Bone Deep

 Something was different.

Peter opened his eyes and stared unseeing at the ceiling. The house was restful around him, but it didn’t shake the feeling of something being amiss. If anything, it heightened it, seeping under his skin as a persistent itch he couldn’t exactly locate.

Silently, he pushed himself to sit up in the bed and cocked his head, extending his senses out from the house and into the woods, but he heard no warning calls, no ominous silence, nothing. The woods around the house were calm, filled with the usual sounds of birds and wildlife. 

And yet.

He frowned and turned his head a fraction, as if trying to catch a fleeting shadow from the corner of his eye. It annoyed him, the odd sense of something lurking just out of his reach, taunting and calling for him. It made him restless in a way he hadn’t been in a long time.

It would’ve been nice to stay in bed but Peter knew himself too well to try. He would just be annoyed and twist and turn around, unable to relax. So, he got up and stretched, arching his back and neck until he heard a series of satisfying pops, and, foregoing clothes, padded into the kitchen downstairs to start the coffee. The worn planks were warm under his bare feet and they creaked softly when he stepped on the one particular step. 

Talia had nagged at him about it the last time she’d come over. Peter hadn’t bothered with fixing it—after all, there was nothing wrong with the floor per se, and vocal floor boards were hardly a thing to fuss about.

Then again, his floor wasn’t the only thing Talia disapproved of.

He left the coffee machine on to do its thing and walked to the door and opened it to let the cool morning breeze in. It had rained at night and the air was heavy with the scent of earth and pine needles. Closing his eyes, he drew a long breath and held it in before slowly letting it out and extending his senses outwards. The woods around his house were heavily warded and he jumped from one rune to another, going over his morning routine with an ease born of years of practice. Everything seemed to be as it was supposed to be until he brushed over the edge of his territory and collided with a presence he’d never felt before. 

Peter swayed on his feet as he blinked his eyes open and slowly cocked his head. The presence called for him, pulled him towards the east with an insistent tug that wasn’t to be denied.

”What are you?” he mused aloud.

The woods didn’t answer.

The coffee machine beeped, startling him out of his thoughts. He shook his head to clear his mind, padded into the kitchen to pour himself a cup, and made his way to the porch.

He had built his house at a remote location and the uninhabited woods around him stretched miles and miles in every direction. It was just like Peter preferred. He wasn’t what one would call a people person, and he’d long since discovered he and his Alpha were on best terms when there was enough distance in between them. And by ’enough’ he meant several states. 

He lived alone by his own choosing and, contrary to the old werewolf lore, he didn’t go mad without his pack—it was said pack instead of solitude that had the ability to drive him insane. Add in his sister’s ruthless way of leading and Peter’s reluctance to submit to her rule, and the whole situation was a homicide waiting to happen. 

It truly was better for everyone that he’d left.

He downed his coffee and returned inside to rinse the cup. After a cursory glance around the house to check everything was as it should be, he walked out and locked the door behind him, dropping the key into the deer skull on the left side of the door. His fingers brushed gently along its curve, the bone silky smooth under his skin. After all these years, the protective runes were practically invisible to a naked eye, but he felt the power of it thrumming just under his fingers.

Peter nodded to himself. As always, the skull would guard his home while he was away.

He stopped at the edge of the porch, raised his head towards the sky, and scented the air. The crisp morning air filled his lungs and he closed his eyes, letting the forest fill him. He stood unmoving, poised for a moment and then lunged forward in one smooth move, Shifting in the air and landing on his forepaws in an almost silent thump.

Shifting had always come easy for him. It was a living, breathing current that flowed through him in an effortless cycle. They coexisted in a perfect harmony, his wolf side and him.

Talia used to roll her eyes and call him a peacock and a show-off, but she’d never had the same fluidity as Peter. Perhaps it was because Peter had never shied away from the fact that he was an apex predator and completely in sync with his wolf side, whereas Talia had preferred the cool and collected humanity. It was odd because of the two of them, Talia was the one more open about her dual nature. Even since werewolves had come out, she’d been pushing for more exposure, for peaceful coexistence, and were-friendly politics. Peter, on the other hand, had held on to his suspicious nature and stayed in the shadows.

Or course, she was also the one running for office, while Peter preferred running in the woods.

Even though it had been more than three decades since his first Shift, it never ceased to amaze him how everything changed. He lost the colors but gained such a vivid world of sounds and scents that he didn’t even miss the colors. In his wolf form, he felt nature on a more visceral level—he didn’t have to think about where to go; he just ran, enjoying the rush of wind through his fur and the crunch of leaves under his paws. Sometimes, he enjoyed it so much that he ended up spending whole days as a wolf, frolicking around like a cub.

But this time, Peter wasn’t enjoying himself. He turned around slowly, going a full circle, pinpointing the pull like a beacon calling for him. He cast one last look behind him, shook himself, and started to run. 

The woods knew Peter in his both forms. He’d lived there for almost a decade and dedicated his energy in taking care of his territory, patrolling it for weeks at a time and carving numerous protective and healing wards all around. Over the years, he had pledged himself to the woods as he’d poured his energy in the sigils and the woods had recognized him as its ward and protector. And now, it responded to his urgency, easing his way.

He lost himself in the easy movement, the tireless lope of the wolf, and came out of it only when he reached the edge of his territory. The pull was still there, tugging him forward, but he slowed down and stopped by the border wards, and gave a long, hard look at the looming shapes in the distance.

This wasn’t a part of the woods he usually visited—mostly because it was quite far from his house and because it was too close to the abandoned chemical factories left behind by some human corporation that didn’t want to clean up their own mess.

Peter lifted his snout and sniffed. The air was crisp and clear, carrying just a hint of a tangy sourness from the factories under the lush scent of the forest. The pull in his chest was almost palpable now and his eyes zeroed on a small hill not far from where he was. 

There.

The forest around him was quiet, like it was holding its breath. Peter bared his teeth in a silent snarl and lowered down, creeping forward like a ghost, barely making a sound. He inched past the last wards of his territory and flattened himself against the ground as he made his way along a wall of thick bushes and up the hill, ignoring the slight discomfort of leaving his territory behind.

When he reached the top of the small hill, he stopped.

Peculiar.

In the ditch just under the hill was a form that looked like a man. A very naked man.

Peter cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. By the frantic heartbeat, the man was alive even if just barely. Carefully, he scented the air and bit back a sneeze at the thick cloud of chemicals that almost managed to cover a cloying stink of desperation, death, and blood. And something else.

Keeping his eyes on the man, Peter rested his head on his front paws.

It was obvious that the man wasn’t human. The scent was different from anything Peter had encountered before but it was hard to get a good reading from under the mess of everything else. Out of curiosity, he let a controlled sliver of Shift bleed through him, just enough to change his eyes back to human. As the colors flooded back, he watched the man; took in the pale, almost opaque skin and a tuft of dark hair. And blood.

So much blood.

His ears twitched as the man let out a muffled whimper and jerked as if trying to move forward. Peter realized the man must have been crawling for some time if the blood and drag marks on the ground were anything to go by. 

He also realized the man was apparently missing a foot.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Peter had started creeping closer. He hardly made a sound but somehow, the man heard him anyway and he swayed as a thick wall of pure panic hit him in the nose. 

The man let out a wet, desperate sound. It was more like whimpering than words but the intent was clear: he was begging for his life with the resigned tone of someone who was sure he was going to die anyway.

Peter shook his head to clear it, gritted his teeth, and moved steadily forward. 

The closer he got, the better he saw the pitiful stage the man was in. He was far too thin, with an expanse of pale skin stretched over sharp bones, a left ankle that had been gnawed through (by whom?), and the back of his neck torn open and bleeding. Along his spine ran a jagged ridge that Peter couldn’t make much of—there was just too much grime and blood.

When Peter moved around to see his face, his eyes were half-mast, unseeing pools of luminescent gold. He’d fallen silent, his body limp with exhaustion and blood loss. If it wasn’t the erratically beating heart, Peter would’ve thought him dead.

For a moment, he contemplated leaving the man there and going on with his own business. It would be easier and cause him far less trouble. But he knew he wouldn’t do it—the man bore too many signs of abuse and torture and he was running for his life. 

And Peter was old enough to remember what life had been when the supernatural creatures had been hunted. 

After some calculating and careful planning, Peter decided to stay in his wolf form. He grabbed the man by the hair and started dragging him southwest, away from his territory and towards a stream he remembered passing at some point during his rounds. The hair was filthy and tasted just as bad as it smelled, but Peter didn’t have a choice. The man was naked and dragging him by the hair would do less damage than dragging him by the throat, and Shifting into his human form would be far too risky. 

When he finally reached the stream, Peter’s jaw was cramping and his neck ached from the awkward angle. He dragged the man over the bank and into the stream and propped him up so that he wouldn’t drown and Shifted before he started rubbing them clean, trying to get rid of the grime and blood. The man was light and fragile under his palms, a long-limbed form of bones and sinewy muscle, skin mottled with an array of moles. His breathing was shallow and he felt too hot, like he was burning up. Worried, Peter glanced at the mutilated ankle. The wound was likely infected but there was nothing he could do about it now.

When he was done, he held the man upright so that his chest was above the water and let out a claw. He cut a ward on his own chest and used his blood to draw a similar on the man’s skin. He knew from experience that even though the cut on his chest healed in seconds, the ward itself would stay active for a couple of hours. It would be long enough to throw potential pursuers off their trail until they were safely back in his own territory again.

He picked the man up in a bridal carry and followed the stream for a couple of miles before climbing up the bank in a rocky place and headed towards his own territory, keeping up a steady but careful pace. His wards wouldn’t do shit if he acted like a cub and left their possible pursuers an easy trail to follow. 

Besides, as soon as they finally crossed to his territory, Peter could pick up speed.

When they reached his house, the man was silent in his arms, barely breathing. As he opened the front door, Peter wished he had better manners than dying after all the trouble he’d gone through to get him to safety.

He carried the man into his bedroom and took a look at his bed. He hadn’t bothered making it before leaving which meant the silk cover was safely bundled on the chair by the wall, but his sheets were going to be ruined. 

Oh, well.

Peter sighed and gently laid the man on the bed to wait while he went to the bathroom to get the first aid kit and a stack of towels. And pants.

Being a werewolf meant rapid healing, but getting seriously injured was still annoying. After an especially bloody encounter with a pain-crazed wild boar, Peter had started carrying around a first aid kit wherever he went. Talia used to make fun of him, calling him vain and soft, but Peter didn’t care. For him, it was about practicality: Why bleed all over his clothes if he had a way to prevent it?

Once, when his niece and nephew had argued, Laura had thrown Derek through the living room window which had torn his arm badly. Peter had needed to clean off all the glass shards and bind the sinewy mess of a limb before Derek’s healing had kicked in. After that, Talia never mocked his first aid kits again.

Peter plopped the kit on the bed, spread several towels under the mutilated ankle, and gave it a considering look.

There was a tight string woven out of some sort of long grass around the calf, which was probably the only reason the man hadn’t completely bled out. Using his old belt as a tourniquet, Peter tightened it before he carefully snuck a claw under the grass string to snap it off. The torn ankle started to bleed sluggishly right away, but Peter didn’t stop it, figuring it would probably be good to let the stump bleed a bit. 

He kept a close ear on the steady, fluttering heartbeat as he washed the blood away with saline solution and took a closer look at the way the bone had been severed. There were teeth marks all over and the stump as a whole was a complete mess, but otherwise it seemed and smelled clean. Then again, just because Peter didn’t smell a trace of mistletoe or wolfsbane slowly poisoning him, didn’t mean there wasn’t something else slowly poisoning him. 

But all he could do was to wait.

By the short inspection, Peter had no idea what animal had attacked the man but whatever it had been, it was quite big. He memorized the teeth marks and made a mental note to look into it later, half-heartedly considering which bestiary to start with. He spread an even layer of antibiotic cream on the stump and bound it with clean bandages. He wasn’t sure what good it did—if the man had the same healing abilities as Peter’s kind, the bandages were mostly to keep the sheets clean and hold the tissue together until the healing factor kicked in. If he was more like a regular human… 

Well, if the leg got infected, there was a small chance he’d live.

When he was done with the leg, Peter gently turned the man to his side to take a better look at his neck and back and drew in a sharp breath. The man’s neck was torn open as if something—someone—had tried to claw their way inside. Peter shook his head in disbelief and made sure to clean up the wound as well as he could before treating it with the same antibiotic cream as the leg.

The urgent injuries handled, Peter took a long and calculating look at the man’s back. There was a strange ridge that ran along the spine and thick, white scars right over his shoulder blades that went parallel to his ribs. There was something disturbingly familiar about them, something he was sure he should know.

He frowned and adjusted the man’s position and put a pillow under the injured leg to keep it slightly elevated before covering him with a blanket. He gathered up the soiled towels and bandages and took them outside to the fire pit, poured a generous amount of lighting fluid on them and lit it. The flames blazed high and nearly singed his eyebrows as he watched with a strange kind of satisfaction as the blood was swallowed into the fire.

He stayed outside for just long enough to add wood to the fire to make it look more like a genuine fire pit instead of a place to get rid of questionable stuff. Even though he knew nothing would get past his wards, habit made him take a cursory glance around before going back inside.  

Time for more coffee and studying.

Because he had an almost eidetic memory, it didn’t take Peter long to find what he was looking for. 

”Interesting,” he murmured, staring at a picture of a man with opaque skin, dark hair, and a ridge running along his spine. The striking difference to the man currently sleeping in Peter’s bed was the fact that not only did the man in the picture have both of his legs intact, he also had wings. Big, dark, leathery wings that rose high above his head, complete with sharp claws.

An incubus.

Peter had a sex demon in his bed.

Considering said demon’s current state, it didn’t sound nearly as promising as one might have thought.

The book stated that incubi were long extinct and since Peter had never heard anyone talking about them, he was inclined to believe it was true. Supernatural creatures tended to stay hidden unless they had a valid reason not to, and sex demons weren’t perhaps the easiest to come terms with by the general population.

So where had this one come from?

And, more importantly, what the hell had happened to him?

He was jerked from his thoughts when he heard a pained noise from his bedroom. When he entered the room, the incubus was barely awake and whimpering in pain. Peter hurried to his side and sat on the edge of the mattress, but when he reached out to touch the injured leg, the demon cried out and tried to curl away.

”Shh,” Peter hushed. ”Just relax.”

His soothing didn’t work out as he hoped: The incubus’s scent went from pain to full-blown panic and he hurled himself to the side and would’ve fallen on the floor if Peter hadn’t grabbed his leg. 

Unfortunately, it was the injured leg. 

The incubus let out a scream of agony and lashed out, clawing at his chest and biting Peter on the arm. 

He let out a startled yelp but didn’t let go. With a growl, he heaved the incubus back and pinned him on the mattress with his bulk. It was an awkward position and probably painful as hell, considering that Peter had jostled the injured leg. But in his defense, he had a mouthful of sharp teeth embedded in his arm.

”I’m not going to hurt you,” he snarled through his fangs which, well, probably wasn’t very comforting. 

The effect was instantaneous. The incubus’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open and with a relieved breath, Peter yanked his arm out of harm’s way. The incubus was still gaping at Peter, giving him a very different reason to snarl.

Someone had removed the incubus’s tongue.

Peter closed his eyes and resisted the urge to howl. He wasn’t a soft-hearted man and he rarely felt for others, but this…this wasn’t just random violence. This was torture. This was someone executing extreme brutality on someone and now that Peter knew his houseguest’s species, he had a nauseating feeling he knew why the incubus had run.

With a considerable effort, he forced himself to calm down. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed and said quietly, ”I know what you are. I thought your kind was extinct.”

The demon let out a desolate sound and turned his head to the side. The sound was so painfully lonely that it clenched something inside Peter, made him ache for the man.

”I’m sorry,” he said, even though he knew it was a cold comfort. He glanced at the injured ankle and frowned when he saw they were soaked through. ”Are you in pain?” he asked and then continued, slowly, ”Can you understand me?”

The resulting look he received was full of contempt and despite himself, Peter snorted. 

”Good to have that sorted out. Now, I need to change your bandages before you ruin my bed. Please don’t bite me again.”

The incubus gave him a narrowed look that promised nothing. He glanced at Peter’s arm and blinked when the teeth marks had stopped bleeding.

”Yes, well. I’m a werewolf. We heal,” Peter said wryly as he unwrapped the stump. And then he froze.

The teeth marks on the stump looked a lot like the teeth marks on his arm. 

He looked from the stump to his arm and then back at the stump.

”Did you—” he asked, swallowed back bile, and tried again. ”Did you gnaw through your own leg?”

The incubus didn’t answer, just stared at him, tense.

”What the hell happened to you?” Peter muttered and shook his head, concentrating on rinsing and re-binding the stump.

When he was satisfied with the bandages, he took a critical look at the incubus. He was still tense but he was also pallid from exhaustion and what Peter figured was quite a lot of pain.

”I can take your pain if you let me,” he said quietly and slowly, very slowly, reached out to touch the incubus on the leg just under his knee. The skin was warm and smooth and Peter thought his fingers curled around the calf quite nicely.

The incubus flinched at the contact but even though he smelled afraid, he didn’t try to get away. 

”I don’t want anything from you,” Peter said. ”Just lie still and I’ll take away your pain.” Without waiting for a reaction, he closed his eyes and called forth the pain, asking it to come forth. 

At first, nothing happened. 

Then it flooded into him, painted his veins black and lit his bones on fire. He grunted at the burning agony from the torn ankle and the throbbing of the neck and felt the phantom pain of the lost foot. There was also a bone-deep emotional pain Peter had no idea how to handle, but he took it into himself anyway, drawing as much as he could and gritted his teeth under the weight of it.

Finally, when he could take no more, he let go with a gasp and opened his eyes and saw the incubus looking at him with his eyes almost closed, high on endorphins. 

Peter swayed as he got up and lurched towards the bathroom to throw up. He didn’t remember the last time he had reacted so viscerally to pain drain, and he couldn’t even begin to understand why he did it now. He vomited until he was dry heaving and his sweat mixed with the tears on his cheeks, but he couldn’t get the ashen taste of the incubus’s grief and rage out of his mouth.

Gripping the sink so hard his knuckles turned white, he haphazardly rinsed his mouth and splashed cold water on his face before stumbling into the bedroom. The incubus didn’t move as he crawled beside him and passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He didn’t remember to wonder what had happened to the pulling in his chest.

When Peter drifted back to consciousness, he felt like death warmed over. It had been years since his last in-depth encounter with wolfsbane laced whiskey and that hangover had been nothing like this. His everything ached, his head felt muffled and throbbing, and he was almost ready to throw up. He groaned and turned onto his back and realized two things.

First, he wasn’t alone and second, the tug in his chest was back. With vengeance.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The incubus was sitting at the foot of the bed, staring at him. He had his injured leg stretched straight in front of him and he was hugging his healthy leg, resting his chin on the bent knee.

For some time, they just stared each other without a word. Peter marvelled at the strangely hypnotic look in the incubus’s eyes and he looked like it was trying to search for something. Then he opened its mouth and let out a sound.

”Yeah,” Peter said and pushed himself to sit up. ”So, someone cut your tongue off which makes communication slightly challenging.” He gave the incubus a considering look, trying to gauge his age. ”I assume you can read and write? Would you like a pen and a paper or a laptop?”

The incubus blinked and raised two fingers.

Peter blinked and tried to make his brain to work. ”A laptop?”

The incubus nodded.

”Okay,” Peter said. He got up and padded to the bedroom door, conscious of the incubus’s eyes on his bare skin. ”Would you like something to drink? Coffee?”

He was more than aware what incubi used for sustenance so he wasn’t the least bit surprised when he turned around and briefly met the incubus’s glowing eyes before he dropped his gaze. 

Peter sighed. ”Look, I know you need sexual pleasure, and not just your own, to survive. You’re exhausted, starved, and injured, but I’d like to have an…understanding before I fuck you to the mattress.”

A muscle in the incubus’s jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth and turned his head away. 

”I don’t bed reluctant partners,” Peter said, ignoring the way the incubus rolled his eyes. ”I understand why you have a hard time believing me which is why, dear demon, we need a way for you to express yourself.”

The incubus let out a rude sound and rolled his eyes.

”Yes, but that doesn’t get us very far, does it?” Peter said dryly and walked out of the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him. 

While he waited for the coffee to brew, he started up his laptop, set up a guest account for the incubus, and installed a text to speech application as an afterthought. 

Back in the bedroom, the incubus’s eyes widened first at the coffee Peter offered and then at the laptop. He made grabby hands at it and let out a cooing sound as he opened the lid, forgetting about the coffee. 

”You can use either a text editor or the text to speech application,” Peter said and sat on the bed, leaving as much space in between them as he could. ”How long do you have?”

The incubus shot him a sour look and started writing. After a short while, he tapped at the touchpad and the text to speech voice started speaking.

”My name is Stiles,” it said. ”And no, it’s not my real name because this stupid program wouldn’t be able to say it.”

Peter nodded. ”Fair enough,” he said. ”Now, what do I need to know?”

Stile bit his lip and stared at his screen for a moment before he started to write. 

Peter sipped his coffee and watched him. Stiles was concentrated on his writing, hunched over the laptop he had perched on his lap, with a slight frown between his brows, and a thin sheen of sweat on his skin. He was still pale but he had a feverish look on him. Peter wasn’t sure if it was because of pain or because he was starving.

”Can I trust you?” the voice asked, dragging Peter’s eyes from Stiles’s chest to his eyes. ”Well, I guess the question is futile. Either I can or I can’t, it doesn’t make a difference. I need you to feed me so that I can live, which isn’t anything I haven’t been through countless times before.

”Long story short, I was taken in September 2012. My parents were caught and killed about a month before that and I’d been just trying to survive, but it wasn’t easy. Well, not that finding guys willing to fuck a kid was that hard, but trying to keep them alive was. 

Peter’s brows shot up. Stiles shrugged.

”They found me after I’d killed three guys. They said they’d help me—” Stiles snorted ”—so I didn’t put up a fight. Not then.

”You asked how long I have. I don’t know. I don’t really know what’ll happen.”

”What do you mean?” Peter asked after a moment of silence.

Stiles wrote something and stilled, waiting for a long while before hitting the ’talk’ button.

”Because they always gagged me and tied me down.”

Peter let out a long breath. If he was honest, he’d suspected as much. Incubi weren’t powerless but much of their power lied on them controlling the situation. Tied down and gagged, Stiles was as good as a live fucktoy.

”Well, I have no intention to tie you down,” he said, pursed his lips, and gave him a considering once-over. ”How much do you need?” he asked. ”Can you even heal from your leg wound?”

Stiles snorted. ”Heal, yes. Grow a new one, not a chance.” He tilted his head and continued, ”Aren’t you even going to ask?”

”Ask what?” Peter asked back. ”I saw and smelled enough yesterday. I have no need for gory details, but if you want to tell me, I’ll listen. But I think we probably should take care of your hunger first before you pass out again.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and typed. ”I’m fine,” the voice intoned.

Peter didn’t bother pointing out that he’d be much more believable if he wasn’t already pale and shaking. Instead, he got up and pushed his pants down, folding them on the chair for later. Naked, he padded into the bathroom, very aware of Stiles’s eyes on his ass.

”So, how do you want this to go?” he asked as he rummaged the drawers under the sink for lube. ”I’m slightly more inclined to top but with the right partner, I really don’t care. But I really don’t think you’re in any condition to fuck me. I don’t want you to pass out on top of me or tear the bandages and bleed all over my sheets. Oh, do you want to use condoms?”

When Stiles didn’t answer, Peter peeked out of the bathroom. ”Did you pass out already?” he asked. 

Stiles was sitting where he’d left him, the sheets pooling on his lap. From this angle, Peter saw the planes of pale skin of his back and wondered how delicious it would look like, matted with bite marks.

His cock expressed interest with enthusiasm.

Stiles, however, didn’t look that enthusiastic. ”What do you mean, how I want this to go?” he asked, the calm voice of the app contradicting with his suspicious look.

Holding the tube of lube and a string of condoms just to be sure, Peter walked out of the bathroom, taking notice how Stiles’s eyes zeroed in his half-hard cock. 

”Sweetheart, I mean it’s your choice,” he said and sat on the bed, facing Stiles. Stiles, who was tense and refused to meet his eyes. His scent had a sour undercurrent and Peter wanted it gone.

”One more thing,” he said and waited for Stiles to slowly meet his eyes. ”If you want me to stop, tell me.”

Stiles snorted and turned his head to the side, curling his lip in a sneer.

”What?” Peter asked. ”Stiles?” When the incubus made no move to grab the laptop to explain, Peter let out a snarl. ”Do you think I like this?” he asked. ”That you’re not able to give your fully informed consent?” 

When Stiles still didn’t meet his eyes, Peter rubbed a hand over his face. 

”I can smell you, you know?” he said quietly. ”I smelled your panic yesterday and I smell you’re afraid now. I’m not a rapist, Stiles. Believe it or not, I’m actually fully capable of controlling myself in bed. If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop, you understand?”

He waited for a moment if Stiles wanted to say something but when the silence stretched, he sighed. ”How about this: I’ll make you come first and we’ll figure things out from there?”

Stiles shrugged, and Peter thought it was probably the most consent he’d get at the moment. He wasn’t happy with the situation, but he also knew that the longer he waited, the more Stiles would deteriorate. 

Gently, Peter pushed him to lie back down and carefully peeled the sheets to the side. Stiles didn’t protest which Peter took as a sign of how exhausted he really was. Stiles’s cock was soft and resting against his thigh. It was a pretty cock—if one wanted to give such labels to genitalia—and Peter figured it would look even nicer when it was hard. 

”Just try to relax,” he murmured and bent down to nuzzle Stiles’s chest, peppering it with small kisses. The soft gasp he earned by licking his nipple was encouraging so he dedicated more time lavishing it a bit more, sucking it into his mouth and even giving it a gentle bite. Stiles let out a whimper and bucked up, and would’ve probably hurt his leg if Peter hadn’t made sure to lock it in place.

He made his way down in small pecks and kitten licks, nuzzled the skin in his groin, and let out a soft rumble at the warm, delicious scent of Stiles getting hard. He bypassed his cock (it really was pretty when it was hard) and continued down to Stiles’s thighs.

Stiles was breathing harder now and Peter lifted his head to give him a smug smirk. ”When you’re better, I’ll eat you out until all you can do is beg,” he said in a low voice, enjoying how Stiles’s cock jumped at his words. ”But now, you need to feed, so I’ll make things easier for you.”

He bent back down and took Stiles’s cock in his mouth, swallowing it down in one, smooth move. Stiles let out a garbled sound and bucked up, a weak move Peter was more than capable of stopping. He reached for the lube to squeeze a generous dollop on his fingers and trailed them behind Stiles’s balls, rubbed the soft skin there, taking notice how Stiles jerked when he applied a bit more pressure. Humming around Stiles’s cock, he took his time teasing his hole, enjoying how it fluttered and contracted under his touch before finally sliding two fingers inside. Stiles was hot and smooth around his fingers and shivered as Peter slowly circled his rim from the inside. Unhurried, Peter trailed his fingers further and then back, a languid rhythm that had no real pace or intention, just feeling, feeling, finding his way inside. 

As Stiles got more and more turned on, his scent changed into a heady, warm mix that made Peter’s brain buzz. Stiles was letting out a low hum, almost like a purr, a needy sound that went straight into Peter’s cock. If this was Stiles when he was injured and starved, Peter couldn’t even begin to imagine how he’d be when he was healthy and in control.  

Peter was a hedonist by nature and loved to indulge both himself and his partner, and even though he usually took what he wanted, he never left his bedmate hanging. And he had no intention to start now. He pushed his fingers further up and smiled around Stiles’s cock when he hit the prostate. What a delight to find out that incubi had approximately the same anatomy as humans. It made some things a lot easier. He suckled at the head of Stiles’s cock, reveling in the intoxicating pearls of pre-come while he pressed the pads of his fingers on Stiles’s prostate, massaged it and rolled his fingers around it, enjoying the way it made Stiles shiver and moan. 

Despite the lack of tongue, the incubus seemed to be a vocal little thing. How delightful.

He added a third finger to get more girth and started fucking Stiles’s pretty hole with more intent and took his cock deeper at the same time. When Stiles’s cock pulsed and his abdominal muscles tensed, Peter answered by pressing his fingers firmly on his prostate, almost forcing the orgasm out of him. 

Stiles came with a breathy moan, his hole clenching and unclenching around Peter’s fingers and his cock spilling down Peter’s throat. Each spurt tasted like the best wolfsbane laced whiskey and Peter sucked and stroked until the incubus went limp with pleasure. 

”Satisfactory?” Peter asked, not even bothering to disguise the fucked-out hoarseness of his voice.

Stiles’s eyes were in half-mast, and the golden irises seemed to be almost glowing. He let out an agreeing noise and flailed his hand a bit.

”I’ll take that as a yes,” Peter murmured and pecked a kiss on Stiles’s spent cock, nuzzled the warm skin of his stomach and enjoyed the way Stiles’s heart raced. He kissed his way from the belly button to the hip, sucked the flesh until it turned dark purple as blood rushed to the surface. Stiles was panting under him and exuding a sweet scent that made Peter’s head spin and his pulse race. 

Gently, he arranged Stiles to his right side and turned to spoon him from behind. Werewolves ran hotter than humans but Stiles felt like fire against his skin. Peter wasn’t sure if it was normal for incubi or if it was a sign of an infection. Stiles was still relaxed, like a rag doll Peter was free to manhandle as he saw fit. He stretched languidly against Peter’s front and pushed his ass back, lazily rubbing it against Peter’s cock, and Peter decided he’d had enough.

He squeezed a generous amount of lube on his palm and slicked himself up before hitching Stiles’s injured leg up and out of the way. Positioning took some work but he managed to line himself up and pushed in slowly, in one long stroke that seemed to go on forever, and didn’t stop until he was buried as deep as he could go. He had to stop and rest his forehead on Stiles’s shoulder to get a grip of himself. He wanted to let go, to pound into that tight little ass with abandon, to bite down on the neck that was right there.

Distantly, Peter realized he was growling, a low, almost subvocal sound that resonated through him and into the incubus in his arms. Stiles answered in a musical purr and reached behind himself to pull Peter closer. Peter took the hint and started to move. There wasn’t much space and their position wasn’t exactly fitting for anything more athletic than deep grinding, but Peter didn’t complain. Stiles’s channel flexed and clenched around his cock in a tight, hot pulse that seemed to demand more and more, everything Peter had to give.

He felt his orgasm building somewhere deep inside of him, a rush that robbed him from breath and made him squeeze Stiles tight enough to hurt. His hips stuttered as he pushed in and in, as if trying to get under Stiles’s skin. His hand was still slick from lube as he grabbed Stiles’s cock and jerked him with brutal pace. When Stiles came he screamed out a high, searing note and clamped down around Peter, dragging him over the edge along him. 

When his head cleared up, Peter unlocked his jaw from Stiles’s shoulder and blinked at the teeth mark. Well, that was embarrassing — he’d never lost control like that before. What made everything even more interesting was that they were locked.

”You made me knot you, little incubus. Popped my cherry on that one,” he murmured.

When Stiles didn’t answer, Peter raised his head a little to check him and saw he had passed out again. His lips were parted and his cheeks were ruddy, and Peter was barely able to spy a sliver of glowing amber through his lashes.

”Huh,” he huffed. ”I guess we’ll just sleep then.”

He winced as his knot pulled a bit when he reached for the blanket, but to his relief, Stiles didn’t stir. After making sure Stiles’s injured leg was safe and securely elevated, Peter drew the blanket over them, cuddled the incubus close, and with a soft nuzzle at Stiles’s hair, he dozed off.

The next time Peter woke up, it was to being achingly hard and panting. Stiles had crawled partially on top of him and was crooning softly under his breath, exuding a heady mix of pheromones that were doing their best to drive Peter crazy. He was playing with Peter’s cock, running his fingers lightly up and down the shaft, the touch light enough to be just infuriatingly teasing. When he noticed Peter was awake, he stopped his crooning and smirked, eyes narrowing with mischief.

”I’m not objecting,” Peter panted out. ”Be my guest, knock yourself out.”

Stiles raised a brow and let out a titillating sound, showing Peter a mouthful of sharp teeth.

”Just…don’t bite my cock off? I’m quite fond of it,” he said, earning a snort and an eye roll. ”Right. I wouldn’t be much use for you without my cock, would I?”

Stiles straddled him in a languid, feline moves and stretched, closed his eyes and rolled his neck. When he opened his eyes and looked at Peter, his stare was intense, burning with something truly otherworldly and dangerous. Peter’s cock jerked.

Stiles rose to his knees and reached behind him, took a hold of Peter’s cock and sunk into it in one, excruciatingly long stroke. He was tight and slick and hot, pain and pleasure combined, and Peter was sure it was going to be over embarrassingly fast. He reached out to hold Stiles’s hips but the incubus grabbed his wrists and slammed them against the mattress with a hiss.

”Okay,” Peter groaned. ”You’re in charge, Stiles.”

Stiles didn’t answer but raked his nails along Peter’s arms, over his exposed armpits and chest, drawing blood on the surface, seemingly fascinated about how they healed almost instantly. He cocked his head and seemed to contemplate something and then his lips drew into a smirk.

Uh-oh, Peter thought a moment before Stiles’s fingers lengthened into claws and he stabbed them on both sides of his chest, clenching around Peter at the same time.

Peter howled.

Through the pain in his chest and the incredible feeling around his cock, he heard Stiles let out a shrill sound that sounded like something between a cackle and a trill, and together with his scent and the way he moved on Peter’s cock, he made Peter come almost painfully, forcing his orgasm out with a ferocity he’d never felt before. 

He swam in a fuzzy haze of post-orgasm bliss, barely aware of Stiles petting his chest and face, wondering that if this was how he died, he’d have no complaints.

As his knot slowly receded and his mind cleared, he blinked to see Stiles staring at him almost nose-to-nose.

”Wha—?” he managed. It came out slurred and he realized he was partially Shifted. 

Stiles seemed fascinated about it, tracing his fingers over Peter’s brow and sideburns and fangs. Peter lifted his arms slowly from his sides and brought his claws close, letting Stiles take a closer look. They were bigger and altogether rougher than Stiles’s claws that reminded Peter more of claws of a cat or a bird of prey.

Stiles’s face was still so close to Peter’s that his breath ghosted over his lips. They were plump and pretty and so, so close that Peter just wanted to kiss him. Slowly, he let his hands Shift back to human and framed Stiles’s face with them. He still felt hot to touch but not as feverish as when Peter had found him.

”May I?” he asked and leaned up to press a gentle kiss on Stiles’s lips.

The reaction was instantaneous. Baring his teeth, Stiles hissed and reared back while his claws sunk into Peter’s chest again. The movement tugged Peter’s knot that was still buried well and deep inside of Stiles and he gasped at the feeling.

”Sorry! Sorry,” he gritted out. ”I meant no harm. I just wanted to kiss you, that’s all. I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes and gave him a hard stare before he nodded and retracted his claws. 

Peter let out a relieved breath and closed his eyes. His knot had slowly receded and was about to slip out of Stiles any moment now which made his wolf oddly uncomfortable. For some reason, he felt he wanted—needed—to be inside of Stiles to have him in his arms and never let go. It was something he needed to think about later.

When he opened his eyes, Stiles was still looking at him. They stared into each other’s eyes for a long while before Stiles cocked his head and moved his hand. Peter’s eyes followed the movement, of Stiles’s and wrapping around his own cock, tugging and playing with it. He was still sitting on Peter’s cock and the little twitches and jerks resonated on his oversensitive cock. Stiles ignored him, let his eyes fall half-mast as he jerked himself off and Peter was helpless to do anything but stare at the flushed head of his cock appearing and disappearing into the ring of his hand, leaking pre-come all over. He wanted to touch but he also wanted to keep watching, to appreciate the show Stiles was giving. He grabbed Stiles’s hips but didn’t try to move him, just held on to him.

When Stiles came, he leaned his head back and sighed, clenching around Peter as he spurted come all over his chest. Before Peter had the chance of doing anything, Stiles straightened himself and gathered the come in his hand and spread his fingers, letting the pearly strands reflect light. Peter stared, fascinated, and when Stiles brought his fingers to his lips, Peter opened his mouth and licked his fingers clean. It tasted different from last night, somehow stronger and brighter, and it tingled on his tongue, light his brain up and set his lungs on fire, and he growled.

He surged up and around, pinning Stiles under him. The incubus let out a delighted cackle and smeared more of his come on Peter’s lips, ignoring his fangs. Still growling, Peter kissed him with a bruising force, licking into his mouth, reveling in the sting of Stiles’s sharp teeth piercing his tongue. He was fully hard again and didn’t even remember Stiles’s injured foot as he tugged him down and gripped his hips to keep him still and pushed back in.

It was violent, full of teeth and claws and fangs, a pure animal instinct of mating and fighting, and this time when he came, Peter bit down with his fangs, pierced the skin and muscle, held down as his knot swelled again and locked them together. 

Before he blacked out, he felt Stiles’s teeth on the side of his neck and his wolf howled and bared his neck, to give his mate better access, accepting him fully in his life.

Waking up covered in come and blood wasn’t as appealing as it might sound. Peter groaned and rubbed his face, careful not to jostle Stiles who was sleeping draped over his chest and letting out something that sounded a lot like purring. 

He was tired and hungry and his throat felt like sandpaper, and he was in serious need of the bathroom. Gently, he moved Stiles away from his chest and covered him with a blanket, resolutely not stopping to admire the naked expanse of his neck or the swell of his ass before making his way to the bathroom, conscious of his sore crotch. He stopped in front of the mirror and blinked at the array of scratch marks all over his torso but when he saw the teeth marks on the side of his neck, he swayed and braced himself against the sink.

Because that? That was a mating bite.

How the hell had that happened? 

Peter had never felt the need to take a mate. He enjoyed fucking around whenever he felt like it, relished taking and giving pleasure with one or more partners, but he’d never had the urge to find someone to spend his life with. Talia used to needle him about it and intoning that his wolf would find his way when it was time but, so far, Peter had never believed her.

Oh shit. He was mated to a sex demon.

He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. Talia would laugh her ass off if she found out.

He washed away blood and come, rinsing off Stiles’s unique scent, and rolled his eyes at himself for getting annoyingly upset about it. Stiles was nowhere near full health so he still needed Peter’s help. Getting covered in the incubus’s scent and bodily fluids again was just a matter of time.

Back in the bedroom, Peter used the opportunity to take a better look at Stiles’s injuries. His ankle was healing surprisingly well: the skin had already knitted over the mutilated tissue and to his eyes, there was no sign of an infection. The superficial cuts and bruises were mostly gone, although it was hard to say which were from before and which was a result of their furious coupling.

Stiles’s neck on the other hand… the torn skin and muscle would leave a massive scar no matter how well it healed, and right next to it was Peter’s bite which, frankly, looked like Stiles had been mauled by some massive beast. It made Peter stupidly proud and he almost groaned aloud.

He shook his head and opened the laptop to leave Stiles a message. 

Downstairs making dinner. Knock on the floor when you wake up.

It was late, already getting dark, and it hit him that he hadn’t eaten anything in almost two days. The day before he’d been too amped up with the pulling in his chest to eat anything and after getting Stiles home he’d been…preoccupied with other things. No wonder he felt like he could eat a whole deer.

He had a full pot of coffee, an oven-baked omelet with venison, and some nutty, chewy bread ready when he heard banging from upstairs. He snorted, not a bit surprised that instead of knocking, Stiles would rather bang the floor.

When he entered the bedroom, he was hit with a wall of Stiles’s pheromones again. The incubus was sitting on the bed, his hair sticking up in every direction, holding his plump cock with a salacious look on his face. 

Peter groaned and pinched his nose closed with his fingers, suddenly grateful he’d put some pants on.

”No,” he said. ”Absolutely not. This might be a fuck-or-die situation for you, but if I don’t eat, I’ll die before I can fuck you healthy.”

Stiles looked offended and hissed.

Peter gave him a flat stare. ”And don’t hiss at me. You sound like a deranged cat.” He ignored Stiles’s narrowed eyes and went to open the bathroom door. ”Now. You are going to take a bath while I eat and after that, we can return to our coupling.”

If someone asked, Peter would absolutely deny he found Stiles’s aggressive pouting adorable. However, it was nothing compared to how blissed out the incubus looked, immersed in a lavender bubble bath. 

Peter shook his head and smiled, leaving Stiles coo at the bubbles while he had his long-earned dinner.

Slowly, Stiles started to heal, even though he was still physically weak and didn’t venture out of Peter’s bedroom. The time he didn’t sleep draped all over him, immerse himself in a bubble bath, or impale himself on Peter’s cock, Stiles was online. He spent countless hours scouring the internet, researching and studying, most of which went over Peter’s head. Not that he actively monitored Stiles; the incubus was more than capable of critical thinking and was eager to educate himself of everything he’d missed during his captivity. His interests varied from politics to pop culture to astrology to deep sea science to baking, and Peter was more than happy to let him be.

Peter didn’t try asking Stiles about his time in captivity. He saw the haunted look in his eyes and smelled the panic through his nightmares, and he figured that Stiles would tell him when he was ready.

Peter himself found he was strangely grounded. It didn’t mean he’d been on the edge before Stiles—he had a large, healthy territory that helped—but something about the mating bond stabled him even more. Whenever he reached inside of him, he felt it in a low thrumming somewhere in the back of his mind. 

When Peter wasn’t buried balls deep in Stiles, he Shifted and ran the borders, renewing the wards when needed and making mental notes of where he needed to return to do more hands-on maintenance work. Logically, he knew they were perfectly safe: he had poured so much of himself into the very soil of his territory that it was deeply attuned to him, but logic had nothing to do with the need to prowl and patrol. It sated his wolf side, making sure his den and his mate were safe.

About a week after finding Stiles, Peter was forced to leave for groceries. Stiles didn’t need solid food, getting his sustenance from Peter and their shared pleasure, but Peter himself was burning through his extensive pantry faster than he’d anticipated. He usually bought groceries perhaps twice a month, not because he didn’t eat much but because he disliked shopping. It was tedious and made him irritable. As a werewolf, he hunted his own food but he was a creature of comfort and he needed his quality coffee, flour, sugar, and such. 

Before he left, he asked Stiles if he wanted anything. Stiles just shrugged and looked away, vaguely uncomfortable. Peter wasn’t sure if it was because he’d been held for so long that he didn’t really know what he was missing or if he was just shy to ask.

As if Peter wasn’t ready to go great lengths just to make him smile.

He ended up buying clothes, a stack of DVDs, The Watchmen comic, and a cell phone with the biggest screen and memory capacity the mall had to offer. The laptop was good but it wasn’t the most practical thing to haul around if Stiles wanted to talk and eye rolling only got one so far. So, a cell phone it was.

Stiles was struck dumb when he saw the bags Peter carried to him. He went through the clothes with confused care, like he wasn’t sure they really were for him. The DVDs and the massive comic book earned wide-eyed admiration and a happy sigh, but it was the cell phone that made Stiles literally coo. 

”I should’ve known you get your hard-on from a piece of tech,” Peter muttered fondly.

Stiles gave him a totally unimpressed stare and started going through the ringtones with the volume amped up. Peter rolled his eyes and went to make himself some coffee and unpack the rest of his shopping.

As the first full moon after finding Stiles was approaching fast, it made Peter restless. He needed to run but he also needed to be with his mate. It was a dichotomy he hadn’t faced before and it made him irritable. Had Stiles been well and uninjured, Peter would’ve taken him into the woods to run with him, but like this, it wasn’t an option.

”Just pick me up and carry me into the woods. I’ll sit under a tree and watch you frolicking around,”  Stiles’s text to speech app said the day before the full moon when Peter had been pacing in the bedroom for over an hour. ”I’ll even wear red if you like, arr?” 

Peter rolled his eyes. Stiles had taken to installing new voices for the app and was currently using something that sounded like a drunken pirate. Despite the delivery, it actually sounded like a good idea. Stiles would be safe while Peter let his wolf run and they could share the night under the watchful eyes of Mother Moon.

He packed a blanket, some warm clothes (even though the night wasn’t that cold), and coffee in a thermos and carried Stiles deep into the woods and into a meadow that had a small stream nearby. He was already thrumming with the power of the moon, the need to let his wolf out like an itch under his skin, and having his mate in his arms made him even more twitchy. 

He wanted to run, to find prey and bring it back to Stiles. 

It was the first time Stiles saw his full Shift and Peter preened at the delighted gasp and the deepening of Stiles’s scent. He shook himself from nose to tail and stalked forward, stopping right in front of his mate. Stiles’s eyes were wide and luminous and his lips slightly parted as he reached out to card his fingers through Peter’s fur, rubbing behind his ears until Peter let out a deep rumble of satisfaction. He leaned forward to lick a stripe across Stiles’s nose and grinned at the way he sputtered. He rubbed his chin on the side of Stiles’s neck and repeated the action on the other side, satisfied when Stiles now smelled like him. 

Mother Moon was high on the sky, calling him, and Peter knew it was time to go. He raised his head and let out a long howl, a declaration and challenge at the same time, an announcement that he was there and he wasn’t alone. When Stiles accompanied him with a high trill, his heart swelled and, with a final note, he took off.

He ran easily, lost himself in the lope of the wolf and the thrumming of Mother Moon and Stiles in his veins, let himself be absorbed in the beating of his heart and the woods around him. He felt the animals bow out of his way, respecting the ruler and guardian of the woods. Peter let them be. He knew he’d know it when he came across a prey worthy of his mate.

He finally found a buck and brought him down, thanking the forest of its sacrifice before dragging the carcass to Stiles. His mate perked up at the sight and waited eagerly as Peter used his claws to slice the buck’s ribcage open and presented him with the heart. Stiles’s teeth flashed as he bit into the warm heart and tore pieces of it, blood running down his chin. He ate it all and after, Peter cleaned up his face and lips with his tongue. The air around them was heady, thrumming with energy that seemed to vibrate from Stiles to him and the woods around them. It made Peter’s cock throb and Stiles’s eyes sparkle and when Stiles turned the blanket aside and slowly, deliberately went on all fours, Peter bit back a growl. He stalked forward as his cock grew hard and rubbed his chin on the small of Stiles’s back. 

Stiles’s scent was ripening into the dizzying mix of pure lust and want that drove Peter mad. He nudged Stiles to open his legs further and pressed his nose into the crack of his ass, inhaling deeply. As Stiles had gotten healthier, he had started producing his own natural lubrication again, and that delicious slick was what Peter now was after. He opened his mouth and panted, getting more and more worked up at the promise of what his incubus’s hole had to offer. He flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe across the crack of Stiles’s ass and rumbled at the croon Stiles let out before pushing his tongue in. Stiles clenched and fluttered around him, inviting him deeper and Peter went, pushed in and in until his fangs were pressed onto the soft skin of Stiles’s cheeks. He kept on licking until Stiles’s slick was running freely, glistening down his thighs and clumping on Peter’s fur.

Stiles reached back with his other hand and spread himself further and Peter obliged. He jumped up, jabbing forward with his hips until his cock found Stiles’s hole and, with one powerful stroke, pushed himself in until his hips were flush against Stiles’s ass. He had to stop for a moment to pant into Stiles’s neck because this was even more intense than anything he’d ever felt. His wolf form was in every way bigger and stronger than his human form and everything, everything was just more when he was Shifted. Stiles was tight and hot and perfect around him, his twitching sending delicious friction along his engorged wolf cock, as if he was trying to suck him in even more.

When Stiles pushed his ass back, Peter took a hint and started up a punishing pace, slamming into Stiles again and again, the call of the moon driving him until he was nothing but need and lust seeking release. When it came, when his knot swelled and locked them together, he raised his head and howled and Stiles followed right after, coming untouched and spilling his come into the ground. 

Before passing out, Peter had enough sense to curl to his side and gather Stiles close with his forelegs instead of just collapsing on top of him. They fell asleep with Peter’s cock still buried deep inside of his mate and Mother Moon watching over them.

Peter didn’t really remember what happened afterwards. He had glimpses of him carrying a sated and sleepy Stiles back to the house and tucking him in bed, climbing after him to curl around him. The next morning, he woke up feeling deeply satisfied and tired in a way he couldn’t quite grasp. Stiles was still passed out beside him, bits of pine needles and leaves stuck in his hair. He smelled of the forest, of home and them and Peter gave in to the pull and buried his nose in Stiles’s neck, inhaling deeply. Stiles let out a small purr in his sleep and snuggled closer. Peter plastered himself on his back, closed his eyes, and stretched his senses outwards, checking his territory and the wards. 

The forest flooded into his mind in a vivid, strong images quite unlike before and he gasped.

Something had changed.

The woods felt the same and yet different. There was an undercurrent of something wild and untamed swirling just out of his reach, a dark but curious and mischievous thing that felt alien and familiar at the same time. When Peter reached out for it, it gently reached back, but Peter had a sense that if threatened, it would lash out with destructive power.

It took him embarrassingly long to understand.

It was Stiles. 

It made sense: incubi, just like werewolves, were creatures of magic. They had the ability bend the reality with the magic that flowed in their veins and just like wolves, they apparently could give that magic out as an offering—exactly what Stiles had done when they’d mated under Mother Moon. He’d offered a part of him, his…essence when he’d spilled onto the ground, adding him into the matrix of magic and wards Peter had slowly woven into his territory.

Peter had no idea how incubus magic would affect his territory in the long run; if it was just Stiles’s way of anchoring himself as Peter’s mate or if his magic had some other properties. But for now, he was content with exploring his territory with Stiles’s presence following him as a shadow in his mind.

He was on one of his patrol rounds when he found it: a beautiful, smooth piece of pale wood about 36 inches long. Peter was quite sure he’d never seen anything like it before, but it wouldn’t be the first time animals unearthed something while looking for food. The piece was sturdy but delicate and something about it called out for him, told him that he needed to take it with him. Gently, he picked it up and carried back to his house, careful not to scratch it with his fangs.

It wasn’t until he Shifted back to his human form that he realized what it actually was.

A cane.

Peter held it in his hands, ran reverent fingers along the silky surface, and glanced at the forest. He wasn’t sure how he knew but he did: it was a welcoming gift and recognition at the same time, from his woods to his mate.

To make sure the wood would stay clean and hold Stiles’s weight, Peter tended it with beeswax and carefully carved protective and strengthening wards around it. When he was done, he placed it in the corner of the living room to wait for the day Stiles was ready to use it.

After the full moon, Stiles changed. He slowly started to make himself acquainted with Peter’s whole house and literally cooed with delight when he discovered Peter’s moderate but respectable collection of books. During his time with Talia, Peter had combined their resources to hunt down rare books and bestiaries and when he’d moved away, he’d taken them with him. 

And Stiles? He dove into the books like a man starved and spent days curled under a blanket in the plushy armchair in the corner of Peter’s living room. It didn’t take Peter long to realize that Stiles would happily spend rest of his days reading unless Peter bodily carried him into his bed and fucked him sleepy and pliant. 

He bore the duty with the solemn dedication it deserved.

It was easy for him to return to work like this, with Stiles preoccupied with a stack of Peter’s books, notebooks, and his phone, letting out an occasional purr or hiss, depending on his mood and what he found in the bestiaries. Sometimes, he caught Stiles watching him with an odd, considering look in his eyes. The first couple of times it happened, he asked if there was something Stiles needed, but the incubus never answered, just returned to his own reading. After that, Peter didn’t ask. He figured Stiles would let him know sooner or later.

And a couple of weeks after, Stiles did exactly that.

”So. Peter Hale of the Hale pack, the former second of one Alpha Talia Hale, the prominent leader of the werewolf front on the West Coast US,” Stiles’s phone drawled in a deep, Southern accent.

Peter’s fingers froze on the keyboard and slowly raised his head to look Stiles in the eyes. 

He had never told Stiles his last name, let alone his past position in his sister’s pack. 

Stiles met his eyes and deliberately tapped on his phone screen to resume.

”A lawyer and art connoisseur extraordinaire, nowadays mostly retired. Works as a consultant for those who have money and special problems. Fluent in several languages, including but not limited to Latin, French, Spanish, Russian, Arabic, and, curiously, Aramean. A collector of rare occult books. 

”Rumor has it he received his blue eyes after a shady altercation that nobody wants to speak about in public but which strengthened the status of the Hale pack and stabilised human-werewolf relations—something Talia Hale had been aiming at for years. Allegedly, said altercation resulted in him leaving the pack. 

”Peter Hale is said to be the odd one in the werewolf society, feared and respected at the same time. Some claim he’s a murder spree waiting to happen while he stays a constant source of curious wondering of why he hasn’t gone feral yet.”

His own work forgotten, Peter stared at Stiles. How the hell had he managed to dig out all that with just his phone and a guest account on Peter’s computer, neither of which had access to his supernatural related sources? 

”Did I miss something?”

Peter closed his eyes. ”You,” he said slowly before opening his eyes again, letting them Shift and flash brilliant blue. He started stalking forward, never breaking the eye contact. 

Stiles shifted to sit straight and lifted his chin up, his eyes flashing golden as Peter bent down to crash their mouths together in a bruising kiss.

”You are magnificent,” Peter growled against his lips and climbed on his lap.

Stiles squirmed and, for a split moment, Peter thought he was trying to get away. And then he realized that Stiles was trying to wiggle his pants down. It sounded like an excellent idea so Peter lifted himself up a bit to push his own pants out of the way. When he sat back on Stiles's lap, Stiles’s cock dragged a wet line along the skin behind his balls and Peter growled at the feeling. It had been years since he’d last let anyone to fuck him but now? It felt like the only option. 

Stiles’s fingers massaged the globes of his ass, dug deep into the muscle with force that would’ve left a series of impressive bruises if Peter had been human. They had no lube at hand and Stiles’s pre-come wasn’t nearly enough to go with but Peter was too keyed up to care. He was a werewolf, he could handle a bit—or a lot—of pain if needed. He spit into his hand and gave Stiles’s cock a couple of tugs that made the incubus hiss and buckle up, and then he guided him into his hole and slowly, slowly sank down.

Honestly, it hurt. A lot. He was too tight and dry and while Stiles wasn’t as thick as Peter himself, he still was big enough for Peter to let his fangs drop and snarl. But he kept on going until he was once more sitting on Stiles’s lap, until Stiles was fully inside of him, until he was full. He was growling under his breath as he leaned his forehead on Stile’s shoulder and waited for his body to adjust, for the pain to recede. Then he raised his head, flashed his eyes at Stiles, and said, ”Move.”

Stiles gave him a sharp-toothed grin and his claws buried into Peter’s flanks as he braced himself and started pushing up. It still wasn’t exactly pleasant and Peter wrapped his hand around his deflated cock, trying to distract himself. Stiles had enough force behind his thrusts which helped Peter to fuck into his own fist and slowly, gradually, the pain started to give way to pleasure. 

He was nowhere near coming when Stiles’s thrusts turned erratic and then stilled against his ass. Peter gasped when he felt Stiles coming. It was nothing like getting Stiles to come in his mouth; his release burned and spread through Peter from his crotch up, lighting him in fire inside out. Helpless against it, he convulsed and came, caught in the torrent of what he later could only describe as a storm, twitching as it milked him dry until he felt raw and utterly spent.

Stiles was humming and stroking his hands along his back, waiting patiently while Peter tried to catch his breath, his nose buried into the soft skin just behind Stiles’s ear. When he finally raised his head to look Stiles in the eye, the incubus gave him a wink.

”You’re not even fully back in your powers yet, are you?” Peter asked hoarsely.

Stiles’s lips drew into a wicked grin and he shook his head.

Peter dropped his head back on Stiles’s shoulder and muttered, ”Oh, hell.”

Stiles’s stump was long healed when he started venturing outside. The cane Peter had waxed and warded for him, fit him perfectly but his moving was still awkward. Stiles refused Peter’s help and wanted to learn to move on his own, something that made Peter worried and proud at the same time. 

At times, he woke up alone in the morning. As Stiles’s strength returned and he got fully used to the cane, he started moving a lot more. Usually, he wasn’t far—just in the kitchen or out on the porch, far enough to be private but near enough for Peter to sense him and hear his heartbeat. So far, Stiles hadn’t expressed a wish to venture further but Peter figured it wouldn’t take long before he wanted to see other things and meet other people besides Peter.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

And then, one morning, Peter woke up alone. Stiles’s side of the bed was cold and he couldn’t sense his mate in the near vicinity of their house. 

He pushed himself to sit up and looked around, feeling unreasonably relieved when he saw the familiar clutter Stiles left behind wherever he went. His laptop was on the bed with the lid up. Peter frowned and tapped at the touchpad, blinking when the screen lit up.

It was a blank page with one line of text.

I emailed you something. Listen it through. I’m outside if you want to talk later.

Confused, Peter checked his phone. It was an audio file.

Something in Peter’s gut told him he didn’t want to be in the bedroom while listening to it, so he pulled up a pair of well-worn jeans and a Henley and padded into the kitchen. He did his morning routine of checking his territory, strangely relieved when he felt his consciousness brush the swirling mass of fire and darkness that was Stiles.

While he waited for the coffee to brew, he started the audio file and placed his phone in the middle of the counter.

”Hello, Peter,” the file started. It was a male voice, deep but somehow young. Peter wondered if this was how Stiles sounded if he could talk.

”I guess it’s time for me to tell you everything I know. So. My real name is,” a pause, ”Mieczysław Stilinski,” the recording said in a different voice. 

Peter blinked. That was…an unfortunate name to be burdened with.

”Yeah. I know. A horrible name, right? It’s from my mom’s side, I think. But not even she called me that. Anyway.

”Like I told you, I was taken in September 2012, mostly because I was young and stupid and I thought they’d help me. They implied that they’d help me to control my powers and use them safely which I guess is the reason I went with them. I don’t know. I was young and stupid. 

”They took me into this warehouse or something, a big place with big rooms that had no windows and the doors had locks or even a door handles on the inside. I liked it at first even though I though it was a bit too much like a prison. But they had food and, well, food for me too. At first, the whole thing was kinda okay even though still a bit rapey. I mean, I went on with it mostly because I was tired of being alone and scared and it seemed better than nothing?

”It all changed when…they arrived. And that’s when I started fighting back.”

Peter put his coffee mug on the table and turned around to lean on the counter, staring at his phone.

”I think they were father and daughter? They were the ones who started, well, they called it training but that’s bullshit. It was some weird-ass BDSM conditioning that bordered on torture. They started tying me down on some bench that held me face down and ass up with my legs spread apart. She was the one who suggested to gag me so that I couldn’t sing and try to control them.

”At first, they tied me down just for their sessions, and let me down from the bench when they were done. Don’t get me wrong: there were a lot of men in the compound so it still was a long time, but at least they let me sleep on the cot. It changed after I managed to escape one day. I don’t know how long I’d been there, what day or even what month it was, but I managed to get outside. It was cold and kinda frosty and dark, that’s all I remembered.

”They caught me pretty fast. I wasn’t as starved as I was when you found me but I still wasn’t strong enough to get very far. This time, they didn’t bother with niceties—if you could call their previous treatment nice. They cut off my wings and tagged me with a microchip like a dog and she was the one who suggested to cut off my tongue and put me on a cock cage so that I couldn’t speak or come. 

”I became their toy. I was permanently tied on the bench for anyone to use. When I wasn’t raped, I was a plaything for her. She liked to hurt me. She was especially fond of whips and knives, but she also liked to rape me with whatever object she could. She once pushed a wine bottle inside of me and—”

Peter jolted when he heard a loud crack and realized he was growling, partially Shifted, and his claws had pierced through his three-inch thick wooden kitchen counter. 

He felt nauseous. 

The calm voice of Stiles’s speech app didn’t falter as it recited things he had been through, maintaining the same, level tone throughout the nightmare.

”The sucky thing about being what I am is that I’m hard-wired to enjoy sexual encounters. That’s what my species are: sex demons. We are meant to fuck and to be fucked, kinda like bees are meant to make honey or the badgers build dams. That’s our nature.

”I’m not sure how or why I regained my bearings when I did. I knew there were others in the compound—not other incubi, as far as I know I’m the only one of my kind. Or, at least that’s what the old man told me when he was balls deep inside of me. But there were others. And I think those others set the whole place on fire.

”I was set free of the bench, probably because if I’d burned with it and my corpse had been found, it would’ve raised too many questions. I think they thought I was too weak to try to make it, but I decided that I was going to try. I didn’t want to go back, I didn’t want to be a convenient hole for them to fuck or a something to beat their frustrations out on. I wanted to be free or die trying.

”The first thing I did after reaching the woods was to remove the tracker on my neck. It hurt like hell but I knew there was no point trying to run if I still had the it. So I tore it away. But it wasn’t much later when my foot got trapped. Apparently, they’d decorated the immediate area around the compound with bear traps and I’d stumbled right into one. That was fun.

”Do you know how it feels to tear into your own flesh and bone? To bite through skin and muscle, to taste your own blood in your mouth? How much it hurts to reach the bone, let your teeth out, and break it?

Peter was panting, fighting to stay still and keep listening. He was aching to either tear something to pieces or go find Stiles and smother him in his arms and never let go. His Stiles, his mate had been hurt so badly and there was nothing Peter could do about it now.

”You know, when I saw you creeping down that hill, I was sure I was going to die. I’d managed to get away from that monster’s freak show just to be a handy snack for a freaking huge wolf with pretty blue eyes? That’s what I was thinking about when I saw you. And then you brought me home.

”You know, I don’t remember what a home feels like. My parents and I, we had been on the move for some time—I didn’t really understand that back then but I guess they were afraid someone was following them. I don’t know. But it’s been…so long, so so long since I last had a place where I felt at peace. Okay, so the fact that you’re hot as burning didn’t hurt. And you’re seriously good in bed. I mean, I know I might have slightly worse track record, but I think anyone would be lucky to be in your bed. Well. Not that I’d let anyone in your bed except for me.

”So imagine my surprise when I started reading your books and found the symbol the old pervert had tattooed on his arm?”

Peter’s head snapped up and his eyes zeroed first on the phone and then on the book shelves on the back wall of the living room.

”It was like a wolf with arrows that looked like a sun, or something.”

Peter gritted his jaw with an audible crunch. 

Argent.

Stiles had been held by an Argent, and Peter had the unfortunate feeling of knowing exactly who.

”I’ve been…researching. I know I’ll never be fully powered because of permanent physical injuries, but thanks to you, Peter, I’m more in control than I’d ever thought I could be. Our bond, even though unplanned but definitely not unwelcome, balances me in a way I wasn’t sure was even possible and, through you, I have a link to your territory which makes me…something a bit different than before.

”I know I’ll never get back the things I’ve lost, but I know what I can get.

”I want revenge.

”And I want you to be a part of it.”

The recording ended, leaving Peter standing in the middle of the room, breathing heavily. He felt unbalanced, tethered on the edge, and even though he wanted nothing more than to run out and follow Stiles’s scent until his mate was safely in his sights again, he knew he couldn’t just yet. 

He needed to calm down.

And he had a phone call to make.

He straightened himself and breathed in deep, forced his hands to unclench and his features Shift back to human, forced himself to even out his racing heartbeat. He reached out to check the woods and wards, making sure everything was alright. He felt Stiles’s presence approximately at the same place he’d been earlier and brushed past him before returning back to himself.

Feeling grounded again, he picked up his phone and went to the contact list. It was a bit early but not too early for the call and he knew it would be answered.

It rang twice and then his call was picked up with a flat, ”Peter.” 

”I, Peter Hale of the Hale pack, call my Alpha and Pack for aid on behalf of my mate,” Peter said on a low, even tone, ignoring the shock he felt from his sister at his formal words. ”We are going to war.”

The night before Talia and her entourage arrived, Peter couldn’t sleep. He lay flat on his back with his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He couldn’t remember when he and Talia had last met—five years ago? Ten?—and they hadn’t exactly parted as friends. Of course, considering that she was his big sister and his Alpha, they didn’t have to be friends but they had actually had a hard time being civil to each other.

Growing up, Peter had looked up to their mother and held her in high regard. In his defense, he’d been seven at the time. Later, when their mother had died, Talia had taken up the mantle of the pack leader and set on the path of shaping the Hale Pack to her liking. To then-teenage Peter, it had felt like blasphemy, soiling their mother’s memory, and it was something he’d never quite forgiven his sister.

Albeit efficient and respected, Talia was an Alpha who ruled by power and manipulation but who denied it to her dying day if confronted. She wanted to look like a great leader, wise, gentle, and firm at the same time, but she didn’t always pull it off. Talia was a politician who was ready to use every means necessary to get what she wanted—including pushing others under the proverbial train if it made her cause look better. She had a ruthless streak a mile wide and endless faith in herself. 

Peter, on the other hand, found it slightly distasteful to just force his opinion on someone. He enjoyed subtler manipulation and pulling the strings, nudging others towards the right direction until they presented Peter’s idea as their own. 

He also had a deep distaste of following orders which was one reason why he and Talia weren’t the best of friends.

By the end of his phone call, Talia had been brimming with questions but she’d held herself back. Despite their personal relations, she was still his Alpha, and no matter how much bad blood there was in between them, some things were stronger than petty quarrels.

And the safety of the Pack was one of them.

Despite Talia’s shortcomings as the Alpha—in Peter’s mind at least—there was one thing he could count on: the Pack was and would always be her first priority and she was willing to go great lengths to make sure it was protected. And after almost losing her own son, she’d grown even more determined to keep it safe.

A Call for War wasn’t something to be thrown around lightly. It was one of the oldest werewolf traditions, something that dated back generations and when invoked, it required action. In a stable Pack, the Alpha was bound by honor to answer the Call and mobilize their Pack to help the one in need. The Hale Pack was one of the oldest and strongest in the Western US and with the ties Talia had to the neighboring Packs, the manpower she’d be able to raise was considerable.

Peter was man enough to admit he was slightly nervous.

He sighed and twitched slightly. It was getting early (the hour of the wolf, heh) and he was quite sure he wouldn’t get any sleep at all. He was about to get up a resign himself to a sleepless night when Stiles huffed and poked him on the side. 

”Sorry,” Peter muttered. ”I can’t sleep.”

In the dim light, Stiles gave him his flat no shit, Sherlock face and raised a brow. 

They didn’t share a telepathic bond—those were fairy tales, really—but at times Peter could sense things from Stiles. Of course, the incubus also had an extremely expressive face so that even though he couldn’t talk, he was more than capable of communicating with Peter without his phone. And now, the question was loud and clear.

”Yes, I’m nervous. I haven’t seen her in years, not since I left.” He pulled his hands from under his head and rubbed his face. 

Stiles reached out to take a hold of his other hand and lifted it to cup his face and nuzzled into his palm in an affectionate, wolf-like move. Not for the first time, Peter wondered if incubi were tactile by nature or if Stiles behaved like this because he was mated to a wolf now?

”I probably should just get up,” Peter sighed but raised a brow when Stiles snorted. ”Unless you had something else in your mind?”

Stiles shrugged, radiating false nonchalance. 

Peter rolled his eyes. ”Of course you do,” he said, amused.

Stiles lit up, pushed the blankets off, and moved to straddle him. He was growing hard under Peter’s eyes—a sight he never grew tired of—his cock growing plump and curving up against his happy trail. As always, Stiles’s scent made Peter’s brain buzz and his hard-on turned Peter on. It was a Pavlovian reaction that Peter thoroughly enjoyed every single time.

”So, what did you have in mind?” Peter asked, trailing his fingers up and down along Stiles’s flanks.

Stiles pursed his lips, a calculating look in his eyes. He seemed to reach a decision and scooted up along Peter’s chest.

Peter grinned as his vision filled with Stiles’s cock and balls and he let out an appreciative rumble. ”Come here, sweetheart,” he purred, adjusted their positions so that he could grab a handful of Stiles’s ass, and guided him up. 

Stiles took a hold of the headboard and pushed into his mouth with a sigh.

Usually, when Stiles sat on his face, Peter ate him out until his jaw ached and Stiles was a sobbing mess. Sucking him off like this was different from the other times because all Peter had to do was to open his mouth and relax his throat and let Stiles do whatever he wanted. It was welcomed because he didn’t have to think, didn’t have to move, didn’t have to be anything else but a warm hole for Stiles to fuck into. He let himself go lax and gripped Stiles’s hips just to have something to hold on to, let himself to enjoy the way Stiles filled his mouth and pushed in deep, the way he felt almost too hot, the way he was left gasping for air when Stiles pulled out. His own need was a low ache he noticed almost as an afterthought and discarded as something insignificant.

When Stiles’s hips stuttered and he started letting out that strange trilling sound he made when he was close, Peter grabbed him and drew him close, pressed his claws on Stiles’s ass hard enough to leave marks but not hard enough to pierce his skin and Stiles came, spilled down Peter’s throat in a hot pulse after a hot pulse. Peter swallowed it all, felt how it burned its way down his throat, settling somewhere deep in his belly.

Stiles slapped him weakly on the arm and Peter let him pull out. He nuzzled and kissed Stiles’s spent cock until Stiles squirmed out of his reach and promptly flopped down on his chest in a satisfied heap.

”Thank you, that was nice,” Peter murmured into his hair. ”Do you mind if I continue?”

Stiles let out a muffled, agreeing sound and flailed his hand in a ’get on with it’ kind of a move. 

Peter maneuvered Stiles around and drew him flush against his chest, letting out a pleased rumble when Stiles sighed and wiggled his ass against Peter’s crotch. He didn’t wait but took a hold of his cock and slowly pushed inside. He moved lazily, gyrated his cock inside of Stiles, and pushed as deep as he could when he came, clutching his mate close. 

He fell asleep almost immediately, his knot snugly inside of Stiles and his nose tucked in Stiles’s hair.

Peter felt the moment Talia crossed into his territory in a distress call that rang through his wards. He took a couple of deep breaths, nodded at Stiles, and stepped out to the porch to wait.

He didn’t have to wait for long to see the first car emerge from between the trees and… Well, he wasn’t sure what he had expected but it certainly hadn’t been five SUVs and a trailer.

Behind him, the door opened again and Stiles stepped out, stopping next to his right side. He turned his head a bit and Stiles offered him a small smile. They had gone over the technicalities and proper etiquette of the visit and Peter knew they were ready. 

”Here goes nothing,” he muttered under his breath and as the cars parked, he started forward, stopping in the middle of the yard.

The first car admitted Derek with a beautiful black woman and, a moment later from the back seat, a younger blonde girl holding hands with a somber looking black man. Laura stepped out of the third car, followed by a slightly nervous looking young man with an uneven jaw. Peter didn’t pay much attention to them because the driver of the second, biggest car got out and opened the passenger door.

Over the years, Peter had forgotten just how powerful his sister actually was. Talia held herself straight and her presence seemed to fill the whole yard, making Peter grit his teeth. She looked around, took in the way the woods were still around them, glanced at Stiles beside Peter, and finally let her eyes settle on Peter’s.

”Brother,” she greeted calmly.

”Alpha Hale,” he greeted back, tilting his head to the side just enough to show respect to her rank but not nearly enough for true submission. ”I thank you for answering my Call and welcome you to my home.”

Talia inclined her head and her lips twitched. ”I see you’re in good health, Peter,” she said.

Peter raised his brow at the compliment and couldn’t help but to quip back, ”Thank you. And you’ve…aged gracefully.”

Beside him, Stiles snorted. 

Talia’s eyes snapped into him. ”Ah,” she said, her face unreadable. ”So is this your mate?”

”Yes,” Peter said, unreasonably nervous all of a sudden. ”Stiles Stilinski, meet my sister and Alpha, Talia Hale.”

”I am honored to meet the newest addition to our Pack,” Talia said in that same calm voice Peter wasn’t sure how to interpret. 

Stiles had his phone ready. He turned it to face Talia (who blinked and shot an confused look at Peter) and looked her straight in the eye as he pressed play.

”I’m honored to meet you, Alpha Hale,” the pleasant male voice Stiles was taken with rang out. ”I apologize for the slight deviation from the tradition, but unfortunately my lack of tongue makes it hard to speak without some technical support.

”I’ve learned a lot about you and your Pack, and your take on interspecies politics is a bold and interesting one. Later, if it suits you, I’d appreciate the chance to discuss it more.”

Talia looked at him for a moment before a small, genuine smile tugged her lips. ”That would be lovely, Stiles,” she said warmly.

And with that, the tension Peter hadn’t been quite aware of melted away. 

Talia gave him a sideways look. ”Believe it or not, it is good to see you, Peter. And congratulations.” She turned around and nodded at her entourage. ”Come, I’ll introduce you to our newest members.”

”Oh, mingling. My favorite,” Peter muttered but followed her.

Talia tutted. ”You called for us, remember?” she chided. ”Come along, brother.”

After some clumsy small talk and uncomfortable hugs from Laura and Derek, the awkward hovering finally settled when Peter lit the fire pit and the smell of roasting buck filled the air. Peter had hunted the buck and Talia had brought kegs of mead slightly laced with wolfsbane —not enough to get any of them even buzzed, but enough to relax them—and a selection of her famous pies.

Stiles was sitting by the pit fiddling with his phone and the bitten wolves—cubs, Peter called them—huddled as close as they dared. Derek and his girlfriend Braeden, the black beauty, sat on a log on the other side of the pit with Laura while the nine wolves Talia had borrowed from her neighboring Packs fanned out, patrolling the area. Peter thought it was kind of cute—as if anything would get past his and Stiles’s combined magic.

He sipped his mead and smacked his lips together at the familiar, sweet taste. Apparently, Talia still made it according to their mother’s recipe. ”Three cubs all at one?” he asked. ”Why on earth would you do that?”

Talia shrugged. ”Erica caught my eye earlier on several occasions. She has spirit. She and Boyd were a package deal: Erica wouldn’t have taken the bite without him and vice versa. They’re good together. Boyd already has a very good control over his wolf and Erica will be magnificent once she’s fully accommodated.” She gave Peter a sideways glance. ”She reminds me a lot of you, actually.”

Peter raised a brow. ”Getting nostalgic at your old age?” 

”Not in the slightest,” Talia retorted.

”And Scott?”

”Curiously, he’s a True Alpha.”

Peter did a double-take. ”A True Alpha? Really? How did that happen?”

Talia snorted. ”I have absolutely no idea. I bit him because he was an asthmatic kid who was in a wrong place at a wrong time. He’s good-hearted and a hard worker but has the personality of a wet sock.” She gave Peter a dry look and continued, ”And don’t roll your eyes at me. He really is dumb like a brick. I wouldn’t be surprised if he got his True Alpha status by giving CPR to a squirrel.”

”My my, Talia, I’d forgotten how mean you are,” Peter murmured as he watched Scott give a wide-eyed look at Stiles. ”He’ll be a valuable asset to your pack anyway.”

”I know,” Talia said. ”Which is the only reason I’m keeping him. Well, that and the fact that his mother is a nurse at Beacon Hills hospital. It never hurts to have allies.” She sipped her mead before turning to face Peter. ”So. Stiles. What is he, exactly?”

It was more than obvious that every single wolf around the pit was listening in. ”He’s an incubus,” he said calmly.

Talia opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. ”I thought they’re extinct,” she finally said slowly.

”Apparently, he’s the last of his kind.”

They turned to look at Stiles who was fiddling with his phone, acting nonchalant as Scott inched his way closer which…not really a smart move to try sneaking on a demon. Peter wasn’t sure if the kid was just plain stupid or if he had a serious case of some warped superhero worship going on. Probably both.

”Where are his wings?” Talia asked quietly.

Peter sighed and knocked back his drink. ”That’s something Stiles will tell you if he sees fit. Let’s just say that he’s been through hell and I want someone to pay for it.”

Talia considered for a moment and nodded. ”We’ll talk about it tomorrow. How did you meet him anyway?”

Peter gave her a toothy grin. ”My wolf led me to him,” he said, enjoying Talia’s surprise.

He felt an echo of the familiar tug in his chest and turned back towards the fire, meeting Stiles’s eyes. They glowed golden and the reflecting fire amplified their natural shine. Stiles offered him a grin that showed his sharp teeth and Peter answered by raising his glass. 

”You seem like a good match,” Talia said quietly.

Peter glanced at her, took in her carefully considering look. ”Thank you,” he finally said, slightly surprised by the genuine warmth he felt.

He excused himself and went to get more food, not because he was hungry but because staying beside his sister after the most heartfelt moment they’d had in about three decades would’ve been just awkward.

He was in the process of cutting himself a healthy slice of Talia’s caramel pecan pie when three people walked up to him. He closed his eyes and heaved an internal sigh before he turned around with a raised brow.

”Laura, Derek, Braeden,” he said, meeting their eyes. ”Enjoying yourselves?”

”Look at you, uncle Peter,” Laura said. ”Mated and all. Mother was shocked.”

Peter shrugged.

”So, he’s a sex demon?” Braeden asked and cocked her head. ”How does it actually work?”

”Braeden,” Derek hissed, mortified.

Peter raised a brow. ”It involves engorged organs, slick holes, and mutual orgasms,” he said and leaned forward. ”Would you like a lesson or perhaps an in-depth course? Or, would you like to watch?”

Laura let out a strangled sound while Derek was flaming red and looked as if he wanted to flee. 

Braeden snorted. ”No, thanks. Even though I find the thought intriguing—” Derek groaned and hid his face in his hands, ”—I think that would be weird. No, I meant the demon thing. Don’t they usually kill their partners?”

Peter pursed his lips and gave Braeden an approving nod. ”I like you. What did Derek do to earn you? Never mind,” he said as Derek looked affronted. ”I think it’s because I’m a werewolf. I’m just more…endurable. And, of course, it doesn’t hurt that I’m mature and fully in sync with my wolf.”

”Ah,” Braeden said. ”Makes sense.” She fell silent for a moment and then asked, quietly, ”What happened to him?”

”That is a topic for tomorrow, but there’s something you need to know,” he said, serious. ”Kate Argent was involved.”

Derek paled, looking ready to either bolt or faint. Braeden gripped his hand so hard her knuckles went white and met his eyes with a fierceness that made Peter raise his brow.

Derek had chosen his mate well.

”Does Mother know?” Laura asked, tight-lipped, barely keeping the growl at bay.

Peter shook his head, even though Talia had probably heard him. ”No. Stiles came across the Argents’ family crest in one of my bestiaries and confronted me about it. He knows I hate the Argents but he doesn’t know why.” He ducked his head to see Derek’s eyes. ”I wanted to let you know so that you can brace yourself.”

Derek swallowed and nodded stiffly. ”Thanks, Peter, I appreciate that,” he said, subdued. ”I—I think I’ll head to bed now.” 

”Night, Der,” Laura said and clasped his shoulder as they passed. Derek didn’t comment, just nodded and walked towards the trailer, Braeden’s arm around him.

”They seem like a good pair,” Peter said quietly.

Laura nodded, still looking at Derek. ”Yeah. That was a nice thing to do, to give him a heads-up.” She turned to give Peter a critical eye. ”And you seem better.”

”Is that so?” Peter murmured. 

Laura had always been her Mother’s daughter, too much like Talia for Peter to be completely comfortable around. She had been groomed to be the next Alpha of the Hale Pack since birth, and it showed.

To distract her, he nodded at the parked cars. ”Who’s the guy?” he asked.

The man who had been driving Talia’s car was leaning on the SUV with a tablet in his hand. He hadn’t come over but had chosen to stay by the car instead, keeping to himself.

”That’s Danny,” Laura said. ”He’s human but he’s practically a technology wizard. I’m not exactly sure what Mother wants with him in the long run, but it probably has something to do with her campaign.”

The man glanced up and when he noticed them watching, gave a small wave before concentrating on his tablet again.

”So the reason he’s playing with his tablet is because of her poll rates?” Peter muttered.

Laura gave him a flat look. ”No,” she said dryly. ”He’s updating Deaton.”

Ah, of course. Heaven forbid the Pack emissary to be left out.

The next morning, Peter wasn’t the first up. He had been up late, catching up with the supernatural community politics with Talia, Braeden, and Danny, and when he’d finally made it into bed, Stiles had straddled him and ridden him until he was a babbling mess and his knot hurt. 

When he entered the kitchen, Talia gave him long look that spoke volumes. She said nothing, though, which Peter took as common sense: if you chose to sleep under the same roof with a newly mated incubus, you condemned yourself to some interesting noises.

Talia had made hash browns, yeast rolls, and bacon, and after Peter prepared coffee, they sat at the table in a surprisingly companionable silence. It reminded Peter of the mornings when they were young. 

Nostalgia was a strange thing.

After helping themselves with food, the nine pack-adjacent wolves returned outside while Talia’s entourage slowly filed in. The quiet domesticity felt relatively natural to Peter but it was obvious that the bitten cubs were slightly nervous. Apparently, seeing their Alpha preparing breakfast in a ’Kiss My Meat!’ apron wasn’t a sight they were prepared for.

Said apron was a gag gift from Stiles. Peter was fervently glad he hadn’t gotten rid of it. He only hoped he had balls to take pictures.

He heard Stiles getting up and puttering around the bathroom and loaded the coffee maker to brew a new batch, now with the strong, bitter brand Stiles preferred. When Stiles finally emerged, he stumbled into the kitchen with his cane, sleepy and soft, his eyes half closed and his hair in disarray. He latched on Peter’s back like a barnacle and hooked his chin over his shoulder and let out a pitiful whine.

”Yes, I have your coffee,” Peter said and turned his head a bit so that he could nuzzle Stiles’s cheek. ”Showoff,” he whispered into his skin.

Stiles gave him a sly wink and made grabby hands at the coffee pot.

Behind them, the pack had fallen into shocked silence. Stiles was wearing just a pair of low-hanging pajama pants and the scars in his back were in plain sight. Peter turned around and met Talia’s eyes filled with cold fury. The others were in various states of shock, ranging from Scott’s decidedly greenish pallor to Laura’s pinched look and the way Braeden’s fingers brushed the scars on her throat. Derek’s face was somewhere between sick and angry and when he met Stiles’s eyes, they shone with unshed tears.

”Does anyone want more coffee?” Peter asked. ”If not, we should begin.”

Several refilled mugs and a shirt for Stiles later, they packed up in the living room.

”Stiles has prepared you an audio file,” Peter said as Stiles set up his laptop. ”I suggest we listen to it through first and discuss after.”

”If it’s okay, I’d like to take some notes,” Danny said. ”Deaton might have some insight later.”

Talia nodded. ”That sounds like a good idea. Please, Stiles, whenever you’re ready.”

Stiles shrugged and tapped the laptop.

”First things first: yes, I’m an incubus and yes, I’m mated to Peter and, through our mating bond, I’m bound to this territory just like him. And before you ask, no, I didn’t coerce him and no, I have no need to wander off.

”Now when that’s settled, let’s get down to business.

”In September 2012, I was lured in and kidnapped by men who I now know worked for Gerard and Kate Argent. I’m not willing to go into details of what exactly happened to me and how I was treated, but as a result, I no longer have my wings or my tongue. The lack of my left foot is a result of me gnawing through it to escape. The extent of their hospitality during my stay isn’t relevant to this campaign, but if Talia feels it’s necessary to know, either Peter or I can brief her later.

”When Peter told me what the tattoo—that I now know was the Argent’s family crest— on the old crone’s arm meant, I started researching. Long story short, I know where they are right now. And I know how to finish them off.”

As Stiles launched on a detailed plan of what he wanted to do and how, Peter leaned his back on the kitchen counter and watched the pack member’s faces. The ones who knew what was at stake—Talia, Laura, Derek, and Braeden—were grim-faced and focused while the bitten wolves looked scared even though they tried to hide it. They didn’t really understand the big picture of the whole Wolves vs. Hunters issue which was no surprise. The hunters (the real ones, not the frothing in the mouth wackos who had just changed their targeted group from gays and people of color to Wolves) stayed in the shadows even more tightly than the wolves, protecting their secrets.

The one Peter focused most was Derek. He looked better than the night before but Peter wondered how he’d react if and when they finally caught Kate. 

When Stiles’s audio file ended, the group sat in silence for a good while, mulling over everything Stiles had told them.

”I have one question,” Talia finally asked. ”Do you even need us?” 

Stiles’s lips twitched. ”I need a ride,” he tapped. 

”What?” Derek asked, confused.

Something in Stiles’s expression changed. He raised a finger in the universal ’hold on,’ motion and started tapping.

”I can’t fly because they cut my wings, not that flying there would really work anyway. And I can’t exactly hitchhike, can I?

”To me and you, this is personal. To Talia, this is politics she can use to her advantage. Hunters are needed to keep the rabid and rogue in line, but when it’s the hunters that go crazy, they need to be put down. I mean, I could just pay them a visit and burn the whole place to the ground, but Peter is reluctant to let me out of his sight.”

Peter didn’t miss the slight tightening around Talia’s eyes and he stifled a grin. His sister might be alright with her own motivations but she still didn’t like being called out on them in public.

”What do you mean by ’burn the whole place to the ground,’ if I may ask?” Laura asked. 

”I’m a demon, what do you think?” Stiles typed and gave her a flat look.

Laura gave him an exactly as unimpressed look back. ”You’re a sex demon. I think there’s a difference.”

Stiles huffed and tapped for a long while.

”Yes, I’m basically a sex demon. In English, it means that I get my sustenance from sexual pleasure, either mine or my partner’s. Mutual works best. Mating both stabilizes my powers and allows me to leech off power from my mate. As it happens that my mate is a born wolf with a quite big territory that’s practically untamed woods, my powers are even bigger.

”Yes, some of the incubus’s power lies in our voice but my lack of tongue doesn’t mean I’m mute. In addition to that, I can use my pheromones to my advantage. But the demon part is real. I might be a sex demon but I am still a demon which people tend to conveniently forget. 

”No, I can’t summon hell on earth but I assure you, I can bring the place down. Wolfsbane, mountain ash, silver, fire… they don’t work on me like they work on you. They hurt like hell, pun intended, but they don’t kill me.”  

Peter growled and Stiles rolled his eyes.

”Yeah, and that’s why he’s coming with me, and why he called you for aid.”

Talia let out a long breath and stared at her hands for a good while. When she finally raised her head, her eyes were red and her voice filled the whole room. ”These Argents have been a disgrace for decades and they need to die,” she said. ”I’m willing to follow your plan, on one condition: Kate Argent’s life is ours.”

Stiles’s eyes flashed and his lips drew back in a smile that was all sharp teeth. ”I can do that. But the old man is mine.”

Talia inclined her head. 

”Oh, I almost forgot,” Stiles typed with a falsely innocent face. ”I wasn’t the only supernatural they had.”

Polishing up Stiles’s plan and packing up took a day and early in the next morning, they drove out. They left the trailer behind because it would only get in the way. Besides, they didn’t really need it: the older wolves Shifted and curled up and the three newly-bitten wolves slept in a puppy pile in the back of an SUV.

The two of days that the ride to the Argent’s current hideaway took, were spent in quiet contemplation. For the Hales, this revenge was a long time coming, but Peter was more concerned about Stiles. He had turned quiet, almost brooding, and if he didn’t thoroughly exhaust himself and Peter in the night under Mother Moon, Peter would’ve grown worried. A couple of times he thought of asking Stiles about it, to make sure he was truly alright, but the incubus seemed to sense his concerns and brushed it away with shrugs and sarcastic comments.

He and Stiles rode with Talia and Danny and the other cars followed the same formation as they had when they had first arrived: Derek drove in the front with Braeden and Scott while Laura, Erica, and Boyd followed behind them. The two other cars held the rest of the entourage. 

Stiles had nodded off shortly after they’d taken off after the night and was now sleeping curled on the back seat, his head resting on Peter’s lap. 

”I still don’t get why you decided to drag the cubs along,” Peter said quietly. ”Even if they are capable of controlling their Shift, you must know they’ll be useless in a fight.”

Talia gave him a dry look from the front seat. ”You know just as well as I do that the Alpha draws strength from their pack. I can’t use you because of your peculiar bond with Stiles, Laura and Derek need to focus on the task at hand, and I don’t have a Pack bond with the nine wolves I have with me.”

”So you’re basically using them as spare batteries?”

Talia shrugged. ”They wanted to come, they know why I need them, and they’ll get important experience. I’m not going to turn down extra boost—especially from a True Alpha.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue further but he was interrupted by Danny.

”So, how did Stiles know about this place?” Danny asked from behind the wheel. He sounded genuinely curious and not like he was running interference. So far, he’d stayed mostly silent and kept out of the way, but Peter had a hunch he saw a lot more than he was willing to let on. 

”I’m not sure,” Peter said, carding his fingers through Stiles’s hair. ”He has a separate account on my laptop and ever since he found out about the Argents, he started gathering intel.” 

Danny let out a thoughtful sound and glanced at them via the rearview mirror. ”After we’re done here, I’d like to sit down with him to talk about it—if you are okay with it, of course.”

”It’s cute that you think I can either make or prevent him from doing something against his will,” Peter said with a raised brow.

Danny just shrugged and smiled.

They fell silent after that, lost in their own thoughts. Peter trailed his fingers along the curve of Stiles’s jaw to the scarred mess of his neck. The incubus looked young and vulnerable lying like that on his side, his lips slack and his heart beating in its familiar, fluttering rhythm. He looked like a child but even while sleeping, he felt like on the brink of a violent outburst. 

Peter had no idea what to expect.

The night before, when they were catching their breaths and Peter’s knot was firmly lodged inside of his mate, Stiles had turned pensive. He’d tapped his phone for a long time, writing and re-writing text so long that Peter had turned from amused to worried. Finally, Stiles had pressed ’speak’ and tucked his nose under Peter’s jaw while Peter had listened what he’d had to say.

”There are consequences,” his text-to-voice app had said. The volume was low and Peter had to raise the phone to his ear to hear properly. ”There’s a chance I’ll get…preoccupied, so to speak. I need you to be ready, Peter. I need you to be ready to remind me who I am and with whom I belong. 

”I want you to make sure I’ll come home.” 

So, as eager as Peter was to see Stiles in his full power and glory, he couldn’t suppress a tingle of apprehension traveling down his spine.

It was late when they arrived. Mother Moon had covered herself, as if she either didn’t want to witness the violence or wanted to help them in their mission. Peter chose to believe the latter. They hid the cars in the bushes and Peter warded them all. It wouldn’t help if someone walked right into them but for a casual passer-by, the side of the road would just seem empty.

The born wolves stripped with an efficiency born from years of practice, completely unbothered by their nakedness. Braeden and Danny didn’t seem care either, but the three bitten wolves weren’t sure of where to look. Their awkwardness was soon forgotten, though, as Talia started going through the plan for one, last time: Braeden and Danny would disable the alarm system and then the born wolves would Shift and enter the area with Stiles. The nine wolves borrowed from the neighboring Packs would enter after them, making enough noise to draw attention to themselves and securing the perimeter. Danny would stay back with the cars the whole time but Braeden, Erica, Boyd, and Scott would enter once Talia called for them.

Peter tuned her out and concentrated on his own precautions. He cut deep into his and Stiles’s forearms and let the blood run into a small cup he’d brought just for this purpose. Then, starting from the bitten wolves, he proceeded to draw a special selection of protective runes in the chests of each of their party. When he reached Talia, she scrunched her nose and muttered an all-suffering, ”You and your wards,” under her breath.

”You are a being of magic, sister, and yet you scorn it. Isn’t that slightly hypocritical of you?” Peter answered mildly. 

It was an old argument between them, something they’d probably never settle, and Talia didn’t bother answering him. She let her eyes turn red and looked around. ”You all know what to do,” she said and nodded at Danny and Braeden.

It was time to begin.

While the humans slipped away, Peter added extra wards on Stiles and himself just to be sure and when he was done, he leaned in and gave his mate a bruising kiss.

”Stay safe and get your revenge,” he said in a low voice and pressed their foreheads together.

Stiles clasped his hand around Peter’s neck and nuzzled his temple, humming under his breath.

And then Braeden stepped back from the shadows and said, ”All clear.”

Talia turned her red eyes at Stiles. ”Have a good hunt,” she growled and Shifted. 

Stiles’s eyes went dark and he hissed, a cold sound filled with a promise of pain and death. To Peter, he looked magnificent.

One by one, the born wolves followed Talia’s lead and Shifted, gathering around her in a loose circle. She nuzzled each of them briefly, a reassurance and scent marking at the same time. Then they turned and started towards the compound at a slow but steady pace, like ghosts in the night. 

Peter could feel them all in his mind; Talia as the brightest right next to the beacon that was Stiles, Laura and Derek on both sides, the nine stranger wolves a little further away. It had been too long since Peter had last hunted like this: together as a Pack, and the sensation was both disconcerting and exhilarating. 

The woods around the house were hushed, sensing that something was about to happen. The Argents had procured an old farmstead, complete with a stable and an actual windmill. It meant no close neighbors but it came with the downside of several buildings they had to secure. They scented only two guards patrolling the area but Peter knew there were more inside. He wasn’t sure if the hunters relied on their alarm system too much or if they just thought they were safe. Either way, they were fools and their false sense of security would be their downfall.

They advanced silently, their natural stealthiness enhanced by Peter and Stiles’s combined magic and they were on the guards before they realized what had happened. Two of the nine Pack-adjacent wolves stayed behind to take care of the bodies while the others continued forward.

When they reached the yard, Stiles stopped beside Peter, cocked his head and frowned, turning slowly to look at the stable. He seemed to be listening to something and when he finally turned to glance at Peter, his eyes were glowing and he bared his teeth. 

Gerard Argent was in the stable.

Talia’s eyes burned red when she nodded at them. Their hunt was over, hers was ongoing. 

Talia led the others to the main house while Peter and Stiles crept towards the stable. Even with his cane, Stiles moved gracefully, silently, and Peter honestly wasn’t sure whether it was because of the wards or the way Stiles was powered, more demon now. 

There was one, bored guard by the stable door. He looked up just in time to see them but he never had the time to react. Stiles’s power slammed into him and he went limp, sliding down to sit against the wall, eyes were vacant and staring. He did absolutely nothing as Peter closed his jaw around his neck and ripped his throat out.

They didn’t bother hiding when the walked into the dimly lit stable. 

The stalls seemed to be empty but there was something else, though, sulfur and ozone, something that made Peter’s nose itch. In the back of the building, they saw an old man—Gerard Argent—leaning over a smaller figure tied to a chair. The lamp above them lit the smaller figure—a girl?—and her red hair looked like fire around her head. 

”Now now, don’t be like that,” Gerard Argent purred. ”Scream, Lydia. Scream for me.”

The girl shook his head and let out a cut-out sob, trying to back away from the man. 

Argent shrugged and stepped forward, obscenely close to Lydia. From the angle Peter was looking, he couldn’t be sure what Argent was doing, exactly, but his posture and the way Lydia started shaking her head, Peter had understood enough.

And they had the gall to call werewolves monsters.

Beside him, Stiles let out a low sound, something between a growl and subvocal hum. Lydia stopped struggling and her head snapped up. Her eyes went wide and just as Gerard Argent whirled around to check what she had seen, she screamed. 

Argent swayed but the sound didn’t stop him. Undeterred, he reached for his gun on the side table and took aim. Peter was about to leap into action and then Stiles’s scream joined Lydia’s.

Where her voice carried over the promise of a thousand deaths and the end of all, the sound coming from Stiles promised nothing. It was void.

Gerard Argent gasped and dropped his gun, raised his hands to cover his ears. He fell on his knees, his withering old man’s cock flapping uselessly from the open fly, wailing in a high-pitched voice as his nose started to bleed. Lydia and Stiles’s combined scream seemed to go on forever and when it stopped, Peter was shaking and Argent was a whimpering mess on the floor.

Stiles drew breath and stepped to stand above Gerard Argent. His eyes were black and there was something disturbingly other about him as he stared down, teeth bared and clawed hands clenching and unclenching.

Peter cocked his head and Shifted back, ignoring Lydia’s gasp. ”I assume you have everything under control,” he said quietly. When Stiles didn’t acknowledge him at all, he nodded to himself.

Lydia’s eyes were fearless and she gave him an appreciating once-over as he walked over and knelt by her to slice her bindings with a claw.

”Stiles told me there were others,” he said. ”How many and where?”

She stood up and brushed her hands down her tattered skirt before she strode purposefully towards a row of stalls. ”Just two more,” she said and stopped by one. ”Jordan is here, Kira is three stalls that way.”

Peter nodded. The stall door itself seemed to be of common wood but he had a feeling the lock would be laced with something. ”You might want to step back if you can,” he said, louder, and was about to tear down the lock when he heard a scream from behind him. 

Startled, Lydia swirled around but Peter just turned his head to glance over his shoulder. Stiles was straddling Gerard Argent’s chest, crouched over his head. Peter didn’t see clearly but it seemed like he had buried his claws on each side of the other man’s head. Argent was screaming from the top of his lungs and somewhere under it, Peter heard Stiles’s low growl.

”What’s he doing?” Lydia hissed.

Peter shrugged and turned back to the stall. ”Serving justice,” he said and smashed the lock. Like he had guessed, it had been coated liberally in wolfsbane and he snarled when it burned his skin.

The inside of the stall was dim and it smelled of sulfur and ash. In the far corner lay a man roughly around Derek’s age, beaten and bloody. He raised his head when Peter entered and flashed his eyes. 

They weren’t wolf eyes but something else. 

”Jordan?” Lydia asked and pushed past Peter. ”Get up. We’re leaving.”

Peter waited long enough to see that Lydia managed to help him up and moving before searching for aforementioned Kira. Three stalls down, through the stench of sweat and blood, he smelled ozone. It reminded him of the time when he’d gotten zapped by a faulty socket. Despite his healing abilities, his fingertips had been tingling for days.

”Watch out, I’m breaking the door,” he called before smashing the lock with his claws. This lock was just a plain lock without any wolf-repellants but the door was fortified and he had to literally punch through it to get it open.

”Oh my God, you’re naked!” a female voice whispered. ”Why are you naked? I mean, you’re nice to look at but where are your clothes?”

Peter snorted and took a step back from the stall door. ”I appreciate the concern, sweetheart, but it’s not the time or the place to talk about Shifting related issues. Come out, you’re being rescued.”

He heard shuffling and a moment later a young Asian girl stepped hesitantly out of the stall. She was just as bloody and grimy as Lydia and Jordan, but while Jordan smelled like sulfur, she smelled like ozone. Her eyes looked human but there was something…other flickering around her. She looked and smelled afraid and when Gerard’s screaming picked up, she flinched.

”Kira, right?” Peter asked. 

She whirled to look at him, eyes wide.

”Lydia took Jordan out already. You should follow them.”

”Oh, okay,” Kira said.

Before she managed to take more than a couple of steps. Talia trotted in. Kira’s eyes bugged when the giant black wolf transformed into a naked woman right in front of her eyes but she stayed still. Peter thought it was an accomplishment. The girl seemed flighty.

”Everything alright?” Talia asked.

Peter nodded. ”Yes. Stiles has taken care of Gerard, Lydia and Jordan are out, and Kira here was just leaving.”

”Good,” Talia said and shifted her attention to Kira. ”What are you?”

Kira blinked and her eyes flickered from Talia to Peter.

”She’s in charge,” Peter said and turned his attention back to Stiles, still bowed over Gerard. The old man was twitching and jerking but could do nothing to dislodge the demon from his chest.

”I’m a kitsune, ma’am,” Kira answered.

Talia let out hum. ”That’s interesting. Do you know what the others are?”

Gerard’s screaming cut Kira’s answer short. It picked up intensity and volume before dying out in a wet gurgle. Peter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

Stiles shivered and went limp for a short moment and then he pulled his claws free from Gerard’s skull with a squelch. Slowly, he straightened himself and stood up, his cane momentarily forgotten. When he turned around, his eyes were black and he had blood running down his chin.

”What is that?” Kira whispered behind Peter.

Peter met Stiles’s eyes and answered his grin. Stiles looked wild and dangerous and there was something, like a darkness swirling around him, violent and untameable. His scent matched to it, ripe and tantalising in its wildness, definitely turning him on. It called out to Peter, tugged him forward like a string pulled taut, and he didn’t even dream of resisting. 

”He is Peter’s mate,” Talia corrected. ”And I think it’s time for us to leave.”

Peter ignored them and stalked closer to Stiles. ”You get one choice, Stiles,” he growled. ”Do you want me to Shift?”

Stiles nodded. Peter Shifted fully in one, graceful move and when he met Stiles’s eyes again, his mate stared at him back, hungry and teetering on the edge. Peter had never seen him like this, not even in the beginning. Stiles was nearly out of control, barely holding on, drunk on his revenge, and Peter felt it through their bond. He stalked closer and Stiles snarled, still hovering over Gerard’s corpse. His scent was cloying, overpowering the smell blood and misery that had seeped on the very floor of the stable. He was panting and still flexing his hands as Peter advanced on him. 

Stiles slashed out his hand, slicing Peter’s flank open as he grabbed Stiles’s shirt with his teeth and yanked. The fabric didn’t tear at the first go but the yank toppled Stiles, knocking him on the ground. He hissed at Peter when Peter tore off his clothes and growled at the fresh burst of his scent. He buried his nose into the crook of his mate’s neck which earned him another slash of claws, this time to his belly.

The game was on. They fought for dominance as they rolled around the stable floor through dirt and blood. A couple of times, Peter managed to turn Stiles on his belly but each time he managed to flip back. It finally came to end when Peter roared and gripped Stiles’s neck between his fangs, applying just enough pressure to his jugular to make him light-headed. He didn’t stop growling as a shiver ran through Stiles and he went limp in his hold, folding on his hands and knees like a rag doll. 

Peter didn’t let go as he thrust his hips forward, searching for Stiles’s hole. When he found it, he didn’t hesitate but pushed in and bottomed out in one, powerful stroke. Stiles shouted and clawed at the ground but pushed his hips back at the same time, urging him to go deeper. Peter obliged and started fucking into him, rough and fast. His claws scratched at Stiles’s shoulders and upper arms, leaving behind red welts that slowly filled with blood, the smell mixing with lust and death. Their bond thrummed between them, twisting and jerking, reflecting Stiles’s headspace. It filled Peter’s head until nothing remained but a red haze that urged him to claim and fuck, to take and take and leave nothing behind. 

Peter chased his own pleasure with single-minded drive and gave no thought about Stiles who was hissing and spitting in his hold and fucking back onto his cock. He growled the whole time, saliva dripping from his mouth to Stiles’s neck and down his skin onto the ground where it mixed with their blood and sweat. When his knot swelled and he orgasmed, it forced Stiles along and, when he clenched around Peter’s knot, the wolf bit down hard. Had Stiles been human, it would’ve killed him. Now, he let out a searing sound and went completely limp on Peter’s hold, twitching as Peter continued thrusting into him, tugging his stretched hole and rubbing his knot over his prostate until Stiles started sobbing.

It was the smell of tears that pierced through the red haze and cleared Peter’s mind. Clumsy in his wolf form, he moved them so that they were on their sides and shifted his hips to ease the tugging before he released his hold on Stiles’s neck. It was a bloody, torn mess and bleeding sluggishly. Peter whined and started licking it, hoping against hope that it would help it heal better. He didn’t dare Shifting yet, unsure of what would happen while he was still locked inside of Stiles. He licked and nuzzled Stiles’s neck until Stiles sniffed and batted his nose a couple of times. 

The flailing move was familiar and it eased Peter’s mind. 

Stiles seemed content and relaxed in the safety of his wolf form curled around him. Stiles’s scent was back to normal and when Peter gently probed their bond, all traces of the violent wrenching was gone.

As Peter settled down to wait out his knot, he couldn’t help wondering. Had Stiles lost himself to the bloodlust so deeply that he’d turned feral for a while? What would’ve happened if Peter had let him go or if he’d failed to keep him still? Would Stiles have turned against the Hale pack?

It was something to talk about later.

Stiles fell asleep while still tied to Peter and jerked awake when Peter slipped out a good while later. Peter nudged Stiles’s ass with his nose and licked along the curve of his spine but Stiles pushed him away and turned to sit on his knees.

Concerned, Peter Shifted and searched Stiles’s eyes. ”Are you okay?” he asked. 

Stiles nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. 

Peter gave him a long look. ”Okay then. Do you want me to clean you up?”

Stiles gave him a considering look, glanced at the front of the stables, and shook his head. 

”Suit yourself. We probably should head back if you feel like it. Do you want me to Shift?”

Stiles shook his head again.

Peter nodded. He stood up and took a look around, taking in the stable that looked more like a slaughterhouse. Stiles’s cane was a little to the side, somehow miraculously clean from blood and dirt. He leaned down to pick it up and handed it to him. 

As they walked out, Stiles slammed the cane through Gerard’s left eye socket.

When Peter and Stiles emerged from the stables, Laura was waiting for them with spare clothes.

”You reek,” Laura said flatly as he handed Stiles a pair of Peter’s pants and a henley. Stiles had plenty of clothes of his own, but he’d specifically chosen these. Peter didn’t complain.

”It’s the sweet smell of victory,” Peter said and pulled on his pants. He didn’t bother with a shirt.

”Gross,” she muttered. ”Stiles, Danny has your phone if you need it. We should go, Mother is waiting.” She beckoned her head towards the crowd. ”They just brought Kate in. She tried to flee but Braeden caught her.” She flashed Peter a feral smile. ”Shot through her both knees and left shoulder.”

”I knew there was a reason I like her,” Peter purred. He helped Stiles with his pants and together, they started towards the main house.

The pack was gathered in front of the house, waiting for them. The Pack-adjacent wolves had formed a loose circle around the yard, near enough to help if needed, but far enough to give them a semblance of privacy. Kate was on her knees in front of Talia and Derek. She was bloody and trembling but it wasn’t because of fear. 

She was laughing.

”I can’t believe my eyes! Our little plaything is back! Stiles, was it?” she crooned, cocking her head. ”Kinda fits that you found your way to these animals. But then again, you’re nothing but an animal yourself, right?” She raised her brows. ”What? You have nothing to say?” She widened her eyes. ”Oh, I forgot—you can’t talk!”

”For a monster who is about to die, you really aren’t helping your case,” Peter said mildly. 

He wanted nothing more but to tear her throat out but he knew it wasn’t his place. Gerard had been Stiles’s to finish but Kate belonged to Derek.

Kate snorted. ”Look who you’re calling a monster in front of werewolves, a hellhound, a kitsune, a banshee, and a fucking demon!”

Peter hummed. ”And yet, you’re the torturer and the rapist. Seems like the old cliche about appearances and hearts are true after all.”

”Fuck you,” Kate spat. ”Fuck you and—”

”Enough,” Talia said. It was one, quiet word, but her Alpha power rolled over them like a storm, leaving nothing but silence behind.

”You and your father are abominations. Not only have you grossly broken the hunter’s code, you’ve also guilty of kidnapping, torture, and rape,” she said coldly. ”With the acceptance and full permission of the Tribunal and the remaining members of the Argent family, you both have been sentenced to die.”

Kate sneered. ”I know they murdered my father,” she growled, glaring at Peter and Stiles. ”So, who’s going to finish me up? You, with your mightier-than-thou speeches? Or poor little Derek here?” She raised a brow and pouted at Derek who stood by Talia’s side, pale and gritting his teeth. ”You can’t do it, can you? You are a pitiful, good-for-nothing boy. You never could do anything for me, in our out of bed, you limp excuse of a—”

Her words turned into a gurgle when Derek stabbed his claws through her mandible, raising her up from her knees to her toes.

”Bold words from someone who likes to prey on young boys,” he said, wrenched his hand up and tore Kate’s head off. 

Her body seemed to hover on tiptoes for a moment and then it slowly toppled down, falling to its side in a bloody heap.

Derek stood frozen for a moment and then exhaled and bowed his head. His claws were still out, dripping blood into the ground.

”It’s over now,” Talia said softly and gripped his shoulder. ”It’s over, Derek.”

Derek nodded, silent, and sheathed his claws. Talia dropped her hand from his shoulder and stepped aside to let Braeden yank Derek in a fierce hug.

”Justice has been served,” Talia announced. ”It’s time to clean up.”

As per Talia’s instructions, the nine Pack-adjacent wolves dragged all bodies into the stables, stacked them on top of Gerard Argent’s corpse, and drenched them with gasoline.

Talia looked around and her gaze stopped the silent, scared group by the door. ”Kira, Jordan?” she asked, raising her brow. ”Would you like to do the honors?” 

Kira looked around and asked, ”Do I have to?” She sounded spooked and looked like she wanted to be anywhere but in the vicinity of a pile of corpses.

”Of course not,” Talia said gently. ”Scott? Would you please escort her out and look after her?” 

Scott jumped the occasion and helped her out even though she didn’t exactly need help in walking on an even ground. The True Alpha stared at the kitsune like she hung the moon and Peter swallowed a smirk. That would most likely be the next romance in brewing. 

He wondered if Talia had already planned it all out. A kitsune would be a powerful addition to her pack.

”Jordan?” Talia asked.

Jordan nodded grimly and started walking forward. When he got closer to the pile of bodies, he started to shimmer and right when he reached them, he burst into flames.

The stable was old and dry and the fire caught quickly, leaping from the bodies into the structures and it was rapidly spreading by the time they retreated to the main house to watch. 

Talia had ties with the local authorities and she’d made sure to inform them—something about a controlled fire to get rid of an old building that was dangerously unstable—and they knew they’d soon have company. As on cue, right when Jordan walked out from the raging inferno with eyes that looked like pools of fire, Peter heard sirens in the distance.

”Danny, Laura, and I will stay here to supervise,” Talia said. ”Everyone else should leave.”

As the Pack started to file out of the yard, Stiles stalled and stopped by Talia. He didn’t say anything, just raised his hand to cup her cheek. Peter tensed, sure that Talia wouldn’t allow such a display on her person, but she surprised him and nuzzled Stiles’s hand, just enough to call it that, and said, softly, ”Thank you.”

Stiles held her gaze and nodded.

It was time to go home.

By the time they reached the cars, they were exhausted. Adrenaline and excitement only got one so far and now that they were no longer fuelled by their revenge, they were ready to topple over. 

As per Danny’s instructions, they left Talia’s car and took the other four. It took a bit of maneuvering to fit all nineteen of them in four cars, especially when no-one seemed too enthusiastic to ride with Braeden, Derek, Stiles, and Peter. Perhaps it was an acknowledgment of their role in what had led to the recent events or pure reluctance to sit in a confined space with a powered-up demon. Nevertheless, Peter didn’t complain. He wasn’t in the mood of sharing a space with nervous pups or strange wolves anyway.

Three of the nine Pack-adjacent wolves were injured. Not fatally, but seriously enough to stay in their Shifted form to help their healing. They rode the backspace of the third car with Scott, Kira, and two of their Packmates while Erica, Boyd, and two Pack-adjacent wolves rode the second car. Lydia and Jordan took the last car with the last two, strongest wolves to secure the rear, which left Derek, Braeden, Peter, and Stiles to lead the way.

Before Braeden had the chance to sit behind the wheel, Stiles tugged her hand and showed her the screen of his phone.

She gave him a questioning look. ”You want us to go there?” 

Stiles nodded.

”Okay then,” Braeden said. ”I’ll tell the others.”

As she headed towards the other cars, Peter leaned over Stiles’s shoulder to see a navigation app displaying a route to a nearby lake.

”Wash-up before heading home?” Peter murmured. ”Sounds good. As much as I love our combined scents, Eau d’Argent isn’t my favorite.”

Stiles let out an undignified chortle.

Ignoring the blood and grime, Peter pressed his nose on Stiles’s hair and closed his eyes. He had no idea what he’d done to deserve this magnificent creature as his mate, but he would do his everything to keep Stiles happy and content.

”But if we head there, how will Alpha Hale know where we are?” 

Peter opened his eyes at the timid question. It was the Asian girl, Kira. She looked concerned and beside her, Scott was blinking and looking slightly constipated. Peter wasn’t sure if it was Scott’s resting face or if he was trying to come up with some way to placate Kira.

Braeden shook her head and said, ”Don’t worry. Danny has tagged these cars, he’ll find us.”

Kira seemed relieved and nodded, offering Braeden a weak smile. 

Braeden took a quick look around and when no-one else had anything to ask, she nodded and called, ”Heading out in five!”

It didn’t take long for Stiles to pass out in the low rumble of the engines and Peter didn’t fare much better. Stiles had gone through a lot during one day and even though Peter hadn’t noticed his mate leeching off of his power when it had happened, he was starting to feel the effects now. His throat was parched and he felt odd, like he was running a fever—or what he thought was a fever. Werewolves didn’t get sick so he was basing his guess on human symptoms.

Derek looked as brooding as ever but Peter saw the tension on his nephew’s neck and heard the way he ground his teeth. After his unfortunate run-in with the sexual predator that Kate Argent had been, Derek had shut himself from social contact, driving himself into isolation, making Talia almost senseless with worry in the process. Touch deprivation was bad for everyone but for a born wolf, it was a slow death penalty. Peter didn’t know when Braeden had walked into Derek’s life but it was not a minute too early. She’d done more good to him than the whole of his Pack combined, probably because she had nothing to compare him to. The Pack still remembered the happy, goofy, and carefree Derek and had no idea how to deal with the brittle and angry version. Braeden called him out on his bullshit and Derek needed that. He needed someone who was strong enough for him to be weak, even though he’d never say it out loud.

And now, he was barely holding it together. 

Peter shared a worried glance with Braeden via the rearview mirror. Sooner or later, Derek would crack. Peter only hoped he’d realize he was surrounded by friends and family who wanted to help.

When they reached the lake, Mother Moon had laid to rest and the Sun was coming up, bathing the lake in the soft early morning light. The lake was small, more a pond than a proper lake, hidden behind a hill a bit of a drive from the road. In the middle, a big rock rose up from the water, almost like an altar or a statue. The water was clear, offering a view of sandy lake bottom and an occasional flicker of fish scales.

The injured wolves stayed in the car while the others filed out one by one. Peter and Derek shared a look and started to strip and behind them, Stiles followed suit, leaving their clothes in a heap by the car. They didn’t talk when they made their way into the lake, walking until the water reached their thighs. Wordlessly, Peter scooped a handful of sand and used it to scrape away blood and dirt from Stiles’s skin, washing away the grim reminders of justice served and revenge gained. Stiles arched under his hands, closed his eyes and lifted his face up to meet the Sun. He should’ve probably looked ridiculous, caked in sand and blood, but to Peter, he was simply gorgeous.

On the shore, the bitten wolves hovered, radiating awkwardness. Peter snorted under his breath. When Shifting required nudity and werewolves could smell every wet dream and sexual encounter on their Packmates, being ashamed of naked skin was just… redundant.

When Braeden walked into the lake after them, Erica watched them for a moment before she shrugged and stripped. Peter gave her an appreciative once-over—he was an admirer of beauty and Erica was exactly that: a beauty. She was also not only her own person but practically mated to Boyd which was glaringly obvious from the scowl Boyd sent Peter’s way. Peter hid his amused smirk and decided to be polite instead, offering Boyd a formal nod, acknowledging his claim. 

The interaction was cut short when Stiles stabbed his cane on Peter’s foot, leaning on it with his full weight. 

Peter bit back a yelp and bodily removed Stiles and his cane aside. He huffed and pressed their foreheads together, ignoring his mate’s furious hiss. ”Stop that, kitten,” he murmured fondly. ”She might be beautiful and sparkly, but why on earth would I want sparkles when I can have thunder and fire in my arms every night?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes and sniffed before he buried his nose on the vulnerable side of Peter’s throat. He nibbled the skin with just enough teeth to remind Peter who he was dealing with.

It was delightful. 

Peter was positive Stiles would find creative ways to remind him of to whom he belonged. He was looking forward to it.

They spent the morning by the lake, resting and recuperating. After cleaning up and having something light to eat, Talia made sure to talk to each and every one, checking they were alright, while Danny browsed through the laptop they’d found in the Argent main house. 

Said laptop was the reason Talia had called him. Originally, he was supposed to stay with the cars until they returned but a piece of tech like that had been too valuable to leave behind. Talia hadn’t been sure if it was safe to unplug, if the Hunters had left some safety measures behind, and she’d asked Danny to come and get it. 

And if the look on Danny’s face was anything to go by, the contents weren’t pretty. 

Peter caught his eye when Danny averted his face, looking decidedly green around the gills and raised a brow. Danny pressed his lips together in a tight line and shook his head.

Peter nodded. Later, then. 

Before they made their leave, Jordan and Boyd picked up the bundled-up soiled clothes and swam to the big rock in the middle of the lake. They piled them up and then Jordan waited until Boyd swam back to the shore before setting the pile on fire. With the clothes, they burned a piece of bark Peter had collected from a giant ash that grew a short distance from the lake. He’d engraved wards into it; apologies for burning the offending clothes and leaving the ashes to scatter, and a thank you to the lake and the surrounding woods for offering them a sanctuary. 

When the flames rose high, burning away the last pieces of the nightmare that was finally over, Peter was quite sure he didn’t imagine the soft breeze that touched his cheek or the silent rustle of leaves from around them. He glanced around and wasn’t surprised to see the relief he felt on his Packmate’s faces.

Time to go home.

Talia asked them to ride in her car to learn what Danny had learned about their three guests. Peter couldn’t help feeling warmed by the invitation: even though he no longer held the formal place as the second of the Pack, his Alpha still wanted to run this new, important information through him.

”So, not counting Stiles, they had Lydia Martin the longest, almost 14 months,” Danny said. His voice was even and his hold on the steering wheel relaxed. ”She went missing during her break from college and since her parents were more interested in traveling and fighting with each other, it had taken them weeks to realize she was gone.”

Stiles let out an indignant snort. None of them needed his text-to-voice app to translate his opinion on the Martins.

”The kitsune, Kira Yukimura, has been missing just over four months. Her parents, Noshiko and Ken, have been worried sick. They’ve reached out to the supernatural community but haven’t been able to find out anything about their daughter.” He glanced at Talia and continued, ”I’d like to inform Deaton and ask him to contact them.”

Talia nodded. ”I think that would be wise. And he should contact the Martins as well. Perhaps they’d manage to stop fighting long enough to remember they actually have a daughter,” she added dryly. ”What about Jordan?”

”Well… the interesting thing about Jordan is that he doesn’t exist.”

”Really?” Peter asked.

”Yeah. Of course, I only have my field kit with me so my resources are somewhat limited, but apart from his name and birthday, I have nothing. No age, no place of birth, no relatives, nothing. It’s almost like Jordan Parrish was just an alias he picked up at some point.”

”That is interesting,” Talia mused.

Stiles let out a considering sound and Danny glanced at him via the rearview mirror. ”Yeah, I thought I’d run it by you once we get back to Peter’s. Assuming it’s okay with your mate, of course.”

Peter snorted. ”If you think I have any say on how Stiles spends his time, you’re gravely mistaken.”

Stiles cooed and smacked an all too wet and unabashedly performative kiss on his cheek which turned into a real kiss when Peter promptly dragged him onto his lap.

Talia sighed and shook his head. ”I’d like to remind you that this is my car and I’d prefer it to stay decent,” she said dryly.

Stiles released Peter’s lips and gave her a one-finger salute before settling more comfortably on Peter’s lap. Peter didn’t call him out on it, mostly because his lips still tingled but also because removing Stiles would reveal his prominent hard-on. And werewolf or not, Peter would rather not sport a raging erection within a couple of feet from his sister, thank you very much.

The ride home was mostly uneventful. As they were in no hurry this time and they had no need to stay under the Argent’s radar, they had a short pause in every couple of hours. Mostly it was for them all to stretch their legs but also for Talia to rotate the passengers on each car. She wanted everyone to spend time with everyone, and she wanted to debrief the new members of her Pack. After checking that neither Kira nor Lydia had any objections to inform their parents that they were alive and well, Danny forwarded their personal details to Deaton and gave him a green light to put things into motion.

As no-one was still willing to share the car with Peter and Stiles, they cooped up with Derek and Braeden again with them taking turns driving and Peter and Stiles mostly sleeping on the back seat. Peter had no complaints.

Derek seemed slightly better than on their ride to the lake. Whatever he and Braeden had talked about while they were alone in the car, had done him good. In Peter’s opinion, his nephew would still benefit from a good fight or a good fucking, though.

They chose a remote resting stop to spend the night. The healthy Pack-adjacent wolves patrolled the area but Peter still warded their campsite, just to be sure. As they settled in for the night, the bitten wolves stayed in the back of one car and Peter rolled his eyes at the awkward fumbling as Scott tried to figure out a way to curl himself around Kira and stay respectful at the same time. The True Alpha would do much better if he just faced the truth and embraced his wolf. Peter was fervently happy that he wasn’t the one responsible for teaching the kid anything. He’d most likely either rip the boy a new one or skewer himself with his claws out of sheer frustration.

Peter had no intention to sleep by the cars but he didn’t want to just disappear without letting Talia know. Danny was deep in discussion with Lydia by the car she and Jordan would sleep in and Talia and Laura were talking with Jordan a bit to the side. As if sensing his gaze, Talia turned to look at Peter and when their eyes met, he inclined his head. Talia nodded in response.

That settled, Peter grabbed a blanket from the back of their car and picked Stiles in his arms, striding towards the low-hanging trees by the side of the resting stop. He spread the blanket on the ground and lay down, Stiles still in his arms. Stiles was more than content to wriggle his hands under Peter’s shirt and snuggle as close as he could without actually being in him and, after some nuzzling and scenting, they fell asleep.

At some point during the night, Peter woke up to silent shuffling, heavy breathing, and sounds of kissing. It didn’t take him long to realize Derek and Braeden were a short distance away, well on their way to some life-affirming, desperate lovemaking. He rumbled under his breath, a low sound that was mostly a polite announcement to Derek that he was awake and they were safe.

But for some reason, that was too much.

A short scuffle, and then Derek whispered, ”But—Peter—”

”He doesn’t care and neither do I,” Braeden whispered fiercely back.

Peter rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. There was no privacy amongst werewolves, Derek should know that. 

He turned to his side and met Stiles’s eyes, half-mast and glowing softly. He snuggled closer, half-hard against Peter’s thigh but doing nothing about it. Peter blinked and reached down to gently caress him through his pants, silently asking if Stiles would want him to take care of him. Stiles shook his head, leaned closer, and rubbed their noses together. Then he buried his face into the crook of Peter’s neck with a contented sigh.

Closing his eyes, Peter trailed his hand along the curve of Stiles’s spine, letting himself to slowly drift off. Behind his back, Derek and Braeden continued their lovemaking and Stiles soaked it up, basking in the soft sighs and trembling sobs as the couple reminded each other that yes, they were alive and well.

When the urgency of their revenge was out of the way and the Pack had the chance to just relax, Peter realized how crowded his territory felt. 

Talia herself was bad enough, her Alpha presence pushing against his wards in a natural—and probably (hopefully) subconscious—reaction. Add in a True Alpha (however limited in his control and understanding), a bunch of wolves, a hellhound, a kitsune, and a banshee, and Peter had a, well, agitated was the best word to describe how the woods felt for him. His territory was old and his claim on it solid, but their visitors put a considerate stress on it. He spent his first two days back home patrolling the woods and renewing his wards to re-stake his claim, but it wasn’t until he took Stiles deep into his territory and mated with him under the night sky that the woods calmed down.

Talia gave them a sideways look when they returned, sated and hair full of sticks and leaves but wisely, said nothing.

The first thing Danny did when he had access to reliable wi-fi and enough bandwidth was to download the contents of the Argent’s laptop on a secure server and call Deaton. After a short, intense talk with the emissary, Talia asked Danny to establish a secure Skype connection and called for Kira and Lydia. The rest of the Pack discreetly made themselves scarce as the young women reconnected with their families and made plans of how to return home.

From the look on his sister’s eyes, Peter guessed she already had contingency plans of her own.

With the more urgent matters out of the way, they finally had the chance to concentrate on the contents of the laptop.

And it wasn’t pretty.

”I don’t know what to say,” Danny sighed and shook his head. ”They had extensive files on everything supernatural and what at a first glance looks like digitalized bestiaries way more extensive I’ve ever seen. I can’t say for sure before I’ve cracked them and confirmed with Deaton, but these might be something new even for him. 

”Anyway. Long story short, it seems like they were trying to collect supernaturals, to cultivate their…essence and distill it to an injectable serum.” He paused and huffed at their stupefied faces. ”Yeah. That was pretty much my first reaction, too.”

”They were trying to make themselves supernatural?” Braeden asked slowly.

Danny shook his head. ”Not exactly. They didn’t want to turn themselves into supernatural beings because that would’ve changed their status from Hunters to Hunted. I think they were after, well, a boost of some kind.”

There was a moment of silence as they mulled it over. From the corner of his eye, Peter noticed Stiles tapping furiously away on his phone, most likely taking notes he wanted to go over with Danny later.

Talia frowned. ”So Kira’s essence would’ve given them the ability to control electricity and Jordan’s essence would’ve, what? Made them flame-resistant?” 

”I guess so,” Danny said.

”But what about Lydia?” Laura asked. ”Banshees scream when a death is about to happen. What good would that do?”

Danny’s eyes flickered to Stiles before he looked at Lydia. ”He was trying to cheat death,” he said.

”What?” The shock on Talia’s voice was mirrored in everyone’s face.

Lydia cocked her head and pressed her lips together, giving Danny a long look. Finally, she said, ”He came to me multiple times. I don’t know how he thought he’d manage in what he was trying to accomplish but for whatever reason, he’d decided that warping my scream would give him a weapon against death.”

”In short, Gerard Argent was a pervert who wanted to be immortal,” Stiles’s text-to-voice app concluded. The voice was neutral but the dark look on Stiles’s eyes told Peter Stiles probably knew more than that.

”Is that even possible?” Peter mused. ”Immortality?”

Stiles shook his head. ”As far as I know, not for a human.”

”On a completely another matter,” Danny said over the shocked silence, ”Deaton relayed a message from the remaining Argents.” He raised his hands in a placating move in front of him before any of them had the chance to voice out their opinion. ”Hear me out. The remaining family is just two people: Chris Argent and his daughter, Allison. 

”Chris is Kate’s big brother. After his wife Victoria was murdered some years ago in a backslash of one of Kate and Gerard’s plans gone FUBAR, Chris cut himself off from the rest of the clan.” Danny looked around the room. ”They follow the old Argent code and are willing to meet when and if you see fit,” he continued, giving Talia a look. ”They also say that the Ito Pack will vouch for them.”

Peter raised a brow. The Ito Pack was old and heavily honor-bound and having their respect meant Chris and Allison were among the few decent hunters out there. On the other hand, going to Satomi Ito also equaled forcing Talia’s hand, a brave move. Perhaps they had nothing to lose.

He wondered whether it was the father or the daughter that had the balls to come up with the plan. 

Talia’s eyes were red and her lip curled just so, revealing a bit of fang. Danny faced her calmly, waiting for her response, refusing to cower under her display. After a tense moment that had the bitten wolves glance around as if trying to find a place to hide, Talia let out a billow of breath and snapped a curt, ”Fine!” under her breath.

Danny nodded. ”I’ll inform Deaton,” he said.

Talia didn’t wait but walked out, shoulders tense and eyes red. Peter gave the room a general ’just leave it to me, kids,’ look and followed her. She was bound to know he was there but she didn’t turn around, didn’t even slow down. He followed her into the woods and to a clearing where he watched her give an impressive, truly intimidating roar to a perfectly innocent bush.

”I hate being played,” she spat.

Peter smirked. ”I know. That’s why we don’t get along, remember?”

She bared her teeth and snarled but it held no power. Then she closed her eyes and breathed for a moment, trying to get herself under control.

”How can I do that to Derek?” she asked after a while, suddenly tired.

Peter cocked his head. ”You could start by asking his opinion,” he pointed out.

”Derek doesn’t talk to me.”

”Have you tried treating him like a capable adult instead of glass?” he asked. When Talia whirled around with her eyes ablaze, Peter raised his hands in front of him in a placating move. ”I’m not questioning your parenting, Talia. It was just a suggestion” he said. ”If Derek doesn’t want to talk, talk to Braeden instead. She’s already done a lot to balance him and it’s more than clear she’s staying.”

Talia gritted her teeth so hard he could hear it but after a moment, she nodded. ”I will. Thank you.”

Peter bit back a snarky comment and shook his head instead. ”No, I understand. I’m willing to kill and be killed for Stiles, but I can’t even imagine how it would be if I had to protect my own child.”

Talia’s lips twitched. ”I can. You’d burn the world to keep them safe.”

They shared a surprisingly comfortable moment of silence and then Talia collected herself and asked, ”The Full Moon is in a couple of days. Would you do us the honor of letting us spend it on your territory?”

Slightly taken aback by the question, Peter blinked. An Alpha asking to run under Mother Moon on someone else’s territory, to submit to their authority when their own territory was well within reach was a rare honor. 

”The honor is all mine,” he answered quietly.

The genuine, warm smile he got was something he hadn’t seen in years.

They returned to see Boyd and Erica sparring with Braeden. Jordan and Lydia sat on the porch, watching and offering biting remarks on their rather sad attempts to bring her down. Kira and Scott were nowhere to be seen but when Peter extended his senses, he felt them a short distance away in the woods. He hoped Scott didn’t trip on his own feet in his attempts to woo her.

”Stiles is upstairs talking with Derek,” Lydia offered without taking her eyes off Braeden. 

”And Danny is on the phone with Deaton,” Jordan continued. ”We came out here to give Stiles and Derek some privacy.”

Talia nodded. ”We need to get more food if we’re about to spend the Full Moon here,” she said, back to her cool and collected self. ”Peter, are you coming?”

As it turned out, the nine Pack-adjacent wolves weren’t staying. Now that the problem was solved and the threat removed, they were eager to go home. Even though he had been mentally prepared to let them run in his territory, Peter wasn’t sad to see them leave. To him, they were strangers and no matter how welcomed they’d been, their extended presence in his territory still grated his wards. 

When they returned from their supply run, Derek had joined Erica and Boyd in their attempts to kick Braeden’s ass which meant they might actually have a chance. Peter made a mental note to ask her to spar with him later, interested in seeing just how good she was. Derek’s eyes were red-rimmed and he swaggered and snarled slightly more than what was necessary, but no-one called him out on it. 

Inside, Stiles was sitting side by side with Danny, intently tapping away with their laptops. He barely raised his head when Peter pressed a kiss on top of his head, too focused on whatever they were doing but he let out a pleased purr that made Danny look up. 

”We’re mapping out possible accomplishes,” he said. ”Just to make sure that the Argent’s little supernatural meth lab was a secular enterprise.”

Peter raised a brow and glanced at Stiles’s screen. It was filled with rambling notes and charts that made no sense, but as long as Stiles was happy…

He looked at Stiles who gave him a wicked grin with too many teeth before he yanked him into a rough kiss.

Peter sighed and gave in, ignoring Danny’s exasperated muttering to get more coffee.

It was good to be home.

In the night of Full Moon, Peter led them to a clearing in the woods It wasn’t the one where he’d mated with Stiles for the first time (that clearing was for them and for them alone), but a comfortable place where the non-wolves could wait up and rest, sharing the space and the call of Mother Moon even though they couldn’t join the Run. 

Mother Moon was on her way to the sky, round and beautiful, bathing the woods in her soft light. She called out for them, pulled their blood to the surface, and urged them to Shift and Run. Her call made the born wolves excited and the bitten wolves slightly apprehensive, and Peter knew that the others felt her too. Jordan shimmered slightly and something in Kira’s form flickered, a sign that her kitsune was close to the surface. Braeden’s face was split in a huge grin and even Lydia was smiling brightly. 

Stiles’s eyes were shining and his scent was ripe and alluring, relaxing the nervous cubs. He had a mischievous look on his face and Peter grinned in anticipation. He had a feeling he’d have a chance to hunt down his mate tonight. His wolf could hardly wait to bury himself as deep into his mate as he could, to renew their mating bond under Mother Moon’s gaze.

He was jerked from his daydreams by a dry cough. When he glanced to his side, Talia raised a meaningful brow and very pointedly did not glance down at the growing bulge in his pants.

Peter grinned and stripped his clothes in one, smooth move, enjoying the way Stiles’s scent deepened when he saw his half-hard cock.

His sister sighed and shook her head. ”Oh for heaven’s sake,” she muttered under her breath before she said, louder, ”Howl for us, brother.”

Peter raised his head. He howled at Mother Moon, at the sky above, at the stars. He howled at his Alpha and their Pack, at his mate. 

It was time to Run.