Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3402146.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Sheriff_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Allison
      Argent, Chris_Argent, Lydia_Martin, Jackson_Whittemore, Peter_Hale, Alan
      Deaton, Isaac_Lahey, Erica_Reyes, Vernon_Boyd
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Werewolves_Are_Known, Alpha_Derek, Magic_Stiles,
      mentions_of_mpreg, Angst, situational_consent, Rape/Non-con_Elements,
      Extremely_Dubious_Consent, Underage_Sex, Scent_Marking, Panic_Attacks,
      Possessive_Derek, Protective_Derek, Creepy_Uncle_Peter_Hale, Kidnapping,
      Canon-Typical_Violence, Knotting, Xenophilia, Exhibitionism, Minor
      Character_Death
  Series:
      Part 1 of Then_Us
  Collections:
      STEREK_BIG_BANG
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-21 Words: 41421
****** Then Us - Pt 1 ******
by skyler_press
Summary
     In a primal age, a pack of werewolves threatens Chief Stilinski's
     tribe. Desperate for help, he calls upon an old ally pack, the Hales.
     The Alpha, Derek Hale, is willing to help protect the Stilinski tribe
     in exchange for integrating pack and tribe. Chief Stilinski concedes,
     but at a high cost - his only son and heir.
Notes
     So, I have to start out by saying READ THE WARNINGS. If you find any
     of the tags or warnings tigger-worthy, this fic is not for you. I've
     marked this fic with the Ao3 warning "Rape/Non-Con" due to the
     extremely dubious/situational consent. It can be read as non-con, so
     please take that into account prior to reading. Also, the xeno tag
     may be a light substitute for beastality - you've been warned.
     This fic is for the STEREK BIG BANG, and I have to thank the
     administrators/moderators for all their time and effort on this. We
     really enjoy it (reading, writing, and art)!
     The story itself, while complete in its own right, will have a
     sequel. There is much more to happen in this AU than described below.
     So, be sure to check back occasionally for Part 2! :D Please note
     this isn't a happy story ... yet.
     I'd like to thank the lovely, talented and magnificent seleenee/
     foolishsel for the fabulous artwork accompanying this story. Her
     patience with me through this whole thing has been more than
     appreciated. She's a star!
     Last, but certainly not least, I have to thank damnitgreenberg for
     beta'ing this story. She not only has been editor and cheerleader,
     she's been a true friend, mentor, and inspiration. Without her, the
     story wouldn't be half of what it turned out to be. So, I'd like to
     say thank you for rescuing me, and the story, when we needed it most.
     If I can ever return the favour, just let me know.
     All errors/mistakes are my own.
     That being said, enjoy!
“Are we sure there’s no other option?” Whittemore implored, pacing back and
forth in the small confines of the tent. His agitation had their Chief looking
up from where he was resting his head in his hand, elbow on his chair arm. His
staff, a symbol of his position, was balanced precariously using his other
hand, listing slightly from its upright position. He had been staring unfocused
at the table in front of him; maps, weapons, and writing tools were strewn all
over it.
Surely there was something they could do.
“You know I wouldn’t call on them if there was,” the Chief sighed, rubbing his
forehead. He was tired. They had been in this tent for the last two days trying
to figure out a way to best save their people from the most serious threat
their tribe had received since the Chief began his reign.
Two days prior, Chief Stilinski had received a message from a pack of
werewolves from the north; surrender their land, or die. They were only given a
fortnight to respond. Since receiving the message, the Chief and his council,
Whittemore his lead negotiator, Argent his top warrior and military strategist,
and his son Stiles, next in line to be chief of the tribe, had all been
strategizing what to do against such a threat. They kept coming back to the
same answer. The best defense against a pack of werewolves, was, well, a pack
of werewolves. And the Stilinski tribe had an unusual ally.
Many decades ago, the tribe of humans tending to the land in Beacon Valley,
north of the mountain range known as Beacon Hills, made a peace treaty with the
pack of werewolves that lived in the mountains. The treaty outlined that the
parties would be respectful of each other’s borders, and would not hunt, farm
or irrigate into the other’s territory. The two groups would leave the other in
peace. However, if called upon, they would respond to each other in aid.
As the years passed, the Chief of the Stilinski tribe and the Alpha of the Hale
pack would meet every few years to keep the treaty current and valid. Stiles
remembered attending one or two of these visits in the past, but he’d been
extremely young at the time. No more than six at most.
For the most part, though, the two groups never saw each other. Most wouldn’t
even know the other group existed just outside their border if they hadn’t been
taught of the treaty at an early age.
All knowledge that the tribe had of werewolves when the treaty was originally
struck eventually faded, turning truth into story, and story into myth. In
order to deter their youth from crossing the border, and possibly, though
unintentionally, breaking the treaty, human parents would tell horror stories
of the werewolves. They would make the wolves out to be nothing more than mean,
savage barbarians who would hunt and kill human children for game. The wolves
were described as monsters of the night with glowing eyes, fangs and claws
sharper and stronger than any other animal known to man. They could fully shift
into wolf form, allowing them to blend in with the forest so well that they
would practically become invisible. Their prey wouldn’t know they were being
hunted until it was too late. They were larger and more muscular than humans,
with distorted features that scared even their own children.
When the tribal children became teenagers, the stories took a more mature tone
as well, with more of a sexual nature. They painted the wolves as sexually
crazed animals who would tear their lovers apart in their heat. No human could
survive being taken by a werewolf.
Well, those were the stories, anyway.
Stiles, son of the current Chief, had been raised to believe a little
differently. While he had heard all the stories as a child, just like any of
the other children of the tribe, his parents had also taught him that the Hales
were their allies, that they were loyal and noble creatures who could be
trusted. It was drilled into Stiles from a young age to respect the werewolves,
but to know the truth: they were simply supernatural creatures, who, beneath it
all, were just like humans.
So when word of the pack of werewolves attacking from the north reached their
little community, advising that their tribe was next, Chief Stilinski was
confident enough to call upon their forgotten allies, the Hales.
“Calling on the Hales will do nothing more than provide further panic to the
community. They need something reassuring at a time like this, not something
more to fear,” Whittemore countered. He had been going on and off for the past
two days on how the wolves couldn’t be trusted, how their help would be a
detriment to the tribe, how it would be a mistake.
“We won’t have a community to reassure if we don’t call on the Hales. We’re
farmers, with only a few hunters and warriors. We wouldn’t stand a chance
against an enemy pack. Our people would be slaughtered,” the Chief responded
heatedly. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this exact same argument over
the last two days. “If you have a better idea of how to protect our people,
please, I’m all ears.”
“There are many options. Call upon other tribes, tribes with more hunters.”
“Our only other allied tribes are the Gentries, Normans, and Berries. The
Gentries and Berries have been decimated by this threatening pack, and the
Normans are overcome with an illness. We can’t ask them for aid unless we want
to risk exposing our people to their illness as well.”
“We could move the tribe further south in search of new land,” Whittemore said,
pointing to valleys farther south on the map laid out before the group.
“What, and run when any other pack threatens us? We’ll always be on the move,”
Stiles replied from his seat off to the side of the tent, equally as frustrated
as his father. Why did they have this guy on council again? When Stiles became
chief, assigning a new negotiator would be the first thing he did.
Whittemore sneered at Stiles, his distain of the chief-in-training’s opinion
clear.
“Stiles is right,” Argent piped in. “We need to take a stand. If we don’t,
we’ll be seen as a weak tribe, an easy target for those with an itch to expand
their land claim.”
“This is our land,” the Chief said, thumping his staff against the ground. “We
will defend it. If we need a little help, then so be it.”
“Fight fire with fire,” Stiles chimed in.
“You’re all fools,” Whittemore snapped, throwing up his hands before turning
and making his way out of the tent.
The Chief sighed. He always preferred when the council could come to a
unanimous decision. With Whittemore on council, it seemed to happen less and
less frequently.
“Argent, send a messenger to the Hale pack,” the Chief ordered. Despite
Whittemore’s concerns, he knew the Hales were their only lifeline. “Tell them
we’re calling on our ally for aid, and that we need them as soon as possible.”
 
When four days passed without any word from the Hale Pack, Chief Stilinski was
starting to lose hope their call would be answered. As a result, they doubled
their efforts in preparation to fight on their own. They were planning
relentlessly, working through all hours – day and night. They had little to
show for it, though. Despite their people’s passion and loyalty, they were
still only farmers. There were few with any talent in strategizing battle
plans.
In the late afternoon of the fifth day, however, word came. The Alpha of the
Hale Pack was on his way. He would be arriving later into the evening.
In preparation, the Chief ordered a feast for that night to welcome the Alpha,
and any other guests he may have with him. Temporary sleeping quarters were to
be constructed, beds made, and fruit and wine at the ready. They wanted to
present a respectable welcome to their ally.
As the sun started to fade to evening light, the Chief ordered everyone out of
his receiving tent except for Stiles, advising the rest of his council not to
go far. The Hales would be arriving shortly. He first wanted to ensure his
next-in-line was prepared for negotiations, as this would be the first time
Stiles took part in such important matters.
“I know the last several days have been a lot to take in, but I need to know
you’re ready,” the Chief began once he and his son were alone.
“Dad,” Stiles interjected, fighting back an eye roll. When was his dad going to
trust that Stiles was ready? His dad had trained him ceaselessly all throughout
his childhood. He had never given his dad any reason to think he wouldn’t do
the right thing.
“No, just let me get this out,” the Chief responded, walking up to put a hand
on Stiles’ shoulder. “While the Hales have been allies for some time now, we’ve
never had to call upon them for help before. I’m not sure whether they’ll be
willing to help, so I need to know you’re ready to do the right thing in any
situation.”
“I’m ready, Dad,” Stiles said gently, reassuringly. He knew his father worried
about him, and their people, but he had taught Stiles well. Stiles was ready.
There was nothing more to teach. “We’ll be fine.”
“You remember who the Alpha is?”
Stiles smiled. This was the easy part.
“Derek Hale, he’s been Alpha for three years. Before him, it was his mother,
Talia Hale, who had been Alpha for twenty-three years.”
“Good,” the Chief said, nodding. “His family and second in command?”
“He only has one remaining family member alive, Peter Hale, his uncle. He’s
strictly an advisor. Alpha Hale’s second in command is Boyd, then Reyes.”
“His Emissary?”
“Deaton, a druid.”
“That’s right. Never forget werewolves not only have super strength and speed,
but superior senses as well. They can smell our emotion, they can hear our
lies, they can see details that we can’t. Don’t underestimate them, but don’t
fear them either. When you take away their supernatural elements, they’re just
like us.”
Stiles nodded. He’d heard it all a million times over, but he suspected his dad
was saying it more out of comfort now than anything.
“Say it,” the Chief prompted.
Stiles didn’t bother trying to hide the eye roll on that one. As if he could
ever forget.
“I need to hear it. I need to know you know it,” the Chief said, a pleading in
his eyes that Stiles could never deny. With a sigh that made Stiles sound more
put-upon than he actually was, he indulged his father.
“The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.”
The Chief nodded, clapping his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, a proud smile pulling
at his lips.
“We’ll be fine, Dad,” Stiles repeated. He wanted his father to know he had his
support, and believed that they were doing the right thing. Stiles knew deep in
his gut that his dad had made the right decision to call upon the Hales. If
they were anything like his father had been teaching him, they’d be loyal.
“They’ll help, you’ll see.”
“You get your optimism from your mother.” The Chief smiled, ruffling Stiles’
hair affectionately before pushing him gently away. “Call in the rest of the
council. The Hales should be here shortly.”
They didn’t have to wait long before their guests were announced. The council,
who had been waiting inside the receiving tent as well, quickly took their
place to the left of their Chief. Stiles remained on the right. The Chief sat
stoically in his chair, staff held rigidly at his side. Even though they were a
small tribe, they wanted to appear as a strong, solid unit.
Three men entered as the curtains of the receiving tent were pulled aside. Two
were clearly wolves, however the other had a smaller, slighter build; human to
Stiles’ eyes. If Stiles were to bet, that must be the Emissary, Deaton. 
The stories of the wolves did them justice. They were large, their muscular
bulk beyond most of the male warriors of the tribe. Their height was
comparative, only maybe a touch taller than Stiles himself. It was the air of
their presence, however, that had Stiles straightening his shoulders and
subconsciously rolling to the balls of his feet, purely a defensive move. Their
presence demanded respect, and if it wasn’t freely given, it looked like it
would be taken.
The Alpha led the other two. He was by far the largest of the three. His face
expressed a controlled aggression mixed with a hint of annoyance, but there was
a calmness about him, something measured and strong that left Stiles wanting to
do nothing more than dip his head in respect.
They looked better groomed than Stiles was expecting. Maybe he had given too
much credit to the savage part of the childhood stories, because they looked to
be just as well kept as the human tribe. The Alpha’s dark hair was kept short,
his beard being neatly trimmed. Stiles found himself admiring the masculine
features. It was the Alpha’s eyes, though, glowing hot red that had Stiles’
heartbeat rising ever so slightly. He found them unnerving, a warning of the
danger that laid within.
The second werewolf was just as well groomed, only with lighter brown hair. He
too was bulky, and had a strong angular jawline that matched the Alpha’s.
Perhaps this was the Alpha’s last living relative, the uncle. This wolf’s eyes
were different, glowing an intense blue which had Stiles wondering what the
different colors signified.
As they approached the Chief, stopping a healthy distance away, the Alpha’s
glowing red eyes scanned over each person in the tent, assessing any threats.
His gaze remained an extra beat on Stiles, causing the teen to unconsciously
hold his breath, before he returned his eyes to the Chief. Stiles couldn’t help
but notice the Alpha subtly scenting the air. Super senses, right.
“Alpha Hale,” the Chief began formally, “thank you for answering our call, and
welcome to our little community. Our peaceful treaty has left us distant, but
allied, none-the-less.”
The Alpha didn’t say anything, the slight frown marring his thick brow
unwavering. His expression hadn’t changed with Stiles’ father’s greeting at
all. Maybe that was just the Alpha’s normal expression. Who knew, it could’ve
even been his friendly expression. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to deter the
Chief, though.
“We’ve received a threat from a werewolf pack that has been invading human
tribes from the north,” the Chief began to explain, cutting to the heart of the
matter. “We’ve heard all that have fought on their own have fallen, and we wish
to not follow a similar fate. We are hoping to look to your pack for protection
from this threat, to fight alongside us and send this invading pack fleeing
from our lands so we can return to peace once again.”
“What threat have they spoken?” Alpha Hale asked, his voice low but clear.
While the second wolf’s eyes had now faded to a more natural, human-like hue,
the Alpha’s continued to glow bright red.
“To surrender our land and our crops, or be killed,” the Chief responded.
The Alpha bared his fangs at the words, “What information have you scouted
already? How big is the pack?”
The Chief looked at Argent, who was in charge of the scouts, and would have the
most recent information.
“We have conflicting reports,” Argent began, “some say no more than fifty, some
say over a hundred and fifty. We have sent our own scouts to confirm, but they
haven’t returned yet.”
The Alpha let out a huff at the lack of information.
“We have a common interest, Alpha Hale,” Whittemore began hesitantly, drawing
the Alpha’s attention. Stiles was glad that intense attention wasn’t directed
at him. The guy’s stare was unsettling. “This land. If they annihilate our
tribe, they’ll be on your doorstep. We both know the riches of this land, and
we both benefit from it. It’s in your pack’s best interest --”
A snarled growl had Whittemore stopping his monologue.
“I would appreciate you leaving my pack’s best interest to me,” the Alpha
stated, fangs still bared.
“Of course,” the Chief interjected, raising his free hand at Whittemore’s sound
of protest, “only you can speak for your pack. We mean no disrespect.”
The Alpha’s eyes flickered to Stiles once more, causing the hair on the back of
Stiles’ neck to stand up. Despite meeting the wolf’s stare straight on, he
couldn’t help but feel like prey under the heavy gaze of a predator. Their
subtle stand-off quickly drew the attention of the two other men that had
accompanied the Alpha.
Just as Stiles’ father was clearing his throat, the Alpha spoke, eyes still
trained on Stiles.
“The best thing for my pack is to expand it while keeping this land, its riches
and its people,” Alpha Hale stated, eyes only then falling back to the Chief.
“While my pack is strong, and has healthy alliances with neighboring packs, our
numbers are small.”
“We can completely understand and respect that, Alpha Hale. Our tribe is small
in numbers as well,” said the Chief.
“It’s time for new blood, and new beginnings,” the Alpha stated.
Stiles’ eyes narrowed. He could tell where this was heading, and if he was
right, Whittemore was not going be very happy about it.
“The Hale Pack will come to your aid on the condition that your tribe joins the
pack and integrates with us.”
Just as Stiles expected, Whittemore was quick on his rebuttal.
“You mean submit to you.”
“I mean join us,” the Alpha snapped back, meeting the challenge head on. “Blend
tribe and pack. Humans and werewolves. Those who want the bite can have it, and
those who don’t will be respected. Mates will be taken, and new bloodlines
created. The diversity will help the pack thrive.”
The Chief took a deep breath. Stiles knew that his father would try to keep
this as calm and peaceful as he could, and that he was merely buying time to
think this proposal over. He would never want to give much away during any
negotiations, but when negotiating with werewolves, who could sense the
littlest tremor of your heart, or smell an ounce of fear, everyone, the Chief
especially, would need to keep their emotions reined in.
What the Alpha was proposing was big, and not at all expected. At least, Stiles
wasn’t expecting it, and he doubted his dad had been expecting it either. Maybe
some free trade was anticipated; some livestock surrendered, maybe some wine.
But the merging of the two groups? It hadn’t ever crossed Stiles’ mind. Was
this a common occurrence? Stiles had never heard of it. He’d never heard of
human and werewolf co-existing.
“How exactly do you propose that happens?” Whittemore asked.
“I would recommend a melding of the two groups,” the Emissary interjected,
surprising the council, but not the wolves. “To be one community, to teach each
other your respective traditions, and create your own as well. You will have to
work and act as one. It won’t be easy, and it will take time, but in order to
be successful, the best way would be to unite the leadership of the two groups.
Our Alpha is not yet mated. If our Alpha were to take your Chief’s descendant
as his mate, it would show a strong commitment to the merger, easing the
transition for both pack and tribe.”
“Your first born daughter would be the likely choice,” the other wolf spoke,
causing a snarl to come from the Alpha, which had the second wolf tilting his
head ever so slightly. The movement was so small Stiles almost missed it, but
he recognized it for what it was, a sign of submission.
“I have no daughters, only one son,” the Chief replied, gesturing to Stiles.
“My wife passed before we could have any more children.”
“The Alpha needs to produce the next generation’s alpha. He needs pups,” the
secondary wolf responded once more, eliciting the same reaction from the Alpha.
Stiles got the feeling the Alpha didn’t like what the secondary wolf was
saying, or maybe that the guy was even speaking at all. Regardless, the guy
liked to push his Alpha, apparently.
Stiles only realized he’d been gawking when the Alpha’s moody stare fell back
to him. Swallowing, he looked away, unsettled by the Alpha’s fixated frown.
“Perhaps the daughter of a high ranking family, then,” the Chief tried,
desperate to make this work.
“Wait now,” the Emissary said, his eyes trained on Stiles, a silence descending
on the tent. “This son is a spark.”
Stiles frowned in confusion, looking to his dad for clarification.
“I’m sorry? A what?” the Chief asked before glancing back at Stiles, his eyes
crinkling in a similar look of confusion.
“A spark,” the Emissary repeated. “He’s been touched with the gift of magic.
It’s dormant, but it’s there. He possesses a rare power. A spark can bend
reality to their will, which would allow him to bear the Alpha’s children, if
he so wished.”
The Alpha’s gaze snapped back to Stiles, eyes widening by a fraction. He huffed
loudly, nostrils flaring as his red eyes seemed to glow even brighter, if
possible. It looked like he wanted to say or do something, but he remained
silent, unmoving.
Whoa, wait, hold on. Stiles was magic? That was amazing and exciting news! What
that could mean! The possibilities that lied before him swirled quickly in his
mind, only to come to a full stop when he processed that the Emissary was
proposing Stiles produce children as a woman would. Now, wait just a freaking
minute here …
“You’re saying my son is a mage?”
“Something like that.”
Stiles’ head was spinning. Was his dad actually believing this?!?
“If you need more time to think it over…” the Alpha began, at least offering
them time to caucus. Obviously the wolves came in here expecting negotiations
to go this way; to merge the two groups; for the Alpha to take a mate. But had
they been prepared for the Alpha to take a young male as his mate? And for that
male to produce the Alpha’s children? Did the Alpha not mind a male-male
relationship?
Stiles parted his lips, taking shallow breaths as quietly as he could while
trying to tamp down on his panic.  Yes, they needed more time to think it over!
Stiles needed more time to think it over. He needed a moment to calm down first
though, to leash the overwhelming panic bubbling in his chest from not only
learning that he was a mage – or at least could be a mage – but that he could
also produce children as a woman could. The Alpha’s children. Why wasn’t anyone
else freaking out about this right now?!?
Despite knowing the wolves could probably smell his panic, and hear his heart
thundering in his chest, there was no way Stiles could possibly hide his
reaction from their superior senses. Fortunately, they seemed to be giving him
some semblance of respect by allowing him to have his reaction in some
impression of privacy, their eyes dutifully trained on the Chief.
Stiles licked his lips nervously, looking to his father as well. He knew what
his father’s answer would be before his dad even went to open his mouth. To
them, the leaders of the community, it was simple; the tribe, the treaties,
everything else, then them. The tribe’s welfare came first in all matters, and
aligning the tribe with werewolves would do nothing but help protect their
people, and most likely bring prosperity through hunting, bloodlines, and more
aid with farming. The second most important thing to protect were the treaties
held by the tribe. Without friends and allies, the tribe could be easily taken
over. They needed to nurture and respect their treaties, keeping them strong
and healthy. By merging with the Hales, not only would they be solidifying
their treaty with them permanently, but they would also inherit any and all
alliances to the Hales as well.
So, it would be in the tribe’s best interest to go through with it; to align
with the Hales; to give Stiles as a mate. Stiles knew when it came down to it,
the Stilinskis needed to put everything else before themselves. Everything
else, then them.
The Chief simply shook his head once.
“We don’t need more time,” the Chief said solemnly, not even glancing to Stiles
before responding. “You have our word. If you provide protection during this
threat, if we make it through it, we agree to come into your pack. Together,
working cohesively, we will survive. Then, through the union of you and my son,
the pack and the tribe will get through the tough merger of pack and tribe,
together.”
The deathly grip of sheer panic on Stiles’ chest eased ever so slightly. It
sounded like his dad was agreeing to the union only upon the Hales successfully
getting them through this threat. Stiles would still have time to talk this
over with his father, to make sense of it all, and to possibly see if there was
a way out of it. As much as he’d do anything for the tribe, having to
completely surrender his role as a man and exchange it for that of a woman’s …
it wasn’t something he had ever considered having to do before. Those things
weren’t possible, were they?
“We’ll want an assurance,” the second wolf stated, pulling all of the council’s
eyes to him.
“What kind of assurance?” Whittemore asked, suspicion thick in his tone.
“To prove your integrity, provide the Chief’s son immediately. We’ll bring him
back to our pack where the pair can begin their mating bond, and we can begin
discussion of pack integration and defense strategies.”
Stiles opened his mouth in objection before quickly snapping it shut again,
grinding his teeth together. He couldn’t say anything. It would be nothing but
disrespectful. He was the bartering chip, he didn’t have a say at this point.
He had to leave the decision to his dad and the rest of the council now. The
wolves were making solid proposals, ones that made sense, ones that Stiles knew
they would be making if the situation was reversed.
Stiles knew that everything else came before them, but surely his father wasn’t
intending to wed him off to the wolves. Was he? Giving up Stiles’ manhood?
Sealing a deal that would alter Stiles’ future from anything he had ever
dreamed of?
“Dad,” Stiles began, voice quiet, but the urgency in his tone unmistakable. He
barely registered that he’d actually said the word out loud until he received a
hard look from the Chief. Stiles faltered for a moment, easily reading his
father’s expression. His dad was telling him now was not the time. But if
Stiles didn’t speak up now, he didn’t know whether he’d get another chance
before the deal was struck. “Chief,” he tried again, allowing the plea to bleed
from his eyes. He didn’t want to undermine his father in front of the wolves,
or disrespect him in any way – well, more so than he currently was – so he
switched to the more formal title.
“Not now,” the Chief interjected, practically hissing the words.
Stiles bit his bottom lip to stop anything further from slipping out, dipping
his head to the ground. He could feel his cheeks flush hot in embarrassment at
being dismissed so quickly. He had been right in his earlier analysis. He
didn’t get a say.
The ground started to get blurry as tears stung his eyes. Stiles swallowed
thickly around the painful lump in his throat, blinking hard to clear his
vision. He wouldn’t cry in front of everyone. He was the next Chief of this
tribe, and he would act in a manner that would respectfully represent them.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
The tribe, the --
“You have our promise,” the Chief said stiffly. “We will join your pack and
together we’ll defend and benefit from this land. Are you sure my son is what
you want? That he possesses this spark you speak of?” the Chief queried once
again. “What if he cannot produce the children you’re expecting?”
“He has the gift,” the Emissary replied. “I, personally, will work with him to
train him, to hone his power. He is the perfect choice for a mate for our
Alpha. Blending the leadership is the best way for this to work.”
“Alpha Hale, you agree?” The Chief ventured.
The Alpha simply nodded, his eyes flickering between Stiles and the Chief.
“Then it is done. You will be wed tonight,” the Chief stated.
Stiles’ head whipped up to his father, eyes wide in shocked panic. He swayed
ever so slightly. It felt like the ground was being swept out from under him.
Tonight?!?
The Chief met his look with a pointed stare which only had Stiles looking back
down at the ground. It was done then. He’d been bartered off to the wolves to
save his people.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
Stiles shut his eyes tightly against the onslaught of emotions. He could feel
his hands trembling, his knees threatening to buckle as he fought to remain
still through the remainder of the meeting. There would be time for him crumble
under the pressure later, in private.
“We will perform your custom, however the bond won’t be fully complete until
they mate under the full moon,” the Emissary said, sounding very far off to
Stiles now. The pounding of his pulse was dulling everything else out.
“Very well, that’s only three nights after this night anyways,” the Chief said,
standing from his chair. “We have had a feast prepared to honour your arrival.
Now there is even more to celebrate. We’ll hold the ceremony just before
dinner. Argent,” the Chief said, sweeping his hand towards their military
leader, “please show our guests to their tents. I need a moment alone with my
son.”
Stiles let out a shaky breath, eyes still trained on the ground. The discussion
with his father wasn’t going to be good. He’d disrespected him in front of
their guests, disgracing their family and their tribe. He was in for it.
He deserved it.
As Argent approached the wolves, moving to escort them out of the tent, the
Alpha wolf hesitated a moment, seemingly weighing a thought before advancing
towards Stiles. The movement caught Stiles’ attention, drawing his eyes up the
muscular form before settling on the Alpha’s red, glowing eyes. Stiles held the
heavy gaze, not wanting to show any sign of weakness despite the moisture that
still lingered in his own eyes. He, too, was a leader. He wouldn’t shrink to
another authority figure, regardless of that person’s supernatural strength or
the new role Stiles was expected to play.
The Alpha raised his hand, firmly grasping the back of Stiles’ neck before
pulling him forward forcefully. Stiles stumbled, caught unprepared as he tried
desperately not to fall into the larger frame. Once Stiles found his footing,
the Alpha leaned forward, hovering into Stiles’ personal space, his nose taking
long pulls of their shared air. Stiles found himself holding his breath, his
body rigid as the Alpha encroached upon his personal boundary. Hadn’t the guy
ever heard of a personal bubble?
Apparently satisfied with whatever he was doing, the Alpha then rubbed his
stubbled cheek against Stiles’ smooth one, causing an embarrassing squeak to
pass Stiles’ parted lips. Then, with nothing more, he let go of Stiles before
turning and leaving the tent, followed quickly by everyone else, leaving the
Stilinski men alone.
Stiles choked out a laugh, which was actually closer to a sob as his wobbly
knees finally gave out and he sunk to the dirt floor of the tent. His chest was
still gripping itself painfully tight, and he felt nauseous and light headed.
What the hell just happened? Stiles was going to be married, tonight, to the
Alpha of the Hale pack, and was expected to produce his children.
“Breathe,” Stiles could distantly hear his dad saying, vaguely aware of a hand
on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. When Stiles gathered enough of
himself, thinking he wouldn’t throw up when he moved his head, he looked up,
squinting at his father who was kneeling in front of him. “Say it with me,” his
dad coached gently.
Stiles looked back at the ground, the words lost on him.
This wasn’t happening.
“The tribe,” the Chief began, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder again encouragingly.
“Dad,” Stiles said, his voice cracking on the single syllable.
“The treaties,” the Chief continued, just as quietly.
Stiles slammed his eyes shut.
No.
His dad had never mentioned this. Stiles had been prepared all his life for the
sacrifices he may one day have to make for his tribe: to fight, to go to war,
to take a wife from a neighbouring tribe or any wife he was assigned, to
travel, to barter, to sell his possessions, to give his life. But this? He had
never been warned of this. That he’d have to give up his role as a man, to a
werewolf.
Stiles’ mind was already whirling with the possibilities of what would be
expected of him, of what he’d be turned into, of how his responsibilities of
ruler would be stripped from him.
“Everything else,” his father’s voice penetrated his thoughts.
“Dad, please,” Stiles whimpered, leaning further forward so he was bowed to his
father, forehead touching the dirt. He was begging. He wasn’t above begging.
This couldn’t be his future.
“Say it,” his dad said, his tone losing its gentling quality, turning hard.
Stiles let out a real sob as the tears finally squeezed out from behind his
closed eyelids, falling directly into the dirt. He shook his head, refusing to
believe his dad had given away his only son and heir, taking away Stiles’
ability to ever sire a child.  
His dad grabbed his shoulders, pulling him up so he could look at Stiles.
Stiles pried his eyes open, wanting to convey the hurt, anger, betrayal, fear,
and everything else he was feeling at that moment. Only, his emotions were
quickly overtaken by shock, guilt, realization, then gradual acceptance as he
took in the tears glimmered back at him from his father’s eyes.
In that moment Stiles felt selfish. He knew while he may be making the biggest
sacrifice, he wasn’t the only one making one. His father’s dreams for him were
also being shattered.
Stiles knew what he had to do. It was simple, when it came down it, really.
This was his responsibility, his burden to bear to keep his tribe safe.
Locking eyes with his father, Stiles nodded his assent.
“Then us,” Stiles finally whispered.
“That’s my boy.”
              
The ceremony was a simple one, performed by Stiles’ father quickly before
dinner. Stiles and the Alpha stood at the front of the dinner hall, one of each
of their forearms tied together tightly as the Chief chanted words of unity.
Stiles did his best to keep his emotions even, breathing deeply while keeping
his eyes on his father. The one time he tried to sneak a glance at the Alpha,
whose expression was still cold and unwavering, a pit of dread formed in the
bottom of his stomach so sharply he almost doubled over from it.
When his father completed the ceremony, presenting the couple to the tribe, the
Alpha simply took Stiles’ hand, raising it to the crowd who cheered. They knew
what this meant. They were protected. They were saved. There were a few
whispers wondering why the Alpha was taking a male mate, but the majority were
too happy to question it. Even Stiles’ best friend, Scott, who he easily picked
out in the crowd, was crowing with glee.
Stiles desperately tried to take in their energy, their exuberance. This is why
he was doing it, for his people. He needed to remember this – their love and
support, gratitude and praise – anytime he was doubting this path. It was them
who would get him through this.
During dinner, Stiles just couldn’t sit still. His fingers were constantly
moving; drumming a rhythm out on the head table, picking at the sleeves of his
shirt, scratching at his jawline. His agitation was obvious to those who knew
him well, and to the wolves, who could smell it on him.
The party surged around them, may people coming up to congratulate the newly
wed pair. The Alpha nodded his thanks at them all, but didn’t say much. Stiles
could only manage weak smiles and polite gratitude before his eyes flitted back
to the party, his mind not able to focus on any one thing for long.
Besides their vows, the Alpha hadn’t say a word to Stiles all evening, not even
sparing him a glance or any form of acknowledgement in any way. As the night
drew on, Stiles stomach twisted into tighter knots. Was this going to be their
marriage? Him being ignored by this dominating, powerful, cold, stranger of a
man?
Stiles had always hoped to marry a friend, or if the marriage was arranged,
develop a friendship, something that could become close and intimate. But how
do you make friends with someone who couldn’t even stand to look at you?
Sometime into the festivities, when more than a few people had enjoyed too much
of the wine, the Emissary – Deaton, Stiles remembered – approached the head
table. He bowed slightly before moving to Stiles’ side, bending over to speak
discreetly into his ear.
“Come now,” Deaton said quietly so no other humans could hear, “let me prepare
you.”
Stiles sat up straighter, his eyes widening in alarm as Deaton’s words sunk in.
Prepare you?!?
Stiles jerked back from Deaton, hitting his knee on the table, drawing the
attention of the Alpha and those close around them. Stiles’ cheeks burned at
the meaning behind the words. Prepare you – to consummate your marriage.
Stiles swallowed thickly, his eyes searching out first his dad who was engaged
in a deep conversation with Whittemore, then for Scott, who was trying to gain
the attention of Argent’s daughter. They were enjoying their evening,
completely oblivious to Stiles’ distress; how his life was about to change. How
Stiles wished to be them…
Raising his chin ever so slightly, not daring to look to the Alpha, who Stiles
knew had heard what Deaton said, Stiles rose from his chair. Together, they
slipped from the party unnoticed, Deaton leading Stiles towards the tents that
had been set up earlier that day for their visitors.
When they entered the largest tent, the Alpha’s tent, Stiles’ eyes carefully
travelled the room. There was the main section of the tent, then a smaller
connecting tent off the back where a bed was made up. In the main section,
there was a table with food and wine taking up the majority of the centre, with
other smaller tables set around the outskirts for the Alpha to use for whatever
he wanted; weapons, clothing, books, anything really. Every table was dressed
in cloth with candles already lit, giving the tent a warm atmosphere. A
romantic atmosphere some might say, which only made Stiles even more nervous
that he already was.
There was a tub just off to the side of the main room as well. Steam was coming
from the water, but the air was missing the scents Stiles’ people usually mixed
with the water to bathe.
“Please,” Deaton said, gesturing towards the tub when Stiles remained hovering
near the entrance of the tent.
Stiles hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck before making his way over to
the bath. He was grateful when the Emissary turned his back, busying himself
with some supplies on a table and giving Stiles some privacy to disrobe.
Once Stiles had settled himself into the almost-too-hot water, Deaton came back
over with a cloth in his hand.
“I can understand how overwhelming this all must be,” Deaton began.
Stiles huffed, refusing to look at the Emissary. That was the understatement of
the year.
“But there are traditions and practices used by wolves that you will now need
to learn, and eventually, when the time comes, teach your people as well.”
Kneeling, Deaton dipped the cloth into the water. “Bathing will be different
than how you’ve traditionally done it. Wolves, as you know, have a keen sense
of smell. The oils and extracts humans use in the water will throw off a wolf’s
smell. Not only does it mask the natural scent of a person, a unique identifier
to a wolf, but it artificially saturates the air, reducing the ability to
properly recognise threats.” Deaton paused, allowing Stiles time to process
what he was saying. “I’ll show you how to wash once, but will leave it to you
from here on out. If you have any questions, about this or anything else, I’m
here to answer them.”
Deaton took Stiles through the motions of how to wash; a little lighter around
the neck and behind the ears, while paying particular attention to the groin
and bottom. Even though Deaton was gentle if not clinical in his ministrations,
it still had Stiles blushing furiously through the whole experience, greatly
uncomfortable.
It was just so overwhelming. He was being bathed by a stranger in preparation
to consummate his marriage to a werewolf.
What, exactly, would define consummation?
“Just so I fully understand what’s happening here,” Stiles started nervously,
his eyes trained on the bath water, “Alpha Hale and I … well … he is expecting
to … I mean … tonight we’re going to …”
“Have sexual intercourse, Stiles, yes,” Deaton gently interrupted, saving
Stiles from his painful questioning. “It’s a very important wedding night
tradition in both cultures. The Alpha pair must have a strong, healthy
relationship, which includes sex. If other wolves start to suspect the Alpha
pair weak, or struggling, they could be challenged and killed.”
Stiles’ eyes shot up to Deaton, a number of emotions playing across his
features.
“Killed,” Stiles stated, disbelievingly.
“The only way to dethrone an Alpha is to kill him, or her. The Alpha’s mate is
usually killed at the same time, but on occasion will be sold or enslaved,”
Deaton responded.
Stiles recoiled slightly, sloshing the water in the bath. This day had to be
the worst day of Stiles’ life. If not the worst, a close runner up to losing
his mother. In a matter of hours, he had been married to a male Alpha werewolf,
advised he was some sort of spark mage thing and that he would be expected to
produce children with the Alpha, had the responsibility to merge tribe and pack
traditions, and now, on top of it all, if he didn’t build a strong, successful
relationship with the Alpha - who wouldn’t even look at him - he could be
killed, sold, or enslaved?
Stiles closed his eyes, taking a deep, measured breath, trying to remember the
way it had felt standing in front of his people as they had cheered at their
wedding. This was for them.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
“What would other wolves consider weak?” Stiles asked. He needed to know. He
needed to know how to make their relationship work.
Deaton started to slowly run the cloth up and down Stiles’ back, a soothing
gesture that was mostly meant to calm, but wasn’t doing anything of the sort.
“It’s more of a sense thing,” Deaton carefully began, “the wolves will sense if
an Alpha pair isn’t doing well. They’ll know through scent if there’s a lack of
mating, or will scent emotions of indifference, aggression, sadness,
loneliness, or hate towards each other. There are many signs a pair isn’t doing
well.”
Stiles bit his bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth. Right, no pressure.
Just, ensure you have sex regularly with your stranger of a husband, and, you
know, love him. No big deal.
“Hey, you mentioned earlier that I’m a spark? While I don’t know the full
extent of what that means, and I’m sure we’ll go into it in detail soon, I just
need to know one thing for tonight. Could we … Alpha Hale and I … conceive …
tonight? Is that possible yet?”
Deaton offered a patient smile.
“No, not yet. You and I will have to do some training in order to allow that to
happen.”
Stiles exhaled slowly, relieved. At least that was one less thing he had to
worry about over the course of the evening.
When the bath was done, Deaton presented Stiles a cloak to don, and nothing
else. The cloak was from the tribe, typically worn the night of a wedding.
Beautifully intricate designs spanned its sides, symbolizing the beautiful gift
being given. The cloak was light, drawing fully around Stiles’ shoulders and
form, cascading all the way to the floor, completely concealing Stiles, even
his feet. Two clasps drew the front of the cloak together, one at the throat,
and one at the upper chest level. A hood was also available, but Deaton advised
to leave it off, allowing Stiles’ neck to be exposed for the Alpha.
“When mating an Alpha, there has to be submission,” Deaton advised, tying the
clasps of the cloak. “If an Alpha feels threatened or challenged, he will
attack, attempting to aggressively dominate,” Deaton said, going over to the
main table and pouring water into a cup he had been dumping herbs into earlier.
“After you mate under the full moon, you will be considered an Alpha too, but
until then it wouldn’t be wise to challenge him. There are practices to
formally submit when you mate a werewolf, however we can wait until the full
moon for that. Tonight can be a more human-like experience for you.” Bringing
the cup over, he thrust it towards Stiles who took it warily.
“What is it?” Stiles asked, looking down into the cup. The concoction didn’t
smell too bad.
“There are relaxing agents in it. It will help dull your senses a bit.”
“Dull my …” Stiles repeated before allowing the words to completely fall away.
The only reason to take something to relax and dull his senses before sex would
be in expectation of it hurting. “Deaton?” Stiles queried quietly, a touch of
concern bleeding through his tone.
“The male alpha werewolf has similar sexual anatomy to an actual wolf. Their
penis knots during intercourse. It’s to help ensure his seed is taken. It will
take some getting used to. That,” Deaton said, gesturing to the cup, “should
help until you become accustomed to it.”
Stiles couldn’t stop the full body shudder that spread from head to hip. This
needed to stop, this day needed to officially be over, because Stiles didn’t
think he could handle one more ounce of weird, crazy news. He wanted to wake up
and have this all be just a bad, horribly realistic dream.
“Drink it, it will help,” Deaton said, gesturing to the cup again as he
recapped his herbs and started putting them into a brown satchel.
Stiles stared down into the cup, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he
processed the day’s events. A sob broke from him suddenly, followed quickly by
a laugh. How had things gone so astray so quickly? His sight blurred as tears
formed, the cup with the watery herbs quickly going out of focus.
“It’s a lot to take in,” Deaton’s gentle voice called as he came and grasped
Stiles’ forearm, urging him to take a sip from the cup, “but all you can do is
take it one day at a time. I truly believe this will be best for both pack and
tribe.”
Stiles squeezed the cup tighter, trying to stop his hand from trembling.
“In time, you’ll see,” Deaton said.
Stiles nodded, taking a deep breath before bringing the cup to his lips. The
water tasted the same as it smelled, not great, but not too bad either. There
was a strong woodsy flavor with hints of lavender and camomile. It reminded him
briefly of what his mother used to give him as a child when he was ill.
Lifting his gaze, he nodded to Deaton in thanks, blinking back the tears and
refusing to let them fall. The Emissary was right. It would be better, Stiles
just had to remember his place. Tribe, treaties, everything else, then him.
“Stay there. He’ll be in shortly,” Deaton said, taking the cup from Stiles and
placing it on the table with the fruit and wine before collecting his satchel
and making his way out of the tent.
Just like that, Stiles was alone. He felt so out of place in the big tent,
standing awkwardly in the centre of the main area, awaiting an alpha werewolf,
his husband, to come in and – what? Well, surely have sex, but what exactly
would that entail? Would the wolf claim Stiles’ mouth? His bottom? Both? Would
he be the same cold hearted, angry looking guy he had been all evening, or
would he open up in privacy? Become someone calmer, gentler? Stiles could only
hope that his demeanour was only his armour for the outside world.
Stiles grasped fistfuls of the cloak, desperate to have something to hold onto
as he felt himself being dragged down into a pit of fear and anxiety. He
couldn’t help the trepidation of what was to come creep up on him, his breaths
starting to come in short gasps as his sight once again blurred.
When the curtain of the tent was pulled aside, and the Alpha entered, Stiles’
breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t ready. He needed more time to prepare
himself, to psych himself up. He wasn’t ready for this yet.
Immediately, Stiles downcast his eyes, heeding Deaton’s advice. He didn’t want
to unintentionally challenge the Alpha. Stiles’ shoulders remained back though,
his chin held high.
The Alpha paced around the main room for a moment, doing what, Stiles wasn’t
sure. He could see the Alpha’s feet come in and out of his peripheral vision,
but Stiles didn’t move. He was doing his best to control the trepidation
pressing against his lungs, robbing him of his breath. It took everything in
him to stand still, tall and proud as the Alpha approached, coming to a stop
right in front of Stiles.
While Stiles’ eyes remained on the ground, he could see the Alpha was wearing a
cloak similar to Stiles’. The skin was a little darker, but there were similar
intricate patterns. Stiles didn’t know whether to feel appreciative of the wolf
taking to their customs, or offended.
“Deaton tells me you’ve not yet mated,” the Alpha stated. While his tone was
unjudging, Stiles couldn’t help the heat that flooded his cheeks. He didn’t
know why he was having that sort of reaction. It wasn’t something he should be
ashamed of.
“It’s customary that future chiefs not mate until they turn eighteen and take a
wife. I don’t turn eighteen until next year,” Stiles responded, continuing to
keep his eyes down, focusing on keeping his breathing steady.
The wolf hummed, “And our arrangement seems to have nullified you taking a wife
at all. What are your feelings on the matter, now that we’re in the privacy of
our own tent?”
Stiles swallowed, knowing he needed to choose his words wisely.
“I’ll do whatever is best for the tribe. Your generous offer of protection will
keep my people alive. The aligning of our tribes--”
“Packs--” the Alpha interrupted.
Stiles continued to push through as though the Alpha hadn’t said anything, “-
- will do nothing but bring prosperity. Our union will bring prosperity.”
“That’s a very diplomatic answer, but I want to know what you think, not what
the future leader of your pack – now to be our pack – thinks.”
Stiles raised his eyes to the wolf’s mouth, still careful not to make eye
contact.
His head started to ache. He was already so tired and overwhelmed by everything
that had happened that day. Now he felt like he was playing with fire, unsure
of what the wolf wanted to hear, terrified of what the wrong answer may elicit.
He didn’t have the energy to play this game right now.
“Our union will bring prosperity,” Stiles repeated, his voice wavering. He
cursed himself. He didn’t want to display the cracks in his poise.
The Alpha simply stood there for a moment, a fleeting look of disappointment
crossing his features.
Was that not the right answer?
Before Stiles had the opportunity to open his mouth and try to answer
differently, the Alpha huffed, his eyes burning into Stiles. The sound was
purely animalistic and had the hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck and arms
standing up. Not for one moment was Stiles able to forget he was up against a
predator. 
“Take off your cloak,” the Alpha suddenly said, breaking the silence.
Stiles’ eyes flickered up to the Alpha’s in surprise for the briefest second
before he averted his gaze. The command had Stiles drawing up short. Surely
they weren’t going to … not yet. They had to talk more first, didn’t they? At
least kiss before baring themselves to each other?
Stiles’ hesitation apparently didn’t go over well with the Alpha, as he reached
for the clasps of the cloak. Stiles flinched away, drawing back a single step,
his heartbeat hammering in his chest as he gathered the cloak closer to him
protectively.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” the Alpha said, a tense patience
to his voice. “I don’t want to hurt you, but we are doing this tonight.”
Stiles clenched his jaw tightly. He wanted to argue, to tell him that this
wasn’t how it should be happening, but he didn’t know what the consequences
would be. Couldn’t they take this a little slower? Couldn’t they formally
introduce themselves first?
Again, Stiles must have taken too long to respond because the next thing he
knew he was being hauled over the Alpha’s shoulder. Stiles yelped, flailing
slightly for purchase against the Alpha’s own cloak as they ventured further
into the tent, making their way into the smaller tent at the back that held the
bed.
The Alpha flopped Stiles onto the raised platform, piled high with blankets and
furs. Before Stiles could even get his bearings and right his cloak, the
Alpha’s hands were pushing the fabric away from Stiles’ body.
“Wait,” Stiles insisted, trying to pry his cloak out of the wolf’s hands while
curling away from him, trying to cover himself again.
A fierce growl had Stiles freezing, his whole body going rigid at the primal
threat. What was Stiles doing? This was a werewolf. An Alpha werewolf who could
easily rip him limb to limb. Now was not the time to be his usual, disobedient
self.
“Be still,” the Alpha growled out, yanking Stiles’ hands away from the cloak
and grasping both his wrists easily in one hand. He pulled Stiles’ wrists to
one side as his free hand tore away the clasps of the cloak, pushing the cloak
fully open and off Stiles. He let go of Stiles’ wrists then, leaning back so he
could take in all of the naked form before him.
Stiles couldn’t control the full body flush that occurred from being so fully
exposed, especially since the wolf remained fully cloaked himself. He could
feel the Alpha’s eyes rake over his body, a hunger and anticipation heavily
filling the room.
A whimper let itself past Stiles’ lips without his permission as he clenched
his hands into fists, fighting off the tremors wracking his body. He laid there
paralyzed with fear, shouting at himself to cover his prone form that the wolf
was feasting his eyes on. Stiles had never felt so helpless or degraded in his
life.
The only thing he could do was close his eyes and turn his head away from the
wolf, not wanting to see the glow of his red eyes.
Stiles jerked when a warm hand clasped his shoulder. The Alpha hesitated,
extracting his hand for the briefest moment before manhandling Stiles’ stiff
limbs until he was positioned on his hands and knees, back now to the Alpha.
Stiles had the briefest moment to open his eyes, wide with fear, before he felt
a hot, steady hand between his shoulder blades, pushing down until his
shoulders were resting on the bed, his vulnerable bottom up in the air.
“Like this,” the Alpha instructed, pushing a little harder on Stiles back – a
clear signal to stay still – before removing his hand completely.
Stiles was practically panting with fear, his breaths stuttering as panic
coiled tightly in his chest. He was just going to be taken? Like this? No
preamble? No build up? Just … a fuck? Was this going to be his married life?
Being bent over and used as the Alpha pleased? Stiles slammed his eyes shut
tightly at the thought, his throat constricting with emotion. This was going to
be his life now.
Behind him, Stiles could hear the Alpha moving slightly, his breathing deep. If
it wasn’t for those sounds, Stiles would think he was alone in the tent. He
felt like an object, being bent over with his ass up in the air on display
without so much as a touch, word, or caress.
It took a couple moments, but Stiles was able to piece together what was
happening. The Alpha was stroking himself, probably to hardness before he was
going to enter Stiles.
But as the moments stretched on, Stiles started to wonder if something was
wrong. Did the wolf not find him sufficient? Sexually at least? Could the Alpha
not get hard because he considered Stiles inadequate as a human? Or worse, just
plainly inadequate, even for a human?
Stiles could feel his emotions getting away from him again as he fisted the
blankets slowly, wanting nothing more than to claw and crawl his way free.
Then, as Stiles was starting to feel himself being swallowed by embarrassment
and despair, he felt something lightly hit his lower back and bottom.
Stiles blinked his eyes open in confusion. Did the Alpha just discharge on him?
Without entering him? What did that mean? Was that just a warm up? Maybe
werewolves had amazing recovery rates, and that was just the beginning?
Stiles was jerked from his thoughts when he felt the Alpha’s large, strong
hands start to kneed Stiles’ lower back. He tensed, unsure of what the Alpha
was doing as his hands start rubbing slippery circles across his skin. Stiles
winced when he put together that the movements were eased due to the slick of
the Alpha’s ejaculate. The Alpha was literally rubbing his release all over
Stiles’ lower back and bottom. When the Alpha’s fingers flitted in between
Stiles’ cheeks, however, rubbing ejaculate over and around Stiles’ entrance, he
couldn’t hold back a squeak of surprise, flinching at the fleeting touches.
When the same fingers reached around and started rubbing the ejaculate all over
Stiles’ genitals, he couldn’t help yelping and recoiling from the touch
altogether.
The Alpha merely grunted, grabbing Stiles’ hips and pulling him back into
position before resuming his ministrations. He finished off by rubbing the last
of it over Stiles’ lower stomach. Seriously, how much cum was there?
Stiles’ whole body was quivering by the time the Alpha finished, embarrassment
and confusion coursing through him. Was this a territorial thing? The werewolf
marking his territory? Or some form of lubricant to help the act of actual
penetration?
Before Stiles could even process what the heck just happened, the Alpha was
climbing into the bed and once again manhandling Stiles into position – Stiles’
back against the Alpha’s chest. Stiles was clearly the little spoon with the
Alpha wrapping himself solidly around Stiles’ smaller, lithe frame. He rubbed
his cheek against Stiles’ again, then continued down to his neck, creating a
warm burn from his stubble. Stiles remained tense through the whole thing.
When the Alpha finally settled, and his breathing started to even off, Stiles
lay there, body still tense. He stayed that way all night, awake for most of
it, held tightly in his husband’s grasp, his eyes fluttering around the tent,
taking in the candles, the Alpha’s abandoned cloak, the fruit and wine ...
His mind couldn’t help whirling through all the possibilities of how this
marriage would play out, wondering if their sex life would be anything more
than what had occurred that night, piecing possibilities together on how to
conceive.
As morning light started to pierce through the tent, Stiles finally felt his
eyes slip closed. The last conscious thought he had was that it all didn’t
matter. He was doing this for his people.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
 
Stiles dozed, drifting in and out of a light sleep.  For some reason, he wasn’t
relaxing enough to fall into a deeper sleep, but he couldn’t remember exactly
why. He murmured tiredly when he felt a steady pressure on his shoulder,
pressing him face down into the bed. When his cheek caressed the fur of the
blanket, it pulled a grunt of confusion from him.
Who was helping him to bed?
“Easy now,” a voice rumbled, piercing through the sleep-induced fog muddling
Stiles’ mind. His brow furrowed with concentration as he tried to place the
voice, to remember something important.
When everything slotted into place, Stiles’ eyes flew open.
He was already in bed,with his husband, an Alpha werewolf.
Stiles couldn’t help but jerk back, gasping as if he was surfacing from being
long under water.
The Alpha simply pressed him back down into the blankets with an ease that
Stiles would’ve been embarrassed about if he was paying any attention to it.
There was a sudden tug of the blankets, the cool air of the morning quickly
washing over Stiles’ skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake while every muscle
in his body tightened in panic.
“What-” Stiles tried to ask, turning his torso so he could face the wolf. His
attempt was only met with a firm hand pushing him back down so he was again
facing the covers. Stiles’ stomach knotted as a strange sense of déjà vu from
the night before settled over him. He could feel his heart rate rising, beating
wildly in his chest as his mind raced with what the Alpha was going to do.
Were they going to actually have intercourse this morning? Had the Alpha been
too tired last night after his day of travelling and now they were going to …
well … get on with it? Stiles’ mind screamed at him that he wasn’t ready … he
wasn’t awake enough … he hadn’t had the herbs … this could hurt!
“Easy,” the Alpha repeated gruffly before gracefully moving to his hands and
knees, hovering over Stiles’ prone body. Stiles could feel the Alpha’s body
heat radiating from him, his hard muscles brushing against Stiles’ skin.
Stiles’ body was so acutely aware of each movement that each brush of the Alpha
felt like a shock to his skin, causing Stiles to flinch.
As the Alpha’s hot, hard penis rubbed against his bottom, Stiles whimpered,
grasping fists full of the blankets next to his head. His whole body contracted
as he was rocked down into the bed from the Alpha’s powerful thrust – then
again, and again.
Stiles bit his lip, trying to hold back any noise he might possibly make as he
waited for the single thrust that would slip through his cheeks and impale him.
However, just like the night before, as quickly as it had started, it was
seemingly over.
Warm ejaculate spilled over Stiles’ lower back, making the Alpha’s last couple
thrusts easy with slick. Also much like the previous night, the Alpha gathered
his release and slipped his fingers between Stiles’ cheeks, rubbing the
ejaculate around Stiles’ entrance.
Stiles squirmed, the touch felt strange in the stark light of day – more
oppressing. He pressed his forehead down hard into the blankets in confusion
and frustration. What the hell was happening? Was Stiles not good enough to
bed? Or mate with? He didn’t know whether to be relieved nothing was happening,
or offended.
When he felt the Alpha get off him, leaving the bed completely, Stiles finally
felt some of his muscles loosen, the impending threat of a predator and fear of
the unknown abating. Stiles grabbed a blanket that was thankfully still warm
and pulled it over himself, keeping his face down towards the bed. He didn’t
want the wolf to see the pink staining his cheeks, despite probably being able
to smell his embarrassment, shame, and uncertainty.
“Let that soak in for a bit. I’ll call for them to bring you some warm water
and breakfast,” the Alpha stated, putting on the clothes he had been wearing
yesterday as opposed to the cloak he wore last night.
Stiles didn’t respond to the wolf, doubting the Alpha was waiting for any form
of acknowledgement anyway. He simply pulled the blankets tighter to him,
dipping his head away from his husband, not wanting to engage due to the sheer
mortification of their sexual encounters.
Without so much as a backward glance, the Alpha left the tent once he was fully
dressed.
As the entrance flapped closed again, Stiles rolled into himself, pulling the
blankets and pillows into a ball in front of him so he had something to hug
close to him. The stark reality of Stiles’ new life rushed up on him as he laid
there in the cold morning light, wet and sticky from the werewolf’s most recent
use of him. He no longer had the whirlwind of yesterday’s events to fuddle his
thinking. It was clear now, expectations had been laid out – maybe not
verbally, but physically. This was his life now, a warm body to be used however
the cold-hearted and distant Alpha wanted.
Stiles had always thought – hoped – that his first sexual experiences with
another would be a joyous and fun time, a time where he and his partner could
explore and savour each other. Of course there would be undertones of anxiety
and nervousness, but on his wedding night, Stiles expected to create a strong,
lasting bond with his spouse. But he felt none of that warmth, none of that
excitement. Instead, he felt cold, empty, and used. The only warmth he had was
from the blankets.
Stiles’ chest ached with a misery and self-pity he hadn’t felt since losing his
mother. This felt akin to a loss. It was a loss. A loss of a wish. A loss at a
chance at happiness. If a few tears escaped in his moment of silent mourning,
then no one was around to see them – or smell them for that matter.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
Just as Stiles untangled himself from his fluffy alcove, determined to get on
with his day and put the memories of the last several hours behind him, the
curtain of the tent was pushed aside. Lydia strode in with a pot of steaming
water. She only had to take one look at Stiles, her elegant, purposeful stride
wavering for just a moment, before she dropped the steaming pot right where she
was. She rushed over to him, eyes wide with concern.
“Oh Stiles,” Lydia whispered, kneeling in front of her long-time friend. Stiles
pulled the blankets a little higher before wiping away any traces of his tears.
There was no fooling her though, she would see right through any attempt to
hide them. “Are you alright?” she asked, reaching a tentative hand out towards
his blanket covered knee before retracting it.
That hurt too – her hesitancy to touch him. Was it because he was now married?
To a wolf? Or because she no longer considered him the man he once was?
Regardless of the reason for her hesitancy, Stiles gave her a weak, watery
smile.
“Of course, I’m fine,” he replied, voice croaky from emotion.
“Nonsense, you wouldn’t be crying if you were fine,” she chastised. “Did he …
did he hurt you?”
Stiles snorted, shaking his head. Well, the Alpha hadn’t hurt him in a way he
was prepared to vocalize. Pride and ego wasn’t something you talked about to a
woman. But he understood her intent behind the question.
“No, nothing like that,” Stiles insisted.
“Did he give you the bite?” she asked, eyes narrowing in anger on his behalf.
“No,” Stiles smiled, huffing. Well, when she asked questions like that his
little pity party seemed pretty pathetic. There were worse things he could be
crying over at the moment. “Really, Lyds, it’s fine. I’m fine, just a little
overwhelmed I guess,” Stiles said, smiling a little brighter for her.
She was eying him suspiciously as the curtain to the tent was again pulled
aside. Allison strode in with a basket and a cup, containing breakfast and
water respectively, Stiles imagined. She too took one look at Stiles before she
quickly deposited her possessions on the food table and dropped to her knees
next to Lydia, a look of concern crossing her features.
“What did he do?” Allison asked, voice tight. “Do you want me to go get my
father?”
Stiles flushed, embarrassed at the conclusions the girls were coming to. He
supposed it was warranted, given the stories about the werewolves and their
lust-filled, animalistic ways. Boy, did they ever have it wrong in this case.
Stiles’ chest warmed a little, though. The protectiveness of his friends was
filling him with the emotions that had been missing from the night’s
experience; caring, friendship, love. What was he going to do without his
tribe, however little the time? They would all be together again when the
threat of the pack from the north was gone, and they had prepared enough to
merge the two groups. But in the meantime, it was going to be hard going
through this without them.
“I really appreciate the concern, but I’m fine,” Stiles said, looking from
Allison to Lydia pointedly, “honestly.” Neither of the girls looked like they
believed him, but it was Allison who saved the moment right when Lydia was
going to interject.
“Well, my dad was called to a military strategy session this morning, so you
might want to get up and get going if you want to take part in that,” Allison
said, squeezing Stiles’ foot through the blanket as she got back to her feet.
Stiles frowned.
A military strategy session? Why hadn’t he been notified? His stomach clenched
with unease. It was happening sooner than he expected. What, he became a mate
and now he wasn’t expected to take part in these things? That hurt too.
“Yeah, I need to be there for that,” Stiles said, which was more than enough of
a hint for the girls. They both rose, turning to leave. Lydia hesitated at the
entrance, looking back to give Stiles a smile – a tight smile that clearly
conveyed she was still worried about him – before following Allison out.
Stiles sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, hoping to ease some of the
tension. He’d have to deal with Lydia’s concern later.
Getting up, Stiles quickly cleaned himself of both the dried cum from the night
before, along with the new deposit from that morning using the warm water Lydia
had brought in. He had been right in his assessment the night before. There was
a lot of ejaculate. More than Stiles had ever produced in a single (make that
double) orgasm. That must be a werewolf thing too.
Not wanting to spend any more time dwelling on the proceedings of last night
and this morning, Stiles got dressed and grabbed a handful of food before
exiting the tent.
He was maybe three steps out into the cold morning air, his breath billowing
out in puffs in front of him, before the blue eyed werewolf fell into step
beside him. The wolf had been so stealthy in his approach that he startled
Stiles enough to veer him off course.
“Geez,” Stiles gasped, slamming a hand to his chest as he corrected his path
and continued on, “warn a guy, would you?” Stiles peered at the older wolf out
of the corner of his eye. The sly, smarmy smile the guy was giving him made the
hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck stand up.
“I apologize, I didn’t get the opportunity to officially welcome you to the
family last night,” the wolf said.
Family? Well, Alpha Hale only had one remaining living relative …
“Then you must be-” Stiles said, turning to look at the wolf a little more head
on as he continued towards his destination. There was no reason to be rude to
the Alpha’s relative.
“Peter Hale,” the wolf said, keeping stride with Stiles as he held out his
hand. Stiles looked at it warily. The guy appeared friendly enough, but Stiles
wanted to trust his gut on this one. There was something that just didn’t sit
right.
With an arched eyebrow, Stiles relented, grasping hands to shake in formal
greeting.
The second Stiles’ palm slipped into Peter’s, though, he was pulled roughly
towards the wolf. Stiles stumbled into the guy’s chest, looking up in shock
only to be met with Peter’s electric blue, glowing eyes, a wildness to them
that had Stiles sucking in a gasp of a breath.
The wolf leaned into Stiles’ space, nose dipping to scent at Stiles’ neck. What
the …?
Stiles hitched his shoulder up in defense, roughly shoving himself away from
the wolf. He glared at Peter, declaring with every ounce of body language he
could to stay away. 
Creeping backwards, Stiles kept his eyes on the older man. When Peter remained
where he was, features still painted with the same wild eyes and snide smile,
Stiles finally turned, picking up his pace.
Peter had been amused, but by what, Stiles wasn’t sure. Seriously, such a
creeper. He’d have to ask Alpha Hale – errr – Deaton – he’d have to ask Deaton
about Peter later.
All thoughts of Peter quickly fled his mind, though, as Stiles slipped into the
war tent. He couldn’t stop himself from silently fuming when his eyes fell on
everyone already deep in discussion. His dad, the Alpha, and Argent were all
surrounding a map in the middle of the room.
As soon as Stiles entered, the Alpha lifted his head, his eyes glowing red for
the briefest moment before fading back to their more human hue. Stiles wondered
what color the Alpha’s eyes were in his human form, and then scoffed at himself
for wasting time thinking about such trivial things.
Approaching the table, Stiles hesitated, not sure on where to stand. Was he
still at his father’s right hand? Or was he now at Alpha Hale’s? Squaring his
shoulders, he decided to compromise, coming to stand between his dad and his
husband. As soon as he took his position, his dad clapped Stiles’ back with a
force that had Stiles straining not to stumble forward.
“Good morning, son,” the Chief said happily, his eyes bright as they lifted
from the map to settle on Stiles.
“Morning,” Stiles managed, offering his dad a weak smile in return, a blush
creeping up high on his cheeks. His dad probably thought he was a man now,
having consummated his marriage last night with the Alpha. Wouldn’t he be
surprised if he ever learned the lack of consummating that had occurred.
Mentally shaking himself, Stiles decided to change topics. He never wanted to
entertain the idea of his father thinking of his sex life. That was just…
“Why didn’t anyone let me know we were meeting?” Despite trying to make it
light, there was a hint of accusation in the words.
The Chief clapped Stiles’ back once again. A squeeze to Stiles’ shoulder had
him looking at his father. As much as there was a smile still on his face,
there was a somberness there as well – a silent question in his eye; a question
of whether Stiles was alright.
When Stiles nodded a subtle affirmation, his dad let it drop.
“Derek and I thought it might be best to let you sleep. He said you didn’t get
much last night,” the Chief said, giving Stiles a wink. Stiles coughed on
nothing, eyes growing wide in mortification that his father thought they had
been up all night celebrating their marriage. And wait, hold on … Derek?!? When
had his dad gotten on a first name basis with Stiles’ husband? He hadn’t even
gotten on a first name basis with his husband!
Stiles could feel his whole face growing hot. How was this seriously happening
right now?
Clearing his throat, Stiles ducked his head, refusing to make eye contact with
anyone in the tent. He had felt like a failure, having the night they had, and
now with his dad’s freaking glee shining through, as if Stiles’ and the Alpha’s
bond was … was … Stiles didn’t even know – joyful? Complete? It just made
Stiles feel like a fraud – an even bigger failure.
Swallowing back his sorrow at such a disaster, and deliberately ignoring the
Alpha’s heavy gaze on him, Stiles forged ahead.
“What did I miss?” Stiles mumbled, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.
“Not much,” the Chief responded, focusing back on the map. “We’re going to send
one of our messengers, along with an escort from Derek’s pack, to notify this
pack from the north that we’re not going to surrender. If they want a battle,
they’ll have one.”
Argent pointed to a section of the drawing, a narrow valley two mountain ranges
away.
“They’re rumoured to be camping around this valley, with reports of one hundred
wolves,” Argent supplied. The valley he was referring to was a good fortnight’s
travel. They’d be waiting on any answer for a while.
“While we wait for the message to be delivered, and for a response, we’ll go
back to the pack and start readying them for battle,” the Alpha said.
Stiles bit his lip, crossing one arm over his chest as he brought the other
hand up to his mouth to chew on his thumb nail. He knew the “we” most likely
included him as well, based on yesterday’s negotiations that is. It was
expected Stiles would go back with the werewolves so that he and the Alpha
could work on their bond.
What did that even mean? Was it something more than a marriage?
“Who knows,” the Chief added gently when he noticed his son’s nervous habit
from when he was a toddler, “you may even get to learn more about this spark
you carry. Maybe get a chance to talk a little about the merger of the two
groups.”
Stiles simply nodded, forcing a small smile on his face to pacify his father.
Because it would be nothing to go with these strangers, to a strange place,
where there were more strangers. Add to that trying to fit in to a new
community, the responsibility of merging two groups, preparing for a battle,
learning to be a mage … spark … thing, and pulling off a successful
relationship with his husband who he hadn’t even had a conversation with yet.
It would be simple, surely.
“Pack light,” the Alpha stated, throwing the words out without addressing
Stiles directly. “We’ll leave by midday.” Without waiting for a response, the
Alpha turned and left the tent, pulling a frown from Stiles. He could see a
trend starting. His chest clenched painfully in disappointment.
Stiles placed his hands on the table, sucking in a shaky breath. He was leaving
his tribe today, the only people he had known growing up. He was leaving his
home, his family, his future, and possibly his manhood behind. And the person
responsible for it all didn’t even seem to care.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
 
“I mean, you’ll get to come back and visit us, right?” Scott asked, his hand
raking through his hair in agitation.
“Probably not, Scott,” Stiles said, slipping by him and grabbing his satchel so
he could start packing. He hadn’t been surprised when he arrived back at his
own tent and his friends were already in there waiting for him.
Scott, Allison, Lydia and Jackson’s somber faces weren’t going to make any of
this easier. Well, Jackson’s expression was more bored than somber. Stiles
suspected that Lydia had made him come, which was no skin off Stiles’ nose,
really. He and Jackson had never gotten along, even since they were infants.
Stiles had been secretly dreading the day when Jackson would take Argent’s
place and become the top warrior of the pack. The only relief he had was that
it was Lydia who would be taking the part of Whittemore as lead negotiator for
their generation. With Lydia, they would have a healthy balance in the council.
“Not until the threat of this pack from the north is dealt with,” Stiles
continued, grabbing his father’s hunting knife – a coming of age gift – and
sliding it into the satchel.
“Well, we’ll come visit you then,” Scott replied, crossing his arms over his
chest. He followed Stiles’ movement as he made his way back over to his bed and
opened the chest beside it.
“You’ll be needed here, to get ready for the battle,” Stiles responded,
searching the chest thoughtfully before diving in and carefully scooping up his
prize. It was the eagle feather Scott had given him the day they had become
friends at four years of age.
“Yeah, like making weapons. You know, your job?” Jackson said from the entrance
way where he was leaning on a post.
“Oh hush,” Lydia told Jackson before coming to kneel next to Stiles. She
reached into the chest and pulled out the reflective stone she had given Stiles
for his birthday last year. Stiles smiled at her in thanks. He definitely
wanted to bring that to remember her by.
A heavy sigh had Stiles and Lydia looking back up at Scott, who only deflated a
little when their eyes landed on him. Stiles offered a small smile to his best
friend, his heart hanging heavily in his chest. As much as it was going to hurt
to leave his tribe and friends, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy for them
either. As their future leader, Stiles needed to be the strong one.
Standing back up, Stiles made his way over to Scott, grasping his shoulder
tightly.
“There will be so much to do you’ll barely notice I’m gone,” Stiles said,
forcing a brighter smile at his gloomy friend. “And before you know it, this
danger will pass and we’ll all be together again – pack and tribe.”
“Yeah,” Jackson snorted snidely, “and Stilinski here will be popping out cubs
and Hale will be Chief.”
Stiles whipped around, eyes bugging out at that simple sentence. He quickly
tried to rein in the anger, betrayal and embarrassment flashing across his
features. That had been a private negotiating session – with none of the more …
sensitive … details released yet. Particularly those regarding Stiles being a
mage and being expected to bear the Alpha’s children. That fucking
Whittemore...
“You will maintain order,” Stiles hissed. Stiles knew Jackson was pressing him,
testing him on what he would do – challenging the order of rank. If he hadn’t
been doing it all their lives, Stiles would’ve wondered if it was just because
of his new role to the Alpha. “Details of private negotiations will not be
discussed until the Chief announces it. You know better.”
“And they’re pups, by the way,” Lydia interjected, rising and looking at her
nails, “not cubs.” There was a disinterest to her tone that had Stiles’ stomach
tumbling with dread. Why was she not freaking out over what Jackson had just
divulged? Why wasn’t anyone freaking out over what Jackson had just divulged?
“And Hale is an Alpha. He’ll never let himself be called Chief,” Allison
supplied as well.
“What?” Stiles shrieked, looking agape at all his friends. Even Scott didn’t
seem surprised by any of this. “You know?!?”
“Of course we know, stop looking so surprised,” Lydia said, going over to stand
next to Jackson.
“You’re not supposed to know,” Stiles practically grit out through his teeth,
“and if any of you had a lick of sense or self-preservation you would’ve kept
it to yourselves. You know divulging Council information is punishable!”
“As if you’d do anything,” Jackson sneered, waving a hand dismissively.
“Don’t push me, Jackson!” Stiles hollered, pointing a finger at the warrior.
“Stiles,” Allison called, placing herself between the two. “He may have told
Lydia, but I told Scott,” Allison said gently. Stiles could feel his eyebrows
twitching downward, suddenly feeling like a fool. Apparently there were no
secrets between family – or friends for that matter – of those that were on
Council. And if Scott and Lydia knew, how many else in the tribe knew? What
were they all going to think?
Stiles’ face flamed at the thought of the whole tribe now knowing what he had
become. He knew it was eventually going to come out, but he wasn’t ready for it
yet. He wasn’t ready to feel that level of humiliation, to see everyone look at
him as Jackson just had – with a hint of disgust, of disdain. How could he lead
if they no longer respected him?
“Stiles … Stiles!” Scott’s voice shouted, piercing through his thoughts.
“Breathe!”
Stiles’ eyes searched for Scott’s as his vision blurred, his limbs feeling
heavy and tingly from not enough oxygen as his chest clamped down like a vice.
No … not another spell of panic. He hadn’t had one since the year his mom had
died. He thought he had grown out of them.
“How many?” Stiles wheezed out.
“How many what?” Scott asked, fear and panic reflecting back to Stiles.
“How many know?” Stiles gasped, holding onto Scott as he tried to fight the
attack.
“No one. Just us,” Scott replied, pulling Stiles closer. He was met with
resistance at first, but after only a moment Stiles allowed Scott to fold him
in close. “Just us,” Scott repeated, patting Stiles’ back reassuringly.
When Stiles’ questioning eyes bore into Scott, demanding assurance, Scott
squeezed his shoulder. “I swear, only us.” At those words, the grip on Stiles’
chest loosened, and he was able to pull in an actual breath. The sense of
relief only lasted a second though …
“And that’s our future leader, everybody,” Jackson said dryly, clapping his
hands in mock applause, “as scared and insecure as ever.”
Scott was no warrior, but he rounded on Jackson so fast even Jackson was
surprised.
“Show some fucking respect, would you?” Scott spit, shoving Jackson back.
Jackson’s lax stance changed quickly to something aggressive and defensive all
at once.
“Not likely,” Jackson ground out, coming to stand nose-to-nose with Scott.
“He’s practically a woman for fuck’s sake. He’s no leader, letting Hale do that
to him.”
Stiles covered his eyes with his hands, his face flaming in shame, his exact
fears coming to life with Jackson’s words. They were going to strip him of his
title.
Scott tried for a punch, but Jackson easily dodged it.
“Stop it! Both of you,” Allison shouted, pushing her way between the two before
addressing Jackson. “Yeah well your future leader here saved your ass. He saved
mine and probably Lydia’s as well.”
“What are you talking about?” Jackson scoffed, disbelief coloring his features.
“Maybe your dad left this part out, but apparently Chief Stilinski was offering
up other high ranking tribe families as a potential mate for Hale, which
could’ve included me or Lydia,” Allison said, motioning between her and Lydia
with a finger.
“So? When they found out he was a mage, he was number one choice,” Jackson
said.
“So? So if he’s a mage and could bend reality, he could’ve offered you up and
made it so that you could’ve had Hale’s pups.”
“No way, Chief Stilinski offered Stiles–”
“And you want to bet that if Stiles had begged his dad not to be mated, he
wouldn’t have conceded? It was self-sacrificing – the trait of a true leader.”
Stiles slowly found himself lowering his hands, watching the altercation
warily. He knew there was little ground to what Allison was saying. Stiles
would’ve never defied his dad so out rightly, and would’ve never offered one of
his friends to the wolves … okay maybe Jackson. No – not even Jackson. And he
didn’t even know if his magic could work that way on someone else. But he
appreciated her intent. He appreciated her sticking up for him.
“Whatever,” Jackson admonished, throwing his hands up and scowling one more
time at Stiles. “Good riddance,” he hissed before leaving the tent. The silence
that fell upon them then felt tight with an undertone of shock. They all knew
Jackson thought he should be the leader, but he rarely was so blatant and harsh
about it.
Stiles swallowed thickly, rubbing the back of his neck in agitation. So, his
friends knew. Now what?
“He can be such an idiot sometimes,” Lydia said, shaking her head and making
her way over to where Allison and Scott were standing, looking at Stiles.
“Sometimes?” Scott asked scornfully.
“Hey,” Allison called gently. It took Stiles a second to realize she wasn’t
addressing Scott, but when he did, he allowed his eyes to hesitantly meet hers.
“No matter what, you’re still our leader. You’re still our future Chief.”
The words hit Stiles like a punch to the gut. It felt like all the emotions
from yesterday and today just hit him in one, giant tidal wave, crashing over
him and pulling him under. Quickly, his vision blurred and his throat ached
with emotion, tears spilling over his cheeks as he held back the sob that so
desperately wanted to come out. Someone still believed in him, despite knowing
the truth.
“No matter what,” Scott agreed, falling to his knees and touching his head to
the dirt – their people’s deepest sign of respect, usually displayed only to
the current chief.
“Scott,” Stiles whispered, honoured by the gesture.
“No matter what,” Allison repeated, gracefully kneeling to do the same. Stiles’
eyes widened in surprise. It was one thing for his best friend to do that, but
for Allison to, it meant even more somehow.
“No matter what,” Lydia whispered as well, her eyes conveying her conviction as
she, too, knelt and dipped her head to the ground.
Stiles hiccupped back his tears, wiping at them furiously as he took in his
three friends before him. He had always known that they were his closest
allies, but Jackson was right; there was always some level of insecurity in him
that had him questioning whether he was worthy to be their next leader. Having
them display their level of loyalty like this … well it gave him just a little
more hope and assurance that he could do it. That he may be worthy.
“Thanks, you guys,” Stiles choked out, dropping to his knees and pulling them
all into a hug.
He would prove to them that he was worthy.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
 
Most of the tribe had come out to see Stiles and their visitors off. It was
tradition to have a formal send-off when marrying a member of the tribe off to
another. While Stiles would be reunited with his tribe, it was still a
temporary send-off, and one they weren’t going to miss for their Chief-to-be.
There was nothing but smiles and well wishes for them, the energy of the crowd
light with excitement and good cheer. Even some of the younger children were
throwing flowers in the air, a romantic customary gesture. It made Stiles’
stomach flip. None of this felt romantic.
“I’m proud of you, son,” the Chief said quietly into Stiles’ ear as he pulled
him into a tight, one armed hug once they got to the edge of the community.
Stiles had learned how to maneuver gracefully around the large staff years ago.
It was practically an extension of his father.
Stiles scoffed, “Dad, I haven’t done anything yet.” He might have been holding
on a little tighter to his dad than a mere hug would warrant, but at that
point, he didn’t care. As much as he knew he must go, he didn’t want to. He had
never been separated from his whole tribe before. The notion of it was
terrifying.
“You’ve handled this whole thing so well, like a true man leading his people,”
the Chief stated, pulling back from the hug so he could look at his son. “I
know this isn’t easy, but you’re making the best out of what could be a
difficult situation. I know with you leading us through it, the merger will go
smoothly. There’s no one better for the job.”
Stiles could feel a lump forming in his throat. His dad had never been low on
encouragement, but those words meant a lot. He felt better knowing his dad
stood behind him.
“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles whispered, squeezing the Chief’s forearm one more time
before letting go and turning towards his party, one hand going to ensure the
satchel that hung across his chest was secure. After his hug-out with his three
friends in the tent, he hadn’t had much time to add his remaining items before
he had been called upon to be ready.
The three men who had entered their community as guests were standing at a
close distance, waiting patiently for him at the edge of the forest.
Well, Deaton was waiting patiently. The Alpha still had his brows furrowed,
which Stiles was coming to know as his normal expression, as opposed to being
actually angry. However Peter was clearly impatient, arms crossed with a
frustrated expression painted on his features.
“Where are the horses?” Stiles asked, looking around while taking a few steps
towards the group.
“We don’t travel with horses,” the Alpha replied. “They fear us. You and Deaton
will ride with me and Peter. It will be faster than travelling on foot.”
“Ride with you?” Stiles asked, clearly confused.
The Alpha raised an eyebrow, as if he questioned Stiles’ sincerity and smarts.
Taking a step towards Stiles, the Alpha’s form shifted suddenly, quickly. Flesh
and hair turned quickly to fur, clothes shredding into tattered pieces, the
transformation ending with the Alpha on all fours in front of Stiles. He was a
full on wolf.
There were gasps and cries from the tribe, which turned to whispered murmurs of
disbelief. The stories were true,which had Stiles wondering if the
transformation was true, what else from those childhood stories could be true?
The Alpha wasn’t just a normal wolf, he was a massive wolf. His head was nearly
the same height as Stiles’, his back coming up well past Stiles’ waist. The
black fur looked thick and coarse, his shoulders wide and broad. It was his
eyes, though, that held Stiles captive, his eyes were the same glowing red. It
took everything in Stiles’ being not to take a step back from the predator
before him. His husband.
Stiles found himself snapping his jaw shut when he realized his mouth was
gaping open.
The Alpha swished his tail impatiently, snorting out a breath as he came to
stand in front of Stiles.
“It’ll be fine,” the Chief whispered into Stiles’ ear while ushering him closer
to the wolf. “Up you go, now.”
Stiles looked over his shoulder at his father, eyes relaying his fear and
trepidation. He couldn’t ride a wolf.Especially not the man … wolf, rather …
that had caused such him such discomfort and humiliation. It was too intimate,
wasn’t it? It would be completely different than riding a horse.
When Stiles’ focus fell over his father’s shoulder, though, settling on Scott,
Allison and Lydia standing at the front of the tribe, he remembered why he was
doing this. He could do this, for them.
With trembling hands, Stiles reached out for the scruff of the Alpha’s fur. The
fur was softer than it looked, but was just as thick. It had Stiles relaxing
slightly, enough to compose himself as he carefully clambered up onto the
Alpha’s back.
“You take care of him, now,” the Chief said. It took a second for Stiles to
realize he was addressing the Alpha, not Stiles.
The Alpha dipped his head in response, sauntering back over towards the trees.
Stiles looked over to Deaton, surprised to see he, too, was now astride a wolf.
Stiles had been so caught up with the Alpha’s transformation and his own
hesitation that he hadn’t even noticed when Peter had transformed. Where the
Alpha was pure black, Peter had a dark brown coat, and was only slightly
smaller than the Alpha.
Stiles looked to where Deaton was holding on to Peter, as he wasn’t sure how to
hold onto a wolf, and he was willing to bet the Alpha wouldn’t appreciate him
pulling his fur. But Deaton was doing exactly as Stiles was, holding tightly to
the scruff of Peter’s coat.
The Alpha looked up over his shoulder at Stiles for a moment, as if to confirm
he was still there, before taking off at a gentle lope, probably to allow
Stiles to get the feel of his gait before they started to move at a travelling
pace.
Stiles held on tightly, leaning forward slightly so he could hold onto the
Alpha’s back more with his thighs, a blush gracing his cheeks at the intimacy
of having his husband between his legs, regardless of the circumstance.
Before they disappeared into the treeline, Stiles made sure to glance back at
his tribe despite being unable to wave with the death grip he had on the Alpha.
As he watched his dad, Scott, Allison, Lydia and the rest of the tribe wave, he
choked back his emotion. He could do this. He had to do this. He’d see them all
again, and soon.
He was so caught up in his own despair that he didn’t recognize the quiet
whimpering coming from beneath him.
 
The trip itself was surprisingly short while astride the Alpha. It was all
uphill though, which Stiles knew would’ve taken his human legs a lot longer to
travel than the powerful stride of the wolves. When they crossed the boundary
of the treaty, Stiles felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It felt
wrong to pass it, even if he was meant to – allowed to. With so many years of
training engrained into him to never cross the boundary, it just felt wrong.
It was still late morning when they emerged from dense forest into more of an
opening. They had climbed quite a bit. The air was thinner and colder than down
in the valley. There were trees sporadically located throughout the clearing
with wood cabins tucked strategically away beneath their thick trunks and
branches.
As they made their way into the community, Stiles was surprised with how
developed the whole thing was. The cabins were solid and well built, with
larger buildings closer to the middle of the community, probably for large
families or gatherings. There were pathways joining everything and werewolves
walking along them in human form with intricate clothing. Stiles wasn’t sure
what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t something so structured.
What was just as much of a surprise was the difference between the exuberant
send off from his tribe, and the lack of any form of welcome from the Hale
Pack. There was no welcoming party, there was no happiness – more of the
opposite really. Stiles was met with a mixture of curious and suspicious stares
as their party loped down the paths of the community – going where, Stiles
wasn’t sure. He even got the occasional snarl and growl, which was answered in
turn by the Alpha while they maintained their pace and continued further into
the cabin-ridden forest.
On more than one occasion Stiles found himself pulling his legs higher up in
case someone tried to nip at him. Luckily it didn’t have to come to that. The
message was clear though – Stiles was a stranger; an unwelcome one.
Their journey finally came to an end closer to the back of the community. There
was a cabin the same size as the rest, with no identifying features on it.
There were two wolves in human form standing on either side of the entrance,
both blond, one male and one female. They looked rather young to tell you the
truth, late teens, early twenties at the most. Stiles was surprised to find
guards at what he presumed was the Alpha’s door. Wasn’t the Alpha the strongest
of the pack? Why would he need guards?
When the realization that these silent, unfriendly sentinels were most likely
not for the Alpha, and more likely for Stiles, a sense of dread washed over
him.
As the Alpha strode right up to the door, Stiles looked back, surprised to find
Peter and Deaton were no longer behind them. Neither of the guards made any
sign of acknowledgement as they approached and the Alpha nudged the door open.
It took a moment for Stiles’ eyes to adjust from mid-daylight to the dark
interior of the cabin. It was a single room, simple in its decorating. Directly
across from the entrance there was a vacant fireplace with a large rug and
sitting area with two comfy chairs before it. On the end wall to the left,
there was a bed, bedtable and chest, with a tub nestled into the corner. On the
end wall to the right was a large dining table, void of anything other than a
pitcher and some cups. That was it. There was no storage, no books, no papers,
no knick-knacks or trinkets, nothing to personalize or warm the space at all, a
glaring difference from Stiles’ homey tent back with his tribe.
As the Alpha came to a halt, Stiles started, realizing there was no reason to
stay astride the massive wolf any longer. Carefully, he climbed off him,
holding on for a brief second until his riding legs felt stable beneath him.
Silently, the Alpha moved to the chest at the end of the bed before beginning
his transformation back to human form. After a moment of watching in awed
horror, Stiles turned, a blush high on his cheeks from catching a glimpse of
the Alpha’s nude human form.
Instead, to distract himself, Stiles took off his satchel, allowing it to rest
in one of the sitting chairs in front of the fireplace. He allowed his eyes to
drift around the room, desperate to ignore the nude form behind him.
“Do you need anything?”
The Alpha’s cold tone broke the silence, causing Stiles to jumping slightly as
the Alpha came into his peripheral vision. He was thankfully doing up the
drawstring of his pants. His chest was bare, his shirt slung over one shoulder,
but at least his lower half was covered.
“No,” Stiles replied, “I’m fine, thank you.”
The Alpha stared hard at Stiles for a moment, making Stiles want to wilt from
the scrutiny, but he resisted. He needed to show that outside of the bedroom he
wasn’t going to take a submissive role.
“There are two guards outside who will bring you anything if you change your
mind,” the Alpha said, pulling the shirt over his head. “You are not permitted
to leave this cabin. Deaton will be by in a little while to start your
training.”
“What?” Stiles asked, brow furrowing as he processed the Alpha’s words. “What
do you mean not permitted? For how long?”
“Until it’s deemed safe,” was the Alpha’s response as he made his way to the
table and poured himself some water from the pitcher.
“Safe?” Stiles queried, watching his movements. “Safe from what?”
“It’s none of your concern. Not yet at least,” the Alpha said, setting his cup
back on the table before making his way to the door.
Stiles frowned deeper. Did this have to do with them needing a strong
relationship? Was it unsafe for them, even now? Did they not get a courting
period or trial period to allow their relationship to grow?
“Wait,” Stiles blurted as the Alpha opened the door. The Alpha stopped, a look
of annoyance flitting across his features before his eyes settled on Stiles.
“How can we think about merging Pack and Tribe if I don’t get to learn about
the Pack?”
The Alpha’s eyes narrowed, face hardening.
“You will not leave this cabin,” the Alpha said firmly, pointing to the dirt
floor while his eyes flared to their supernatural red. “That’s an order,” he
bit out before leaving the cabin, the slamming of the door causing Stiles to
flinch.
Seriously? An order? Stiles fumed. Who did he think he was ordering Stiles
around like that? You don’t order your husband around!
Letting out a frustrated huff, Stiles scrubbed his face, trying to allow the
frustration to bleed out of him. It wouldn’t do him any good to get worked up.
When he let his hands fall, the silence of the cabin crept up on him. It was so
strange. For the last twenty four hours Stiles had felt he had been in nothing
but a whirlwind; the negotiations leading so quickly into his marriage, then
the dinner and preparations, the events of last night and this morning, only
quickly changing to packing and leaving. Then just like that, arriving here,
standing alone in the silence of this cabin, it felt like everything had just
stopped. The whirlwind had just stopped. And as no sound penetrated the cabin,
and nothing moved, it felt like time had stopped right along with it. It felt
surreal.
There wasn’t much at all to do in the cabin. After Stiles had gotten a drink of
water, unpacked his satchel, placed his items along the mantel of the
fireplace, and checked the contents of the chest out (nothing but clothes and
blankets), he was officially bored.
Deaton found him sitting in one of the chairs, whittling away at a piece of
firewood, when he walked in a couple hours later. Stiles found himself
shielding his eyes from the bright light as Deaton entered.
“Stiles,” Deaton greeted, coming in and putting a large bag down next to the
fireplace. “What are you doing sitting alone here in the dark?”
Stiles found himself fighting to keep any bitterness out of his tone when he
spoke. It wasn’t Deaton who had restricted him to the cabin after all. He was
actually glad to see the other man, he was the only one Stiles was comfortable
with in the pack.
“Well, Alpha Hale told me I was not permitted to leave the cabin,” Stiles said
slowly, “and I don’t have the tools to build a fire.” Stiles held up the piece
of wood he had been carving into. It had a pointed end, and was over a hand-
span long, clearly to use against another piece of wood to create fire. “So I’m
making them.”
“Well, you won’t have to do that for much longer,” Deaton said, coming to sit
in the other chair across from Stiles. “After some training, your spark will
allow you to create a flame all on your own.”
Stiles pushed aside the resentment he had for this spark, the thing that had
gotten him into this mess and would allow him to bear Alpha Hale’s children,
because, well, in all honesty, creating fire on his own did sound pretty neat.
Stiles leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he allowed the wood
and knife to hanging loosely between his legs.
“So what exactly is this spark?” Stiles asked, one eyebrow lifting. He had
heard stories of magic and mages, but had never seen any of it personally. “And
how do you know I have it?”
Deaton smiled patiently, folding his hands together across his chest.
“As a druid, I can see your spark as easily in you as you can see Derek’s eyes
when they flare red. It’s a fundamental part of your being, and to certain
supernatural creatures, like myself, it’s very obvious. In time I can teach you
how to hide it, but that’s much farther down the road. First, we need to start
with the fundamentals.”
“Yeah, like what it is,” Stiles said, waving the wood absently as he spoke.
“A spark,” Deaton said, “is the same to magic as it is to fire. It’s a trigger,
a flash start. Many mages have to learn to bend nature’s laws and elements, and
harness the energy of the earth in order to perform their magic. It limits them
in the type of magic they can perform; they’re restricted to natures’ rules. A
spark, however, can create magic from within themselves – from their own
energy. And because of that, because they’re not harnessing power from
something else, they’re not bound by its restrictions. A spark can literally
create something out of nothing. It’s the most powerful of all magic –
limitless – and as such, should not be taken lightly.”
“It sounds dangerous,” Stiles said, his mind whirling with possibilities, both
the good and the bad.
“It is, especially in the hands of someone with ill intentions or lack of
control. You have to respect its ability, and all of its potential, because if
you don’t, you may find yourself in circumstances you don’t necessarily mean to
be in.”
Stiles nodded, feeling the weight of the responsibility resting firmly on his
shoulders already. But he had been raised to be responsible; he knew he could
handle the weight.
“Warning heeded.” Stiles nodded.
“Alright then, let’s start with something simple, shall we?” Deaton asked,
leaning over and rummaging in the bag he had set aside earlier. Not even a
second later he was pulling out a much smaller bag and holding it out to
Stiles.
The bag was no larger than Stiles’ palm, and was fairly light.
“What is it?” Stiles asked, weighing the bag in his hand.
“Mountain Ash,” Deaton responded. “It’s said to ward against the supernatural.
It can make a powerful barrier that the supernatural cannot pass if created as
a closed loop. But you can’t simply draw a circle with it and have the barrier
activated. It needs a spark to activate it – to ignite it.”
“Okay,” Stiles said warily, pulling the twine holding the round little bag
together at the top. “How do I ignite it?”
“The key to unlocking the spark inside of you is hinged on one thing,” Deaton
said, pausing to ensure he had Stiles’ attention. When Stiles looked up, he
continued, “Belief.”
“Belief,” Stiles repeated, uncertainty in his tone.
“In order for your magic to work, you have to believe it will work. You need to
set your task in your mind, and through your force of will, extraordinary
things can happen.”
A smile tugged at Stiles’ lips.
“That sounds a lot like stubbornness to me.”
“It’s the intensity of your desire, your will, your belief, that will ignite
your magic – your spark,” Deaton said, plucking the little bag out of Stiles’
hand. Pouring the contents of the bag in a small circle on the rug, Deaton
nodded to it. “Now, picture in your mind that the ash is a barrier and can ward
off the supernatural. Will it to be there.”
Stiles raised an eyebrow, looking from the ash to Deaton.
“Just think it?” Stiles asked disbelievingly.
“Will it to be so,” Deaton said.
Stiles looked back at the black circle of dust on the rug. He frowned, trying
to concentrate on the black dust becoming a barrier. After a few seconds he
looked back up at Deaton questioningly.
“Did it work?” Stiles asked.
Deaton frowned, shaking his head.
“Try again.”
So Stiles did, again, and again and again and again before throwing his hands
up in frustration.
“It’s not going to work!” Stiles insisted.
“That’s why it’s not working,” Deaton replied. “You’re doubting yourself.”
Stiles huffed. Of course he doubted himself. He doubted this whole thing. How
was it possible that he could just will something to happen? That’s not how the
world worked! If it was, Stiles would be the first to will away this
threatening pack from the north, and will himself back to his tribe – no
marriage, no Alpha werewolf.
“Take some time to think about what I’ve said, and keep practicing,” Deaton
said, rising from his chair. He took out two other small bags, just like the
first, before tossing them at Stiles, who easily caught them both.
“More Mountain Ash?” Stiles queried.
“One of them is,” Deaton confirmed. “The other contains the herbs I gave you
last night.”
Stiles dipped his head, his cheeks warming. He desperately didn’t want to think
about that.
“How will I know if it worked?” Stiles asked, steering the conversation away
from that topic while gesturing to the circle on the rug. “Will it glow or
something?”
“No, you probably won’t know. Have Derek test it, he wouldn’t be able to pass
over the circle if you were successful.”
The way Deaton left him is the way the Alpha found him a couple hours later.
Stiles had moved down off the chair onto the rug itself, staring at the
Mountain Ash, willing it to become a barrier. He was grateful of the break in
concentration actually, and that there was a supernatural creature he could
test his work on.
Looking up at the Alpha, Stiles was surprised to find him carrying in a platter
of something. Stiles suddenly realized how hungry he was, having only eaten
breakfast that morning and very little of it. Standing up, Stiles brushed his
bottom, making his way slowly over to the table where the Alpha had set down
the plate.
“Alpha Hale,” Stiles nodded in greeting when the Alpha glanced at him out of
the corner of his eye. Stiles cringed slightly on the inside. He still wasn’t
sure what was customary. He wasn’t sure how to address his husband, or talk to
him, or act around him.
“No need for titles. Derek is fine,” the Alpha – Derek – said, pouring some
water into two cups.
“Right,” Stiles responded, fingers tapping uncomfortably on top of the table,
unsure of what to do. Eying the platter, Stiles was a little surprised to find
meat on it – raw meat.
“Do you like deer?” Derek asked, watching Stiles’ reaction.
“Hmmm? Yes, I …” Stiles started before trailing off. Would it be rude if he
asked whether werewolves cooked their meat? Derek had eaten the cooked meat at
the feast the previous night. Had he just been polite, or was that normal for
them?
“Then what’s the problem?” Derek asked, eyebrow quirking.
“Do we …” Stiles said, hesitating again before powering through, “cook it?”
“We can,” Derek responded slowly, before turning and making his way over to the
fireplace. With supernatural speed Derek had a fire created from wood splinters
in no time. A lot faster that it would’ve taken Stiles to finish his tools and
do it.
Stiles hovered by the table awkwardly as Derek cooked the meat, taking sips of
his water while trying to keep from staring at Derek. He wanted to ask the
Alpha to try and swipe his hand over the Mountain Ash circle, but didn’t feel
comfortable enough to just throw that out there yet. When Derek made his way
back over with the cooked meat, he stepped directly over the circle with no
problem, causing Stiles to slump slightly in defeat.
So it still hadn’t worked, then.
Setting half of the meat in front of Stiles, Derek motioned for him to sit down
before taking a seat adjacent from him. Stiles did so, looking down at what was
provided before looking back up at Derek, who was watching him expectantly.
“Eat,” Derek said, clearly annoyed.
So Stiles jumped to it, picking up a big chunk of meat and tearing a piece off.
It was good, not seasoned or smoked, but it did the job just fine. Once Derek
had watched Stiles take a couple bites, he started on his dinner as well.
Stiles wondered if it was normal not to have anything else but meat at dinner,
but didn’t want to offend the Alpha by asking.
Stiles found himself full only after eating half of what Derek had given him,
offering the rest to the Alpha.
“Was it not to your satisfaction?” Derek asked grumpily.
“No, not at all. It was good. Just, more than I normally eat,” Stiles said,
finishing the contents of his cup. No matter what Stiles did or said, he always
felt like it was the wrong thing. Gnawing on his lip, he pushed the meat
towards Derek, who looked at it in distain before pushing his meat away as
well.
“Come here, then,” Derek said while leaning back in his chair and gesturing to
his lap.
“Pardon?” Stiles questioned meekly, the meat turning sickly in his stomach at
the mere thought of why Derek would bid him over. Because, what other reason
could there be? As much as their copulating – or lack thereof – had been at the
back of his mind all day, he didn’t think it needed to be addressed with the
Alpha until it was time to sleep. And this? Them still sitting there at the
dinner table? It most definitely wasn’t that time!
Instead of answering, however, Derek simply leaned over and grasped Stiles’
wrist, physically pulling Stiles to him. Stiles had no choice but to go,
because it was either get up and move around the corner of the table, or be
pulled across it.
When Derek tugged Stiles down onto his lap, wrapping his other arm around
Stiles’ back to pull him close and position Stiles so he was straddling him,
Stiles placed a hand firmly on Derek’s chest, trying to push away.
“Alpha Ha – Derek, wait,” Stiles said, trying to sound strong, but it came out
closer to a shriek when he felt the hardness of Derek’s arousal beneath him.
There was definitely no doubt to any intentions now, and Stiles wasn’t going to
have the same experience as last night, or this morning – not if he could help
it. They just needed to talk this out.
When Stiles looked up at Derek to put a stop to this behaviour, he was met with
red eyes and a huff that blew hot across Stiles’ face, causing the words to
catch in his throat. Deaton’s warning from last night rang in his ears and had
Stiles averting his eyes immediately.
“Whatever this insecurity is that you have, you’ll have to work through it, and
quickly,” Derek growled out, letting go of Stiles’ wrist to pull at the
drawstring of Stiles’ pants. Stiles reached down, trying to pry the Alpha’s
hand away but it didn’t deter his efforts in the least. Stiles couldn’t even
move Derek’s wrist an inch. The realization had Stiles’ stomach turning even
more sour as his chest tightened. He felt so inconsequential against this
predator.
“I know Deaton told you of the importance of an Alpha pair’s relationship,”
Derek continued, successfully unravelling the drawstring, “and how it needs to
be healthy.”
Healthy?!? Stiles’ mind screamed. This was not healthy. But as Stiles opened
his mouth to voice such, Derek’s hand slipped inside his pants and grasped
Stiles’ still very flaccid penis, causing Stiles to choke on his words.
“The full moon is in two nights,” Derek said, his voice turning even growlier
if possible. “You’ll have to figure it out by then.”
Then, much to Stiles’ indignity, Derek started firmly pulling on Stiles’ cock,
probably to try and entice arousal. Stiles yelped, trying to turn his hips
away, but with Derek’s strong hold it was no use.
Derek was going to have no success, however. It did not feel good, and only had
Stiles writhing in utter mortification, feeling absolutely nauseated.
“You’ll need to learn how to use this, too,” Derek muttered with one final pull
before extracting his hand from Stiles’ pants completely.
Stiles recoiled from the words as if they had been a physical blow, his
embarrassment turning to outrage in a split second. He knew how to use his
cock, thank-you-very-much. If Derek would just back off on the intensity of
intimidation, humiliation and manhandling, maybe Stiles would have a chance.
Maybe theywould have a chance.
But Stiles didn’t get to voice that either as Derek rose from the chair, easily
lifting Stiles with him, causing Stiles to flail and squawk. In one graceful
move, Derek set Stiles down on his feet and spun him around before pressing him
chest-down onto the table and dropping Stiles’ pants. Stiles was left reeling,
cheek planted firmly against the table, bared once again to his husband.
“Derek,” Stiles stated firmly, pushing against the table. Not like this! They
needed to talk first!
A wide hand between his shoulder blades had him pinned, though.
“Be still,” Derek hissed, his hand running smoothly down to rest at the small
of Stiles’ back.
“Wait!” Stiles shouted, again trying to push himself up and off the table. He
was going to listen, dammit!
“I said be still!” Derek growled back, the power of his voice rattling Stiles’
bones. Stiles whimpered as he was once again pressed back down onto the table,
his body trembling at the severity of the situation. He didn’t get a say. This
was his life now. He had been married off to an Alpha werewolf to save his
people, and if he wasn’t careful, all of it could go horribly, horribly wrong.
He needed to put this into perspective with the whole grand scheme of things.
Sex with the Alpha was better than being sold, enslaved or killed. It was
better than his people getting slaughtered by this pack from the north. It may
even be better than the disgrace that would fall to him if he didn’t uphold his
father’s word.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
When Stiles once again felt Derek’s release spray across his lower back, he
tucked his eyes into his forearm, trying to breathe deeply as he fought back
his emotions. As Derek’s large hand once again smeared his ejaculate over
Stiles’ lower back and butt, Stiles bit his lip, wondering why Derek didn’t
just take him … why instead he chose to play this game and paint him. As much
as this was now his life, he at least deserved some answers.
“What are you doing?” Stiles asked quietly, eyes still closed and pressed
tightly against his forearm resting on the table. He jumped, the table cutting
painfully into his hips as Derek’s finger that had been rubbing his release
between Stiles’ cheeks actually penetrated his entrance. It was the first time
Derek had gone that far.
Stiles hissed, more from the pain from the table biting into his hips than from
the finger inside of him. The breach felt more weird and uncomfortable than
painful. Then, as quickly as it had been there, it was gone.
“I’m ensuring you smell like you belong to me,” Derek said, voice now more
placated, but still firm. The edge of possessiveness in his tone said more than
the actual words, though. So Stiles had been right, it was a territorial thing.
Lovely.
As Derek’s ministrations slowed, then stopped altogether, Stiles found himself
continuing to lay on the table, refusing to move. Somewhere in his mind
whispered that if he didn’t move, he wouldn’t have to deal with it. If he just
lay there and fell asleep, it could all just fade from his mind.
But then, of course, strong hands were hauling him up from the table and
ushering him towards the bed. Stiles went along, eyes staying dutifully away
from Derek, pride and ego damaged.
Get a grip. Stiles told himself. If you can’t handle this, how are you going to
have his children?
As Derek situated them in bed, again positioning Stiles so he was the little
spoon, Stiles grabbed a pillow, pulling it to his chest. He needed something to
hold on to, his hold on the pillow mirroring the hold his mind had on his
emotions. He needed to hold it together tightly, reining in anything that
strayed. He could do this, he just had to hold it together.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
 
The sensation of a hand around his throat had Stiles surfacing from sleep stark
and fast. With a startled gasp, Stiles’ eyes flew open as his hands soared up,
grasping the wrist of the person who had him by the neck.
“Relax,” came a deep rumble to his right. Stiles’ eyes frantically searched for
the owner, trying to put together what was happening. The panic started to
recede when Stiles realized it was Derek, and that Derek wasn’t actually
applying any pressure. He was propped up on one elbow, hovering over Stiles
while looking down at him rather calmly – lazily even.
Stiles swallowed, feeling the weight of Derek’s palm pressing on his Adam’s
apple. There was a constant low reverberation coming from Derek’s chest, his
eyes heavily lidded, an ease to his features Stiles hadn’t yet witnessed. It
was oddly intimate, Stiles realized, once his heart rate started to even out to
something of a more reasonable level.
Was this some form of foreplay?
Stiles’ eyes flitted away at the thought, breaking eye contact as he focused on
Derek’s neck and upper chest instead. Was Derek actually trying to start this
morning’s … territorial ritual … with some sort of respectable decency? Was he
actually trying to form some sort of emotional bond, to get Stiles involved and
receptive instead of just forcing him into it?
That would be a step in the right direction. It wouldn’t negate or fix their
previous experiences, but it would be a start. Derek’s ministrations were
actually comforting and didn’t have Stiles’ hackles immediately rising, as was
his usual response.
Derek’s hand continued its gentle motions, his thumb rubbing slow, calming
circles just under Stiles’ jaw, as if he were rubbing something in …
Groaning, Stiles closed his eyes in hurtful disgust as the headiness of Derek’s
ejaculate wafted up to his nose. So, more of a post-coital thing than foreplay
then.
Stiles let out a carefully controlled exhale, his breath shaky as he berated
himself for his foolishness. He was an idiotto think Derek had changed, to hope
he had changed. To hope they could start something different.
His mind immediately played back Derek’s words from the night before, that this
… marking … was a form of possession. Derek was merely staking his claim.
Nothing more.
Stiles was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t notice the absence of Derek’s
hand around his throat, not until he felt a hand swipe across his mouth,
smearing Derek’s release across his lips.
Sputtering indignantly, Stiles thrashed his head to the side, his hands that
were still wrapped around Derek’s wrist tugging insistently. Derek obliged this
time, pulling his hand away but firmly intercepting Stiles’ attempts to wipe
the quickly cooling slick from his lips.
“Let it settle,” Derek grumbled, looking over his handy work. Stiles turned
back to him, his eyes ablaze with outrage at the indecency, Derek’s
contentedness fueling his anger even more. “My uncle is coming to visit you
later today. Let’s not give him a reason to suspect anything,” Derek said, as
if that would justify his actions.
Stiles bit his lip out of sheer habit, cringing as the salty bitterness of
Derek’s release exploded across his tongue. Derek raised a thick brow,
something akin to amusement passing across his features before he let Stiles go
and got out of bed.
“Deaton will be by later today too to continue your lessons, but not until much
later,” Derek said distractedly as he put on his clothes. “I’ll have Isaac
bring you breakfast in a while. Try and sleep.”
As Derek made his way to the door, Stiles gripped the blankets tightly in his
fists to help reroute his anger. Out of insolent defiance, Stiles wanted to
notsleep. He wanted nothing more than to wipe Derek’s release – his claim –off
on the blankets, or to get out of bed and wash the mess off of him altogether.
The cold morning air had him hesitating though. The fire had dwindled to
nothing during the night, which Stiles hadn’t noticed with a werewolf warming
the bed, but now with only the blankets warming him, he could feel the
difference. So instead of venturing into the cold, he nestled further into his
cocoon, his back facing Derek.
When Stiles finally heard the rattled bang of the door shutting, signalling
Derek’s leave, Stiles’ brazen flare of anger diminished to nothing.
It had only been a matter of minutes between when he had been startled awake
until now, but as the adrenaline rush receded and the all-too-familiar weight
of hurt and despair settled back in, Stiles could feel exhaustion pulling at
his eyelids.
The last two nights hadn’t amounted to much sleep at all, and Stiles knew it
was taking a toll. He wouldn’t be able to sustain staying awake into the early
hours of the morning. He was bound to sleep well soon due to fatigue.
Yet, despite his earlier intentions, somewhere in between his thoughts, Stiles
fell back asleep.
 
“It’s interesting,” came a voice, piercing through Stiles’ slumber.
Eyes fluttering, Stiles fought to pull himself from the depths of sleep. He was
disoriented, the darkness of the cabin leaving him unsure of the time of day or
who was talking to him.
Lifting himself on to one elbow, Stiles looked around the room, startled to
find Peter Hale standing at the end of the bed. Scampering to sit up, Stiles
pulled the blankets higher around himself, pressing back into the wall at the
head of the bed. In Stiles’ painfully obvious state of undress, Peter was
entirely way too close for comfort.
“What are you doing in here?” Stiles hissed, glaring at the wolf. As he asked
the question however, Derek’s words from earlier that morning came back to him,
warning of Peter’s pending visit. “Isn’t it rather early?”
“Nonsense,” Peter admonished, waving a hand through the air. “No better time
than the present with the busy day I have ahead,” Peter said, crossing his arms
over his chest as a smirk of amusement spread across his features. There was a
hint of something predatory to his expression though; something Stiles was
coming to realize was a permanent fixture.
“Well could you do me the decency of allowing me to get dressed?” Stiles asked,
exasperated. His eyes flew about the room, searching out his clothing. When he
spotted them over by the dinner table his shoulders stiffened. This day just
kept getting better.
“Absolutely, don’t let me stop you,” Peter replied as his hand gestured towards
the table, his eyes raking over Stiles’ blanket-covered form. A wolfish grin
split his face. The bastard knew where Stiles’ clothes were and was practically
asking for an eyeful.
Stiles looked away, catching his lower lip between his teeth, grimacing as the
now dried ejaculate came back to life in his mouth. His cheeks warmed in
embarrassment, then anger. No way was he getting dressed in front of Peter. He
wasn’t going to play into his hand like that.
“No need to be like that, little Alpha,” Peter chided, coming around to sit on
the edge of the bed. Stiles pulled up closer to himself, not trusting the man
before him. Seriously, did he not understand personal boundaries? “There’s no
need to be modest in front of Uncle Peter.”
Stiles glared hard at the man. It was one thing to subtly hint and be generally
creepy, it was quite another to be so direct.
“Does your nephew know you speak so freely?” Stiles asked. He expected not.
However Derek had warned Stiles about not giving Peter reason to suspect a
hitch in their relationship. So perhaps he expected some form of trouble from
his uncle.
“Ah yes.” Peter smiled. “Speaking of my nephew, as I was saying earlier while
trying to get your attention …” Peter paused, running his hand over the fur
blanket on the bed, getting closer to Stiles with each pass. “It’s
interesting,” Peter said, eyes slipping back up to Stiles’.
“What is?” Stiles asked, exasperation edging into his tone. He could recognize
that Peter was baiting him, and Stiles was getting sick of his game.
“How I only ever pick up my nephew’s scent from your … activities,” Peter said,
his eyes again ogling Stiles’ form. Stiles pulled the blanket tighter to him
instinctively. When Peter’s eyes travelled back up, they lingered on Stiles’
neck, then his mouth, making Stiles twitch uncomfortably. He knew perfectly
well what Peter was staring at – what he was insinuating.
“What’s the matter?” Peter asked, leaning closer to Stiles, eyes trained on
Stiles’ mouth. The shift in weight pulled at Stiles’ hold on the blanket. “Is
Derek too much of a man for you? Or is it that he’s too much of an animal?”
Peter sneered, his eyes flashing wild blue as his fangs dropped for a beat.
“Get out,” Stiles ground out, tugging at the blanket, trying to displace
Peter’s pull.
“Are you too fearful of the predator he is in order to perform?” Peter
continued, completely ignoring Stiles’ command. “I would be too if I were a
measly human. I mean, you think he’s big now, wait until the mating ceremony.”
Stiles watched Peter warily, knowing it was a ploy. Stiles didn’t want to ask,
but his curiosity was getting the better of him. What was different about the
mating ceremony? Scrunching his nose up in distaste, Stiles choked out a “why?”
“Well, when he’ll claim you in wolf form, of course,” Peter said, winking at
Stiles before standing up and moving away from the bed.
Stiles’ mouth fell open, his throat working to swallow nothing as his brain
whirled at the meaning of Peter’s words.
“What?” Stiles whispered harshly. He needed to ask, he needed clarification,
because surely he was misunderstanding…
“And I mean, wolves claiming humans is always a messy experience, since you
don’t heal like we do,” Peter said offhandedly, wandering over to the
fireplace. “But I’m sure my nephew will try and restrain himself for you. No
one wants to try to tear their mate apart. They’re never quite as good of a
fuck if you ruin them so thoroughly,” Peter said, accentuating the k in fuck.
“It’s not as if your mating ceremony were a Chase, though, then the
circumstances would be–”
“A what?” Stiles interrupted, his mind reeling and trying to keep up at the
same time.
Restrain himself? Tear their mate apart? Ruin them? A Chase?
“A Chase,” Peter repeated, rounding back towards the bed. “You know, a hunt for
humans where we take, claim, breed, or kill as we see fit.” Peter leered as he
prowled back towards Stiles. “It’s a seasonal ritual we’ve been performing for
centuries.”
Stiles swallowed, jutting his chin out to hide his reaction. He wasn’t going to
let Peter intimidate him. He was soon to be leader of the Stilinski Tribe,
Alpha Pair to the Hale Pack. He would not shrink away. From Derek? Maybe. From
sex? Yeah. From a bully? From Peter? No way.
As much as Stiles didn’t want to believe a word of what Peter was saying,
though, the stories from his childhood – the ones about werewolves hunting
humans for game – gave him doubt.
“I can smell your fear, you know.” Peter smiled as he again approached the bed,
a clawed hand extending above Stiles’ blanket. His intent to pull it away was
clear. “I can smell your doubt, and confusion – you warring with yourself.”
Stiles frowned, silently cursing every and all supernatural abilities.
“Not so safe, are you now, little Alpha? So far away from your home, past the
boundary of the treaty. The lone human in a pack of wolves.” Peter sneered as
his hand descended further down towards the blanket. Stiles pulled the fur even
closer, pulling a breath in and preparing to shout for help before Peter
paused, his eyes losing focus and his head tilting as if he was listening to
something.
When he finally focused back on Stiles, he looked downright pissed. It only
lasted for a heartbeat though before Peter was turning away from Stiles
completely and making his way back towards the door. Whatever game he’d been
playing was now dismissed.
“Derek’s right though, best to keep you locked up in here. It’s safer that way.
We wouldn’t want there to be any confusion and for you to be caught during the
Chase tonight, now would we?” Peter said over his shoulder, winking crookedly
at Stiles before leaving the cabin altogether.
Stiles found himself sitting there, stunned. The stories from his childhood
were true. He remembered the tales. He remembered them mentioning hair-raising
howls piercing the night air, depictions of claws, teeth, blood and torn flesh.
He remembered the feelings he got from those tales. Feelings of fear, of the
desperate need to flee. He remembered the feeling of dread, because all the
stories all ended the same. The prey’s fruitless attempt to escape would only
lead to them being thrown to the ground, teeth embedded deep in their throat as
the werewolf would …
Stiles shook his head, clearing his mind.
On top of all that, Derek wasn’t going to just claim Stiles at the mating
ceremony in two nights time, he was going to claim him in wolf form.
Stiles needed to talk to Deaton.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
 
“Not having much luck, I see,” Deaton said, coming into the cabin, jarring
Stiles from his thoughts.
After Peter’s visit, Stiles had gotten up and washed quickly before throwing on
his clothes and restarting the fire. He hadn’t even touched the breakfast Isaac
had brought in, his stomach tied in too many knots to even think about eating.
He had been simply sitting in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace for
hours, worrying and mulling over his and Peter’s conversation, desperately
trying to keep his mind and emotions in check.
“No,” Stiles agreed, sitting up a little straighter, allowing his hand to fall
from where it had been worrying at his mouth. His eyes glanced over guiltily at
the ash still lying dormant on the rug. “I gave up on it last night after Derek
was able to walk right over it.”
“Well, no one ever achieved anything worth achieving without a little
persistence, Stiles,” Deaton chided gently, setting down the satchel he had
brought with him before sitting in the chair across from Stiles. “Perhaps we
should try something different today. Maybe start with something you’re more
familiar with, like fire.”
Stiles looked at Deaton for a beat, gnawing on his bottom lip while weighing
whether to bring up Peter’s visit. Stiles knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on
his lesson properly with so much on his mind. He first needed to learn if there
was any truth to what Peter had said.
“What can you tell me about the mating ceremony?” Stiles asked carefully,
looking at Deaton out of the corner of his eye.
Deaton looked surprised for a moment before schooling his features.
“What do you want to know?” Deaton asked with equal caution.
“Everything,” Stiles responded, running a hand through his hair. “What can I
expect?” If Stiles was going to feel any better about this, he needed to know
everything. They needed to start from scratch. “What happens during the
ceremony?”
“Well,” Deaton began, tilting his head at Stiles, probably wondering where this
was coming from. “The mating pair come together before their pack to seal their
bond by mating under the power of a full moon.”
Stiles frowned, running the words through his mind once more.
“What do you mean before their pack?” Stiles asked tentatively, mentally
slapping himself on the forehead. He had been so focused on the piece of
information regarding Derek being in his wolf form for the ceremony that he
hadn’t even thought to expect any other piece of … peculiar … information.
“An integral part of any pack is their cohesiveness, Stiles,” Deaton replied
slowly, as if speaking to a child. “Something as significant as a mating
ceremony is done with the whole pack present.”
“Oh,” Stiles whispered, blanching at the thought. They were supposed to have
intercourse in front of the whole pack?!?
“It’s completely natural,” Deaton assured. “You will be there for many mating
ceremonies that come after you. They’re a celebrated occasion.”
Right. It was the werewolf equivalent of a wedding. Of course they would
celebrate it. So what if it was a little different? It was their culture. Just
because it wasn’t what Stiles was used to – or what his people would approve of
– that didn’t make it wrong. Just … weird. Creepy and weird.
“Your situation,” Deaton continued, interrupting Stiles’ thought process, “will
be a little different, however.” There was a pinched look to Deaton’s face that
Stiles didn’t like.
“How so?” Stiles asked.
“When werewolves mate, they do so in their wolf form.”
Stiles allowed his eyes to slip closed in defeat. So it was true.
“It’s their most primal form,” Deaton was quick to explain, “most receptive to
the powers of the moon. It’s very rare for a werewolf to claim a human. I’ll be
honest, Stiles. There have been cases where the human was injured.”
Stiles exhaled heavily, leaning his head back onto the chair. This all was
really getting to be too much.
“But in those cases the wolves weren’t able to control themselves. Derek,
especially as Alpha, should be able to exercise control as to not harm you.”
“Should,” Stiles repeated sourly, scrubbing his hand over his face.
“Once the pair has mated and the knot receded, the rest of the pack will
welcome you through scent marking,” Deaton said.
“Scent marking?”
Deaton raised an eyebrow at Stiles, looking at him warily.
“Yes, it’s what Derek does to you when he rubs a hand or a cheek against you,”
Deaton said slowly. “It appears you two haven’t spoken much about tradition or
culture yet.”
“Deaton, we’ve barely spoken at all. Why do you think I’m asking youthis?”
Stiles’ eyes were wide and imploring. Seriously, why did Deaton sound surprised
and dismayed? Didn’t he know Derek, and how impersonal and … broody the man
was?
“I know it’s still early on, but you two will have to work on more than just
the … sensual … side of your relationship in order to ensure it is strong and
healthy,” Deaton said, looking at Stiles firmly.
Stiles shrunk back into his chair, his cheeks warming at Deaton’s words. What
sensual side? There was nothing sensual about their relationship for Stiles.
Huffing, Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose, upset and agitated at Deaton’s
assumptions, and for getting lectured because of them.
“Stiles?” Deaton asked gently after a moment.
“Hmmm?” Stiles responded, dropping his hand and focusing back on Deaton. Deaton
just raised an eyebrow, silently demanding Stiles to talk.
“I believe we’re lacking in the sensual aspect of our relationship, Deaton,”
Stiles responded quietly.
“Have you not mated since your wedding night?” Deaton asked, concern crossing
his features.
“I don’t think we’ve mated at all,” Stiles stated, sitting up in his seat a
little higher while purposefully focusing elsewhere in the room. “Not unless
you call him wiping his ejaculate over me intercourse. That’s been the extent
of our sensual relationship.”
When Deaton remained silent, Stiles risked a glance at him. Deaton was simply
staring at Stiles, a look of mild shock and incomprehension on his face.
“What?” Stiles whispered warily, self-conscious under such scrutiny.
“You haven’t had intercourse yet?” Deaton asked, clearly for clarification.
“Not actual … penetration. No,” Stiles replied.
A knock at the door had the two men turning, their conversation interrupted.
Stiles saw the look of aggravation cross Deaton’s features before he turned,
though, sparking an unease in Stiles’ gut.
“Deaton, Derek’s called for you. He says it’s important,” Isaac said, poking
his head in through the doorway, disappearing again just as quickly.
Without a word, Deaton rose from his chair and gathered his satchel. Stiles got
to his feet as well, chest tightening in minor panic. They couldn’t leave the
conversation there. There was more Deaton had wanted to say – Stiles knew it –
and there was definitely more Stiles needed to ask. He hadn’t even gotten a
chance to ask about the Chase yet.
“You’ll be back before tonight, though, right?” Stiles asked, following Deaton
to the door. He needed to know if he was in any danger.
“I can’t be sure,” Deaton replied, turning back to address Stiles once he
reached the door. His body language made it clear that Stiles wasn’t to follow
him any further.
“Please try, there’s more I need to ask you,” Stiles said, “before tonight.”
Deaton’s frown deepened as he regarded Stiles judiciously for a moment. As
Stiles opened his mouth to ask about Deaton’s concern, Deaton offered him a
tight smile and slipped out the door.
Well, damn.
 
Stiles paced in front of the fireplace, his mind whirling at the possibilities
of a Chase, his emotions seemingly turning with each change in his direction.
He weaved through them with a graceless fluidity; astonishment yielding to
anger, fear to calm resolve, anguish to solace.
Surely the werewolves wouldn’t kill a human, or multiple humans. That was just
barbaric. Humans weren’t for hunting. They weren’t game. And if Derek couldn’t
see that while being married to one, well, how could they ever successfully
integrate pack with tribe?
Wait a minute. If Peter was insinuating that Stiles wasn’t safe outside the
boundary of the treaty, that would mean that none of his tribe would be either.
So what happened when they integrated? If the tribe was to come up and live
with the pack, would they all become susceptible to this Chase?
Stiles stopped pacing, clutching his head in his hands.
Had this all just been an elaborate hoax? Some well thought out trap that the
Stilinski Tribe was walking right into? To be Chased? To be wiped out entirely?
Or … was the Hale Pack working with the pack from the north? Forcing the hand
of the Stilinski Tribe without their knowing? Was Stiles leading his people to
slaughter?
Oh no …
Stiles leaned on the mantle as he tried to control the panic starting to brew
in his chest. He had to find out. He needed to know if there was any truth to
this, whether there really was a Chase tonight. Because if there was even a
semblance of truth to what Peter had insinuated in a Chase, and his people
weren’t safe outside of the boundary of the treaty, merging the pack and tribe
would only lead them to their deaths. There was no way Stiles could let that
happen.
He needed a plan. Deaton wasn’t returning, wasn’t going to explain this away.
It was already well past dinner time, maybe he could wait — no! No, if Stiles
was going to learn anything about this Chase, he needed to do it on his own. He
needed to get past the guards — but how?
A distraction might work. Trouble was, without knowing them or pack culture,
Stiles had no idea what might be effective. But maybe he didn’t need to know.
Maybe his human fragility was the only tool Stiles needed.
Squaring his shoulders, Stiles faced the door. He took a couple of calming
breaths, steadying his racing heart. He needed to believe what he was saying.
If he didn’t, they wouldn’t either.”
When Stiles opened the door, he was surprised to find it was only Isaac
standing guard. The blond girl he had seen when he had first arrived was
nowhere in sight.
“What are you doing?” Isaac hissed, eyes bugging wide before he moved to try
and crowd Stiles back into the cabin. “You can’t be out here.”
Stiles stood his ground though, not letting Isaac push him back past the
doorway. He couldn’t let this be over before it begun.
“Isaac,” Stiles moaned weakly, “I’m not feeling well. Could you fetch Deaton
for me?” Stiles asked, eyes blatantly pleading. He blindly reached out, trying
to grasp Isaac’s arm for support.
Isaac stilled, looking Stiles over while taking a few careful whiffs of the
air, probably searching for a sign of sickness.
“I can’t leave my station. It’ll have to wait until Derek gets back.”
Well that wasn’t going to work. Despite his words though, Isaac allowed Stiles
to grasp hold of him.
“How long is he going to be?” Stiles whined, wincing. As Isaac stared down at
him with suspicion, Stiles curled around an imaginary pain in his stomach.
“I have no idea,” Isaac bristled. “Go lay down until he’s back.” He was now
sounding bothered that Stiles was even talking to him.
“Well, could someone else get him?” Stiles tried, leaning more into Isaac for
support.
Isaac merely shook his head, eyes still searching Stiles to try and find the
source of his distress.
“Everyone’s busy.”
“Doing what?” Stiles croaked out. While this wasn’t going exactly how Stiles
had hoped, he was still getting some useful information out of it.
“Nothing that concerns you,” Isaac said, huffing in agitation while again
trying to usher Stiles further inside. Stiles started, worried that this was
leading to a dead end. He needed to escalate the severity of his little fake
illness, and quickly.
“Please, Isaac?” Stiles whispered, swallowing thickly before swaying on the
spot. “I don’t feel …” Stiles moaned, allowing his right knee to buckle.
Isaac’s reaction was immediate, and exactly what Stiles was hoping for. He
swooped in to stop Stiles from falling, throwing Stiles’ right arm over his
shoulder and leading him back inside where he carefully deposited him on the
bed.
“Please, get Deaton,” Stiles groaned as he rolled onto his side.
“Dammit,” Isaac hissed, his hands ghosting over Stiles’ form, as if he were
searching for injury and scared to touch him at the same time. “Okay, just,
stay right there and relax. I’ll go get Deaton and Derek.”
With that, Isaac was gone in a flash, the door slamming shut behind him. Stiles
sat up swiftly, listening for a beat, straining to hear if Isaac was still
outside. When Stiles felt confident Isaac was a good distance away, he silently
made his way back to the door before cracking it open and sneaking a peek.
There was no sign of Isaac, or anyone else for that matter. It was now or
never.
Slipping soundlessly out the door, Stiles paused for a moment, unsure of his
next course of action. While he had had a plan, it hadn’t gone beyond getting
out of the cabin. Now what? What all was involved in a Chase? Did it start at a
specific time? Where was it held?
As Stiles’ mind worked through his options, he slowly became aware of the faint
sound of a crowd in the distance. Well, that at least was a starting point.
Course of action decided, Stiles weaved his way through the cabins, sticking
tightly to the shadows as he followed the sound. He made a point of memorizing
his path. If he could get through this without being detected, he would need to
find his way back.
Thankfully the moon was bright that night, as there were no torches to help
light the way. Stiles’ route took him further into the community, and with the
lack of werewolves around, Isaac had been right. Everyone else was busy.
As Stiles got closer to the source of the noise, he could feel the hair on his
arms start to prickle. The intensity of the ruckus had Stiles assuming the
whole pack had congregated. There were yips and barks mixed with human cheering
and hollering. Whatever they were doing, they sounded excited about it, which
just made Stiles stomach clench further with dread. He was desperately hoping
their enthusiasm it wasn’t due to what he thought it was.
Slowing his pace, Stiles plastered himself along the side of a cabin as he
approached the roar of the group. He knew he was close. The animalistic uproar
was so powerful, so concentrated, it was taking everything in him to ignore the
instinct to run.
Holding his breath, Stiles peered around the corner, his heart stopping and his
stomach dropping out as he took in the scene before him.
There, surrounding a bon fire in the middle of some sort of community circle,
were easily fifty to seventy werewolves. Derek was standing in front of the
group, most of his back turned towards Stiles. It was what lay before him that
gave Stiles pause. There were two human forms, one an older male with silver
hair and a bald spot and the other a younger female with long flowing light
brown locks.
They were both covered in blood, motionless, dead.
Covering his mouth with a trembling hand, Stiles stumbled back a step. He was
trying to hold back his shocked horror, desperate not to let a sound escape. He
was already risking the wolves picking up on his scent by being so close, he
couldn’t risk letting out the tiniest of sounds. They would be sure to pick him
out right away, and who knew what that would lead to … would Stiles become an
addition to the pile of dead humans?
Focusing back on the rowdy crowd, Stiles wasn’t surprised to find Peter at the
forefront. He was hovering over the two dead forms, trapped in some form of
vulgar transformation. The distortion of his features was revolting, disturbing
and intriguing all at once. As Peter opened his arms over the two corpses,
bowing to Derek, the gesture was clear. He was offering them to his Alpha.
“The Argents,” Peter crowed proudly, the words thick around his fangs.
Argents?
Allison was an Argent!
Stiles eyes flew back to the fallen girl, breath hitching in alarm.
It couldn’t be!
While he couldn’t see her face, he allowed himself to sag against the cabin in
relief. It wasn’t Allison. Allison’s hair was much darker.
But even so, even if this girl hadn’t been one of Stiles’ friends, she was
still an Argent. She was still human – had been human.
And she was still dead. Peter had been right …
Retreating back around the corner, Stiles leaned heavily on the solid wood
behind him, his breath coming in gasps as he tried to quell the nauseating
horror of what he had just witnessed.
The wolves had killed humans. Hunted them down and gutted them just like Peter
had said. Who knew what the wolves had done to them before they had even killed
them? Those two humans could’ve suffered. The Argents had probably been so
scared, and now they lay there as some sort of … ceremonial offering …
To the man Stiles was married to …
Scrambling to his feet, Stiles fled the gathering, tripping over himself twice
in his haste to get away. He was so distraught that he didn’t even remember
rushing back the way he came.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
Screeching to a halt at the edge of Derek’s cabin, Stiles allowed himself a
hitched whimper. With a quick check to ensure Isaac wasn’t back yet, Stiles
rested a shaky hand on the corner of the cabin. Taking deep pulls of the cold
night air, he tried to catch his breath and calm his heart. He needed to get a
hold of himself, and his emotions. He needed to think through this clearly.
Stiles’ mind ran back over what he had seen, desperate to find a flaw in the
logic. If Peter had been right about this, was he necessarily right that Stiles
wasn’t safe outside the boundary of the treaty? That he was in danger? He was
to be mated to the Alpha of the pack, after all. Surely that had to equate to
some level of safety.
But if there were a Chase after pack and tribe merged, would the tribe be in
danger? Would they become the next victims? His friends and kin laid in front
of his husband as an offering?
As Stiles thought, his eyes flickered to the line of the forest. There was only
one other cabin sitting between Stiles and the dense tree line.
He needed to go. He needed to talk this through with his dad, to warn him of
this Chase. It was so far off from what Stiles had been taught as a child. How
could they have gotten it so wrong?
It would be so easy to slip away now. But how far could he really get without
the werewolves knowing? Before Derek, with his supernatural speed, could catch
up?
Hanging his head slightly, Stiles blew out a breath of frustration. He
couldn’t. He couldn’t go back on his dad’s word and bring dishonour to him and
the tribe. He had to stay, he had to work this out with Derek on his own …
somehow. He just needed to calm down and think this –
A hand clamping firmly over Stiles’ mouth had him hollering in surprise.
Immediately twisting, Stiles dropped his weight to try and get away from the
grip, but he was grabbed around the chest, held tightly to the body behind him.
The supernatural strength of the person holding him was instantly apparent.
Stiles was being held effortlessly despite struggling with all his might.
Stiles’ mind immediately jumped to the conclusion of him being mixed up with
the Chase. Someone was capturing him to bring him to the gathering. They were
going to kill him too!
Stiles screamed, kicking and biting as he tried to get free, his panic
increasing tenfold as his assailant started dragging Stiles towards the
treeline. Alarm battled with confusion. Why would the person take Stiles away
from the gathering? Was this not part of the Chase? What was happening?!?
When the pair were well past a dozen steps into the dense forest, Stiles sobbed
into the hand that still covered his mouth, the fight starting to leave him.
Some semblance of logic passed through his conscious. He knew the best thing to
do would be to conserve his energy. Being a weaker species, Stiles was more
likely to succeed outsmarting the beast than overpowering it. He needed to be
clever about it and bide his time. But in order to do any of that, he needed to
calm down first, which he was having a heck of a time doing.
While he had thought being with Derek was horrible and the Chase horrifying, it
wasn’t anything compared to the torturous panic of the unknown that was
currently threatening to split Stiles’ chest wide open in fear.
Then a distant howl pierced Stiles’ panic stricken haze. It was clearly a call,
a call that quickly turned into a roar of rage. The ferocity of it, even being
so far away, had the hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck standing on end. It was
a sound of warning, of threat, and Stiles knew in every bone in his body that
it was coming for them. Derek was coming for them.
The wolf that had Stiles must have come to the same conclusion, because he
picked up his speed significantly, not caring as Stiles’ feet were dragged
along, bumping and slamming in to branches and stumps as they tore through the
forest.
Stiles wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, but one moment he was being
brutally hauled through the forest, the sound of something chasing them
escalating his terror to unimaginable levels, and the next Stiles and his
assailant were being tackled to the ground. There was a mess of arms, legs,
dirt and leaves for a couple seconds before Stiles was being pulled away from
the altercation.
“Let me go!” Stiles screamed, scrambling back. But the person held firm,
pulling Stiles strongly against them as they moved further away from the battle
before them. 
Stiles looked up to see who was holding him, ready to start fighting again, but
Isaac’s blond hair and glowing gold eyes had Stiles stilling stiffly in his
arms.
A quick glance around established that they were not alone. Peter, along with a
few other wolves Stiles didn’t know were there as well, some looking wildly at
Stiles, and some focused on the fight. Was this a rescue, or part of the Chase?
The gruesome sounds of the fight in front of him quickly drew Stiles’
attention. Derek was there, viciously fighting another wolf, their bodies
moving in a blur of claws, fangs, glowing red and electric blue. Stiles
couldn’t tell who had the upper hand. They were moving much too quickly for his
human eyes to keep track of.
Within only a matter of seconds though, the altercation ended. Derek was left
standing over the prone form of Stiles’ assailant, the assailant’s decapitated
head hanging from one of Derek’s clawed hands. Blood was smeared and splattered
all over Derek’s body, whether it was Derek’s own, or Stiles’ assailant’s,
Stiles wasn’t sure. Probably both. But with Derek’s eyes glowing red, chest
heaving from the exertion of the fight and fogging in the cold night air,
muscles bunching and bulging, his face distorted akin to what Peter had looked
like earlier that night, Derek looked everything the monster that had been
depicted in Stiles’ childhood stories.
The sight had Stiles trying to fight back bile that threatened to surge up from
the gore and overwhelming fear. Stiles breathed deeply through his mouth, not
wanting to potentially smell something that would upset his stomach further. He
only realized that he was sprawled against Isaac when Isaac helped him sit up a
bit, rubbing Stiles’ back soothingly, a high whine emanating from him.
The sound of a thud had Stiles looking back at Derek though, who had now
discarded the severed head. Derek’s glowing red eyes were frantically searching
the group, finally stilling when they landed on Stiles. Stiles immediately
looked away, his lungs paralyzed with fear.
With a grunt, Derek stalked stiffly towards Stiles. His posture still exuded
anger and danger, and had Stiles pushing back further into Isaac for safety.
Was Derek going hurt him? Or kill him? Not only had Stiles’ gone against
Derek’s order to stay in the cabin, he had been out during a Chase and had been
taken. What was Derek going to do?
“No!” Stiles cried, holding a trembling hand out in front of him as if it would
deter Derek’s approach.
Not surprisingly, Derek ignored Stiles’ plea and grabbed Stiles’ outstretched
arm anyway, bending down and hauling Stiles to him. Stiles whimpered, crying
out as the rigid manhandling jarred a few aches and pains. His head throbbed in
time with his elevated heart-rate.
Derek huffed in agitation, a low, warning growl emanating from his chest as
Stiles thrashed and struggled in Derek’s arms. Stiles didn’t care, ignoring
Derek’s attempt to quiet him. Reeling back from Derek, Stiles jolted when the
coppery scent of blood flooded his nose. It was too much.
Stiles cried out in horror as the blood on Derek started rubbing off onto him,
his hands and arms turning slick. Stiles’ breathing turned painful as he
struggled to take in more than short, shallow gasps – his lungs locked tight.
Derek pinned Stiles to him the best he could while picking him up, turning back
towards the Hale community.
Stiles was too hysterical to simply go back to camp. He needed to know what was
going on. What happened next? What were they going to do to him?
He was so lost in his terror that Derek’s command of “Get Deaton. He’s hurt,”
barely registered. He fought Derek all the way back to the community, his
efforts doing nothing more than edge him closer to a delirious panic.   
When they reached their cabin, Derek barged through the door, finally setting
Stiles down. As soon as he was free of Derek’s hold, without hesitation, Stiles
lunged for his hunting knife that had been sitting idly by the fireplace.
Whirling back on Derek, Stiles stumbled, holding the weapon out shakily in
front of him before backing into the corner of the cabin closest to his side of
the bed.
He blinked furiously as the buzzing in his head intensified, his vision
beginning to tunnel.
He was not going to be hunted. He was not going to be taken. He was not going
to be punished or become the next offering of the Chase. He was not going to
let his people get hurt. He had to warn them. He had to save them!
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
It wasn’t until Stiles realized it was Deaton in front of him, arms cautiously
reaching out towards Stiles, mouth moving with silent words that Stiles came
back to himself. He could feel tears cooling on his cheeks, his whole body
shaking, his nose snotty at the edges.
What was going on?
Looking over Deaton’s shoulder, he made out Derek, looking at Stiles with
concern, blood still coating his hands and arms, dots of it splattered up his
torso and neck. Isaac, Peter, a blond girl – the other guard he’d seen when
he’d originally arrived at the cabin – and a black man were also in the room,
watching on with concerned curiosity.
Stiles squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, a sob, suddenly and impermissibly,
bursting from his chest. He felt like a fool on display. He could just imagine
what he looked like – an enraged, defensive animal backed into a corner. Stiles
knew they were just placating him, that he wasn’t any actual threat to the
wolves, hunting knife or not.
Sniffling, Stiles jutted out his hand with the knife again. He didn’t care, he
didn’t care. He just wanted out of this mess. He had just wanted to save his
people. He wanted to go home.
“Everyone out, except Derek,” Deaton said over his shoulder, his eyes never
leaving Stiles.
The other wolves looked to Derek for confirmation, who simply nodded his head
once.
“Stiles, put down the knife. You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you,”
Deaton continued as the wolves filed out of the cabin, shutting the door firmly
behind them.
“You don’t know that,” Stiles whispered once they were gone, shaking his head.
“The threat is gone,” Derek supplied quietly, a level of annoyance clear in his
tone. Stiles couldn’t tell whether the annoyance was directed at him though.
“We don’t know who it was, but it’s dealt with. He’s dead,” Derek stated.
Stiles didn’t care who it was … if the Chase was still happening, he still
wasn’t safe.
“Is the Chase over?” Stiles asked, pulling his legs in closer to himself.
“The what?” Derek asked.
“The Chase?” Deaton questioned at the same time, looking over his shoulder to
Derek. Derek looked back to Deaton, shaking his head once, confusion pulling
his thick brow together.
Why were they both acting confused? Stiles wasn’t stupid, he knew what was
going on.
“I saw them!” Stiles hissed. When both Deaton and Derek continued to look
confused, Stiles felt his anger and agitation building. “I saw the dead humans
Peter was offering to you!” Stiles shouted, pointing the knife at Derek, who
was still hovering over Deaton’s shoulder. “Peter told me about the Chase. That
you hunt humans – some … ritual – to claim or breed or kill,” Stiles spat out,
voice cracking on the word kill, “and that I’m not safe beyond the boundary of
the treaty, and he was right! We’re not safe!”
“What?” Deaton asked, inching closer towards Stiles. “Stiles, slow down, you’re
not making sense.”
“I’m not?” Stiles shrieked incredulously, waving the knife around. “Ask him! He
knows all about it!” Stiles stated hotly, gesturing towards Derek, panting
heavily through his emotion.
Deaton again looked over his shoulder towards Derek, who was now turning away
and groaning while running a hand through his hair.
“Peter!” Derek growled, his hands clenching into fists.
“Stiles,” Deaton said slowly, calmly, as if gentling a wild animal. “You are
perfectly safe here beyond the boundary of the treaty.”
Stiles shook his head, sniffing heavily, about to argue when Deaton continued.
“You were taken by a rogue werewolf. He was not part of this pack. The Hale
Pack doesn’t hunt humans,” Deaton supplied, voice firm. His sincerity was
befuddling. None of it made any sense. It wasn’t adding up. “There’s no such
thing as a Chase,” Deaton said.
“No …” Stiles sputtered, more to himself than directly at Deaton. He rubbed at
his forehead with his free hand. What was the angle? There had to be an angle.
“No?” Deaton questioned quietly, inching closer towards Stiles.
“But, then … why was Peter presenting you two dead humans?” Stiles asked,
stumbling over his words in confusion.
“What were you doing out of the cabin?” Derek growled, causing Stiles’ head to
jerk up. That was besides the point!
“Ah,” Deaton responded, finally nodding while ignoring Derek completely. “I
think the problem here is that things may have been provided to you out of
context. There is no such thing as a Chase.”
“You’re lying,” Stiles whispered, face crumpling as fresh tears rolled down his
cheeks. Deaton had been his only true friend throughout this whole thing, the
one person he could talk to and rely on. To have him lie felt like the ultimate
betrayal.
Stiles whined high in his throat, causing Derek to flinch. They were just
trying to appease him, to get him to calm down and be the oblivious lure in the
next part of the Chase.
“Stiles,” Deaton moaned, hanging his head and exhaling nosily in frustration.
“I don’t know – don’t understand what you’re playing at here, but I won’t lead
my people to slaughter! I won’t subject them to this … this … treachery!”
Stiles shouted.
“That’s enough,” Derek huffed, baring his fangs.
“And you!” Stiles spat, eyes flying from Deaton to Derek. “You may think of me
as some degraded piece of property, but I won’t allow for the same – or worse –
to fall upon my people. You won’t get your paws near a single one of them –
whether to hunt, breed, or kill – if it’s the last thing I do!”
“I said enough!” Derek roared, causing Stiles to shrink back against the wall.
His retreat only lasted a second before he was jutting his jaw out defiantly
again.
“That’s right, just overpower the situation. That will get you whatever you
want!” Stiles hissed.    
“Stiles, just listen for a moment,” Deaton interjected, placing himself in
Stiles’ line of sight. It wasn’t before Stiles saw the crestfallen look on
Derek’s face, though. “The two humans you saw this evening weren’t part of a
hunt. At least, not in the context Peter provided. The two humans were hunted
and killed by the Hale Pack, yes, but not for some Chase. It was Peter’s form
of retribution. The two humans you saw tonight were responsible for the murder
of Derek’s family. His mother, previous Alpha of this pack, his father, two
sisters, and aunt – Peter’s wife.”
Stiles frowned, sobering at the news.
What?!?
“I never gave the order to kill them. Peter did that on his own,” Derek ground
out, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Any evidence of his previous
disheartened expression was gone. He stood behind Deaton, and even though he
was a ways away, he was still towering over the both of them. With the blood
still covering him, and his clear irritation at the situation, it was
incredibly intimidating.
“You’re safe here, Stiles. It’s going to be okay,” Deaton said, finally getting
close to Stiles. Stiles automatically lowered the knife, then brought it back
up half way, suspicion and confusion still whirling in his head. When nothing
happened, when all Deaton did was gaze back at him encouragingly, Stiles
finally allowed it to fall, his head thudding back against the wall.
He was so confused.
Closing his eyes, Stiles cringed as more tears streamed down his cheeks. He was
exhausted, too exhausted to try and put it all together. He didn’t even want to
try. He felt void as the fury quickly ebbed out to nothing.
“Derek, have Isaac bring some hot water for a bath,” Deaton said, resting a
hand gently on Stiles’ shoulder. “While I tend to Stiles, I’d advise that you
go clean yourself up as well. No need to get blood everywhere.”
“Fine,” Derek grit out, turning to leave before pausing and adding, “I’ll deal
with Peter.”
Stiles remained sitting in the corner as people fluttered about around him, his
mind blank. He was too tired to do anything else besides keep himself upright.
Deaton’s gentle hands guiding Stiles up and towards the bath was as much as he
was able to register.
Stiles didn’t remember Deaton helping him undress and get into the water. He
didn’t remember Deaton bathing him, gentle words trying – and failing – to
engage Stiles in conversation. He didn’t remember getting out of the tub
either, or Deaton helping him to bed and dressing his injuries. He didn’t
remember Derek coming back, petting Stiles’ hair for over half an hour before
falling asleep, either.
 
When Stiles woke the next morning, he was surprised to find himself alone in
the bed. It was the first time in days he hadn’t been jolted awake. Actually,
he felt quite refreshed. The blankets piled over him made him feel safe and
warm. The flickering orange glow of the fire on the ceiling only added to the
calm feeling.
It took a minute to for the hushed whispers to finally make their way to
Stiles’ ears, though.
“You need to fix this situation with Stiles, and you need to fix it now. He
doesn’t understand what’s about to happen. He’s hurt, angry, and petrified of
you.” It took Stiles a minute to recognize it was Deaton talking.
“What am I supposed to do?” Derek responded incredulously, the words
practically hissed.
“Calm him, gentle him, prepare him. He needs an explanation, you owe him that
much.”
Derek scoffed, “I don’t owe him anything.”
“You owe him respect!” Deaton bit back.
Stiles swallowed thickly, grateful that he had remained under the covers. As
much as he felt uncomfortable overhearing the conversation, he feared he would
be more uncomfortable if they found out he was eavesdropping.
There was a silence that went on for a few too many beats, causing Stiles to
frown. Did Derek not agree? Well, that wouldn’t be surprising. Nothing of
Derek’s previous actions had made Stiles feel respected.
“He won’t even let me touch him. He reeks of fear, misery and despair,” Derek
stated, obviously straining to keep his voice down.
“Have you tried? Have you tried to appeal to his human side at all? Or have you
just been allowing your wolf to take charge?” Deaton asked expectantly. “Think
of what this must be like for him.”
Stiles’ eyebrows shot up, impressed and thankful that Deaton was arguing on
Stiles’ behalf.
“He told me you haven’t even had intercourse yet,” Deaton continued when there
was no response from Derek. “You need to prepare him, or you’re going to hurt
him tonight. Fix it, Derek, and fix it fast,” Deaton said before there was the
rustle of movement, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing.
Stiles remained where he was, focusing on keeping his breathing even, unsure
who had left the cabin. Maybe they both had. He wasn’t brave enough to look. He
just wanted to ignore it, and go back to sleep…  
 
“Come now Stiles, it’s time to prepare,” Deaton said, pulling down some of the
covers. Stiles stirred awake, blinking at Deaton in confusion. Prepare for
what?
“Prepare?” Stiles croaked, sitting up enough to lean on an elbow as he looked
up at the Druid. How long had he slept?
“For the mating ceremony,” Deaton said gently, moving away from the bed.
Stiles sat up even more. Had he slept the whole night and day away? Rubbing a
hand over his eyes, Stiles pushed down the wave of trepidation that bubbled
high in his gut. So it was truly going to happen. He had been so caught up
yesterday in all the confusion of the Chase, the mating ceremony had become a
second priority. And while Stiles still wasn’t sure he fully understood what
had happened last night, he now needed to switch focus and concentrate on what
was to come.
Pushing the blankets aside, Stiles was surprised to find bandages gracing both
his legs. Looking up at Deaton in alarm, Stiles opened his mouth to ask what
had happened. Deaton beat him to it, though.
“You were pretty scratched up last night. The bandages were to allow the
ointment I adhered to settle. Your left ankle seemed to be tender though, so
I’ll re-wrap it when you’re done your bath to give you a little extra support.
You should try and stay off it for a few days in order to allow it to heal.”
Stiles merely nodded, surprised that he hadn’t remembered Deaton attending to
his injuries the previous night.
Once Stiles was settled in the tub, his head leaning back against the edge,
Deaton approached, handing Stiles a cloth.
“There are some things we need to go over,” Deaton said as he pulled up one of
the chairs.
“Okay,” Stiles said warily, his voice still hoarse from the lack of use. He
slowly started the bathing ritual Deaton had showed him just the other night.
To Stiles, it now felt like a lifetime ago.
“Tonight, during the ceremony, you’ll be expected to physically and sexually
submit to Derek.”
Stiles’ cleaning movements stilled as he processed what that could possibly
mean. When Stiles shot a questioning look to Deaton, he further clarified.
“Physically, it could be something as simple and baring your neck, or kneeling
to him.”
Stiles nodded, that was straight forward enough.
“Sexually, simply allowing him to take you, claim you, it won’t be enough.
You’ll have to offer yourself to him,” Deaton said.
“Offer how?” Stiles asked quietly, timidly.
“Again, it could be taken in different forms. You could undress yourself,
present yourself in a certain position, initiate intimacy yourself. That might
be a little risky though. It’s always better to allow the wolf to take the
lead,” Deaton said, leaning back in his chair.
Stiles nodded, sucking his lips into his mouth to bite on them as his face
flushed in embarrassment. At least he had the warm water to blame the flush for
this time.
When the bath was done, Deaton re-wrapped Stiles ankle as promised before again
presenting Stiles with a cloak. It was much like the one he wore on his wedding
night. This time however, it was a wolf fur cloak, dark and heavy and coarse.
The extra weight of the cloak had Stiles feeling a little less vulnerable with
his nudity.
As Stiles sat on the bed, the cloak wrapped tightly around him, Deaton again
made his herbal mixture, giving it to Stiles. Stiles stared at the liquid for a
moment, frowning at his hazy reflection in the water before placing the cup
next to the bed without even taking a sip.
“You’ll want to drink that,” Deaton suggested, pointing to the cup.
“What for?” Stiles threw out, rubbing his face with his hand. “It’s going to be
a miserable experience anyway.”
“I’m sure Derek will try his best to make it as easy for you as he can,” Deaton
said, pulling another container out of his satchel.
Stiles snorted.
“Yeah, because he’s been so obliging thus far,” Stiles said, biting his lip
while looking at the blankets.
“He may not be the most emotionally open person, but he’s trying in his own
ways,” Deaton responded gently, pulling the lid of the container off.
Stiles’ brow pulled together in confusion, trying to think back to actions or
things Derek may have done to try and woo Stiles over. He came up empty.
“And how’s that?” Stiles asked, frown still on his face.
“Well, he had a fireplace built for you,” Deaton said, gesturing to the glowing
logs, “and a bed made that was similar to your people’s. Wolves don’t need
fireplaces, they naturally run warm, and they usually sleep in a nest on the
ground, not a raised platform like you’re on. He also had the tub arranged for
you. Wolves bath in the river, but that would be much too cold for you. He’s
providing for you in ways he knows how, and even stretching to those he
doesn’t.”
Stiles swallowed, feeling slightly ungrateful. He hadn’t recognized the things
Deaton mentioned, but now he was saying it, it made sense. That still didn’t
explain Derek’s actions, and his cold demeanor. It didn’t explain why he merely
treated Stiles as something to claim.
“Here,” Deaton said, passing the now open container to Stiles, who eyed it for
a moment before relenting and taking it. “I know I said typically wolves don’t
like to use oils, but there are few times they’ll make an exception, and
tonight is one of them. You’ll want to use this on yourself prior to the
ceremony. It will ease Derek’s way when he enters you.”
Stiles sniffed at the container, a sweet scent wafting up to him.
“What is it?”
“Something provided to us from our neighbours to the south. They call it
coconut oil.”
“Why are you giving this to me now? What makes tonight an exception?” Stiles
asked, dipping the tip of his finger into the oil before bring it out to rub
against his thumb.
“In his wolf form, Derek will be bigger than his human form, and that includes
his knot.”
The container slipped from Stiles’ grasp, starting to fall before Stiles
snapped out of his shocked state and grabbed for it, saving it only inches from
the ground. Stiles looked up at Deaton in distress.
Deaton patted Stiles’ shoulder consolingly. 
“It’ll be alright. You’ll see,” Deaton said gently. “Isaac,” Deaton called, not
raising his voice, but knowing full well Isaac could still hear him. “Go and
get Derek. Tell him to come. It’s time.”
“No,” Stiles whispered, practically whimpering. “Don’t get him yet, I’m not
ready.”
“I’m afraid we can’t leave this any longer,” Deaton said, his eyes warm with
some sort of emotion Stiles couldn’t identify. “I had assumed that certain
things had been set in motion to prepare you for tonight. I should have been
paying closer attention. For that, I’m sorry. But you need to be prepared to
reduce the chance of injury.”
Stiles looked down at his hands, his fingers idly twisting the container of
coconut oil.
It wasn’t long before Derek was walking through the door, leveling a cold look
at Deaton.
“If you want,” Deaton started, eyes hesitating for a moment on Derek before he
turned to address Stiles, “I could stay and offer some assistance.”
Stiles swallowed, his cheeks burning at the offer. In all honesty, Stiles would
probably feel better with Deaton there as a buffer, maybe that was a good –
“We’ll be fine,” Derek growled out, pulling both Deaton and Stiles’ attention
to him. Stiles opened his mouth to object, but Deaton simply nodded his head
before quickly gathering his belongings.
“Call for me when you’re ready,” Deaton said to Derek before nodding
reassuringly at Stiles, then making his way out the door. Stiles couldn’t help
but flinch at the bang of the door closing.
With Deaton gone, Stiles and Derek remained stalk still for several moments,
Derek looking at Stiles while Stiles looked at the ground. The only sound in
the cabin was the crackling of the fireplace and Stiles’ own wild heartbeat.
His mind ran back over the events of the last few days. It had all been
building up to this – their actual, werewolf mating ceremony.
There would be no going back after tonight.
“We need to prepare you,” Derek finally said, breaking the tense silence. His
voice was gentle but still firm.
Stiles’ cheeks burned at the thought. Couldn’t he just prepare himself? If they
just showed him what needed to be done, he could do it and skip the
embarrassment of it altogether.
Glancing up at Derek warily, Stiles gnawed nervously on his lower lip.
“Is it not something I could do myself?”
“Not effectively, no,” Derek replied, approaching Stiles and slowly plucking
the container of oil from Stiles’ hand before kneeling in front of him.
Self-consciously, Stiles pulled the cloak closer to himself, bunching it in his
lap. Derek watched his movements, arching an eyebrow. When Derek reached for
the cloak – albeit slowly – Stiles made a noise of protest, causing Derek to
throw up a hand while huffing out an exasperated breath.
“You’re impossible!” Derek hissed, abandoning the container on the bed and
standing back up, pacing in front of Stiles while glaring at him out of the
corner of his eye. “You shrink away every time. You’re more timid than a
mouse!”
Stiles jutted his chin out defiantly despite his surprise at the change of
their regular course. Derek had never backed away before. This was a first.
“Well excuse me if I’m a little leery from our previous experiences!” Stiles
said, scooting back further on the bed and fiddling with the cloak in his
hands. “You forcing yourself –”
“Don’t make it worse than it was,” Derek growled, interrupting Stiles while
continuing his pacing.
“I’m not! I’m stating exactly how it was,” Stiles responded. If he could’ve
crossed his arms without risking the cloak from unfurling, he would’ve.
“I was simply doing what needed to be done,” Derek snapped, “unlike some
people.”
Stiles reeled back, shocked. The words were equivalent to a physical blow. Was
he insinuating that Stiles hadn’t been … what … trying?
“What?” Stiles hissed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that we needed to mate to make our marriage absolute and to throw off
potential threats. You were unwilling, so I had to do the next best thing,”
Derek said, stopping in his tracks and turning towards Stiles.
“So you thought it best to force yourself on me?” Stiles asked, disbelief and
accusation heavy in his tone.
“To protect you!” Derek shouted, pointing at Stiles.
“You mean you!” Stiles spat back, jumping to his feet.
“I mean us!” Derek roared, eyes flashing red.
Stiles flexed his jaw, determined not to back down, even with the terrifying
gaze of an Alpha boring into him. They stayed that way for a moment, both
breathing heavily from shouting, both standing off and not willing to concede.
Finally Derek huffed, turning to resume his pacing.
“You don’t understand—” Derek started again.
“Because you won’t talk to me!” Stiles interrupted.
“Because you don’t want me!” Derek responded hotly, stopping once more.
Stiles’ face immediately softened in surprise and confusion.
“To. Because you don’t want me to,” Derek said, running a hand through his
hair, clearly frustrated, before starting up his pacing again. Stiles wasn’t
sure whether Derek was just feigning a slip up to cover what he actually meant,
or if it had actually been an honest mistake.
“Because I don’t want you?” Stiles inquired quietly, trying to uncover the true
meaning behind those words.
“You haven’t from day one,” Derek responded just as quietly.
“That’s not-” Stiles started, jerking back in surprise when Derek rounded on
him.
“Don’t say it’s not true. I can hear you lie,” Derek said hotly.
Stiles frowned, carefully choosing his next words.
“You never gave me the chance to,” Stiles said, sighing as his slowly lowered
himself back onto the bed. When Derek just frowned deeper, if that was even
possible, Stiles felt a lot of the fight and anger drain from him. It just took
so much energy to keep that all up.
Derek snorted, turning his back completely on Stiles. He didn’t resume his
pacing, just stayed turned away, waiting.
“If we could just …” Stiles started, struggling for the right course of action.
“I don’t know. Talk? Take this a lot slower. If we just had time-”
“We don’t have that luxury,” Derek bit back. “As leaders we have obligations.
There are high expectations, and if you and I don’t meet them then we’ll pay
the price – likely the ultimate price,” Derek said coldly. “You may not want
this marriage, or to mate – with a werewolf or man, I can’t tell. It doesn’t
matter. At the end of the day, we are married, we are to mate, you will have my
children, and you’ll make everyone believe that everything is fine. That’s the
extent of it. I protect your tribe, and we grow the pack. That was the deal.”
Stiles bit his lip, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He was right. It was that
simple. Stiles had an obligation. This … ridiculous expectation … that it could
be something more was just making him miserable, and making it harder for both
of them.
“You’re right,” Stiles sighed, turning his head to the side, embarrassed to
admit it. “That was the deal.” Clutching the cloak tighter in his hand, Stiles
straightened his spine. Now was the time to lay it out on the line. “But you
have to realize I’m not like you. I can’t smell what you’re feeling, or what
kind of person you are,” Stiles said. “So I need to talk in order to get a
better feel for this. For you. I need to talk in order to make this work.”
Still silence.
“Then maybe I won’t smell like ‘misery and despair’. Were those the words you
used?” Stiles threw out, trying to get some form of reaction.
More silence.
“What does misery smell like, anyway?” Stiles asked, more to himself than Derek
now. He nudged his foot on the floor, pushing the dirt with his toe. They were
running out of time. And with the continued silence, it didn’t seem like any of
this was going to work. They would just be destined to do this the hard way.
“Sour and tart,” came a quiet rumble, so low, Stiles almost missed it.
“Pardon?” Stiles asked at the same time his mind put it together.
“Sour, like the taste of berries that are nowhere near ripe yet,” Derek said,
turning his head to talk over his shoulder at Stiles, but refusing to make eye
contact.
“And despair?” Stiles questioned, one corner of his lips pulling upward at the
minor success.
“Smoke.”
Stiles wrinkled his nose, confused at how those two things could be smelt at
the same time. You would think the smoke would overpower everything else.
Derek’s head tilted to the side, as if he was listening to something, before he
turned fully to Stiles, a look akin to apology crossing his features.
“We’re running out of time,” Derek said, voice firm.
Stiles immediately felt his heart rate pick back up. No, they needed more time!
They were finally talking!
As Derek approached Stiles once more, Stiles leaned backwards on the bed.
“Wait!” Stiles said, thrusting one hand out of the cloak while the other tried
to keep it closed, hoping to halt Derek. The look of impatience was back on
Derek’s face. “Just, one more question. Then we can …” Stiles said, fading out.
“Then I’ll …” 
“What?” Derek asked, the look of impatience melting away to mild curiosity.
Stiles swallowed, averting his eyes as he tried to form the words to address
his concern, without sounding stupid.
“Did you want this? Did you want a man as a mate?”
Because arranged marriage aside, their lack of consummation had been weighing
heavily on him. If Derek was so against this deal to begin with, Stiles needed
to know. He needed to know if Derek was only planning to have sex with him when
Stiles had trained enough to have kids.
Derek’s eyes narrowed, his head tilting in question. Stiles couldn’t be sure if
Derek was weighing his answer, or was offended that Stiles would even ask such
a thing.
Just when Stiles was going to say ‘forget it’, Derek stood tall, crossing his
arms over his chest.
“I knew from the moment I saw you, when you were no more than three, that you
were my mate. It didn’t matter that you were male,” Derek said solemnly. “I
have been waiting years for you. But then, when I became Alpha and needed to
produce children, I never thought I could have you. The moment Deaton
identified you as a Spark, I knew it had to be you. I couldn’t give you up
twice,” Derek said, voice hushed.
Stiles blinked a couple times trying to process Derek’s words, the revelation
shocking him into silence. Derek had been waiting for Stiles for … years? As an
actual mate? What did that even mean? A part of Stiles warmed from that
statement, feeling somewhat validated that Derek had wanted him all this time.
But the other part was twisted and confused that Derek had treated him so
poorly. If he was Derek’s mate, shouldn’t this have been different?
Stiles rubbed a hand over his face, Derek’s insecurity looping back in his
mind. Or maybe, if Derek had thought his mate was rejecting him … he was
reacting … what? Defensively? Indifferently? Stiles sighed in frustration. It
was no excuse for his earlier actions, but it helped explain things a little
more.
“So, you’re not … disgusted by me?” Stiles asked, the question coming out more
as a statement.
A look of anger flashed across Derek’s face.
“Disgusted? By my mate? Absolutely not,” Derek replied heatedly, a hand
reaching out to squeeze Stiles’ knee.
Stiles looked down at the large hand on him, intrigued by the gesture. This was
by far the most they had talked, and it actually resulted in some sort of warm
emotion. The proof was there, grasping his knee. Maybe not all was lost after
all …
Derek watched Stiles watching him for a moment before slowly kneeling on the
bed. Only as Derek reached for Stiles’ chin, tilting it up, was Stiles pulled
from his daze. There was a gentleness in his hold that had something in Stiles’
stomach fluttering. It was soft and delicate. Nothing at all what Stiles had
come to expect from the Alpha.
“You challenge me, worry me, and infuriate me. But not disgust. Never disgust.
I want you. I want to claim you, and this time you need to let me,” Derek said
gently, leaning further into Stiles’ space. Stiles’ eyes fluttered up to meet
Derek’s. He knew the ceremony was inching closer and closer. So he did the only
thing he knew he needed to do. He nodded his consent.
Derek held his gaze for a moment, his eyes searching Stiles’ features, as if he
were sure Stiles would take it back. But as the silence stretched on, and
Stiles didn’t retract his permission, Derek nodded back as well.
Closing the distance between them, Derek leaned forward, a low rumble emanating
from deep in his chest. Stiles’ stomach jumped when he realized Derek was going
to kiss him. There had never been anything close to a kiss attempted
previously. Was this Derek trying to appeal to Stiles’ human side?
When Derek finally got close enough, he didn’t immediately kiss Stiles.
Instead, he rubbed their cheeks together, his beard causing Stiles to wince,
before he placed a small, brief kiss to Stiles’ cheek. Then another one just a
fraction closer to Stiles’ mouth, then closer, then closer. When their lips
finally touched – just a graze really – Stiles exhaled a breath he hadn’t
realized he’d been holding, butterflies exploding in his stomach.
“Relax,” Derek said quietly before taking Stiles’ lips again, fully this time.
The pressure was firm, working with purpose as Derek massaged and nipped along
the seam of Stiles’ mouth.
Stiles frowned slightly, eyes closing, confused at the abstract difference in
the man before him, and how good the kiss actually felt. With all the hurt and
reservations about their marriage, he didn’t expect to have any form of
physical or sexual interest, especially after only one talk.
“Relax,” Derek repeated, pulling back slightly, “you’re thinking too much.”
Stiles’ eyes blinked open as he felt Derek’s mouth make its way down to his
jawline, nudging, nipping and licking gently as he made his way to Stiles’
neck, rubbing his stubble against Stiles’ sensitive skin, creating a burn that
actually felt warm, not painful.
While Derek’s ministrations didn’t feel bad, worry, leeriness and discomfort
still sat heavily in Stiles’ gut. Derek was making some sort of effort, and
Stiles understood a bit more of what was going on. But they had still had a
horrible start, and Stiles wasn’t sure if he would be able to get over their
previous experiences so easily.
Derek moved, sitting next to Stiles before taking Stiles’ wrist and gently
guiding him to straddle Derek’s lap so that they were facing each other. Stiles
obliged shakily, unsure of where to put his arms, how to position the cloak,
where to hold on, where to look. Derek again caught Stiles’ chin, pulling it
up, forcing him to look at Derek.
“Don’t be embarrassed, or afraid. Do what feels natural – what feels good.”
Then Derek kissed him again, this time opening his mouth and licking at Stiles’
lips, causing Stiles to unsteadily part them in answer. Derek’s tongue slowly
lapped and worked its way into Stiles’ mouth. It was hot and wet and slick, and
it ignited something low in Stiles’ stomach. He could feel his cock twitch in
subtle interest as Derek continued to possess his mouth.
Derek’s hands slowly wound their way around Stiles, pulling him even closer as
Derek claimed his mouth, one hand hovering up near Stiles’ shoulder blades as
the other travelled down to the small of his back. With a nip to Stiles’ bottom
lip, Derek thrust his hips upwards as he pushed down on Stiles’ bottom, causing
their groins to rub together briefly.
Stiles choked off a gasp, pulling back from the kiss. He could feel Derek’s
member beneath him, the friction and new sensations causing his own penis to
start to fill and lengthen in interest. Stiles swallowed thickly, unsure of how
he felt about that, surprised even that his body reacted so readily.
“That’s it,” Derek encouraged, continuing to thrust his hips up, slower and
gentler, keeping a consistent pace as he kept Stiles pressed closely to him.
Stiles let out a shaky breath, limbs trembling as he allowed his head to tip
back slightly, Derek’s lips immediately going to Stiles’ neck and sucking
fiercely at his pulse point. Stiles mewled, his own hips clumsily jerking
against Derek’s, lust warring with his unease.
Derek’s hands moved to the clasp of the wolf fur cloak, deftly unhinging it and
letting it fall to the ground. Stiles shivered, shoulders hunching forward in
modesty as goose bumps formed along his skin both from the cold air and from
being so exposed. He was still self-conscious when naked. This time though,
Derek rid himself of his shirt too, pressing their chests closely together,
pulling a silent sigh from Stiles as his skin absorbed the heat emanating from
Derek.
As Derek’s lips found Stiles’ mouth again, his hands cupped the mounds of
Stiles’ butt, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh. Stiles moaned quietly
into Derek’s mouth, his hands holding onto Derek’s shoulders tightly, half
wanting to push Derek away while half wanting to pull him closer. Derek helped
Stiles’ hips find a steady tempo to work in sync with Derek’s thrusting,
causing the most erotic friction Stiles had ever felt.
Stiles was so into the moment, previous concerns falling away, that he hadn’t
noticed Derek reaching for the oil he’d left on the bed. It was only when Derek
pulled Stiles’ cheeks apart that Stiles faltered his tempo.
“Easy now,” Derek hummed softly as a cold, slick finger circled Stiles’ anus.
Stiles stilled, a sick nervousness spiking again in his stomach.
Derek resumed kissing Stiles as his finger continued to delicately circle and
massage at Stiles’ entrance. The touch felt weird and uncomfortable, but as
Stiles started to focus again on the heat and slick of Derek’s mouth, the
nervousness abated slightly.
Derek hummed appreciatively into Stiles’ mouth as his finger finally penetrated
the first ring of muscle. Stiles whimpered at the intrusion, pressing his lips
firmly against Derek’s, trying to chase away his fear with pleasure. Derek
continued to work his finger around, loosening the first ring of muscle as he
teased at the inner ring.
As Stiles was fully breached, Derek lunged forward slightly, hungrily claim
Stiles’ mouth. The possessiveness of it caused Stiles’ body to clench. It was
only as Derek slowed his assault that Stiles realized Derek was now sliding his
thick digit in and out of him smoothly, never fully pulling out. The sensation
was odd, and Stiles was completely unsure of whether he liked it or not.
With no warning, Derek extracted himself from Stiles completely, standing up
while easily lifting Stiles with him. Squawking, Stiles reflexively leapt
closer to Derek’s chest, holding tightly to his shoulders. He was carefully
deposited back on the bed before Derek quickly kicked off his pants and joined
Stiles, hovering over him.
“It’ll be easier this way,” Derek said, guiding Stiles’ trembling thighs apart
and positioning himself between them.
Stiles couldn’t help the angry flush of embarrassment that encompassed his
whole body. In their earlier sexual activities, he hadn’t really had to face
Derek head on. He had resented it at the time. But now he felt beyond exposed,
his hand moving to cover his partially excited cock before Derek halted his
movements.
“Don’t be embarrassed. I want to see your arousal,” Derek said, pressing
Stiles’ hand firmly into the blankets beside his head. If possible, Stiles’
cheeks heated even more. Derek leaned over Stiles’ prone form, his lips again
massaging at Stiles’ neck, trying to get Stiles back into the moment.
Stiles bit his lip, trying to smother out his embarrassment. He felt better
with Derek over him – not as on display, protected even.
Grabbing another dollop of the oil, Derek repositioned his knees higher on the
bed near Stiles’ hips, forcing Stiles’ legs up and back slightly, giving Derek
more access to Stiles’ entrance.
Languidly, Derek rubbed the oil into Stiles’ opening, leaning forward to
snuffle at Stiles’ throat, taking the delicate skin between his teeth as he
reinserted his finger. He thrust his digit in and out a few times before
starting to tease at the rim with a second.
Stiles frowned slightly as the second finger entered him. It didn’t hurt
exactly, just felt stretched and uncomfortable.
“Don’t focus on it,” Derek murmured, his mouth leaving a wet, hot trail down
Stiles’ chest. When he latched on to one of Stiles’ nipples, Stiles clenched
around Derek’s fingers and arched his back, gasping at the sensation.
Derek made a rumbling noise deep in his chest as he lapped and suckled at the
perky nipple. Stiles groaned. It felt as if there was a straight line from his
nipple to his dick, causing the most delicious tug and pull that he had ever
felt. He hadn’t ever realized his nipples were that sensitive.
Derek continued to work his fingers in and out of Stiles as he lavished the
other nipple with the same attention, pulling the same reaction out of Stiles.
With such pleasure pulsing in his chest and cock, the achy sensation of Derek
inside of him faded.
Within a matter of minutes, Stiles was subtly writhing, gasps ghosting past his
lips. He was so caught up in the excitement coursing through him that when
Derek added a third finger, which was much more of a stretch, it had Stiles
stilling completely in surprise.
With a groan, Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, his breath coming in pants as he
tried to adjust to the intrusion.
“Shhhh.” Derek gentled. “Don’t tense up.”
Stiles brow furrowed further. He didn’t see Derek with anything up his ass. So
he wasn’t allowed to talk.
Trying to distract Stiles, Derek continued to coax Stiles’ nipples to attention
with licks and gentle blowing before rubbing his stubble against them.
Stiles cried out at the sensation, trying to push Derek’s head away. That was
too much.
“Shhhh,” Derek repeated as he went back to licking and gently nipping at
Stiles’ nipples. In under a minute, Stiles eased up enough that Derek was able
to move his fingers again. They continued that way, Derek distracting Stiles
while further preparing him until Derek had apparently decided they had no more
time to waste.
Extracting his fingers, Derek reared back slowly before guiding Stiles over so
he was on his hands and knees. Nudging Stiles knees further apart so he could
position himself between them, Derek ran his hand up and down Stiles’ spine a
few times as Stiles peered over his shoulder worriedly.
“Easy now,” Derek said, positioning himself at Stiles’ entrance. When the head
of his penis actually slid past the rings of muscle, Stiles groaned, trying to
pull away, but Derek held his hips firmly in place.
“Breathe,” Derek coached, remaining completely still.
Stiles whimpered, still attempting to pull his hips away, but he wasn’t going
anywhere in Derek’s grasp.
“Don’t fight it, Stiles. Breathe through it, you’ll be okay,” Derek said,
giving Stiles time to adjust. Every few moments he would slide another inch in,
then another, then another.
“I can’t,” Stiles finally choked out, reaching back to push at Derek. His
breathing was coming in wet, shallow gasps as he tried to ride out the pain.
Any pleasure he had felt earlier wasn’t even registering.
“Shhhhh, yes you can,” Derek reassured. “You’re a spark, Stiles. You can do
anything you want.” There was a reverence to Derek’s tone that had Stiles’
chest warming.
Another inch.
“Nhhhhh,” Stiles panted out, whining high in his throat. “Please, Derek.”
“Almost there,” Derek said, reaching down to wrap an arm around Stiles’ torso,
pulling him up and back so that Stiles’ back was resting against Derek’s chest
as they knelt on the bed, Stiles’ legs on the outside of Derek’s thick,
muscular thighs.
Gravity and the change of angle allowed the last couple inches to slide home,
pulling a pained groan from Stiles.
“That’s it. Good boy,” Derek murmured, rubbing his stubbled cheek against
Stiles’. The irritation felt so much more intense. It felt like all of Stiles’
nerve endings were on high alert as he struggled to adjust to the length and
girth of Derek inside of him.
“Please,” Stiles moaned miserably. He desperately wanted to call a halt to
this. They needed more time to prep. Stiles couldn’t even take Derek in his
human form. How in the world was he going to take his wolf form? Just thinking
of it had Stiles clenching tightly around Derek’s member, pulling hisses out of
both of them.
“Just breathe, and relax. You’ll adjust,” Derek said, his hand coming up to
grasp Stiles’ throat, tilting Stiles’ head back. Stiles allowed Derek to guide
him, letting his head fall back on Derek’s shoulder as he grasped Derek’s
wrist. While he didn’t feel directly threatened, he felt more in control with
his hand there. It still didn’t deter the whimper that slipped past his lips,
though.
“Shhhh,” Derek whispered as he again nuzzled at Stiles’ neck, his other hand
starting to wander up Stiles’ thighs and torso.
They were simple caresses, whether to distract Stiles from the pain, or try to
get him aroused again, Stiles wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Derek’s big,
warm hands were actually soothing him. Whatever the intent, it was working. The
angry flare of pain started to slowly subside, and while he wasn’t quite
feeling arousal yet, it was something warm. Comforting.
As Stiles started realizing he was actually relaxing back further into Derek’s
hold, he felt the older man flex his hips ever so slightly. It wasn’t enough to
constitute a thrust, but it was enough to move Derek minutely within Stiles.
Stiles swallowed while squeezing his eyes shut, fearful of it hurting again.
But the tiny flexing of Derek’s hips gradually became something more.
Somewhere, between Derek’s hot mouth against Stiles’ neck, the rocking of his
hips, and his hands roaming over Stiles’ tummy and waist, Stiles realized that
they were actually doing it. And … it was actually starting to feel okay. Not
great, but okay.
When Derek rumbled deeply in his chest, Stiles could tell it was a positive
sound, pulling a bit of a contented sigh from Stiles as well. Stiles kept his
eyes closed, allowing his mind to focus on the feeling of what was happening.
When a large, hot hand encircled Stiles penis, he couldn’t control the jerk of
his hips forward, pulling him the furthest off of Derek that he had been since
Derek entered him. The surprise of it pulled a gasp from them both.
“You like that?” Derek murmured, a hint of amusement in his tone.
Stiles dipped his head, embarrassed by the question. He was still feeling too
much for it to be pleasurable. The sensations in his ass coupled with the
unfamiliar touch to his penis were overwhelming. Stiles’ reaction had been
merely out of surprise, not necessarily enjoyment. But he didn’t want to tell
Derek that.
Instead, he reached down, covering Derek’s hand with his own, halting any
movement. It would be too embarrassing for Derek to try and arouse him and
fail.
“It’s too much,” Stiles whispered, his head lolling against Derek’s shoulder.
“Alright,” Derek murmured, “nice and light,” he said, letting go and petting
Stiles’ inner thighs instead as he guided Stiles to move his hips back and
forth. When Stiles got a slow rhythm started, Derek’s hand gently encased
Stiles’ penis, not grasping it, just ghosting over it so that Stiles was
simultaneously fucking into Derek’s lax grip, then fucking himself back onto
Derek’s cock.
Stiles panted at the overstimulation and exertion. The dual sensation was
setting off explosions behind Stiles’ eyelids, and while Stiles wasn’t hard, he
wasn’t soft either.
With a snarl, Derek was leaning forward, forcing Stiles down so that he was
back on all fours again, giving Derek more room to take control – which he did
quickly.
Derek started a quicker pace, his thrusts true and deep on each stroke, pulling
gasps from Stiles each time Derek bottomed out. It was perhaps a little more
than Stiles was ready for, but with Derek’s hand still on Stiles’ dick, it was
distraction enough. By the sound of things, Derek was quickly approaching his
orgasm.
Derek’s thrusting became more erratic, pulling high whines out of Stiles. Just
when Stiles thought Derek was going to soar over the edge, Derek grasped
Stiles’ hair, pulling his head painfully back and to the side as Derek bit down
on the juncture of Stiles’ neck and shoulder, drawing a cry of pained surprise
from Stiles.
Suddenly, Derek’s hips stopped and his hold on Stiles loosened as he licked at
the bite mark, aggravating the already tender flesh. Stiles squeezed his ass,
unsure of whether Derek reached orgasm or whether they were knotted.
Without so much as a word, Derek gently extracted himself from Stiles, pulling
a whimper from the younger man. So, not knotted then.
Rearranging them, Derek pulled Stiles down so that they were in their normal
spooning position, his hand slipping down between them. As Stiles felt Derek’s
dick slip between his cheeks again, his breath hitched in surprise. When Derek
breached him, Stiles couldn’t hold back his groan. His entrance felt swollen
and sensitive. Instead of thrusting this time though, Derek simply settled
himself inside of Stiles and pulled him close.
“You’ll need to save your energy and excitement for tonight,” Derek murmured
into Stiles’ hair. “Don’t ejaculate until the ceremony.”
“Hmmm?” Stiles asked, turning his head as much towards Derek as he could. “Did
you …?”
“No, not yet,” Derek replied, apparently knowing the question. “I’ll save it
for tonight.”
“Why did you bite me?” Stiles asked, pressing a hand to where his neck was
smarting.
“Part of my claim,” Derek replied, pulling a blanket up and around them. “I’m
serious. The more aroused you are for the ceremony, the easier it’ll be on
you.”
Stiles nodded despite knowing it was unlikely to happen.
They stayed that way for a while, Derek’s hot, hard, thick dick settled deeply
inside of Stiles as his arm petted idly up and down Stiles’ arm, torso and
thighs. Derek murmured quietly through the whole thing, whispering words of
encouragement and praise. While at first it was uncomfortable, and his bottom
still ached, Stiles had settled into it by the end.
“I have to go get ready,” Derek finally said, pulling himself from Stiles.
Getting off the bed, Derek quickly dressed, making his way around the room in
preparation. As Stiles hunkered down further into the covers, trying to ignore
the sting in his ass and the faint throb of his cock, his gaze purposefully
avoided Derek, which was why he was surprised when a cup was thrust in front of
his face.
Stiles’ eyes travelled up the arm to its owner, confusion marring his brow.
“Drink it, it’ll help,” Derek said, handing over the cup that Stiles had
earlier ignored. “Deaton will be by shortly to get you,” Derek said, turning to
go before hesitating a moment. Looking back to Stiles, Derek frowned before
stepping back up to the bed and leaning down to kiss the top of Stiles’ head,
his hand brushing gently through Stiles’ hair. After another beat, he made his
retreat and left the cabin.
Stiles couldn’t help the smile that tugged as his lips as his heavily hooded
eyes gazed at the closed door. The herbal water tasted better than he
remembered.
 
It had only been a matter of minutes before Deaton had come for Stiles. Stiles
hadn’t even finished the herbal water yet before he had to shrug the wolf fur
cloak back on, resetting the clasp.
Numbly, Stiles followed Deaton out of the cabin, his heart beating at the base
of his throat. Deaton wordlessly led Stiles down an assortment of paths
throughout the community. Instead of leading to gathering circle Stiles had
visited the night before, he was actually taken to the west edge of the
community where the cabins gave way to a large, treeless field.
Stiles’ eyes flitted around the open meadow, distractedly taking everything in.
The full moon, hanging high in the cold night sky, was giving off enough light
that Stiles didn’t need werewolf night vision to see.
The pack was a lot bigger than Stiles thought, even bigger than what he
remembered from the previous night. There were easily fifty wolves lining the
edge of the meadow, creating a circle of protection for their Alpha. They were
excited. They were bounding and jockeying around, playful nips and yips
piercing the air and setting Stiles’ nerves even more on edge. Their eyes were
shifting from their supernatural glow and back again constantly, flickers of
amber and the occasional blue lighting the edge of the clearing. If Stiles
didn’t focus on it specifically, it looked like twinkling lights surrounding
Derek.
Derek was sitting in the middle of the clearing, his eyes glowing a constant
red, fully shifted into his wolf form as well. Stiles’ breath caught. He’d
forgotten how large Derek was in his wolf form.
“Do you remember what to do?” Deaton asked, pulling Stiles’ attention back to
the task at hand.
Stiles nodded, opening his mouth to respond, but his throat was so dry he
failed to make a sound, so he simply nodded once more, snapping his jaw shut.
“Good,” Deaton said. “None of the other wolves will bother you. If they did, it
would be a challenge to their Alpha, and I don’t think anyone’s silly enough to
do so why he’s claiming a mate on a full moon.” Despite keeping his eyes
forward, Deaton must have seen Stiles’ questioning look. “An Alpha is naturally
more powerful than any one single pack member, more-so on a full moon. But
while he claims you tonight, he’ll be bordering on feral. There would be no
contest.”
“Feral?” Stiles choked out, taking a step forward and turning towards Deaton.
“You’ll be fine,” Deaton said. His tone wasn’t soothing in any sense. It
sounded like he was trying to convince himself rather than Stiles. “Go on, he’s
growing impatient,” Deaton said, jerking his chin towards Derek.
Stiles looked over too, and sure enough, Derek was no longer sitting idly in
the centre of the clearing. He was now pacing back and forth, his red eyes
never leaving Stiles.
“I’ll be by in the morning to check on you,” Deaton said, turning and
retreating from the meadow.
And just like that, Stiles was left standing on his own, mouth hanging agape as
he watched Deaton’s form disappear into the night.
Oh no. No, no, no. You don’t just drop that on someone and walk away! Nobody
had said anything about Derek being feral. Okay, maybe Peter had alluded to it,
but Stiles had thought it was because Peter was a creeper and was trying to
scare him. Those were all just horror stories humans told their children so
they wouldn’t break the treaty … right?
A low growl emanating from the clearing had Stiles’ head whipping back around
to Derek who was still pacing. He didn’t look particularly feral. But then
again, that could probably change pretty quickly.
Besides, feral or not, Stiles had a job to do. This was the last step of the
process that would mate them for life.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
Squaring his shoulders and pulling the cloak a little closer to him, Stiles
stepped further into the meadow, much to the approval of the pack apparently,
as the noise they were making increased a few notches.
Fighting back the incessant instinct that was telling him to run, Stiles
continued to move slowly into the clearing, keeping his eyes downcast as to not
to appear to challenge Derek. Submit and present yourself, Stiles thought,
Deaton’s words repeating again and again in his mind. Right, no big deal in
front of fifty or more strangers, let alone the man before him who he only
started to get to know within the last couple hours.
Once Stiles got to about fifteen feet away from the pacing wolf, he exhaled
shakily, trying to steel his nerves for what he was about to do, and what those
actions would bring next. It took him a moment of forcing his body to listen to
his brain, but eventually Stiles sank, holding the cloak tightly around him as
he sat on the grass.
Submit and present yourself.
Closing his eyes, Stiles sat back, resting his hands behind him on the damp
grass. He leaned back on them, allowing the cloak to fall open and to the
ground. The chill of the night air stole Stiles’ breath for a moment as he
adjusted to the temperature. Shamefully, Stiles spread his trembling legs while
tilting his head back and to the side. He squeezed his eyes tight at a
particularly loud yip from the crowd. He could only imagine what he looked like
laying spread open like that in the field—quivering thighs held open to expose
Stiles’ genitals and easy access to his entrance, throat and belly bared in
submission.
As a moment passed by though, Stiles still sitting awkwardly alone in the
field, he started to worry that maybe he was doing something wrong. He racked
his brain. Deaton hadn’t necessarily given him specificson how to submit and
present, just some examples …
Just as Stiles was reaching to pull his cloak back up to cover himself, he felt
a snorted exhale fall over his neck while a heavy paw pressed his wrist back to
the ground. Eyes flying open, they widened in awe at Derek hovering over him.
He was big. His head was the size of Stiles’ chest.
“Oh,” Stiles breathed, feeling his body stiffening as his heart rate started to
accelerate.
Immediately, Derek let out a small whine, his tongue darting out and licking up
Stiles’ cheek. Even his tongue was huge. Like seriously, one swipe of it easily
travelled from Stiles’ chin up to his hairline. It was kind of gross. The only
upside was that it was warm. Actually, now that Stiles was thinking about it,
with Derek hovering over him like this, he could feel the heat emanating off
the wolf.
Looking down, Stiles was surprised how small he looked under Derek. Derek’s
paws were resting on the outside of Stiles’ body, boxing Stiles in, providing
cover and protection from the elements … or other wolves’ views, potentially.
Regardless, much like earlier that night, it made Stiles feel better, not as on
display.
One other piece of information was made aware to him after his brief glance
down as well. Derek was excited, as in fully aroused, as in his penis was
jutting out from its sheath and looking an angry red.
Stiles hadn’t gotten a great view of it, but he knew that it was in proportion
to the size of the wolf hovering over him.
Despite what Derek had advised in their cabin when he had been preparing Stiles
earlier, Stiles hadn’t been able to maintain any sense of arousal. There was
too much of everything else going on. His dick and balls had shrunk and were
hiding from fear and the cold, which had Stiles even more scared and worried
about how this would turn out. It was a downward spiral, really.
With another snort, Derek was moving down Stiles’ torso, lapping at both of
Stiles’ pert nipples half a dozen times each, causing Stiles to flail and yelp
before Derek continued lower. When his big head hovered over Stiles’ package,
sniffing and simply inspecting it, Stiles couldn’t help the twitching of his
legs that wanted to close in defense to the predator above him. Then without
any warning, Derek’s large tongue darted out to lap at Stiles’ balls and penis
as well, bathing them in warm slobber.
Stiles full on yelped in surprise, sitting up slightly while placing his hands
on the wolf’s head, trying to push him away. But just as quickly, Derek had
reared up and with a paw to Stiles’ chest, pressed him back into a laying
position while resuming his ministrations to Stiles’ package.
Stiles whined high in his throat. Derek’s tongue was surprisingly soft, and
while it was warm on impact, once Derek’s saliva cooled, it was downright cold.
Luckily, Derek’s tongue was big enough that within another swipe or two he was
warming the cooling spots again.
Derek continued his assault, moments drifting into minutes. Stiles was losing
track of time. His stomach was fluttering with nervousness. His mind flashed
back to his and Derek’s previous experiences, to Derek pulling indignantly on
Stiles’ cock. His mind was destroying any possible sense of pleasure granted
from Derek’s tongue.
“I’m okay,” Stiles whispered, feeling embarrassed at his lack of arousal. He
again pushed at Derek’s head, trying to get the wolf’s attention. Derek
stopped, looking up to Stiles with red eyes before huffing and nudging Stiles’
hip, easily rolling him over. Stiles yelped when his delicate parts came in
contact with the cold, damp grass. Jumping to his hands and knees in shock,
Stiles could feel Derek still hovering over him, his cold snout nudging at
Stiles’ side.
“What?” Stiles asked blearily, looking back over his shoulder to where Derek
was nudging at him. At the same time Stiles understood what Derek was trying to
do, he actually succeeded in doing it. He had nudged Stiles’ cloak off to the
side of him, baring Stiles’ bottom to Derek.
Stiles whimpered, fisting the grass underneath him as he faced forward again,
painfully aware of what came next. Derek moving further over Stiles only
confirmed it. Derek’s front paws came just ahead of Stiles’ hands, the curve of
Derek’s chest forcing Stiles’ head down slightly. With the size Derek was,
Stiles still fit remarkably well underneath him on his hands and knees.
As Derek repositioned himself, something hot and hard poked between Stiles’
thighs, nudging up against his balls.
Stiles whimpered as Derek huffed out, trying to position himself again. This
time, Derek pressed Stiles’ upper body further into the dirt, exposing a little
more of his bottom. The change in angle allowed Derek’s thick, tapered cock to
slide between Stiles’ cheeks and hook onto Stiles’ entrance.
With no other preamble, Derek thrust, piercing through Stiles’ entrance,
sheathing himself deep. The action pulled a startled shout from Stiles. Unlike
earlier in the evening, Stiles didn’t get any time to adjust. Instantly, Derek
was pulling marginally out before thrusting back in again, then again, then
again.
Stiles opened his mouth to yell, to scream, to beg Derek to stop, but nothing
came out. His lungs were frozen in shock and pain. He couldn’t even pull in a
breath for the longest time. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. Deaton had been
right, Derek was bigger as a wolf – a hell of a lot bigger. Stiles wasn’t sure
if their earlier prep was helping at all. His entrance had already felt sore
and swollen, and now? All he could focus on was being split open by the girth
and force of the wolf above him.
After a moment, though, Stiles’ body came back online. His instinct of self-
preservation kicking in tenfold had him attempting to scramble out from under
Derek. With a low warning growl and a firm paw between his shoulder blades,
Stiles grunted, only stilling completely when the wolf closed its mouth over
the back of Stiles’ neck.
Stiles could feel the pin pricks of Derek’s teeth piercing skin as he continued
to thrust while holding Stiles down. Awareness that Derek could tear his head
off in one solid chomp had Stiles resubmitting, whining out high and hard as
the brutality of Derek’s thrusts continued.
Then, when Stiles thought it would go on forever, Derek’s tempo became jerky
and inconsistent, giving Stiles a moment of relief before he felt something
starting to catch on his entrance.
“Derek?” Stiles whimpered, grunting as Derek pressed harder and harder against
him. With a final thrust, the knot slid in, tears pricking Stiles’ eyes.
“Derek!” Stiles shouted, clambering at the ground, which only pulled painfully
on where they were joined, making Stiles still completely. His mouth was open
as he panted through the pain, high pitched whines filling the air around them.
Whether they were coming from him or Derek, Stiles wasn’t sure.
Derek’s hips rutted against Stiles’, pushing Stiles further and further, and if
it wasn’t for the hold Derek still had on him, Stiles was sure they would’ve
been half way across the meadow by now.
Growling, Derek let go of his hold on Stiles’ neck only to reposition his mouth
over the bite mark he had left earlier in the evening, when he had been human.
As Derek’s hips stilled, minor spasms rocking through him every second or two,
he bit down, only enough to re-break the skin, pulling a mewl from Stiles.
Derek licked at the wound as his hips twitched. Then, Derek let out a hair
raising howl into the night sky, causing Stiles to flinch and hiss at the pull
as fifty plus howls answered Derek’s own.
Stiles let out a sob, dropping his head to rest it on his forearm, ass still up
in the air and still very much attached to Derek. He could feel the tear tracks
down his face cooling in the night air, stinging his cheeks. He could now feel
how raw his knees were from being rubbed against the grass. The bite mark Derek
had given him, twice now tonight, throbbed painfully. But it was Stiles’
entrance that hurt the worst. He couldn’t even describe it. He felt raw and
stretched so wide it was painful. All he wanted was for Derek to pull out, to
give him a reprieve. But he knew they were stuck like this for a while.
Every time Derek’s hips twitched, which still happen every minute or so, Stiles
moaned in discomfort. There was a pressure in his lower abdomen that was
becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and Stiles didn’t want to think too
closely as to what that pressure was. Derek continued to lick at Stiles’ bite,
lapping at it every couple minutes before nuzzling and huffing against Stiles’
neck and ears. At first it was annoying, but as the minutes passed and the pain
started fading into a numbness, Stiles couldn’t care less.
Finally, well past the point of Stiles paying attention to time, Derek was able
to pull himself from Stiles. Immediately, Stiles sobbed in relief, allowing his
hips to pitch to the side and his body fall to the ground. Everything hurt. It
was all too much, Derek’s fur rubbing against his skin, the cold of the grass,
the playful banter of the other wolves still on the outskirts of the meadow.
All of it – it was too much.
Stiles curled in on himself. He never wanted to go through that again. He was
never letting Derek near his ass again. If he wanted puppies, then they were
going to have to find a different way of conceiving because they were not going
to have a repeat performance.
Stiles moaned pitifully as he was jostled, strong arms scooping him up, the
cloak wrapped firmly back around him. Stiles curled into the heat of a warm
chest, frowning at the sensation of floating as his eyelids grew heavy. Stiles
blinked a few times, desperately trying to stay awake. There was another part
of the ritual, wasn’t there? He had to be accepted by the pack? But before he
could even wonder when that was to happen, he allowed himself to rest his eyes
for a minute. Only for a minute … then he’d have the energy to greet everyone.
 
 
 
The next time Stiles opened his eyes, he was back in the cabin, in bed. He was
only vaguely aware of Derek feeding him, and insisting he drink some tea. He
fell back asleep quickly. The next time he woke it was to Deaton, his hand
pressed to Stiles’ forehead before he checked over the rest of Stiles’ body,
Derek an ever present figure in the background. The next time, more tea, and
the pattern repeated itself again and again. Stiles wasn’t sure how long it
lasted, his mind was too foggy to comprehend the passing of time.
The first time Stiles was lucid during one of his wakenings, Derek was in bed
with him. The fire was crackling, leaving the room warm. Sweltering, actually,
with a werewolf pressed against his back.
Derek was clearly asleep. The steady rise and fall of his chest and soft puffs
of air ghosting on the back of Stiles’ neck were an easy indicator. He was
spooning Stiles again, holding Stiles’ smaller frame gently in his arms.
Stiles was just starting to wonder whether he could slip out of Derek’s hold to
go relieve himself without waking the werewolf when Derek stirred, pulling
Stiles firmly to him.
“You’re awake,” Derek mumbled, nuzzling behind Stiles’ ear.
“Yeah,” Stiles whispered, suddenly feeling uncomfortable as details from the
mating ceremony slowly came back to him; Derek’s breath coming in hot pants
against his neck, the pin-pricks of his teeth, the ache from being knotted, the
grass burn on Stiles’ knees …
Clearing his throat, Stiles sat up slightly. He didn’t want to think about that
now, which was difficult being practically smothered by Derek.
That, and he really did need to pee. Rolling to his side, Stiles hissed as his
whole body ached from the minor movement.
Derek sat up too, pulling Stiles closer to him.
“Careful,” Derek said. “Deaton says you’ll be sore for a while. You’ll be fine,
just sore.”
Stiles huffed, feeling like that was a major understatement. He didn’t feel
fine.
“I need to –” Stiles started, only to be cut off as a howl pierced through the
walls. Despite the warm air, the sound of it had chills running over him. Even
though he had been in the community for a few days, he couldn’t remember
hearing a howl like that outside of Derek rescuing him, and the ceremony last
night. It seemed rare, and it sounded haunting. Derek going rigid beside him
didn’t make Stiles feel any better.
“What?” Stiles asked, looking to Derek in concern.
Derek’s eyes were fiercely focused on the door though, Stiles’ gaze following
suit right as Isaac burst through it. The unexpectedness of it had Stiles
jolting.
“The Stilinski Tribe, they’re under attack,” Isaac panted, resting his hands on
his knees, his eyes glowing gold.
Stiles stomach dropped, his heart seizing in his chest.
“What!?!” Stiles shrieked, both him and Derek scrambling to get out of bed.
Stiles held back the cry of pain that threatened to leave him from the aches
that shot up his back, and down his legs.
“They need our help,” Isaac said, straightening back up.
Stiles glanced worriedly at Derek while searching for his clothes. Who was
attacking his tribe? Was it the pack from the north? It couldn’t have been.
They were still a fortnight travel away … weren’t they? It had to be someone
else then?
“Gather as many as you can, we leave immediately,” Derek said, pulling on his
clothes.
Stiles was just pulling on his pants when Derek turned to him, brow furrowing.
“You’re staying here,” Derek said, no question to his tone.
“Absolutely not,” Stiles replied, looking for a shirt – any shirt to throw on.
“You’re in no form to fight,” Derek replied, coming around the end of the bed.
“It doesn’t matter, I’m going,” Stiles said, pulling one of Derek’s shirts over
his head. He detoured to the mantel, grabbing his hunting knife before making
his way to the door. When Derek grabbed Stiles’ arm to halt his progress,
Stiles turned on him.
“They’re my people, Derek! I have to go!” Stiles cried, yanking his arm from
Derek’s grasp. Something in his eyes must have relayed his conviction, because
Derek let out a huff of agitation. Looking to the door, then Stiles, Derek
nodded once curtly.
“Fine, but you stay by my side through the whole thing. You’re injured,” Derek
said, no room for negotiation.
“Deal,” Stiles agreed, turning and pulling the door open. “We have to hurry.”
It was pouring rain outside, the sun blocked by dense grey cloud. The mud and
slick grass would only make their descent down the mountain harder. They’d have
to go slower – be more careful. Stiles tried to bite back a roar of agitation.
Why today?!?
The rain was cold at first, ice-like pellets hitting Stiles’ skin. His clothes
were drenched in less than a minute, offering no aid. But at his body
temperature dropped, the cold was less noticeable.
Derek transformed into his wolf form half way through the community, stopping
only long enough for Stiles to hoist himself onto his back, knife tucked
securely into a sheath at Stiles’ hip. A good number of the pack was with them,
also transformed. Derek didn’t waste time waiting for any more. With a quick
yip from Derek they all started tearing down the mountainside.
Stiles knew the journey wasn’t a long one, but every moment seemed to take an
hour. His adrenaline was so high that he had only had a momentary twinge of
discomfort in his backside before his body was completely ignoring it, focusing
instead on what was to come. 
The wolves seemed to pick up on the thrum of anxiety emanating from Stiles.
Their pace increased despite the mountain passage more treacherous from the
rain.   
When they finally – finally –ripped through the treeline into Stiles’ home
community, they arrived to the heat of a battle. And on first glance, they
weren’t winning.
There was blood – so much blood. Dead bodies were strewn everywhere, both human
and werewolf. The mud was tinged red, puddles consisting of blood as opposed to
dirt and rain water. Weapons whirled, battle cries and cries of pain tore
through the air, interrupted by occasional sobs of grief.
Stiles bit back a sound of horror that threatened to spill, unconsciously
grabbing tightly to Derek’s wet scruff. He had never been in a real battle
before. Sure, growing up he had trained and strategized, but he’d never … he
wasn’t prepared for something like this. He couldn’t believe this was the
community he grew up in. Everything was destroyed. Nothing looked like it had.
Panicked, Stiles searched the crowd for his father. He could see Chris and
Allison, Scott and Jackson, all still alive and fighting, giving Stiles some
semblance of hope. Whittemore hadn’t faired so well. He was fallen and still,
face down in the mud.
Derek screeched to a halt, snapping back Stiles’ attention. Stiles’ only choice
was to pull harshly at Derek’s coat to stop himself for toppling over Derek’s
head.
He needed to focus, dammit!
There, not twenty feet in front of them, Stiles’ dad was fighting an Alpha,
staff swinging wildly to keep the beast away.
“Dad!” Stiles shouted, scrambling off Derek and falling ungracefully into the
mud. His legs gave out due to his weary muscles from the mating ceremony, his
injured left ankle, and the slickness of the mud. Stiles struggled to get his
footing before rushing towards the pair to help his dad.
Derek was ahead of him, his powerful stride on all fours way faster than
Stiles’ two human legs. But just as Derek made to tackle the other Alpha, the
Alpha swiped cleanly at the Chief, bringing him to his knees.
“No!” Stiles cried, racing forward. Falling to his knees, Stiles slid along the
mud as he reached for his father. He was able to catch him just as he fell
backwards.
Stiles’ eyes widened in shock, a whimper sneaking past his lips. Blood quickly
spilled out of four major gashes on the Chief’s neck and throat. The Chief’s
eyes were glazed over with shock.
“Dad?” Stiles called, pressing firmly against the wounds, trying to stop the
blood from escaping.
“Stiles?” the Chief gasped, his pained eyes running over Stiles’ features, as
if he couldn’t believe Stiles was there. The look had Stiles’ heart stuttering.
“I’m right here, Dad,” Stiles responded, grunting in frustration as his hands
slipped, unable to find purchase enough to stop the bleeding. The rainwater and
slickness from the blood was only making it more difficult. 
Stiles looked around desperately. He couldn’t do it on his own. He needed help!
Seeing Scott not too far away, Stiles hollered, trying to get his attention.
“Scott!” Stiles yelled, vocal cords tight with emotion. “Scott, get your mom!”
They just needed Melissa. Melissa was their healer. She could fix this, she had
to fix this.
“You came back,” the Chief said, pulling Stiles’ attention back to him. Stiles
face crumbled, his chest constricting at his father’s words.
“Of course I came back. We came as soon as we heard,” Stiles said, smiling down
at his dad as his vision blurred, tears stinging his eyes. “I’m right here.”
“Say … say it,” the Chief said weakly, gurgling around the blood and rainwater
in his mouth and throat. His eyes crinkled at the corners in pain.
“No,” Stiles said, shaking his head. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say it
because Stiles knew what that would mean. He knew why his dad would ask him to
say it. “No, Dad. C’mon, you’re going to be okay.” Tears spilled down his face
next to the tracks of the rainwater, the hot sensation stark against his cold
skin. Stiles clutched firmly at his father’s neck, praying for Mel to hurry.
“Say it,” the Chief repeated.
Stiles looked at his dad, eyes widening at the pain etched deep into his
father’s features. It was the lack of focus to his eyes and the whiteness of
his skin that had Stiles’ breath fluttering, though. Stiles was losing him! He
was losing him … and there was only one thing left for Stiles to do to make
this easier for his dad.
“The tribe,” Stiles whimpered, his chest constricting with a sob so tightly he
had to fight to get a breath – to get the next words out.
“The treaties,” Stiles cried out, slamming his eyes shut, fresh tears racing
down his cheeks. He couldn’t do it. This couldn’t be goodbye. It wasn’t his
time yet! Wasn’t there something he could do with his spark? What had Deaton
said? He needed to will it to happen!
Closing his eyes, Stiles focused deep within himself, willing for his dad to
live. He raced through memories of his childhood, clinging to the love and
pride and support he always received from his father. He pulled closely his
need for his dad. He was the only one Stiles had left.
His thoughts were cut off though as his dad reached up and grasped Stiles’
wrists, his dad’s cold hands squeezing reassuringly.
Stiles’ whole body slumped in defeat. There wasn’t time.
“Everything else,” Stiles whimpered, another sob ripping out of him as he hung
his head. Even now, in his last moments, when Stiles should be comforting him,
he was still comforting Stiles.
Stiles took a breath, the last words getting caught in his throat. The Chief
nodded his encouragement, eyes begging that Stiles finish.
“Then us,” Stiles finally whispered, lifting his head and offering a watery
smile for his dad, trying to communicate through his eyes all the love, honour,
gratitude and pride Stiles had for him.
The corner of the Chief’s mouth crooked up, his eyes reflecting the same thing
back to his son.
“That’s my boy,” he said tightly. His grip on Stiles’ wrists went lax, before
falling away completely.
“Dad?” Stiles called, voice bordering on hysteria as his father’s body lost all
tension, sinking back further into the mud, staff laying idly by his side. His
eyes were unfocused, looking up at the sky just over Stiles’ shoulder. His
eyelids were no longer reacting to the drops of rain … his chest, no longer
rising or falling.
“Dad!” Stiles screamed, shaking his father’s shoulders. No …. no!
When there was no response, Stiles slumped forward, resting his head on his
father’s chest, tears running freely down his cheek and over his nose, falling
onto his father’s still form. Sobs wracked Stiles’ body as he clung to his
father’s shirt, moans escaping with the pain of his loss – the grief too much.
The sounds of the battle faded from Stiles’ awareness. All he could hear was
the rain and the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. There was nothing
else at that moment, nothing else but Stiles and his dad.
As a form came to kneel across from Stiles, on the other side of his father,
Stiles looked up, confused at the stranger smiling before him. The man was
older, probably around his father’s age, his hair a light brown without much
grey. He had a strong jaw line, more pronounced by his sunken cheeks. He was
slender, but still muscular, like a wolf.
When the man flashed his red eyes, Stiles raised his head further jutting out
his jaw defiantly.
This was the Alpha that had killed his father.
Face contorting in rage, Stiles lunged for him, flailing when the wolf simply
held him back with a hand on Stiles’ chest. When Stiles stuttered with
surprise, the Alpha grabbed a handful of Stiles’ shirt, yanking him across his
father’s fallen form, the Alpha’s elongated fangs much too close to Stiles’
neck for comfort.
“You’ll all share the same fate,” the man growled with some form of accent.
Stiles tried to rear back, but the Alpha’s grip was strong. “I will kill every
man, woman and child of your tribe if it’s the last thing I do.”
Stiles frowned as he tried to pull back enough to look at the Alpha.
“Why?” Stiles hissed, voice still tight from his crying.
Before any answer came, the Alpha shoved Stiles away from him, spinning into a
defensive crouch right as Derek tackled him to the side. Stiles watched for a
moment, feeling detached as he witnessed his husband, his mate, defending him
and his tribe. It was a strange sight to behold.
As Stiles’ eyes drifted back to his father, they fell upon the staff, sitting
just as lifelessly as its owner. Stiles dipped his head, turning away from it
slightly. His heart broke a little more as he realized that it wouldn’t be his
father passing it down to him. His father wouldn’t be there for the ceremony
where Stiles became Chief. He wouldn’t be there to answer any questions, or
guide Stiles through difficult decisions… he was on his own now.
The distant sound of howling pierced through the noise of the battle. Stiles
only had to hold his breath for a moment, fearful of whether the howls were
bringing friend or foe before he was able to relax. What appeared to be more of
the Hale Pack tore into the community.
The fighting lasted for hours … or maybe it was only minutes. Through it all,
Stiles sat by his dad’s side, Stiles’ warm hand grasping his father’s now pale,
cold one. Stiles wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to lead his people.
The warmth of a hand on his shoulder had Stiles glancing up inattentively. He
didn’t care who it was, or what they wanted. Heck, he didn’t even care if it
was the Alpha back to kill him. At that moment, Stiles would welcome it.
Welcome death. Welcome the opportunity to be back with his father.
The hand on his shoulder had claws, with a strong forearm thick with dark hair.
Looking up further, Stiles wasn’t really surprised to find Derek. He was
surprised, however, to find pain and despair etched on Derek’s face that
matched what Stiles was feeling. Behind him, the Hales wolves were regrouping.
They had won.
Sensing his emotions welling again, Stiles broke eye contact, looking back down
– not at his father this time, but at the staff. He knew what the next steps
were. He knew what needed to be done. He just couldn’t find it in him to get up
and do it.
“Take your time,” Derek said quietly, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder. He didn’t
move closer, and didn’t pull away. He simply stood there, offering whatever
comfort Stiles wanted to take from him.
With a deep breath, Stiles closed his eyes, tilting his head up to the sky,
allowing the rain to wash over him.
His mind tortuously replayed the last minutes he had with his father, their
mantra a constant echo in his mind.
The tribe, the treaties, everything else, then us.
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