this time inside his own mind, forced to relive
that day over and over again.
No wonder he went batshit crazy.
All of a sudden the rusalka’s expression changes from a sneer to a frown, and
then her claws move from his arm to his neck. He knows what she intends to do
before she sinks her claws in.
He always thought it was a skill reserved for werewolves only, but clearly he
was wrong.
Again.
Having experienced it more than once before, he kinda knows what to expect. He
knows it’s technically a two-way street. Depending on the person’s intention,
they can retrieve or implant memories, or if they are an Alpha they can even
erase them completely.
Before he can prepare himself, his mind is assaulted with pictures and emotions
… pictures and emotions that aren’t his, but hers. It’s like flipping through a
thousand-page picture book at light speed. One image after another, accompanied
by emotions he has been denying himself to feel for far too long.
Grief, despair, hope …
It’s too much.
The water pressure, the pain, his lungs screaming for oxygen … everything ….
He can feel himself losing the strength to fight back, what little he had to
begin with.
Just like that everything goes dark.
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry for the cliffhanger … well not really *grins*. Leave me some
     love, or hate, if you must.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
     Stiles POV
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Stiles wants to jump up and down like a five-year-old, bump his fist in the air
and yell ‘eureka’. Maybe add a little victory dance for good measure.
Sure, it’s silly, but why shouldn’t he? His first summoning spell had worked,
with some delay, sure, but still, it had worked. And it’s not like Peter is the
type to high-five or bump fists like he used to do with Scott …
Unfortunately, his sense of achievement is short-lived. The way Peter is acting
can mean only one thing. The rusalka is here, working her charm on him. Even
straining his ears, Stiles still can’t hear her song. But going by the
enraptured look on the werewolf’s face it must be quite something, and clearly
impossible to ignore.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he swears, running after Peter. He keeps calling out his
name but to no avail. The werewolf doesn’t hear him; or rather he doesn’t want
to hear him.
By the time the vedmak reaches the lake Peter is nowhere to be seen, which
means he is already fully submerged. He can’t see the rusalka either but he can
sense her presence now. Stiles frantically scans the lake looking for any
movement, but due to the lack of moonlight it’s too dark for his human eyes to
make out any details, or pinpoint their exact location in the water.
Well, that is until a strange light suddenly starts to illuminate part of the
lake. It’s coming from under the water, getting brighter by the second. Stiles
knows he is not responsible for it, so it must be the water spirit. Whether she
is doing it on purpose or not, he is glad for the assistance.
For a second Stiles considers calling Derek back, but he quickly dismisses that
thought. It would screw up his plan. Sure, he doesn’t have any intention to
keep his new powers a secret forever, but for the moment he isn’t ready to
reveal himself to anyone else in the pack, least of all to the Alpha. And maybe
it’s childish, stupid even, but Stiles has his reasons.
He wants to prove himself first. He wants to solve this mystery without the
pack, or at least with limited meddling from them. He wants to show them that
he has more to offer than just his wit.
And he wants to give Peter the same chance.
Everybody still thinks he is up to something, planning his next move, waiting
for his chance to screw them over, to overthrow Derek and steal his power and
become the Alpha again. But they are wrong. He may not be the saint of the
year, but he isn’t the same homicidal maniac he used to be. He is still a dick,
most of the time, but then again so is Jackson. And he had been forgiven. So
why shouldn’t Peter deserve the same?
Either way, there might not be enough time to recall Derek anyway.
Stiles can’t see any ripples, so Peter must have gone under a while ago. And
maybe werewolves are able to survive under water longer than the average human,
but even they will run out of strength, and more importantly out of air
eventually. There is no time to wait for reinforcements. He has to act now.
Taking a deep breath, steeling himself for the task at hand, Stiles kicks off
his shoes and walks into the lake.
 
+ + +
 
The water is extremely cold and the ground is very slippery.
Funny enough, the latter is easy to deal with, the former … not so much. Sure,
he could simply distract himself by pretending to be at a warm, sunny beach,
preferably somewhere with palms and lots of fruity drinks with those little
umbrella thingies, but Stiles knows he needs to stay focused if he wants to
save the werewolf’s life. Try as he might, ignoring the biting temperature of
the water isn’t really an option either, especially since he has to get more
than just his feet wet to accomplish his goal.
Knowing it’s unavoidable and certainly not going to be any easier if he takes
his time – time he actually doesn’t have – Stiles takes the plunge, submerging
his body all at once. To say that it’s a shock is putting it lightly. It hurts
like a bitch, like a thousand needles are stabbed into his skin, and he hates
needles, but by now he knows how to deal with the necessary evil, how to endure
pain, especially when there are lives at stake.
Stiles immediately starts swimming the crawl, quickly covering the distance
between the shore and the well-lit spot near the centre of the lake. He may not
be good enough at Lacrosse to make first line, but he has always been an
excellent swimmer. The only reason why he didn’t join the school’s swim team
was Jackson. Having to deal with him as one team captain is already more than
he can handle.
He hovers only for a few seconds, closing his eyes and mumbling the words he
has memorized, pushing every ounce of strength he can spare into working his
magic.
During his research Stiles stumbled across numerous spells, all of them
defensive in nature. Clearly, vedmaks are pacifists. Well more or less. There
are some spells that could technically be used either way, but most of them are
mainly for protection. Not having enough time to study all of them in detail,
he skimmed through the books, looking for something that would be helpful in
dealing with this particular menace.
Thankfully, he found one that would allow him to breathe under water, at least
for a time. Needless to say, he had a full-on geek moment, followed by laughing
fit when he figured out what the spell actually does. It sorta works like the
Bubble-Head Charm Harry Potter used at the Triwizard Tournament. He tried it
out a few times in his shower. Unfortunately, due to his inexperience, he only
managed to make it work for three minutes at most, but hopefully that’s enough
time to scare off the rusalka and rescue Peter.
Feeling the spell doing its thing, Stiles doesn’t waste more time and dives.
 
+ + +
 
Thankfully, they are not very deep, just a few feet, suspended mid-water.
Peter doesn’t move at all, but his eyes are wide open, which means he is still
conscious. For the moment at least. When Stiles moves closer he can tell that
it’s probably not fear but pain the werewolf feels. The rusalka has her claws
buried deep in his neck as well as in his chest. She is probably the one
keeping them afloat, which isn’t a pleasant thought at all.
It’s hard to tell if either one of them is aware of his presence, but if they
are, they decided to pay him no attention.
Not knowing if it would work or not, but never one for missing a chance to take
a chance and try out the impossible, Stiles calls out to her. ‘Let him go. He
is MINE.’
The rusalka breaks her eye contact with the werewolf, looking straight at
Stiles. Clearly, she heard him just fine. ‘Is he now?’
Stiles ignores the snide remark. Maybe he has been overstating things, but it
got her attention, and that’s all the counts. ‘He doesn’t mean you any harm.’
‘Maybe,’ the water spirit allows airily, narrowing her eyes, ‘But what about
you?’
Stiles could lie. But what would be the point? Peter is still at her mercy,
losing strength by the second. Telling the truth is always risky, but more
often than not it’s the better way to deal with situations like these. ‘I want
to stop you, yes, but I have no intention to kill you.’
The rusalka cocks her head, eying him suspiciously for a moment or two, and
then she smiles. It’s not a warm, reassuring smile, just the opposite. It’s
sardonic, kinda reminding him of Peter’s cunning smirks, which spells trouble,
with a capital ‘T’.
‘You’ve tried it before and failed. But by all means …,’ she smirks, removing
her claws from Peter’s limp body. ‘I’ll give you another chance.’
‘Thanks, that’s awfully kind of you,’ Stiles grumbles, catching the werewolf
before he can sink.
‘See you both on the next new moon.’
The light around her is dimming, and then she is gone.
 
+ + +
 
Stiles jumps at the opportunity and swims back to the surface, hauling Peter
with him.
The werewolf isn’t taller than he is – in fact they are pretty much of the same
height – but he is without doubt stronger, more built, which means he isn’t
exactly a lightweight like Stiles. And since he is out cold, the vedmak has to
do all the work. Then again, he had practice keeping a werewolf afloat, while
trying his best to stay alive himself and not being slashed up by a homicidal
lizard.
Good times!
Stiles breaches the water surface just in time. Struggling to keep them both
alive is taxing in itself. Keeping his magic up at the same time is sheer
impossible. Maybe one day he will be able to do it, but not today. Then again,
he doesn’t need the magic bubble anymore.
The air is clear and cold, but Stiles barely notices the latter, thanks to the
adrenaline pumping through his system. But being able to breathe in fresh air
is a great relief, providing him with a much needed boost of energy.
Rearranging Peter in his arms, making sure his head is above water, Stiles
paddles with one arm and his feet, desperate to reach dry land. Naturally, it
takes him longer than he likes, but eventually he makes it there. Using the
last bit of his remaining strength, he drags the unconscious werewolf ashore,
kneeling next to him.
“Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead,” Stiles implores, checking for a
pulse.
Just like he feared, he can’t find one, but that doesn’t mean it’s too late.
Luckily, he knows CPR.
“You better be awake the next time I put my lips on you,” Stiles grumbles, and
then he goes to work.
It’s not easy, but he tries his best to concentrate solely on the task at hand,
alternating between breathing air into Peter’s lungs and doing chest
compressions. Thankfully, his efforts are quickly rewarded. Just when he
intends to start on the forth cycle, Peter comes around.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Stiles drops back on his haunches. There may not be
much else he can do right now other than keeping a watchful eye on the guy, but
he can at least give him some space.
Coughing violently, the werewolf expels the water from his lungs. It’s not
much, which is probably a good sign. And then, without any warning but not
necessarily unexpected, Peter jolts into a sitting position and wolfs out. The
whole shebang, claws, fangs and complete with his luminous blue eyes. He
doesn’t howl, but growls. It’s not very loud but menacing enough to send cold
shivers up and down Stiles’ spine. Of course, his reaction doesn’t go
unnoticed, calling the werewolf’s full attention.
“Easy there, tiger. It’s just me,” Stiles exclaims, holding up his hands in
defense. “She is gone now. You are safe.”
Luckily, the werewolf believes him, retracting his claws at once. The other
signs of his Beta shape slowly fade away as well, except for the eyes. They
stay bright blue and completely focused on the younger man.
Before Stiles realizes what’s happening, Peter grabs him by his neck and hauls
him close, capturing his mouth in a hard, demanding kiss.
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry to end it here, but I had to.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Warm, caramel eyes stare back at his cold, blue ones.
Peter can sense no fear or panic, just a twinge of concern coupled with a small
dose of natural apprehension. Brave and smart as always. Still, something tells
him that Stiles is more worried about Peter’s well-being than his own at the
moment … which is a bit disconcerting, but not unwelcome.
It’s been a while since someone showed him compassion, or even a shred of
kindness. Granted, after what he did he may not deserve it, but Peter is
thankful Stiles is willing to give him a second chance. Sure, the boy is still
cautious around him, but unlike the others at least he is trying to put the
past behind them and move on.
Okay, that’s an understatement.
The werewolf doesn’t know exactly what happened after he heard the rusalka’s
song. He just remembers bits and pieces, mostly feelings. First there’s
curiosity, followed by intense longing, bordering on obsession, then biting
cold wetness, helplessness and anger. Clearly, the rusalka lured him into the
lake, keeping him under the water long enough to pass out. He has no
recollection whatsoever how he ended up back on the shore, but given the fact
that Stiles looks like a drowned rat, he must have gone after him and saved his
sorry ass.
Peter is still a bit out of it, still trying to regain his full strength, but
even though his wolf may hold the reins at the moment, he still knows what he
is doing. Following his gut, and not known for passing up a golden opportunity,
he shows his gratitude the only way he knows how.
Without a second thought Peter grabs Stiles by the neck and hauls him into a
kiss.
Needless to say, Stiles is completely caught off guard. He flails and struggles
against Peter’s hold, but just for a moment or two, before he gives in with a
pleased sigh. It may not be the way either one of them had envisioned it to
happen, but Stiles would only be fooling himself if he said he doesn’t want it.
Because he does, desperately; has been for a while.
Peter can smell and taste his longing. It’s intoxicating, pleasing his wolf to
no end, as well as him.
The initial desperation wears off surprisingly fast, but just because the kiss
is gentler now, doesn’t mean it’s less passionate. Not even close. Peter traces
Stiles’ lips over and over again, until the vedmak opens his mouth, allowing
the werewolf’s tongue inside. Stiles whimpers and clutches the werewolf’s
shoulders for support.
It’s easy to tell that Stiles doesn’t have much experience. He lets Peter take
the lead, and the werewolf is more than happy to show the boy what a real kiss
is like. Stiles’ technique isn’t sloppy or over-eager like one might suspect,
though. He isn’t exactly shy either. Just like always, he is curious and quick
on the uptake, easily matching Peter’s tempo and figuring out what pleases both
of them the most.
Far too soon for his liking, Peter has to break the kiss. Even for werewolves,
breathing is a necessity. Despite the fact he is gasping for air Stiles whines
in protest, clearly feeling the same way.
Smiling smugly, Peter nuzzles against Stiles’ neck. Again, the boy surprises
him. Sure, Peter is basically just scenting him, but still, allowing him to
lick and nip at his throat means something entirely different to a werewolf
than it does to a human.
Peter groans in appreciation.
The boy smells like pure and clean. Well, for the most part. Whatever he did to
get rid of the rusalka had left a small, but distinct residue of magic behind.
The smell is not unpleasant. It complements his natural scent, which makes
sense, since being a magic being is now a vital part of him. Actually, to tell
the truth, he smells better than he used to, and now that their scents are
mixed, even just a little bit … well, let’s just say, the werewolf likes that
very much.
Feeling Stiles shiver against him, Peter pulls back reluctantly, finally
letting go of the boy. He offers Stiles a hand and helps him to his feet.
“Thank you.”
“My … my pleasure,” Stiles stammers, still slightly winded. He tries his best
not letting the werewolf see how much the kiss had affected him. Sure, it’s
completely futile, but hey, you never know if can get away with something until
you’ll give it a try, right?
“The pleasure is all mine,” Peter chuckles. “But I wasn’t talking about the
kiss … although I wouldn’t mind a repeat performance. I meant the part about
you coming to my rescue.”
“Oh that … You’re welcome,” Stile replies, nonchalantly. His heartbeat tells
another story, though. “I couldn’t just leave you behind. After all, it was my
fault that she got her claws into you.”
“True,” Peter concedes, sullenly. The part about him almost becoming the
rusalka’s next victim still angers him, but he doesn’t blame Stiles. Not really
anyway. After all, he agreed to play his part in the plan. “Next time you will
be the bait.”
“Deal,” Stiles agrees, just playing along. They both know the rules of the
game. Even if he wanted to Stiles couldn’t be the bait, which is good.
Someone has to hold the upper hand.
 
+ + +
 
 
They walk back to Peter’s car in a hurry.
Sure, according to Stiles the rusalka isn’t going to make a reappearance until
the next new moon, graciously granting them a reprieve to regroup and come up
with a new plan, but they are both drenched to the bone. Peter may not be able
to catch the sniffles or anything, but Stiles is probably going to get sick if
they don’t change into dry clothes, and soon.
Fortunately, Stiles was smart enough to think ahead. Not that they actually
planned to get wet, but they are dealing with a water spirit, so the odds were
in their favor. Figuratively speaking.
Peter stashed his car far away from the Hale house, careful not to attract
Derek’s attention. Even though Stiles hasn’t spent much time in it, his smell
is still clinging to fabric of the passenger seat. His nephew may not be the
most competent Alpha, but as a born wolf his senses are damn near perfect. He
most likely would have picked up Stiles’ scent, which would have prompted
questions neither one of them are ready to answer. The only reason why Derek
didn’t catch even a slightest whiff was due to Stiles’ ability to mask his
scent in his other form. Well, that and the fact that they hadn’t actually
touched each other before.
At least not in human form.
The werewolf pops open the trunk, retrieves a dry set of clothes from his bag
and gets changed, not even trying to sneak a peek while Stiles does the same a
few feet away. He can tell that the boy is nervous, probably even more from the
kiss than from his encounter with the rusalka.
Peter can relate.
Sure, for the most part he is still reeling from near drowning. How can he not?
Feeling powerless, being completely at someone else’s mercy doesn’t sit well
with him. It never has, not even before the fire. There is a reason why he
always keeps everybody at arm’s length, why he never entrusts anyone with his
life or his heart. Scheming isn’t just a silly quirk for him, it is essential.
‘It's important to always be two steps ahead because everything is temporary
and nothing stays the same.’
Maybe it’s a bit paranoid, but his constant vigilance is the reason he is still
alive. Not to mention his unwillingness to bind himself to anyone.
Of course, he had relationshipsin the past. Well, more like acquaintances, but
it has never bothered him that all of his relations with women and men were of
the casual kind. He liked it that way. It was easy and safe. And it’s not like
he has ever met someone who stimulated him more than just sexually.
Well, until now.
From the first moment they met, Peter knew Stiles was special, one of a kind.
Smart, witty, brave to no end, and even though he would probably deny it,
ruthlessly adamant if the occasion calls. He would fight to the death to
protect his friends and family.
In a word, Stiles is everything the werewolf wants.
And yet, Peter feels just as unsure as the boy about their impromptu make-out
session. Don’t misunderstand. He doesn’t regret taking a chance, acting on his
instincts. He would do it again, in a heartbeat. But still, a part of him is
worried. What if this is a fluke? What if the vedmak doesn’t really want him?
Or worse, what if he does but it’s going to make Peter vulnerable, weak?
Stiles pulls him out of his reverie by carelessly dumping his wet clothes into
the trunk. Peter doesn’t bother to comment. He simply closes the trunk.
“Give me the keys,” Stiles demands, holding out his right hand. It’s easy to
tell that he won’t take no for an answer.
“If you dent my car or even only manage to scratch it, I’m going to kill you.”
It’s empty threat. Kinda. Peter may not be as attached to his car as Derek is
to his Camaro but he still likes it.
“I’ll try my best to stay clear of any obstacles,” Stiles remarks dryly,
rolling his eyes for good measure. “Keys. Now.”
With a huff Peter hands them over. Then he walks around the car and gets into
the passenger seat. He isn’t angry, or anything. Actually, he is kinda glad
Stiles offered to drive, but that doesn’t mean he has to express his gratitude.
Again.
Once per day is enough.
 
+ + +
 
Halfway between the preserve and Peter’s apartment Stiles calls his father. The
werewolf smirks when he uses the hands-free device. He doubts the boy is
normally that responsible.
“Dad, it’s me.”
“I can see that. Are you okay?” the sheriff demands to know, sounding both
relieved and angry. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past hour.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I left my phone in the car. But yes, I’m fine.”
The sheriff huffs in response, but it’s obvious that he is happy to hear that
his son is uninjured. “We didn’t get any 911-calls. Did you find her?”
“Kinda,” Stiles grimaces. “My spell worked and we managed to lure her to the
lake, but we didn’t catch her. Well, not exactly.”
Stiles quickly fills his father in on the rest, skimming over the details of
Peter’s involvement. Not that there’s much to tell.
“So she is still out there?” the sheriff surmises.
“Unfortunately,” Stiles confirms, quickly adding, “But she won’t attack again
until next month.”
“Well, that’s good,” the sheriff sighs, before suddenly changing the subject.
“Where are you right now?”
“I’m driving Peter home.”
“Okay,” the sheriff grunts, clearly still not happy about his son’s involvement
with the werewolf. “I’m off in an hour. I’ll pick you up.”
“About that …,” Stiles starts, his heart beating a little bit faster, “I think
I should stay with him tonight. It’s my fault Peter kinda got caught in the
middle, that he got hurt. I can’t just leave him.”
Peter doesn’t comment, even though he wants to make it clear that he is not
some damsel in distress who needs to be looked after. Granted, he still feels a
little off, but after some food and a good night’s sleep he is going to be
right as rain again. He doesn’t need anyone to fuss over him.
“But you told me he can heal very fast? Being … well you know …,” the sheriff
trails off.
“He does. But Dad, he almost drowned. I had to resuscitate him,” Stiles argues
hotly, completely ignoring Peter’s growl and disapproving look. “I won’t leave
him.”
“Fine,” the sheriff relents, probably only because he has no counterargument.
Well, at least not a good one. “You can stay, but you will be home by 9 am
tomorrow. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes. I will be back bright and early,” Stiles promises, grinning broadly, but
just for a moment.
“With donuts,” the sheriff adds, beating his son at his own game.
“Fine,” Stiles grumbles in defeat.
“And Peter?” the sheriff addresses the werewolf for the first time.
“Yes, Sir?”
“I just want to remind you that I own a gun and some of those special bullets.
Don’t make me use them.”
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
     Stiles POV
     Warning: Read the new tags. There is a rape scene in here, but not
     descriptive.
Peter inserts the key into the lock and opens his door.
“Your neck is still red,” Stiles muses aloud, following the werewolf inside the
apartment. “Does it hurt?”
“No. It just itches a little, but that’s normal,” Peter shrugs.
Maybe he is telling the truth. After all, werewolves are known to be able to
recover from pretty much anything. And even though some wounds might take
longer to heal and remain tender for a while they don’t leave scares, no
visible ones at least.
Nevertheless, remembering the disgruntled look Peter gave him when Stiles told
his dad that he got hurt, it’s hard to tell if the werewolf is just placating
him and downplaying the seriousness of the situation or if he is actually
telling the truth. Being at the disadvantage, or worse, dependent on someone
else, clearly doesn’t sit well with the older Hale.
But Stiles gets it.
He understands why Peter has a hard time trusting people. The poor guy got
burnt twice; literally. It’s a miracle he is still alive, or a nuisance,
depending on whom you ask. And maybe Stiles would still be on the same page as
everybody else if it weren’t for the sudden changes he is currently going
through. Seriously, he still has trouble getting his head around the specifics.
Sometimes he can’t believe it’s actually happening, wondering if it’s just a
very vivid dream.
And sure, as far as the rest of the pack is concerned, Stiles is still the same
fragile human. A constant pain in everyone’s ass who asks too many questions
and never takes a simple ‘no’ for an answer. But if they knew they wouldn’t
just roll their eyes at him and groan in exasperation. No, they would treat him
like Peter, like an element of uncertainty, someone who couldn’t be trusted and
should be feared.
That’s why Stiles decided to team up with Peter, because basically they are in
the same situation. Sure, the werewolf may beg to differ, may argue that he
chose to be alone, but Stiles knows it’s just a front. He knows the werewolf is
just using it as an excuse to avoid talking about what happened to him and how
much it still affects him.
But Stiles knows better.
Peter bypasses the living room and goes straight into the kitchen, dumping his
pile of wet clothes into the washing machine, motioning to Stiles to do the
same. After adding a bit of liquid detergent the werewolf turns the dial and
starts the machine.
“If you want to take a shower, the bathroom is down the hall on the left,” the
werewolf suggests nonchalantly, adding, “Fresh towels are in the cupboard next
to the sink.”
“Thanks for the offer. Maybe later. First I want to talk about what happened,”
Stiles insists. When he sees Peter’s leering expression, he hurries to clarify.
“What happened in the lake with the rusalka, not about the other thing …”
Of course, Stiles wants to know why Peter decided to kiss him, but that would
also mean he’d have to talk about why he reciprocated the way he did, clinging
to the werewolf and moaning like a desperate bitch in heat. And he isn’t quite
ready to do that.
“Very well,” Peter shrugs, picking up the water kettle. “I’m going to make some
tea. Do you want some or something else?”
“Tea sounds good,” Stiles mumbles, surprised but relieved that the werewolf
dropped the subject at once. He knows sooner or later Peter will bring it up
again, but until then Stiles is going to act like nothing happened.
“Why don’t you go into the living room and check your phone for messages? I’m
pretty sure you got at least one. I’ll be right there.”
“Okay,” Stiles agrees, leaving the kitchen.
 
+ + +
 
Peter was right.
He had two messages; one was from Scott, the other from Isaac. But contrary to
his newest admirer, his (alleged) best friend didn’t have much to say. He only
uses six words to tell Stiles what he already knows.
NOBODY GOT KILLED TONIGHT. THANK GOD.
Stiles isn’t really surprised, though. Scott is probably glad to have time to
work on something equally as important as protecting the humans of Beacon Hills
by hunting down monsters in the middle of the night, something maybe even more
important, at least to him.
Aka his stupid plan to win back Allison.
It’s not like Stiles hates the Argent girl, but after what she did to Boyd,
Erica, and Isaac; not to mention the rest of the pack, it’s hard to trust her.
Sure, logically, he knows that Allison has been manipulated by her
psychopathic, hypocrite extraordinaire grandfather, but still, it’s hard to put
the past aside. And seriously, dating a hunter? Only Scott would be so foolish
to do that.
Curiously enough, Isaac is more talkative.
NO SIGN OF THE CREATURE TONIGHT. ANYWHERE. WHICH IS GOOD ‘CAUSE NO-ONE GOT
HURT, BUT IT’S WEIRD AND FUCKING ANNOYING. MAYBE NEXT TIME I SHOULD ASK DEREK
TO PAIR ME UP WITH PETER. AT LEAST THEN I GET TO HAVE SOME FUN AND DON’T HAVE
TO LISTEN TO SCOTT WHINE ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHO. YOU THINK PETER WILL BRING THE
WOLF TO THE NEXT PACK MEETING?
Stiles chuckles, loud enough to attract the werewolf’s attention, but Peter
doesn’t ask what’s so funny, probably just thinking he is simply exchanging
funny messages with Scott to pass the time. It’s a reasonable assumption. He
and Isaac aren’t actually friends. Not yet anyway. But it looks like that’s
going to change soon.
Naturally, Stiles is tempted to type back, COUNT ON IT, but he settles for WHY
DON’T YOU ASK THE ZOMBIE WOLF?
Right on cue Peter enters the living room carrying two steaming mugs in one
hand, and a bowl of sugar in the other.
Accepting his cup, Stiles grins. “I think I should warn you. Isaac might ask
Derek to team him up with you for the next stake-out mission.”
“Why?” Peter asks, taking a seat in his armchair.
“I think he has a crush on me,” Stiles informs the werewolf, casually adding
two spoons of sugar to his herbal tea, while simultaneously gauging the
werewolf’s reaction. Unfortunately, Peter doesn’t rise to the bait, at least
not noticeably. Still, Stiles feels the need to set things straight. “Well, on
the wolf, I mean.”
Peter’s corner of his mouth twitches, like he is fighting a smile.
“Understandably. Your wolf is beautiful.”
Stiles can’t help but blush at the compliment. Sure, Peter didn’t say that he
is beautiful, but hey, thinking that his new alter ego is, is half a win,
right? And he kissed him, so he must be somewhat appealing in his human form.
“You wanted to talk about what happened with the rusalka,” Peter drawls,
deliberately changing the subject. Or so it seems.
“Right,” Stiles agrees, leaning back. “What do you remember?”
“Not much,” Peter grumbles, clearly not happy about it. “She did something to
me, but I can’t remember much. It’s all fuzzy.”
“I could check my books and see if there is a memory spell or something.”
“You could do that, or we could try something else.”
“Like what?” Stiles frowns, clearly sensing a ‘but’ coming.
“You saw that she had her claws in my neck, right? She didn’t do that for kicks
and giggles. Okay, maybe she did enjoy causing me pain, but I think she mainly
did it for another reason. It’s something I assumed only werewolves could do.
Specifically Alphas.”
“Which is?” Stiles asks, not liking to be fed crumbs of information.
Peter, on the other hand, seems to enjoy it. “We use the same method to tap
into people’s minds.”
“To do what?” Stiles presses.
“To extract memories. Well, that’s one purpose of the procedure. Basically, we
can dig for, implant, or completely remove memories.”
“And that’s what she did. Sharing her memories with you,” Stiles surmises.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Peter shrugs.
“Is it dangerous?”
“It can be if you don’t know what you are doing,” Peter allows.
“But you do,” Stiles assumes.
“Kinda. I haven’t been taught how to do it, but I’ve been on the receiving end
… more than once.”
Stiles wants to ask about the specifics, but something tells him Peter won’t
answer him. But he believes him when he says he knows how it works,
technically. And what other choice do they have? If she indeed showed Peter
what happened to her, it could help in stopping her.
“I wanna try it.”
Peter doesn’t seem to be surprised, more like he expected Stiles to volunteer.
“Are you now?”
“Yes,” Stiles states, his voice strong and unwavering. “I trust you.”
“Very well,” Peter says, getting up. “Let’s do this.”
 
+ + +
 
“Take a seat,” Peter instructs, motioning to the chair he just brought from his
kitchen.
Stiles immediately follows suit and straddles the chair, placing his hands onto
the back.
“Try to relax. If you fight the process, it will do more harm than good. I will
stop if I sense any complications. Ready?”
Stiles closes his eyes and nods his head in consent, bracing himself for the
pain to come. But there is none. Well, almost none. It stings a bit when Peter
inserts his sharp claws into his neck, but it doesn’t really hurt.
It feels weird, though. Like someone trying to poke into his mind with a hot
fire iron, looking for access into his most inner thoughts. It’s true what
Peter said. The more he struggles, the more it gets uncomfortable. He tells
himself to calm down, to just let it happen and when he does, Stiles can see it
happening right before his mind’s eye.
 
A beautiful girl.
She is young, around his age, sixteen, maybe seventeen years old.
She is standing in front of a bathroom mirror, dressed in a yellow sundress. It
goes well with her tanned skin, accentuating her natural beauty. She looks
Hispanic with her dark eyes and long dark hair.
She is nervous, but in a good way. Giddy and excited about going out and
meeting new people, to have fun without parental supervision for the first time
in her life.
She takes the bus into town. Everything flies by so fast; Stiles cannot make
out any details. It’s hard to tell where this all takes place. It could be
somewhere in the vicinity of Beacon County, but it could also be a thousand
miles away.
She goes into a building. It’s a club, not an official one, more like some of
those underground locations.
She meets up with some people she seems to know, talks to them for some time
before they split up. She follows two of them – a couple – on the dance floor
and after that barely leaves it.
She is definitely more talented than Stiles, moving gracefully to the rhythm of
the music, whether it’s slow or upbeat. Before long she gathers some fans, all
of them male.
One in particular shows his interest.
He is older than her, probably around thirty. He seems nice, but for some
reason his face is not as clear as other things to Stiles, almost like she has
been trying to erase him from her mind, like she doesn’t want to remember.
He dances with her for what seems like hours, buys her drink after drink. She
is getting tipsy fast.
When it’s time for her to leave, he offers to give her a ride. She accepts, not
even thinking about it.
They are halfway to her home when he pulls over.
She barely gets the chance to ask him why he stopped. He is on her a moment
later, touching her everywhere, ripping her dress and her underwear.
And then there is pain.
So much pain.
And fear.
She begs him to stop, to let her go. She cries, calling out for her mother. She
struggles, like everyone would in her position. She doesn’t want this, doesn’t
want him to take her most precious gift, especially not against her will.
But he doesn’t listen, calls her a slut, blaming her, saying that she is the
one responsible, that she has been asking for it.
Of course she denies it, but it doesn’t do her any good.
A slap.
Followed by a second. And a third.
Her face hurts. Everything hurts. She cries even harder.
He tells her to be quiet, moving roughly above her. He groans and moans, his
face contorted into an ugly, monster-like mask.
She wants to die.
Wrapping his hands around her neck, he applies pressure and grants her wish.
Then everything goes dark.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
     Peter's POV
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Peter is not a touchy-feely kind of guy.
He never has been and never will be.
Even before the fire, when his numerous nieces and nephews were younger (and
still alive), he never comforted them. Quite the opposite actually. Whenever
they got sad or scared about some thing or another, even when they got hurt, he
always told them that pain was part of life. That only those who stay strong
and above such small obstacles would survive.
Back then he had no idea how right he was.
True, usually, he is more than happy to rub it in when he is right, but not in
this case. If he’d had the power he would have saved his pack. Unfortunately,
he only got the chance to avenge them. It isn’t much, but maybe, the best
revenge is to be unlike the person who performed the injury …
Peter retracts his claws as carefully as he can, not wanting to cause the
vedmak any more distress. As soon as the connection is broken, Stiles slumps
forward against the back the chair. He is gasping for air and shaking like a
leaf. He is clearly in shock.
The werewolf knows exactly why.
It wasn’t supposed to work like that but somehow Peter shared the vision. It’s
like a two-way street had been opened, probably due to Stiles’ magic, allowing
the werewolf to catch a glimpse of the rusalka’s last moments before she died.
But that’s not all. He actually felt it, like he was the one being violated in
the worst possible way.
Well, second worst, considering the werewolf knows how it feels to be set on
fire.
Ignoring his own feelings of discomfort, Peter picks up Stiles and carries him
to the couch. The boy clings to him, probably not even realizing what he is
doing, but Peter doesn’t mind. He simply sits down with the vedmak in his lap.
“Breathe, Stiles, breathe,” he tells him, slowly rubbing the boy’s back in
comfort. “That’s it, deep breaths, in and out.”
Stiles follows his instructions, calming down considerably but not completely.
“She was … she was raped,” he gasps, his voice breaking in the end.
“I know,” Peter growls, not even trying to hide his disgust. It’s probably
written all over his face. He may be an arrogant, ruthless bastard, but he is
no monster. He would never stoop so low as to force himself on a woman or a
man. He doesn’t need to. He never had a problem finding a willing participant,
but even if he did, he would never resort to rape.
“How could someone do something like that?” Stiles sniffles, loosening his
tight grip on Peter. He pulls back slightly to look at the werewolf, like he
has all the answers.
“How could someone set a house on fire with the intent to kill everyone
inside?” Peter replies, evenly.
“People are evil,” Stiles huffs, gloomily.
“Some are,” Peter agrees.
“But that’s not what you consider yourself to be.” It’s half a question, half a
statement.
“Do you?” Peter throws back, raising an eyebrow in question.
“No,” Stiles answers right away, not showing any sign that he is lying. “I may
not agree with your methods, but I understand why you did what you did. Even
Laura …”
Peter bites back a growl at the mention of his niece’s name. Killing Laura is
the only thing he regrets. Somewhat. “We all have our reasons why we do things
the way we do. Some act on vengeance, others on prejudice and fear.”
“But that’s not why HE did what he did,” Stiles points out, petulantly.
“No,” Peter shakes his head. “Maybe he didn’t plan it. Maybe he didn’t want to
kill her. But in the end it doesn’t matter. He raped and killed the girl and
there is no excuse for it.”
“Damn right,” Stiles agrees fiercely, adding with a sigh, “But at least we know
what happened to her.”
“And it certainly explains her hate for men …,” Peter comments, dryly.
“I don’t think she is choosing her victims at random,” Stiles argues,
fervently. “Maybe they saw something. Maybe they were there at the club or on
the road and she blames them for not helping her. Maybe …”
“Maybe we should leave the ‘maybes’ for tomorrow,” Peter interrupts, slightly
amused by Stiles’ enthusiasm, but too tired to go ten rounds of playing ‘what
if’. “We don’t have to find all the answers tonight. We’ve got a month to get
to the bottom of this.”
“You are right,” Stiles allows, climbing off Peter’s lap. Suddenly realizing
what he’s been doing for the last few minutes, Stiles fidgets, acting all
embarrassed. “Sorry about that … the cuddling, I mean.”
“No worries,” Peter smiles, probably enjoying the boy’s blush more than he
should be. Instead of making a remark, snide or otherwise, he just waves him
off. “Just go and take your shower.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Stiles salutes, quickly disappearing down the hall.
 
+ + +
 
While Stiles is in the bathroom, Peter doesn’t just sit around, twiddling his
thumbs and waiting for the boy to finish his shower.
He doesn’t fantasize about him either.
Of course not.
No, instead Peter goes and retrieves a notepad and a pencil from his desk. It’s
been a while since he’s done this, but considering the memories are still fresh
in his mind and he has nothing better to do at the moment, Peter figures he
could give it a try.
He is half done, when Stiles makes his return to the living room.
Peter looks up from his work, having a hard time controlling his reaction. He
wants to growl, but thankfully he has enough control to suppress the urge. Just
barely, though.
Of course his wolf approves. For one, the boy smells like his beauty products,
which means he smells a lot like Peter. Secondly, Stiles isn’t fully dressed.
Sure, he is still wearing his boxers and his shirt, but he didn’t put his pants
and his socks back on. Dealing with bare feet is one thing, but seeing the
boy’s naked legs for the first time … well that’s something entirely different.
The werewolf always suspected Stiles was hiding something underneath his baggy
clothes, but he wasn’t expecting this. Strong legs, perfectly shaped, sparsely
haired and covered with quite a few beauty spots. True, he knows Stiles is part
of the Lacrosse team. And then there is all the extracurricular work he does,
which both includes a lot of running, but still. Peter isn’t prepared for the
sight.
“What are you doing?” the vedmak asks, casually walking over. Or rather, he is
trying to act all casual. It’s obvious to the werewolf that Stiles is feeling
slightly exposed. Then again, nobody forced him to come back half-naked. On the
other hand, maybe he did it on purpose, testing Peter, who knows.
Trying his best to ignore his wolf, Peter answers Stiles’ question. “I’m making
a sketch of the rusalka, the girl, I mean, something for your dad to help him
search the system. She may not be from around here, but someone, somewhere must
have reported her missing.”
“I didn’t know you could draw,” Stiles says, obviously surprised, but in a good
way.
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Peter remarks, smiling.
“It’s really good,” Stiles commends, ignoring the jibe. He takes a seat right
next to Peter and watches him finish the sketch. He makes suggestions every now
and then, but Peter doesn’t mind. He just implements the changes.
A few minutes later Peter is done. He drops the notepad on the table, stretches
and yawns. “It’s late. Come on, I’ll show you where you can sleep.”
Without objection Stiles follows Peter into the bedroom. “You can have my bed.
I will sleep on the couch. You can borrow a shirt to sleep in, if you want.”
“First you kiss me, now you want me to wear your clothes. What’s next?” Stiles
jokes without thinking. He is probably not expecting an answer, but receives
one anyway.
“I have a few ideas and I’m sure you would enjoy them just as much as the kiss;
probably even more …,” Peter leers, his eyes burning bright blue for a second.
“But we both need rest. Not to mention that your father made it very clear that
he isn’t very fond of the idea of us spending any quality time together. And
even though I’m great at surviving, I don’t like getting shot.”
“Who does,” Stiles mumbles, starting to fidget again. “Then again, what my dad
doesn’t know won’t hurt him … or you. And your bed is big enough for the both
of us …”
“Are you asking me to sleep with you?” Peter asks, acting all shocked.
“No,” Stiles exclaims, blushing beautifully. “Of course not.”
“That’s what it sounded like,” Peter points out, greatly enjoying Stiles’
discomfort.
“No, I just meant, you don’t need to sleep on the couch since your bed is so
big …”
“I know,” Peter says, taking pity on the boy, and on himself. He doesn’t really
want to sleep on the couch, and not because it’s uncomfortable or something.
No, he just wants to take every chance he gets to be close to the boy, even if
that makes him a desperate fool and a creep. So sue him. “By all means, I’m
fine with sharing my bed. But just so you know, the left side is mine.”
“Gotcha,” Stiles replies with a sharp nod and a grin.
Peter turns around, hiding his own smile. No need for the boy to see how
pleased he is. He opens a drawer and retrieves one of his older shirts, one he
only uses to sleep in nowadays. It’s worn and drenched in his scent, despite
the fact that’s clean. “Here. This should fit you.”
“Thanks,” Stiles says, accepting the shirt.
“No need to thank me,” Peter shrugs, acting all nonchalant. Clearly, Stiles
doesn’t understand the whole concept of sharing clothes with a werewolf. Well,
at least not completely. “I’m going to take a quick shower myself, which should
give you enough time to get changed and make yourself comfortable.”
Stiles only nods, clearly too nervous to come up with a snappy remark. Instead
of teasing him some more, Peter just barks out a laugh and leaves.
 
+ + +
 
When Peter returns ten minutes later, Stiles is already asleep.
Or he is very good at pretending.
It’s hard to tell.
His breathing is slow and even, and he makes no sign that he is aware of
Peter’s presence. The boy probably was out cold as soon as he hit the pillow,
too exhausted to await Peter’s return.
But that’s okay.
The werewolf drops his clothes in the hamper, and then he climbs into the bed.
Unlike the vedmak he is only wearing his briefs, though that’s just out of
courtesy. Usually he sleeps in the buff.
Peter lies down on his back and closes his eyes.
Falling asleep next to another person is still something the werewolf doesn’t
feel comfortable with. In fact, it’s always been an issue for him. Sure, he
doesn’t have exactly a lot of practice. Whenever he had sex he always met his
partners in a hotel or at their place. He’s never considered bringing them
home. And he’s never ever accepted their invitation to stay over.
Sleeping next to another person means letting down your guard, completely, and
he doesn’t trust anyone enough to do that, not even in his waking state.
Well, except for Stiles.
Sure, he is still a mystery to the werewolf, but he is no longer a threat.
Well, that’s what he hopes, but it’s enough for Peter to fall asleep.
He doesn’t dream, rarely does these days, something he is glad about, because
if he did he’d probably dream about the fire, and he certainly doesn’t need
nightmares to remind him of the worst night of his life. He can practically see
it happening every time he closes his eyes.
Peter should have known that Stiles is a restless sleeper, constantly moving
around and mumbling in his sleep. It’s mostly nonsense and not enough to keep
the werewolf awake, but enough to annoy him.
After the third time he gets kicked in the shins and nearly slapped in the
face, Peter wraps his arms tightly around the sleeping boy, spooning him from
behind. Stiles makes a noise, but it’s not a complaint. It sounds more like a
sigh in relief, like he has been waiting for Peter to do just that.
Smirking, Peter goes back to sleep.
When he wakes again, the sun is peeking through the curtain.
Chapter End Notes
     Any thoughts? Or suggestions? Or complaints?
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
     Stiles POV.
     A bit of a time jump, but just one day. Don’t worry there is a
     flashback in here dealing with the boys waking up all tangled up in
     each other … after all it’s time this story earns its rating. Enjoy!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Stiles pulls into the school’s parking lot, searching for a spot to park his
beloved jeep in.
He is late on his first day back, but what else is new.
Just to be clear, he didn’t oversleep. He just had a million things to do
before he was ready to leave for school. Important things. Things that couldn’t
wait.
Unfortunately due to his lateness, Stiles has no choice but to park a bit
farther away than he likes. Grabbing his backpack, he jumps out of his jeep and
makes a run for it. He barely makes it to his first class before the final bell
rings.
He is glad, but Harris … well, not so much. He doesn’t look happy to see
Stiles, far from it actually. Then again he is never happy to see him, or
anyone else for that matter. Why this guy chose to become a high school teacher
is still beyond Stiles. The vedmak doesn’t waste any time, taking the first
free seat he finds, which isn’t next to Scott but next to some girl whose name
he doesn’t know. It’s not that he hasn’t seen her before. He has. He just
doesn’t remember her name. Maybe that makes him a bad person, but hey, people
rarely remember his name either.
Stiles shoots his friend a quick, apologetic smile before turning his full
attention towards the front, aka his chem teacher.
Harris seems as obnoxious as ever, but there is something about him that makes
Stiles’ skin itch. Well, more than it usually does. Harris looks the same but
he acts somewhat differently. He seems to be … on edge. Maybe he’s just having
a particularly bad day. Most people hate Mondays, and without a doubt Harris is
no exception to that rule.
But something tells Stiles, there is more to it.
He tries his best to ignore the nagging feeling in his gut, though. For one, he
doesn’t want to take any chances. Getting detention is the last thing he can
afford right now. And secondly, despite the substantial progress he has been
making in such a short time, he still doesn’t trust his new powers completely.
After all, considering their history, Stiles could just be seeing things,
misinterpreting signs.
It takes some effort, but Stiles makes it through Chem and his next three
classes without incident. He even manages to take notes despite the fact that
his mind is miles away, not to mention that his fingers are busy shooting Peter
text message after text message when no one is looking in his direction.
Naturally, most of them remain unanswered. Clearly, the werewolf doesn’t
appreciate being pestered about half-hourly updates.
Figures.
When it’s time for lunch, Stiles doesn’t go into the cafeteria to meet up with
Scott and the rest of the pack, but makes a beeline for the vending machine
outside of the library. He buys a bag of cheese crackers, a power bar and a
soda can. Not the healthiest lunch, true, but then again he isn’t that hungry.
For a moment Stiles considers going into the library and finding a quiet place,
but considering the librarian is just as eager as Mr. Harris to give students
detention for disrespecting the rules, he disregards the idea and slips out the
back door instead.
The lacrosse field is empty and so are the stands. He drops on the bench he
usually sits on during the games. It feels like coming home, at least it does
to his ass. He pulls out his phone and searches for the right number.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance to hit dial, because suddenly there is
a shadow towering over him, demanding his full attention.
“Hey Stiles,” Isaac greets him with a grin.
Stiles reacts as expected with a startled yelp and a slip of his finger. The
screen of his phone immediately turns dark. Okay, that bit isn’t completely
unintentional. In fact, it’s more than a reflex reaction, it’s a necessity.
From the looks of it, Isaac doesn’t suspect anything amiss. Clearly, he didn’t
see who Stiles was trying to call, which is good. He is so not ready to explain
his … relationship with Peter to anyone.
“It’s great to have you back, man.” Isaac proclaims, taking a seat right next
to the vedmak without an invitation whatsoever. Not that Stiles minds, but
still, the nerve of these werewolves, sneaking up on people, invading your
personal space, doing things you didn’t ask for …
“Thanks,” Stiles replies, pocketing his phone. “Did Scott send you to find me?”
“No,” Isaac says, grimacing slightly. “I doubt that he is even aware that you
and I are missing. He is too busy talking to Allison. Apparently her dad agreed
to have him over for family dinner on Friday.”
“Good luck with that,” Stiles mumbles, feeling a bit left out. Then again, he
doesn’t have any right to complain. He isn’t exactly forthcoming these days
either.
“Yeah,” Isaac agrees, grumpily. “Argent may not mean us any harm anymore, but
come on; Scott is clearly pushing his luck.”
“I’m with you there,” Stiles mumbles, adding with a shrug, “But as they say,
love knows no reason.”
“Funny you’d say that,” Isaac remarks, leaning in and taking a whiff.
“Hey, what do you think you are doing?” Stiles complains, pushing against the
werewolf. Of course, it’s futile. He may have gained some new, incredibly
astonishing powers, but physically speaking, he is still the same. No match for
the supernatural strength of a werewolf. Isaac gets the message, though,
pulling back at once.
“You smell different,” He states matter-of-factually.
“Different how?” Stiles inquires, fearing the worst.
“I don’t know,” Isaac frowns. “Just different.”
Peter had warned him …
 
+ flashback +
 
Stiles wakes up gradually.
The first thing he notices is the fact that the edge of the bed seems to be
further away. Well, it actuallyisfurther away. Clearly, he moved closer to the
middle of the bed during the night. Completely unintentionally, mind you.
The second thing Stiles notices is the heat. Heat, that seems to surround him.
Okay, again, itliterallysurrounds him.
And the third, and probably the most significant detail Stiles becomes aware of
is the sizeable erection snuggly nestled against his ass. Sure, there are still
two layers of clothing between them, but it’s hard to miss the fact that Peter
is very well endowed.
Stiles tries his best not to freak out.
Don’t get him wrong. It feels nice, being held. He feels safe and cherished.
But this is Peter, a man more than twice his age, a werewolf, not to mention a
murderer, someone who shouldn’t be trusted … and yet here he is, in bed with
said guy, cuddling.
Okay, maybe this is more than just cuddling. Peter’s grip on him is too tight
to be called cuddling. Or at least Stiles thinks it is. Then again, what does
he know about cuddling? He has no experience to speak of, except for the cuddle
session with his mom. But that was ages ago, and totally different.
It’s not uncomfortable; the way Peter holds him close to his bare chest, half
of his body draped over Stiles, making it impossible to escape unnoticed. It’s
kinda protective, and yes, maybe a wee bit possessive, but that’s not what
bothers Stiles. It’s not the hard dick poking at him either, not really anyway.
No, it’s his own reaction.
Of course, it’s not the first time Stiles has woken up with morning wood, far
from it. He is a healthy, seventeen year old boy after all, but it has never
felt like this. He is already close. One touch and he would blow his load.
“No need to panic,” Peter admonishes. His voice is a bit rougher than usual,
probably from sleep. “It’s a natural reaction.”
“Who is panicking? Not me.”
“I can smell your anxiety,” the werewolf begs to differ. Of course he does. And
naturally, he can’t just leave it at that. He has to mention the other thing.
“And I can smell your arousal.”
“Yeah, well,” Stiles says, and huffs, “but as you said … it’s a natural
reaction. Just let me go and I’ll be out of your way.”
“I don’t mind,” Peter hums, not loosening his grip. No, instead he pulls Stiles
even closer, his hand brushing over the bare skin where Stiles’ shirt has
ridden up during the night. His fingers dance over his stomach, causing Stiles’
muscles to clench and relax. It doesn’t help the situation, it only makes
things worse. If only he would … “I can take care of it, if you want me to.”
It’s a tempting offer, so very tempting. Having someone else’s hand on his dick
would be a nice change. And it isn’t like that Stiles hasn’t thought about it
before, especially after the kiss they shared last night, but still, imagining
something and doing it are two completely different things.
“I don’t,” Stiles replies. It’s a lie and they both know it.
“Really? Your body tells a different story,” Peter points out. He doesn’t
laugh, but still manages to sound smug, the damn bastard. “You clearly need
this as much as I do.”
“But this is wrong.”
“Why?” Peter asks, his warm breath ghosting over Stiles’ bare neck. It tickles,
sending hot shivers down the vedmak’s spine. The werewolf doesn’t take things
further, though. He just continues to nibble at his neck and caress his
stomach. Stiles may not be completely ready for this, but he can’t take this
anymore. He needs to come, like right now.
“Just touch me already,” Stiles whines, desperately.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Peter groans, sounding more than happy to oblige.
Clearly, he has just been waiting for the vedmak’s permission to proceed. A
noble gesture, sure, but probably not his only impetus here.
Anyway, Peter doesn’t hesitate. He quickly pushes both their underpants down
and gets to work, grinding against Stiles’ bare ass and encircling Stiles’ dick
with his free hand. Stiles is leaking so much precum by now there is no need
for any lubricant. Peter’s grip on him is strong and sure, and so are his
movements.
Stiles moans loudly, sounding like a bitch in heat, but right now he doesn’t
care. It feels good, too good in fact. Rocking back and forth, chasing both
sensations at the same time, he races towards his climax faster than he
(actually) wants to.
“Come for me,” Peter commands and Stiles has no other choice but to obey. He
comes in thick ropes all over the werewolf’s hand and his stomach. A few more
thrusts later the werewolf follows, pulsing wetly against his back.
Stiles slumps back, panting like crazy, but feeling utterly relaxed for the
first time in a long while. Clearly, Peter was right. He totally needed this.
But as satisfying as this was, he is a complete mess, covered in copious
amounts of jizz. At first he didn’t mind, but the more it cools, the ickier it
feels.
“I need a shower,” Stiles proclaims, wriggling to get free. This time Peter
doesn’t protest, letting him go at once.
“Go ahead,” The werewolf chuckles, adding, “But it won’t do much.”
“What do you mean?” Stiles frowns, trying his best to look Peter in the eyes
and not …
“It will take a lot more than a shower to wash off my scent.”
 
+ end of flashback +
 
“Earth to Stiles,” Isaac calls the vedmak’s attention, chuckling.
“Sorry, I just went away for a second,” Stiles shrugs, taking a sip of his can.
He can tell that he is blushing, hoping that the werewolf doesn’t notice. No
such luck, though.
“I can tell,” Isaac smirks, waggling his eyebrows. “Your heart rate just went
up a few notches and your scent changed.”
“Stop doing that!” Stiles groans.
“What?” Isaac replies, playing dumb.
“You know exactly what I mean. The werewolf thingy … listening to people’s
heartbeat and sniffing them … it’s creepy.”
“It’s not like I do it on purpose,” Isaac defends himself, and he is probably
telling the truth. Well, at least he has the decency to look guilty (unlike
others) and senses when it’s time to change the subject. “Are you coming to the
pack meeting tonight?”
“I didn’t know there was one,” Stiles grumbles, opining the bag of chips. He
takes a few before offering Isaac the bag. The werewolf accepts it with a
grateful smile.
“Derek just texted us this morning.” It sounds like an excuse, a lame one at
that. Clearly, ‘us’ only meant the werewolves, not the supposed human, unless
Stiles missed a text message, which is impossible considering he had his eyes
glued to his phone’s screen practically the entire morning.
“I’m sure Derek didn’t forget you,” Isaac hurries to stick up for his Alpha.
“It’s just that Scott told us that your Dad doesn’t want you to be involved,
well not until you’re fully recovered.”
“Nice to know Derek listens to someone …,” Stiles scoffs, not missing Isaac’s
reaction. He may be Derek’s beta, and therefore loyal to the Alpha, but it’s
obvious he is aware of the younger Hale’s deficits. “But I’m fine now.”
“Then you should come,” Isaac simply concludes.
“Why?”
“Because you are the smartest of us.”
Well, that’s not exactly true. Academically speaking, Lydia is the smartest,
but in regards to the whole thinking outside the box thing, coming up with
ideas and conclusions no one else even dares to consider … yes he is probably
the smartest. Well, apart from Peter, of course.
“Maybe,” Stiles allows, “but that’s not a good enough reason.”
“It is as far as I am concerned,” Isaac shrugs. “And besides … you really
should meet Peter’s pet.”
Stiles almost chokes on the handful of chips he just stuffed in his mouth.
“Pet?”
“You know … the wolf.”
“What makes you so sure, he will bring him around?”
“I’m pretty sure he will,” Isaac states, sounding very confident. “Derek says
they are practically glued at the hip.”
Well, that’s one way of putting it.
Chapter End Notes
     I’d really, really like to hear your thoughts …. *hint, hint*
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Notes
     Peter POV
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Peter walks into the sheriff's station with his head held high and a cocky
smile on his face.
And why shouldn’t he? It’s not like he is here to confess a crime or cause any
trouble. Quite the contrary, he is here to help. Sure, that’s very unlike him,
but it’s the truth.
Despite his rap sheet, the werewolf has only been here twice, and that was
before the fire. Things haven’t changed much, though. Sure, due to the damage
caused by the Kanima and that Matt boy, not to mention the Argents, the
station’s interior had to be refurbished and most of the windows and doors had
to replaced, but other than that it looks pretty much the same.
“I’m here to see Sheriff Stilinski.” Peter tells the deputy who is sitting at
the desk near the entrance.
According to the shirt tag, his name is Parrish. Peter doesn’t know him, has
never seen him in town, but that’s neither here nor there. For one the werewolf
doesn’t socialize much, for obvious reasons. And secondly, aside from the
furniture half of the staff had to be replaced as well. It’s a miracle anyone
had been eager to apply for the job after what happened a few months back. Then
again no one – aside from the people involved – knew what truly went down that
day. Which is a blessing, and given the fact that the sheriff is in the loop of
all things supernatural now, their chances of survival are slightly better than
they were before.
On first glance the deputy looks young, not older than twenty five, but his
eyes tell a different story. They are brown with a few green specks, nothing
special. They don’t change their color even though Peter is practically
challenging the guy with his steady gaze, but still … they look much older than
the rest of him, like he has seen things, terrible things going back eons. On
instinct the werewolf puts out all of his (supernatural) feelers, but
unfortunately Peter can’t pick up anything, which isn’t reassuring at all,
because there is certainly something about the young deputy that makes his wolf
squirm in discomfort, almost causing it to cower in submission.
Not that the werewolf would ever admit to that.
As much as it literally pains him, Peter decides to drop the matter for the
moment. But that doesn’t mean he won’t do something about it later. He is sure
in that particular case Stiles will be more than eager to help out, to do some
research, maybe even use his new powers to find out everything there is to know
about this guy.
“And you are?” the deputy replies, eying the box Peter is holding with mixture
of curiosity and suspicion.
So what if he came prepared? It’s not exactly something out of the ordinary.
The werewolf always prefers to be fully prepared before going into battle. Not
that this is a battle. Well, not exactly, but close. It’s a battle for Stiles’
affection. Then again, bringing a large box full of sugary pastries may not be
the best way to win Stiles over, but it’s certainly a start to get into the
sheriff’s good graces.
Speak of the devil, John Stilinski makes his appearance.
“Mr. Hale, you are here. Good.” the sheriff greets him, sounding anything but
happy. Not that Peter expected to be welcomed with open arms. He understands
the sheriff’s reluctance to trust him. Stiles might not have told his father
everything, but enough for him to remain on guard. “It’s okay, Parrish, I’ve
been expecting him.”
The deputy doesn’t look completely reassured, but he clearly trusts his boss’
judgment enough to keep his opinion to himself. Still, that doesn’t stop
Parrish from giving Peter a warning glance before going back to his paperwork.
Peter just rolls his eyes and chuckles, before following the sheriff down the
hall into his office. He is a bit surprised when the sheriff tells him to close
the door behind him. Then again their meeting isn’t exactly official police
business.
“I brought this for you.”
“Bribery is a felony,” John Stilinski comments dryly, but taking the box out of
Peter’s hands nevertheless.
“And as far I know so it accepting it,” the werewolf points out with a smirk.
“Touché!” the sheriff grumbles, opening the box and choosing a double-glazed
donut. “No wonder my son likes you. You two share the same affinity for snarky
comebacks.”
“Thanks,” Peter replies, knowing full well it’s not a compliment just a mere
observation. “And I’m sure that’s not the only reason.”
Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have said that, but well … the sheriff just said as
much. He and Stiles are very alike, rarely able to leave well enough alone,
always ready with a quick remark.
The sheriff doesn’t respond right away, just takes a bite out of his pastry. He
chews very slowly, eyeing Peter suspiciously, before finally swallowing. “Is
there something I need to know?”
“No,” Peter lies smoothly, adding in his mind, ‘Not really … unless you want to
hear about me breaking my promise and touching your underage son … not that he
didn’t ask for it … repeatedly …’
It’s obvious that the sheriff doesn’t believe him. He may just be a human, with
no supernatural abilities to speak of, but he is a highly trained officer of
the law, not to mention Stiles’ father. He knows how to read people, especially
the ones who aren’t exactly known for being innocent lambs. Much to Peter’s
surprise, the sheriff doesn’t take the bait, just huffs and takes a seat.
“I found one girl that matches your description,” he says, picking up one of
the many file folders on his desk.  
“That’s good.” Peter comments, glad for the change of subject. Not that he is
scared of John Stilinski, far from it. The sheriff may be a tough cookie in the
human world, but that’s just it. He is just a human therefore no match for the
werewolf. Not that Peter would ever resort to use violence against the sheriff
in order to convince him that he isn’t the worst choice for Stiles. That would
be more than counterproductive. And anyway, he is just as skillful with words
as he is with his claws and fangs.
“In theory, yes,” the sheriff allows, completely unaware of Peter’s inner
conflicts. “But I don’t think she is the one we are looking for. The killings
started four months ago, right? This girl hasn’t been reported missing until
two months ago.”
“That doesn’t mean we can rule her out.” Peter argues, walking back towards the
small table next to the door, the one with the coffee machine.
He pulls himself a cup, carefully sniffing at the black brew before taking a
sip. It’s not worst he had but it isn’t exactly good either, but it will have
to do for now. With the cup in his hand the werewolf rejoins the sheriff at his
desk. Strangely, he doesn’t have to ask for the police file. The sheriff just
hands it to him without a word. The only things betraying the casual gesture is
the sour look on his face. Clearly, he doesn’t like breaking the rules.
Peter takes a seat across from the sheriff’s desk and opens the file. He barely
even skims the written report. It’s the picture that calls his full attention.
It resembles his sketch so much, it’s kinda eerie. It had to be her, or someone
related to her, like a sister or at least a cousin.
“She could be a runaway or someone who is here illegally.” Peter reasons,
placing the file back on the desk.
“It would certainly explain why they reported her that late,” the sheriff
agrees, clearly not completely ruling out the possibility that this is the girl
they are looking for. “Unfortunately, the police report isn’t very helpful.
Either the family who reported her missing has something to hide or the officer
on the case didn’t do his job right. Looks like I have to drive over there and
do second interviews …”
“On what grounds?” Peter objects. “I may not be on the force, but I know this
much. Butting into other people’s businesses never goes over well.”
Of course, the sheriff doesn’t look very happy when Peter points out the
obvious flaw in his plan, but he agrees nevertheless. “True, but I can hardly
send you.”
“Why not? I can be very persuasive.” Peter smirks.
“I don’t doubt that,” the sheriff snorts. “But as you said, you are not a
police officer. This may be a supernatural matter now, but first and foremost
this is a homicide … or at least it is according to you and my son … so, the
lack of a body notwithstanding, it’s a human matter. I know my son wants to be
involved in the investigation, and apparently so do you, and probably everybody
else in your pack … if they knew about it … but I can’t let you do that. Even
sharing this much with you,” he waves his hand at the file in Peter’s hand, “is
a major violation in protocol. We really have to play this by the book or I
could lose my job.”
Peter doesn’t even think about contradicting the sheriff, because he is right.
They don’t have any viable evidence, just some clues, most of them obtained by
supernatural means, so pretty much nothing to work with for an officer of the
law. In the hopes to find something helpful, he takes a look at the report
again. The right move, as it turns out.
“I’ve got an idea.” Peter smiles. “I think we should talk to my housekeeper.
She lives in the same area. There is a good chance she knows the family.”
Naturally, the sheriff is skeptical, but intrigued nevertheless. “It’s a good
start as any. You really think she would come over and talk to me?”
“Let’s find out.” Peter says, pulling out his phone.
Needless to say, he isn’t surprised by the numerous text messages. Of course,
he didn’t miss the incessant buzzing of his phone. How could he when the alarm
went off every fifteen minutes or so? He just decided to ignore them for the
time being, knowing they could only be from Stiles. No one else would send him
a text, or ten. With a roll of his eyes Peter quickly skims through all of
them. As expected, he didn’t miss anything important, just Stiles being a pain
in the ass.
Peter lets his fingers fly over the keyboard, typing a short answer to Stiles’
last message.
HARRASSMENT IS A CRIME, YOU KNOW. I’M SURE YOUR FATHER WOULD AGREE. I PROMISE I
LET YOU KNOW WHEN YOUR DAD AND I HAVE SOMETHING SUBSTANTIAL TO WORK WITH.
Sure, he could have told Stiles about his plan to involve his housekeeper, but
that would only excite the vedmak’s curiosity further. And he couldn’t have
that. Not right now. As far as the werewolf is concerned he did his part. He
let the vedmak know that he is at the station with his dad, working on the
case. He also promised to give him an update on the progress they make, which
they haven’t. Not yet, anyway. So, technically he didn’t lie.
“Does she know about you?” the sheriff asks, breaking through his reverie. He
sounds more curious than actually concerned. Peter doesn’t blame him though. He
is still new to the whole supernatural world. He doesn’t know the rules or the
repercussions of revealing one’s secret to humans. Hopefully, he doesn’t have
to learn it the hard way.
“I doubt it. But even if she did, she is too smart to tell anyone.” Peter
remarks darkly, before hitting dial. His housekeeper picks up after the second
ring. “Lucía, my dear, I’ve got a favor to ask.”
Chapter End Notes
     I would LOVE to hear your thoughts.
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
     Stiles POV
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Claiming he is feeling a bit weary from his first day back, Stiles doesn’t stay
behind for lacrosse practice after his last class.
And why should he? Officially, he is still exempted from sports. Not that Coach
is disappointed. He probably didn’t even notice Stiles’ absence considering he
rarely even considers putting him on the field, not to mention the fact that he
still can’t remember his name.
So, instead of following his friends into the boys’ locker room to get changed
he grabs his backpack and makes his way towards the parking lot. Needless to
say, no one stops him. Sure, Stiles is glad about it, but still, it’s a bit
strange that he once again managed to fool all of the wolves.
Well, okay, maybe not all of them.
On his way out he runs into Isaac. The wolf doesn’t question his motive to
leave early, just claps him on the back and says, “Go home and take it easy!
I’ll see you later, though, right?”
“Not sure. Maybe,” Stiles replies with a shrug, keeping his gaze low. He may be
able to keep his heartbeat in check – for whatever reason – but he can’t be
sure that Isaac wouldn’t be able to detect the lie in his eyes.
“You should be there.” Isaac insists. “You are part of pack. We need you.”
Stiles wants to agree with the curly-headed boy. It’s true; they need him,
certainly more than he needs them. In fact, he gets more done without any of
them. Okay, that’s not exactly true. He needs Peter, but Stiles doubts that
Isaac considers the older Hale part of the pack. Not really, at least.
Peter and he are just a convenience – always there when the pack needs extra
muscle or brains. Granted, Isaac clearly considers Stiles part of the pack, but
just like the rest of the pack he considers Peter an uncertainty, probably even
a threat. And that’s something Stiles won’t tolerate any longer, which is why
he doesn’t say anything in return except for, “I’ll think about it.”
 
+ + +
 
After ditching a flabbergasted Isaac in the hall, Stiles drives straight home.
He already knows that Peter isn’t at the station anymore. He left there an hour
ago, giving his housekeeper a ride home. Apparently she doesn’t a driver’s
license, taking the bus everywhere, including her meeting with his dad and
Peter at the Beacon Hill’s sheriff’s station. Stiles doubts that the werewolf
he is just being chivalrous, because that’s not his thing. He probably just
wants to take the chance to find more clues, which is actually a great idea
since they haven’t discovered any substantial evidence yet.
The vedmak just makes through the front door when his phone rings. A picture of
a black wolf howling at a full moon flashes over the display. There is no name
attached to the picture, but there is no need for it. Stiles knows exactly who
is calling.
“It’s about time.” He greets Peter in a less the polite manner.
“I did answer you texts,” the werewolf growls back, obviously not amused by
Stiles’ behavior, but he relents anyway. Well, somewhat. “Maybe I didn’t answer
all of them, but I did keep my promise. I did let you know if and when we found
something vital.”
“I know,” Stiles grumbles. He doesn’t apologize. Peter probably already knows
how embarrassed he feels for acting like a brat. No need to make even bigger
fool of himself by admitting that out loud. “So … did you find anything
helpful?”
“Not really. I didn’t get to talk to her relatives or any of her friends, but I
got her scent. Apparently she has been in Lucía apartment a couple of times,
even left a sweater there …” Peter trails off, not going into further details.
“Not sure it will do us much good, but it might help us to find her body.”
“Don’t use pronouns.” Stiles grumbles, falling right back into his earlier
behavior, but with good reason. True, she killed three boys, but she is a
victim too. She was raped and killed by some worthless piece of shit. Maybe
those boys were involved in her murder, or maybe they were just surrogates for
the real killer, but still he can’t really fault her for that. She is obviously
confused, her tortured soul seeking revenge the only way it knows how, by
taking other people’s life. “Her name is Marisol.”
“I know that.” Peter huffs. “What’s up with you? This is more than just me
ignoring your messages. Did something happen today at school?”
“No,” Stiles replies. “Boring lectures, two tests, Harris being an ass … same
old, same old.”
“Don’t even try to lie to me.” Peter growls. “What happened?”
Stiles should have known better. Of course he couldn’t fool the older Hale, not
even over the phone. He drops his bag next to the couch and takes a seat. With
a sigh he finally admits what is bothering him. “Derek called a pack meeting.
It’s tonight.”
“He did?” Peter sounds genuinely surprised.
“You didn’t get an invite either?” Stiles inquires, mirroring the werewolf’s
reaction.
“Not sure. Someone kept spamming my inbox with countless messages.” Peter
jokes. It’s a lame attempt to lighten Stiles’ mood, but he appreciates the
gesture. “But let me check … Yes. I’ve got an invite. Seven sharp, at Derek’s
loft.”
“Figures.” Stiles grumbles.
“Stiles,” Peter huffs. “Maybe it’s time to fill the rest of the pack in … on
everything. I’m not going to rat you out or force you to do it, you know that.
It’s your decision, but I think leaving them in the dark isn’t the best way to
ensure their safety or prove your worth to them. Not that you should be
required to do that, because it’s damn obvious, but you know how slow on the
uptake they all are.”
Dead silence.
More silence.
“You just sound like my dad,” Stiles finally comments, adding with a heavy
sigh, “But you are probably right. I should tell them.”
“I’m not sure about the comparison,” Peter remarks dryly, “but I take what I
can get. I’ll pick you up at six thirty.”
 
+ + +
 
Stiles finishes his homework and makes himself something to eat.
But even though he takes his time, there is still more than an hour left before
Peter will be there to pick him up. He goes back to his room and sets up his
Xbox. Usually, occupying himself with something mundane helps him to unwind. In
fact, in the past – before the big revelation – he spent hours upon hours
playing alone or with Scott.
But today it doesn’t work. The distraction only lasts for ten minutes before
Stiles gives up and throws the controller away with an exasperated sigh. He
scrambles out of his bed and walks over to his closet. He opens the door and
removes the blanket hiding the chest from sight. Granted, maybe the blanket is
a bit too much, because except for his dad no one has a reason to look into his
closet. Then again Stiles sometimes forgets to close the door and in this case
he rather doesn’t want to take any chances. Better safe than sorry.
As always Stiles only has to use the tips of his fingers to make the lid pop
open and reveal the contents. He pulls out the book on top. He made significant
progress deciphering its texts, but he is nowhere near done. Hence his decision
to study some of the spells and potions he wants to try out next. And it’s
certainly a better way to spend his free time than playing some video game.
He is sure his father would agree.
Well, somewhat.
 
+ + +
 
People say time flies when you are having fun.
Stiles can actually attest to that. Unlike most people his age Stiles actually
enjoys studying. Okay, that’s not exactly true. He doesn’t like studying for
school, but he enjoys doing research.
There is a difference.
When the door bell rings an hour later, Stiles is completely caught off guard.
In fact, he very nearly jumps out of his skin, but thankfully due to his vast
experiences he knows how to calm himself down again, and fast.
With less enthusiasm one might expect Stiles gets on his feet and puts the book
away. He seals the chest shut and throws the blanket back over it, hiding it
from plain sight. And then he makes his way downstairs.
Apparently he has been taking too long, because Peter rings the bell a second
time.
“I’m coming. I’m coming.” Stiles complains, rolling his eyes.
Of course, the werewolf can hear him even though he is still outside. He
doesn’t growl, just laughs. “I’ll be in the car.”
For a moment Stiles considers going outside and telling Peter that he changed
his mind, that he’d rather stay at home and study his books. And that’s not
even a lie. Why shouldn’t he blow off the pack meeting for something better?
It’s not like anyone is expecting him to be there … well aside from Isaac and
Peter.
Is it strange that the thought of disappointing the latter is making his
stomach clench in discomfort?
Probably not, considering how close they had become over the last few days. It
still baffles Stiles, but for the most part he is glad to have a confidant,
besides his dad. And Isaac, in theory.
With a huff Stiles snatches up his keys and leaves the house.
The sun is almost down, which suits him perfectly. Thankfully, Peter did park
his car in the driveway, just behind his jeep, close to the bushes, so nobody
sees him shifting into a wolf. Which is good, but it also presents him with a
new dilemma. He probably should have opened the door first. So much for
thinking things through before acting …
Fortunately, Stiles doesn’t have to whine pitifully or scratch the car with his
sharp nails to get inside. Peter opens the door before the vedmak has to take
any kind of action. The werewolf probably just wants avoid the latter, though.
Peter may not be as attached to his car like his nephew, or Stiles, but he
certainly wouldn’t appreciate scratch marks on the passenger side of his car.
For the other thing … well … there is no doubt in Stiles’ mind that Peter
actually enjoys hearing him beg. Maybe not right here and now, but in general.
Creep …
Peter waits for Stiles to hop on the passenger seat and settle in before
pulling the door close.
“I thought you were coming clean tonight?” Peter greets him with a smirk and a
scratch behind the ears. Stiles simply huffs in response, but leans into his
touch.
Unlike a true shape shifter his senses aren’t heightened when he is in this
form. Even walking on all fours doesn’t come naturally to him. In fact, it’s
quite the opposite. Sure, he’s got the hang of it by now, but the first time he
managed a full change, he was barely able to stand on his feet. He is still
glad nobody was there to witness it. He probably looked like a baby deer trying
to take its first, wobbly steps. Talk about embarrassing.
But still, Peter’s touch feels nice. It always does. In fact, to be completely
honest it has always been like that. Even back in the underground parking lot
when he forced Stiles to help him find Derek via Scott’s phone, it had felt the
same. True, at the time Stiles didn’t actually realize it, because he was
scared, convinced he was going to die no matter if he helped Peter out or not.
But when he took his wrist, Peter’s grip on him was gentle, firm yes, but still
gentle, like he really didn’t want to hurt him …
“Or are you planning a big reveal, like changing right in front of them and
causing them to soil their pants?” Peter interrupts his inner musings. “Because
that would certainly be funny … well, whatever works for you I’m game.”
 
+ + +
 
Nobody is batting an eye at him when Stiles follows Peter into the loft, not
even Derek. The only one who shows any sign of reaction is Isaac.
Okay, that’s an understatement. The beta is practically radiating with joy,
grinning like a fool when he sees Stiles.
Stiles smirks wolfishly, literally, lolling his tongue and all that, and then
he looks up at Peter. He isn’t looking for permission to approach the other
beta. It may look like it, but he isn’t. Peter holds his gaze for a moment or
two, like he is contemplating something important, before he simply shrugs and
walks away, towards the kitchenette, probably to get himself a drink or
something.
The vedmak watches him leave, his eyes fixed on Peter’s ass. The older Hale may
be twice his age – or older, who knows – but he is definitely in awesome shape.
His jeans cling to his body like a second skin, highlighting his strong longs
and his ass. Not for the first time Stiles wants to nip at it, lick it, taste
it …
It takes quite some effort to pull his attention away from Peter’s retreating
form, but he manages. He trots over to Isaac who is sitting on the lower steps
of the spiral staircase, leading up to the second store, far away from the rest
of the pack. Strange, he usually sits next to Boyd and Erica, but not tonight.
“Hey there.” Isaac greets him softly, almost hesitantly.
Since he can’t respond with words, Stiles does the only thing that seems to
make sense to him in the situation. He sniffs and licks Isaac’s outstretched
hand. The beta isn’t disgusted or surprised, if anything he seems to like the
reaction.
Isaac is cautious at first, testing the waters, so to speak. But when he can’t
detect any sign of struggle to his touch, he gets bolder, burying his hands
into the thick fur, petting Stiles and scratching him behind the ears. It’s a
bit weird, but Stiles allows it. It feels nice, not as nice as Peter’s touch,
but nice nonetheless.
Then all of the sudden, without any warning whatsoever Isaac falls forward on
his knees and embraces Stiles. The vedmak doesn’t fight against the betas
enthusiastic outburst of affection, simply holds still. The werewolf rumbles in
contentment. Clearly, Stiles’ acceptance of him speaks to both his human and
werewolf side. Maybe more to the latter.
Isaac buries his face in Stiles’ fur and inhales deeply, and that’s when he
stiffens. Slowly, very slowly he lets go of Stiles and pulls back, looking
straight into the vedmak’s eyes.
“Stiles?”
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I had to. But at least this chapter is
     a bit longer than usual …
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