Chapter Text
The rancid stench of death and burned flesh hung in the air. Maybe it was fitting. The air smelled the same as it had the night his family died. It felt sort of like he was coming full circle and Derek knew better than to discount Fate. After all, here he was still standing while the last of the murderers lay scorched and dying at his feet. He was the one who let Kate in and started all of this, now he would be the one to end it once and for all.
“Go on, take it,” Peter said in between heaving agonized breaths, “let’s see how long you can keep it.” He laughed drunkenly, falling into hacking wet coughs. “Look what he did to me,” he wheezed. “I was right about that boy; he’s going to be magnificent.” Who, Stiles? It didn’t matter. Derek flicked out his claws. No more distractions, no more lies. He’d been running for too long. It was time to take his home back. As he raised a hand to strike, Peter choked out the words “What immortal hand or eye dare frame thy fearful symmetry?”
For a moment the shock of hearing a line from that poem nearly made him lose his nerve, but his resolve hardened a split second later. After all, what more proof this was meant to be could he ask for?
None of those rationalizations prevented the sick feeling in his stomach from marring the sense of triumph as his claws parted the cartilage and sinew of his Uncle’s throat. The red faded from those mad eyes that had invaded the face of the man that had once been his best friend as power surged through Derek.
The rush was incredible. He turned to look at the others. There were no friends here, only enemies and allies. “I’m the Alpha now,” he said. They should know just what they were dealing with if they wished to remain in his territory. Dimly, a part of Derek’s mind was screaming that the Alpha power was screwing with his head, but he shut it out. This part of him was unmoved by the familial blood dripping off his fingertips. Peter had lost, he had won. It was the way of things.
He stood there and watched the others pick themselves up and go without a word. When the last car had disappeared down the road he faded back into the forest that had been his home as much as the ruined house once was. Sheriff Stilinski would be coming for Kate’s body and Derek wanted to avoid another night in a cell. He’d had quite enough of restraints lately.
Besides which he didn’t have time for jail. Peter had been right about one thing; he had a pack to rebuild if he wanted to hold on to his territory.
A few hours later the police had finished up and left, allowing Derek to return home. He had already come down somewhat from the intoxicating sensation of becoming an Alpha and the charred remains of his old bedroom were only speeding up his crash.
What really surprised him was how bored he was. While he was hardly safe here by any means, his current situation had nothing on the kind of mortal peril he’d been in just half a day before. New enemies were coming, but these were ones he knew. These he could prepare for.
If only he had something he could actually do on that front right now. His family hadn’t grown as a pack save by birth or marriage in nearly two hundred years, so he had on a vague idea of how to go about finding people he could trust enough to bite without getting to know them properly first.
“I was right about that boy; he’s going to be magnificent.”
Derek wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Peter had meant by that. The man had always been something of a schemer with a barely hidden malicious streak. But his cryptic remark did give Derek an idea, although Stiles was exactly the opposite of he wanted. The kid was too independently minded. While he was obviously just as fiercely loyal as Scott, he was much more selective about who he gave his loyalty to, almost to the point of seeming blithely arbitrary.
He could see why Peter had liked him, though. Taking the time out of an epic Boss Battle to mix up firebombs special for a man driven insane by being burned alive was equal parts eloquent, ruthless, and tactical. Just the sort of thing his Uncle would admire. Would have admired? Had admired? Oh well. He supposed getting his tenses confused was only natural seeing as he had only finished interring his Uncle under the floorboards ten minutes ago.
The reminder of just how dangerous it was trusting people with his secret pulled him back from his grammatical musings. So, definitely not people like Stiles, as fun as it might be to imagine the kinds of chaos the hyperactive teenager would cause if he was a superpowered hyperactive teenager.
Scott was a better template to start with. Peter had failed miserably to coerce the young Beta into joining him, and Derek thought that might be the key. Scott would probably have accepted the Bite if Peter had actually offered, but even if he had the boy would never have chosen to be pack over Stiles, Allison, and his Mother. Hell, he’d even claimed Jackson as his even though they were only joined at their mutual love of lacrosse and fervent dislike of each other.
What he needed were kids similar to how Scott had been before the Bite, but without a Stiles or close family relationships. The outsiders, the chronically ill, the invisible; those were the perfect targets. He would get a pack that was immediately inclined to unswervingly loyal and they would get everything they wanted. Human standards would probably consider that predatory; he thought of it more as a fair trade. Of course, his teenage experience had given him a very different barometer for measuring “fair”.
He had more than half expected to hear the sound of the Porsche some time that night, but he was surprised it had taken Jackson that long to work himself up to it. This was another prime example of People Who Should Not Be Bitten. The kid was a coward and worse, but he was also a huge liability. Unfortunately, even when Peter had ordered him to kill the little snot he’d been vacillating between actually doing it and just tying him up in the basement for a few days (though that would hardly have turned out better in the end, considering). Without his uncle whispering revenge and murder in his ear the sad fact was he didn’t have what it took to deal with this threat decisively.
There was only one thing for it: give Jackson what he was asking for. With any luck the Bite would kill him. As much as he hated the idea of having to watch that again, this was about survival and besides, the kid knew the score.
He indulged himself in a dramatic entrance, leaping down the staircase in a single bound after the putz’s spiel. Why didn’t the guy get that no one cared what he wanted. Derek was making a huge commitment here and Jackson was acting like he was owed twenty bucks for a bet. It’s possible he enjoyed the cry of pain when he bit him a bit more than was seemly. Whatever, he’d a rough couple of months.
Jackson reacted immediately, staggering away and out the door as a fever started to rise in him from the bite mark on his side.
Derek heard the familiar rattle of Stiles’s jeep coming up the road. His night was now complete. Stiles skidded to a halt a pace away from the steps and threw open the door in a huff, just in time to see Jackson’s drunken meanderings carry him off into the trees.
“Are you fucking insane!? Tell me you did not give him the Bite!” Stiles was looking a bit worse for wear after spending some quality time with his late Uncle. He was clearly exhausted and his torn clothes reeked of blood, fear, and Peter. “Seriously!? Jackson fucking Whittemore!? As if this town, and my Dad, don’t have enough problems already, you thought it would be a good idea to release a narcissistic weredouche on the unsuspecting populous.” Wow. The kid even had Peter’s flair for the dramatic. If Derek didn’t watch out he was going to wind up liking Stiles in spite of himself.
“What business is it of yours who I add to my pack? Have you been secretly jealous of Scott this whole time? Is that why you came here? To ask for the Bite?” Derek meant it teasingly, mostly, however harshly he said it. He was expecting a snort of dry amusement or a scathingly witty rejoinder in response.
He was not expecting Stiles to begin laughing hysterically and rubbing at the fuzz covering his head like he was checking to make sure it was still there.
Derek was at his side in a heartbeat to steady him when the kid started swaying on his feet. Now that he was close enough he caught another scent hiding under the blood and sweat: Alpha saliva. His eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open in shock.
“Yep, Uncle Murderwolf already took care of that for you,” Stiles said correctly interpreting his look of surprise. The boy’s words were joking but Derek could hear the violence bubbling away in his heart.
Derek reached out and pulled aside the lapel of Stiles’s jacket that had hidden the bite mark on his shoulder earlier.
“Don’t bother, it fully healed a couple of hours of ago.”
Derek couldn’t quite get a bead on Stiles’ feelings. There was anger, certainly, but that was more or less typical for him. What there wasn’t was joy, or despair, or anything particularly profound, just the nebulous scent of tired. Or perhaps resigned. “You didn’t ask for this?” he ventured slowly in a cautious tone.
Not cautious enough. “Ask. No, Derek, I didn’t ask.” His pupils dilated with rage until the whiskey brown was gone. “Peter offered and I declined. Then like an idiot I told him it was because I didn’t want to be a psycho like him, that I wouldn’t make a very good wolf. He agreed.”
Now Derek was really confused “Then why did he bite you? Why would he want you in his pack?” He wished he could take back that last sentence as soon as he really heard his words.
“Right, cuz who would?” Surprisingly Stiles really seemed to believe that about himself, making Derek felt guilty for thinking the same thing just about him just minutes before. “He said something before about my potential but I thought it was just sales pitch. Whoops! I made him too curious and he just had to see how I turned out.”
The tremor of unease in Derek’s mind had grown throughout Stiles’s story until it was full blown quake of worry. Turning Stiles against his will was a risky move for Peter if he had wanted to keep Scott. Then again, if Stiles truly had a greater potential than Scott, Peter wouldn’t hesitate to trade up. When it came right down to it, Stiles was a lot more willing to play hardball with someone like Peter than Scott ever would be.
But that didn’t explain the other bit. “Did something…go wrong with the Bite?” he asked with trepidation.
“No. I don’t think so. He knocked me around a little, tried to piss me off, apparently to force me to really embrace the inner beast or whatever.” That got Derek’s attention. “It healed.”
“Hold still for a second; I’m not going to hurt you.” Stiles arched a sarcastic eyebrow at him but let him approach. He leaned in close to Stiles neck and breathed in his scent. It was…off. It had the wild spicy element that denoted a large predatory mammal but it definitely wasn’t wolf.
It wasn’t until heady wisps of arousal began curling up through Stiles’s scent that Derek realized he was basically snuggling into the younger man’s neck while he tried to figure out what the hell he was. Wonderful. A teenage crush was just the perfect cherry on top of this clusterfuck sundae. He figured it was best to ignore it for now. Embarrassing Stiles was a bad idea since they were obviously going to be spending a lot of time together in the near future. The Argents weren’t likely to raise too much hell over him building his pack, but a rogue were-something-or-other was a different story.
“You’re not a werewolf,” he said simply.
“Oooookay. Then what am I? I thought the bite turns you or kills you. Um…except for Lydia. She’s still the same.”
This town was turning into a three ring circus of weird. “I don’t know about Lydia; I’ve never heard of the Bite having no effect. But there is a saying about people like you: “Sometimes the shape you take reflects the person you are.””
Stiles mulled that over before his face crumpled in distaste. “You knew that and you bit Jackson anyway!?” Derek had to admit he might have a point there. “So what am I? Oh my God. I’m probably gonna be something humiliating like a wererabbit, or a weresquirrel, he moaned. “I’d maybe go as high as werefox but there’s probably a greater chance of my being a wereferret.”
“I’m pretty sure most of those don’t actually exist.” Derek said drily.
“Says you. Ugh, any chance we can dig up Peter and ask him? He said he recognized “that scent”.”
Something clicked in Derek’s brain. The god damn poem! He knew what Stiles was; Peter had good as told him.
Before he could tell Stiles both their heads snapped up at the sound of werewolf approaching at a four-legged run.
“Werewolf,” Stiles said.
The breeze was carrying the scent right to them, a scent Derek knew. “Scott.”
Stiles snorted at that “Duh. What other werewolf would run downwind to the den of an Alpha that wasn’t his.” Why couldn’t Peter have bitten Stiles originally. His Uncle could have been properly flambéed and in the ground weeks ago.
Derek saw Stiles’ eyes change as he strained to find Scott in the trees. Now that the boy was facing toward the moonlight the color of his eyes was clearly visible. His pupils weren’t dilated like Derek had thought. The irises had changed to an indigo-violet so dark it was almost black in the low light. So much for the red/blue/yellow color scheme, hell they weren’t even glowing at all. But why that color? It had been a while since Derek had gotten a good look at the eyes of Stiles’s animal counterpart but he was sure that that was not a normal color. Of course, expecting Stiles to do anything normal was probably a poor bet.
The neophyte Were blinked rapidly until his eyes changed back, just in time for Scott to bound up to them. “Stiles! Man I was so worried about you! I tried to call you after I dropped Allison off at home but you didn’t pick up.”
“Peter broke my phone.”
Scott continued undeterred. “Then I went by your house to make sure you were okay but you were gone so I came to get Derek to help track you.”
“It’s always nice to hear you’re a last resort,” Derek quipped.
“I’m fine, Scott. I just went to get my Jeep after I got the spare key from home and made a little detour here.”
His face went hurt and suspicious “What do you need to see him for in the middle of the night.”
“At some point I am going to get offended, Scott.” The accusatory glare was explanation enough why the Omega was being such a little prick. “If this is about not letting you kill Peter listen up. It’s a myth that killing the one who turned you will turn you back. I wasn’t going to let my family’s Alpha line end for some desperate hope that Pinocchio can be a real boy if he murders the right people.”
Scott flinched at the implications of that but the petulant look held fast.
“And say it hadn’t worked? You’d be an Alpha now when you can’t even control yourself as a Beta. With the Full Moon in less than a week you would have spent the entire time on a blood-crazed rampage.”
“You don’t know-
“Yes, I really do. And who would be the one to put you down, huh? Me? Allison? Stiles? Who would you have made wear your blood on their hands for the rest of lives? That’s assuming you hadn’t already chewed their hands off.”
By the end of his tirade Derek had shifted into his Beta shape without meaning to, and Scott was barely holding his ground in the face of his red-eyed glare.
“Derek,” Stiles said calmly, “please take a deep breath and put the angry eyes away, okay? We’re all going to have to learn to tolerate each other because we have bigger problems right now.” His voice may have been calm but his heart sounded like it was humming it was beating so fast.
Derek realized with a start that while Stiles was afraid, it wasn’t of him, it was all for Scott. Stiles was completely unaffected by his Alpha presence. He couldn’t decide if that was cause for celebration or alarm. While packs generally benefitted from having a neutral third party to mediate disputes that was hardy enough to get in between two fighting werewolves and live, Derek had been counting on Stiles’s submitting to his authority, at least for the first couple of Moons. He had no idea how he was going to manage the kid now.
“Um…Derek? You’re staring,” Stiles said not entirely unpleased. Crap, he to be more careful. “Sorry, it’s just…you didn’t feel that at all? No instinct to obey me whatsoever?”
“Uh…no. Should I?”
“Why would Stiles want to obey you?” Scott asked confused.
Derek just looked at him significantly while counting in his head. Stiles must have been doing the exact same thing because just as Derek reached “ten” he said “Because of this.” He sighed and pulled his jacket off his shoulder, revealing the bloody mark that remained on his shirt if not on his skin.
Scott immediately whirled around “You son of a bitch!” and threw himself at Derek without waiting for an explanation.
Derek was caught off guard by the blitz and didn’t have time to get a defense ready. In the end he didn’t have to. Stiles blurred forward and snatched Scott out of the air like a Frisbee, slamming him down and halfway through the rotted planks of the porch. At this rate Derek wasn’t going to have any house left.
“Calm down!” Stiles snarled. Those strange eyes were back but this time the irises had expanded to twice their usual diameter, into the proportion they would have in his other shape. Scott was just lucky Stiles was too new to shift. Probably. In any event he couldn’t let this get out of hand.
“Careful, Stiles, you’re new and we don’t know how strong you are yet.”
Stiles let go of Scott and backed away a few steps looking chagrinned. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Dude what’s up with your eyes?” Scott asked shocked, as he hauled himself up out of the crater he’d made.
“Apparently shouldn’t mix werewolf bites with medication or my general level of awesomeness because I turned into some kind of whacky alterna-were.”
“That’s actually kinda cool. What kind?”
“I dunno. Peter did but…” Stiles shrugged as if to say “what can you do?”
“He’s a werecat,” Derek said.
“What!?” both boys screeched.
“Does that mean you guys are gonna chase me around every Full Moon?”
“Do you think catnip can get you high now?”
“He’s not a housecat.” Derek Hale, single at twenty-four, and raising someone else’s teenage cubs.
“Then what kind of cat is he?”
“Tiger.”
“Awseome!” Scott yelled. Derek marveled at the speed of the turnaround. Teenagers.
“Yep, it’s grrrrrrrreaat!” Stiles said high fiving him.
Shoot him now him, please.
“Wait, can you turn into an actual tiger?”
“Beats me. Derek?”
“It’s hard to say. Among werewolves only Alphas can fully transform and even then it’s usually into the wolfman shape Peter used. It’s extremely rare for even an Alpha to be able to become pure wolf.”
“Oh, I know!” Scott was practically jumping up and down. “We should talk to my boss!”
“Why so I can get my shots? Fair warning: if he tries to neuter me I might eat him, just saying.”
“No, no, no he’s like some kind of voodoo vet shaman guy. He carried me out of the woods the night Kate got Derek and cured my wolfsbane poisoning without even needing a magic bullet.”
Huh. Deaton must be the “advisor” his sister had mentioned. Hopefully he wasn’t the vindictive type. “Sounds like our best bet,” he said with a sigh.
“Our’s huh?” Stiles asked. Scott’s suspicious face returned with a vengeance. It looked like he was sucking on a spoiled lemon.
“Yes ours. I’m an Alpha who hasn’t made a pack yet. Scott’s an Omega that doesn’t want a pack. Stiles is a Tiger, even if he has a pack mentality it’ll probably drive him to make more of his kind. On top of everything else, which probably includes a fresh wave of hunters by the way, I only have days to train you two enough that you won’t shred half the town without supervision.”
That sobered Stiles up fast. “You’re right. Scott, call the Doc at the earliest hour you think is reasonable. It’s the weekend so maybe we can meet him early before the clinic opens. That way we can go for training right after and you can still have time later to go stand under Allison’s window and recite the balcony scene form Romeo and Juliet.”
“A little support, not asking for the moon here.” He grumbled.
Stiles went on in an ear piercing falsetto “Oh swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that changeth monthly in her circled orb, lest thy love prove likewise homicidal rage inducing.”
Scott gave Stiles a playful punch on the arm. Derek knew what was coming next but just stood back to watch the show. Sure enough, Stiles returned the friendly gesture and sent Scott flying back into the crater he’d made earlier with a crunch and puff of dust.
“Wow that does take some getting used to,” Stiles said looking at his still-skinny arms with awe. “Yeah, definitely need some training over here.”
Derek smiled unguardedly for the first time in years. This may not be a real pack but it was something real, and it was his. That was a big step up from the nothing he’d had and he planned to fight fang and claw to protect it.
***
After Scott and Stiles had left to stand vigil over Lydia, Derek was once again at a loss. He ended up spending the rest of the night trying to figure out his Alpha and wolf shapes. The experiment was less than successful. It was looking like he was going to have to wait until he had a crisis-free Full Moon, so he could let go a bit without worrying about the sky falling.
Shit, he was never going to figure this out. Maybe the enigmatic Deaton had some “advice” he could use.
They met up at the clinic a little after eight in the morning. Derek was the last to arrive. He went in through the front door, ignoring the closed sign, and found the weird magic gate thing left open for him. It wasn’t what most people would think of as magic but the rowan wood built into the clinic packed one hell of a punch you knew what do with it. He was willing to bet that the vet did.
When walked into the back he saw something that was so ridiculously cute his customary scowl sublimated liked dry ice into a cloud of barely restrained awwwwwww’s.
Stiles was sitting on the floor of the exam room absolutely covered in fluffy little kittens that were all trying valiantly to win the center of his attention (to be fair a lot of them were adult cats, but still).
Once he’d come within a few feet, however, cat fancy became Children of the Corn. When Stiles looked up at him it was with those huge midnight purple eyes of his and every single feline in the place stopped what they were doing and mimicked the move in perfect synchronicity.
“Creepy isn’t it?” Scott asked from where sat Indian style on the exam table, watching kitty time from a safe height.
“They’re just jealous of how big our pride is when no one wants be in a pack with their smelly canine butts. Yes they are. Yes they are.”
Stiles kept on spouting baby talk and cuddling his…pridemates while Derek addressed Deaton “So is this normal for werecats or is it a Willard-type situation.”
Stiles arched and eyebrow imperiously “Who cares? I’m the ruler of Pride Rock! Hail to the King bitches!” A chorus of affirming mewls echoed his enthusiam.
“I honestly don’t know,” Deaton said motioning for Scott to get the hell off his sterile surgical table. “I’ve never had the opportunity to observe one in person before. Werewolves are rare enough these days but a werecat, much less a weretiger?” He shook his head. “Stiles is probably the only one of his kind in the Western United States, maybe even the whole country.”
“The most wonderful thing about weretiggers is I’m the only one.”The werecat had a surprisingly nice singing voice.
“What does that mean as far as his pack, er, pride goes?” Derek asked.
“It depends. Tigers are highly social even if they are generally solitary. In this case I imagine Stiles’s human side will be the one driving the urge to form a group unit.”
“How’s that?” Stiles questioned from the floor.
“You’re an exceptionally astute person, you tell me.” Derek still hated that serene knowing expression even though the vet hadn’t turned out to be the Alpha.
Stiles thought about for a moment before his face fell with a sigh. “Because I’m the only one of my kind, no one can ever truly understand me, etc. etc. Basically I’m an angsty teenager with fur.”
“I suppose you could put it that way,” the vet said amused.
“Speaking of fur, can I go full tiger? How about a man-tiger sort of like Peter could do the Lon Cheney thing. Can I turn other people? Why are my eyes this color? I couldn’t find a single picture of a tiger with these color eyes. And why don’t they glow?”
Scott snickered “I think his werecat healing is neutralizing his Adderall, God help us all.” Stiles looked at him in horror. Derek felt similar.
Deaton just sighed “I have some theories but first we need to return your new friends to their cages and set a few things up. Scott would you please give him a hand. Derek, you should probably just hang back.”
He wasn’t about to argue. Scott had somehow figured out a way to get the cats to accept having him around but he had no idea how. Then again, humans were a more dangerous predator than wolves could ever be and they’d managed to domesticate cats just fine. Still, watching someone else drown in cuddly cuteness was plenty for him. He had a reputation after all.
When all the cats were put away, a few still calling out for Stiles forlornly, Deaton and Scott went around the clinic and turned off all the light sources and closed the blinds against the brightening morning.
“Okay then,” Deaton began, “Stiles’s last question is the easiest. Scott?”
“Because most cats, in particular tigers, are ambush predators. Glowing eyes would make it hard to hunt at night.”
“Quite possibly. As for the rest I think we’ll find they are all really one question.” He flicked off the last of the lights, sending them into near total darkness. Derek could see the red glow of his own eyes reflecting off shiny surfaces in the room along with Scott’s yellow, but Stiles’ were as dark as the human’s. Actually they were darker since he only had half as much white in his eyes at the moment.
“There is an extremely rare mutant color morph in tigers: the black tiger. There hasn’t been a reliably documented sighting of one since the mid 19th century and even then it was a pelt not a live specimen. They appear solid black except where the fur on a regular tiger would be orange. There the residual red pigment gives it a slightly lighter color that reflects dark violet.”
“Red?” Derek asked disturbed by the implications.
Deaton nodded. “While wild tigers don’t generally have a defined social order per se, they will often form hierarchies.” The vet turned to Stiles “would you please walk to the far side of the clinic?” Stiles looked at Scott and then Derek, but neither of them had any idea either, so he shrugged and did as Deaton asked. “Like wolves, the most dominant individual orders the hierarchy. However unlike wolves, the rank of “Alpha” is not determined by the ability to maintain order in a pack but by the ability to maintain order in a territory.”
“So Stiles is an Alpha because there’s literally no one else for the job?” Derek asked.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, ass.”
“You’re the one who called me smelly, putty tat.”
“Boys!” Deaton interjected. “Perhaps the two of you can hold off on your Alpha courtship ritual until after the test.” Or perhaps the good doctor need to be tied to a chair and beaten some more. Derek hoped it was dark enough to hide his blush from Stiles who stood sputtering with embarrassment by the far wall.
“Can we just get on with this already?” he grumbled.
“Certainly,” Deaton said pulling a penlight from his pocket.
“Someone’s eager to get back to all the courtship,” Scott stage-whispered. Perhaps Derek’s territory could do with one less pesky Omega while he was dealing with the vet.
“Ahem.” Deaton cleared his throat to silence them. “The test is really quite simple. Stiles eyes don’t glow with their own light but they still gather and reflect it.”
“Oh! You’re going to check the color of his eyeshine!” Scott concluded.
“Exactly. The pigment density in his irises may be simply blocking the glow. Now, the moment of truth.” Deaton flicked on the penlight and slowly swept it back and forth across the dark clinic. Each time the dim light passed over Stiles there was a flare of warm amber light. It was somewhat redder than was typical, but without a doubt marked the eyes of a Beta. Derek let of a breath he’d hadn’t known he’d been holding. At least if nothing else he didn’t have to worry about being mauled by a five hundred pound feline on the Full Moon.
“So?” Stiles asked, voice tight.
“Mr. Stilinski you appear to be a perfectly healthy Beta, at least until you claim a territory of your own.”
“Wow, thanks, that’s kind of a load off.” Derek was sure they could all hear the disappointment warring with relief in Stiles’s voice.
“It’s okay, man,” Scott said consolingly, “just remember if you ever want this territory all you have to do is kill Derek!”
“Ha, hee hee ha har.” So sue him, fake laughing is hard when you’ve forgotten how to do the real thing.
“There are other ways of claiming the territory,” Deaton drawled mischievously, conspicuously looking anywhere but at Derek.
Scott choked on a laugh, for once not so slow on the uptake. Because the universe hates Derek.
Whatever. Stiles’s Beta status meant he didn’t have to worry about hammering perfect control into the kid before the Full Moon, which gave him time to find a new Beta of his own before then. While he sometimes felt kind of skeevy lurking around the high school to keep an eye on things it had given him a head start. In a flash of inspiration he realized he already knew the perfect person and exactly where he’d be today.