Chapter Text
Stiles breathed in the calming warmth of the summer morning, his eyes blinking against the sunlight. He looked down at his hands, twisting the stems of the cornflowers together. He forlornly smiled as he set the small twined stems and petals down on the gravemarker. His hand lingered against the marker, his fingertips gentle against the marble. He blinked back tears as he read his son’s name.
Nathaniel Hale. Beloved son.
Stiles traced Nathaniel’s birth and death day. One date that allowed the traumatic agony to haunt Stiles still. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Nathaniel’s name. He stood, lifting his small parasol. He opened the darkly striped umbrella, using it as the shield he meant it to be. He hid his face, and tears, from any onlookers as he started his journey home.
~*~
Stiles was the shame of the Hale pack.
Nobody in polite society argued in his favor. He had been, through piteous sympathy for his father, given the grace of becoming the second spouse of a well-respected Alpha.
It didn’t matter that Stiles was fourteen, and Alpha Seamus Hale had children older than him. It didn’t matter that Stiles was several months heavy with a child.
Stiles was a ruined Omega, a bastard child of unknown paternity growing inside him.
A victim of politics and war; a hostage meant to sway his father during the midst of ongoing battles. No one expected General Stilinski to deter forces for the sake of rescuing his only child.
No one but the General had been kind when finding Stiles. It was clear what had been happening from the state of Stiles’ abused body.
Stiles didn’t speak for weeks, even as his belly grew. His first words were an apology to his father. He had been foolish to try and go to the market that day, thinking the train he took would be safe—he couldn’t even remember what his errand was.
It was the first time Stiles saw his father cry.
Polite society wanted nothing to do with Stiles now that he was considered ruined. According to many, an Omega was only as good as their pedigree—viriginity included.
General Stilinski did the only thing he thought would keep Stiles safe during his active duty to serve the warfront. He asked for sympathy from a man he had considered a friend.
The Hale family was influential, well respected and beloved. If they accepted Stiles, society would begrudgingly follow. Seamus Hale was considered a just and kind Alpha, one that the General had trusted to treat Stiles well and protect him.
Talia Hale, in return, hated Stiles and the tarnish he brought to her family. And it was obvious that she had been hopeful he would pass in his childbed.
But only the child died, and Stiles remained.
Stiles had been slowly walking the halls, heading towards the library when an agonizingly sharp pain cut through his belly. He felt the blood after he fell. He screamed in terror at not knowing what was happening.
Derek had been the one to find and carry him. He had murmured words of comfort as Stiles cried in pain, attempting to hide his own fear at the situation.
Seamus had grabbed Derek’s shoulder, hauling him back from Stiles’ bedside. “Get out,” he had instructed his son as healers arrived. “You don’t want to be here, Derek.”
It was a lie. Derek wanted to comfort Stiles. He watched in disbelief as his father merely stood by Stiles’ bed, not a comforting gesture given as Stiles writhed in pain. He was forcefully removed by his mother.
“Malnourished. The skull wasn’t formed properly. Probably for the best—they never figured out which one was the father.”
Seamus had not given Stiles any comfort in his grief.
It had been Derek.
Sweet, kind, caring Derek. An Alpha only a few years Stiles’ senior.
Derek had sat at Stiles’ bedside and read. He had brought Stiles cornflowers from the fields Stiles had only ever seen from his room. He had, on the worst night since losing Nathaniel, crawled into bed beside Stiles and held his shaking body. He had softly wiped away Stiles’ tears, and let Stiles fall asleep against his chest—a comfort Stiles had never known before.
“Stay away from my son.”
Stiles remembered the sharp cut of Talia’s nails digging into his soft forearm as the woman leaned close with her hushed threats during Derek’s birthday celebration.
And any kindness Derek showed Stiles resulted in Talia’s anger worsening.
Until everything erupted after Stiles turned nineteen.
Derek was twenty-one, still considered to be an unmatured Alpha in the shadow of his father. Though Derek hadn’t seemed to mind being barred from business. He preferred spending the time he had with his sisters and Stiles.
Stiles was working on his embroidery when Derek surprised him in the parlor. He had been so focused on getting Derek’s name just right, that he hadn’t heard Derek’s approaching footsteps.
“Looks good.”
Stiles startled at Derek’s voice so close to his ear. He dropped the fabric, turning to glare at Derek. He knew there was a lack of any ire in his gaze, though he tried to look displeased. “You spoiled my gift,” he huffed. He realized, after a beat, that Derek’s body was close in proximity, draped over the back of the loveseat as he leaned forward, their faces only separated by a few inches. He cast his gaze forward, attempting to break whatever pull he felt—a warmth pooled low in his belly, a want he was unfamiliar with until recent nights. He pressed his legs together, willing his body to not betray him—embarrass him.
“I brought you a gift,” Derek announced as he pulled a small wrapped product from behind his back to display for Stiles.
“A gift?” Stiles feigned surprise at the action.
Derek had always given Stiles a birthday gift in private.
It was the only way Talia would allow it. What she didn’t see Derek give Stiles, she couldn’t scold or take away.
“Your birthday was last week, and father made me miss it,” Derek huffed as he moved around the loveseat to sit beside Stiles.
Stiles put the appropriate space between them. He was, in name only, Seamus’s second spouse. Being alone with Derek was accepted, but the desire Stiles felt was shameful.
Derek placed the wrapped item between them.
Stiles looked from the gift to Derek.
Derek and Cora were the only two who gave Stiles birthday gifts besides his father.
Laura had, over time, cooled in her hatred of Stiles. She had firmly taken her mother’s side, which Stiles never blamed her. Now, Laura simply tolerated Stiles’ existence.
Stiles picked up the item, gently unwrapping it with care. He faintly smiled when he saw it was the next book in the series they had been reading.
“I promise, I didn’t read ahead,” Derek uttered when Stiles didn’t react.
Since losing Nathaniel, Derek had taken to reading while Stiles either embroidered, or they swapped when Derek felt like drawing. It was a comfort to them both.
A tightness clenched deep in Stiles’ gut, replacing the warmth with something even more foreign.
Longing.
“Thank you,” Stiles softly uttered, forcing himself to smile as he set the book down onto the cushion between them.
Derek’s hand covered Stiles’ over the book. “Is something wrong?”
Stiles’ heartbeat was increasing, a warmth suddenly flushed across his skin.
Derek was a virile young Alpha. And for the first time, Stiles knew what it was to want.
Seamus had never shared Stiles’ bed, a blessing Stiles found despite the initial shame he had felt in the wake of losing Nathaniel.
He hadn’t even felt it when he was…
Stiles clenched his eyes shut at the reminder of what so many in polite society expected him to feel ruin for.
Stiles had been raped by a group of Alphas. He didn’t remember everything—his first heat triggered under the stress of being taken prisoner. And then he simply didn’t remember the entirety of what happened to bruise his body and leave him heavy with a child.
An unfortunate casualty of war, is what so many of his father’s colleagues called it.
A waste of a perfectly good Omega, some laughed.
So young, a few of kinder society looked at him with pity.
And Stiles had never craved intimacy as a result.
Until Derek.
Guilt and shame overwhelmed Stiles in that moment of realization.
Stiles pulled his hand away from Derek, settling it in his lap with his almost forgotten embroidery. “You should be getting ready for the party,” he simply stated.
“Stiles,” Derek sighed, relaxing into the loveseat. “You’ll be there, right?” He finally asked, though he didn’t look at Stiles.
“Of course,” Stiles answered.
“Good. There’d be no point if you weren’t.”
Stiles was stupid. He should have feigned illness, pretended that he would make apologies the next day. He had always gone ignored at parties that he attended, every Omega refused to be tarnished by association, and every Alpha that showed a small amount of interest had been deterred by Seamus. Or Derek.
For some reason, that night was different. Seamus remained closer than he normally did, much to Stiles’ surprise. And more Alphas than usual greeted him.
The one dance Stiles had was with Derek. A joy disguised as an opportunity for Derek to show off without making commitments. It always made Stiles’ heart flutter when Derek danced with him. He could pretend, for those moments, that there was no one else.
Stiles awoke that night in a sweat. He felt feverish as he threw back his blankets. He had been uneasy all evening, certain now that he needed air to calm himself.
Derek was sitting on the bench by the fountain in the garden. He had forgone his dressing gown, simply dressed in a nightshirt and loose fitting trousers.
Stiles found himself surprised despite the twist of joy at finding Derek.
“I felt like I needed to… be here,” Derek answered as he watched Stiles sit beside him.
“I have felt off all night,” Stiles admitted. A sharp cold passed through him at the ache he was feeling in his core.
“You smell different.”
Stiles tilted his head as he looked at Derek. “I’ve bathed, I promise.”
Derek faintly laughed, shaking his head. “No, you smell…” He looked down at where their hands rested beside one another on the bench. “Savory almost.”
Stiles couldn’t help his own laugh.
“Still sweet, like jasmine,” Derek noted, his hand moving to cover Stiles’.
Stiles looked at Derek’s hand, turning his own palm up at Derek’s prompting. He allowed Derek to play with his fingers, a tilting of want hitting him.
“But there is an earthy scent now,” Derek continued. He slowly inched closer to Stiles, his gaze moving up Stiles’ arm, lingering on his exposed throat.
“Like dirt?” Stiles’ soft voice asked, his eyes looking up to Derek’s.
Derek gently shook his head. He was closer now—barely a few inches between them. He leaned in, giving Stiles time to back away or even push him. “Like moss; like rosemary and thyme.” His lips lingered close to Stiles’ as his heart beat heavy with anticipation. “You smell right.”
Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat. “Derek,” he licked his lips.
Derek reached a hand up to cup Stiles’ cheek. “Tell me to stop.”
Stiles drew in a breath.
“Tell me you don’t want me,” Derek pulled himself back, his thumb tracing the curve of Stiles’ cheek.
They shouldn’t be speaking like this, let alone thinking about what they wanted.
But liquid warmth pooled in Stiles’ stomach, pulsing through his body. He was tingling with want for the first time since he thought of Derek while touching himself. He could feel how wet he was now just from the memories.
“Tell me if I am crossing a boundary,” Derek uttered. He started to pull away with Stiles’ silence.
“Don’t,” Stiles pulled on Derek’s hand. “I…”
Derek tilted Stiles’ chin up to look at him.
“I want this,” Stiles finally admitted.
“Thank fuck,” Derek happily cursed, closing the space between their lips.
Hunger sparked between them. Stiles followed Derek’s movements, unsure of himself as he mimicked what he could of Derek. He clambered into Derek’s lap as gracefully as his limbs allowed. He didn’t care that Derek’s hands pulled at his clothes—he was doing the same to Derek, wanting to feel his skin.
Derek lifted Stiles, gently guiding them to the ground. He would worship every part of Stiles that he could.
Stiles ached, his thighs damp with need. He gasped when Derek parted his legs, his hips elevated to welcome any part of him. Derek’s tongue entered him, and a pained moan left him. Wet warmth lapping at the most intimate core of him, bringing him pleasure he never experienced before. His hands twisted in Derek’s hair as gasps continued to leave him—Derek’s grip on his hips and thighs was punishing, sure to leave bruises.
Derek was devouring Stiles, pulling every ache desire with each pass of his tongue buried in Stiles.
Derek mouthed at the spans of Stiles’ soft, pale skin. His lips caressed Stiles’ thighs as his fingers explored Stiles’ heat. “You taste better than I dreamt, Stiles.” His teeth scraped against the low curve of Stiles’ belly.
Mine. Mine.
Derek could feel the Alpha spark burning all sense of control away—all common sense had left Derek the moment he saw Stiles in the moonlight of the garden. Like an ethereal god coming for a visit—a graceful gift Derek was too greedy to reject.
Derek moved up Stiles’ body, hands tearing at the remains of Stiles’ dressing gown and night clothes. He wanted Stiles completely naked—bared beneath the moon.
Bared for him.
He was a starved man, desperate to feast.
Mine. Mate. Mate.
Stiles’ fingers threaded in Derek’s hair and pulled as the breathy moans and hitched gasps left his parted lips once Derek began mouthing at his nipples.
They were sore—
His entrance was aching for Derek—
His thighs were so wet—
His eyes burned with frustrated tears when Derek finally kissed him, settling between his welcoming thighs.
A sharp cry of relief left him when Derek’s cock entered him. His arms were under Derek’s nightshirt, his nails digging into Derek’s smooth, muscular back, scraping down Derek’s sides. A hiccup left him when Derek pulled out before pressing back in. His eyes were clenched tight as the overwhelming heat in his stomach burned hotter at the feeling of rightness.
Derek was where he belonged, deep inside Stiles. And Stiles didn’t want him anywhere else.
Derek caged Stiles in, his forearms bracketing Stiles as his hands cradled Stiles’ head. He set a pace, his body pushing in deeper and harder with each dig of Stiles’ nails. He left kisses on whatever part of Stiles was exposed—his cheeks, his throat, his nose, his lips.
“Please,” Stiles begged, his hips arching to give Derek better access.
Derek growled as his hips snapped roughly forward. He was certain he would break Stiles despite his need to protect. The only thing to calm his fear that his brutality crossed a line was the moans of encouragement from Stiles.
“Derek,” Stiles moaned his name right as Derek’s pace suddenly increased. Hitching breaths punched out of him, his body overheating from the pulsing need. He needed Derek. He needed his knot. He needed to give Derek everything.
He needed to take Derek’s claim.
His children.
A gasping moan broke from Stiles’ chest as his orgasm tore through him. His vision blacked out, his body uselessly limp as a warm tingling shot through his limbs as Derek rutted into him.
And then Derek’s teeth tore through Stiles’ throat.
Stiles whined, his thighs shaking as another orgasm spasmed through him.
And then Stiles felt it.
Derek’s knot tying them together, the feeling of Derek’s release inside him.
Stiles tightened his arms around Derek’s back, his hands clutching desperately to him. Tears were trailing down Stiles’ cheeks as Derek minutely flexed his hips, pressing even deeper into him.
Derek was going to get him pregnant.
And Stiles wept for how much he wanted that.
Derek gently cradled Stiles’ face, kissing away the tears as he spoke to him. “Did I hurt you?” His concern was edged with fear.
Stiles trembled at the tenderness in Derek’s voice as he shook his head. “We shouldn’t have done this…”
Derek kissed Stiles, knowing that Stiles was technically right. But he didn’t care what they should have been doing. Not any more. He wanted Stiles. From the moment they met, he knew there was something different about Stiles. He wanted to protect him—to curl around him and let no other person near him.
And then Stiles had lost Nathaniel, and Derek nearly went feral with the grief Stiles had. It took everything in him to not attack his father at the funeral—watching as Seamus stiffly tucked a limp and grieving Stiles against him.
Derek’s lips trailed across Stiles’ cheek before he buried his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck.
Stiles’ skin was inflamed, burning up against Derek’s.
The pheromones Stiles was giving off were forcing Derek’s spark into control. Derek laid claim to Stiles, something his father had foolishly never done.
Stiles was his now. No stupid law could override their animal’s nature.
“You’re in heat,” Derek finally uttered as he gently nipped at Stiles’ jaw.
They should have waited.
Stiles could likely be with child even now, with every flex of their hips and pulse of Derek’s knot.
Hindsight was a curse.
Derek had wanted to spend as many nights as he could in bed with Stiles. Fucking, breeding Stiles until they were both sated.
But Derek’s animalistic drive to claim had won out, and he took Stiles in the garden, where anyone could see.
The moment his knot was loose, he moved Stiles with ease, flipping him onto his hands and knees. He fucked Stiles with abadoned, hunched over Stiles’ flushed and sweaty skin. He mouthed and nipped at Stiles’ shoulderblade, his fingers fastened like vices on Stiles’ hips as he bodily pulled Stiles into his thrusts.
Stiles collapsed against his forearms, the remnants of his torn shirt and dressing gown strewn about them in the moss of the garden. His nails clawed at the dirt, moaning words of encouragement as another orgasm built. He had lost count of how many times Derek had made him come.
Derek’s hand dropped from Stiles’ hip to his stomach, possessively spanning out in an open palm to cover the curve of soft skin.
Male Omegas usually had some form of softer underbelly—a protection for their growing babies. Stiles hated how his stomach remained taut after Nathaniel’s birth. But Derek’s fingers were like brands of desire covering his belly, healing the ache.
Stiles’ hips moved harder against Derek’s thrusts at the need in his body.
They shouldn’t be doing this.
But it was too late for reason; for either of them.
Derek curled around Stiles, his bare chest like a brand against Stiles’ own heated skin. “Do you want to—” He roughly snapped his hips harder, his rut suddenly coming to the forefront as he groaned at the delicious pulse of Stiles clenching around him. “Fuck, Stiles,” he growled as he pushed his pace into a vicious speed, chasing his orgasm as he felt his knot flare again.
“Please. Please, Derek.” Stiles begged, loudly as he widened his legs for Derek. He wanted to stay knotted to Derek. “Give it to me.”
Derek slowed his thrusts to a grind, his hand leaving Stiles’ hip to move towards his neck. He tightened his hold on Stiles’ neck as he pressed him down into the ground. He allowed Stiles to tilt his head, a perfect view of Stiles’ blissed out profile as he rotated and grounded his hips into Stiles.
Stiles’ hips spasmed with his growing orgasm.
“What do you want?” Derek growled out of some primal need to hear Stiles say it. He needed to hear Stiles say he wanted him. He knew Stiles was technically his father’s—but this was a betrayal on both their parts.
His father was a fool for never claiming Stiles.
A fool who handed Derek a gift.
Derek’s hand flexed against Stiles’ stomach. He wanted to feel it distend. He wanted to know he had marked him—sated him.
“Breed me,” Stiles softly begged, his gaze locked with Derek’s. “Please.”
Derek drew Stiles’ body up, leaning back on his haunches to settle Stiles in his lap. He kept Stiles’ legs spread as he fucked up into him.
Stiles gripped at Derek’s hand that was over his stomach, their fingers threading together. He chased Derek’s lips, kissing him deeply as he endured the pleasure Derek wrung from him. He buried his other hand in Derek’s hair, just as Derek’s hand moved from his neck to encase his throat.
Stiles could still feel the blood trickling down his collarbone, a small trail of crimson leaking from the mark of Derek’s fangs. Derek’s claim.
“Fuck,” Derek growled, feeling his knot begin to form once more. “I’d keep you pregnant,” he spoke, both of them chasing their desires in the moment. “Keep you happy.”
“Yes, please.”
“You want that?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck, Stiles. You’re mine. Mine.” It was a snarl that tore from Derek.
“I’m yours,” Stiles hiccuped just as Derek’s knot formed, pulling another shaking orgasm from him. His legs quivered as his entire body pulsed and muscles drew tight.
Stiles blinked his eyes open, not realizing he must have loss consciousness at some point, curled up in Derek’s hold. He closed his eyes as he pressed his cheek into Derek’s bicep. He made a soft noise when he felt Derek’s hand cradling his stomach.
Derek placed kisses across Stiles’ shoulder.
Stiles felt safe, cocooned in Derek’s embrace.
Until everything crashed.
The panic in Stiles turned into anxiety—fear. He curled in on himself, knowing he was protected by Derek when he felt the strength at his back, strong Alpha arms covering him. Derek’s anger was turned into defensiveness as he bared his teeth at his own father.
Seamus and Talia had found them.
Stiles was trembling, mute with his own fear. He was to blame for this—he ruined Derek’s familial ties.
Because a filthy Omega couldn’t stop his own heat.
They had barely been separated, Stiles clothed by Seamus’s discarded robe.
And then it happened.
Derek met Seamus’s separation of them as a challenge.
And Derek attacked Seamus.
Talia pulled Stiles away, throwing him into his room with such dismissal force that Stiles stumbled. He barely was afforded a look before Talia locked the doors, sealing him into confinement.
Loneliness and hurt welled in Stiles’ chest as he crumpled to the floor. He heard the raised voices through the door. He heard the rushing steps of multiple people moving back and forth.
Stiles remained on the floor, Seamus’s dressing gown barely covering his body as he allowed it to fall from his shoulders. He wanted Derek, not Seamus’s lingering scent.
And then his tears started. He sobbed as the cold finally reached him. He wished his father had never brought him to Seamus Hale that day. He never would have had the opportunity to love someone he never should have.
The room had grown brighter as the sun rose, and the noises of all fighting had ceased. And yet, Stiles remained silent, hoping he would be forgotten. Perhaps he would be thrown back at his father, a last humiliation on his father’s name. He was certain his stepmother would never allow him to come back, not with the festering stain his presence would cause now.
Talia had been the one to enter his rooms, a furious anger barely hidden by her calm demeanor as she instructed the servants to bring the water to the bath tub. “Bathe and dress. Seamus will speak to you.”
Stiles only stared at her.
Talia’s anger broke with his silence. She marched over, digging her harsh grip into his arm. “You filthy whore,” she spoke harshly under her breath as she threw him towards the tub.
Stiles stumbled, barely able to catch himself. One of the newer servants—Erica, he remembered—was kind enough to steady him. The Beta’s scent was more calming than anything.
“Wash yourself. If we are to have any chance of saving what you’ve done, you’ll do whatever Seamus tells you,” Talia seethed.
Stiles dared to look at the woman.
“I should claw your eyes out for what you did,” Talia hissed as she stepped forward, as if she intended to make true on her threat. “You better pray you aren’t pregnant.” She turned on her heel after a moment’s hesitation, something pulling her back from physically harming Stiles.
Stiles flinched when the door was slammed shut in her wake.
Erica was tender in her actions, her touch light and purposefully restrained. She only offered Stiles her open palms before he nodded his permission, then she would touch him. He was shaking despite the steaming water that pinkened his skin. He cried as he scrubbed away every part of Derek’s scent.
Stiles realized, upon arriving in Seamus’s study freshly bathed and dressed, that Talia was waiting on Seamus to dole out his punishment.
Seamus had been comforting Talia when Stiles was ushered in.
Stiles stood, obediently casting his head down as he twisted his hands together. “I’m—”
“Don’t,” Seamus sharply snapped, his hand dropping from Talia’s cheek to hold her hands. “You’ve done enough, Stiles, you don’t need to ruin more with speaking.”
Talia glared at Stiles.
“I don’t know what you were thinking, but nothing is going to change the fact that you betrayed us all,” Seamus stated, finally turning to look at Stiles. He twisted the ring on his small finger as he closed the space between himself and Stiles. “I gave you space, because of your circumstances. The healers said you would be too traumatized for a natural heat. Evidently, they were wrong.”
Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn’t mean for his heat to happen. For it to respond to Derek. But it had… he had responded to Derek.
And Derek had responded to him.
Tears welled in Stiles’ eyes. “I didn’t do this on purpose.”
Stiles remembered being hit during his ordeal. He remembered the way the Alphas who took turns with his body, never caring for his tears or pleas, would simply hit him until he stopped speaking.
It appeared that was a common response for Alphas who disliked an Omega talking, as the back of Seamus’s hand made sharp contact with Stiles’ cheek.
Stiles stumbled from the sudden shock of Seamus’s action. He gripped the back of the chair closest to him to steady himself, his cheek inflamed from the impact. He shakingly covered his cheek, his fingertips feeling the small cut Seamus’s ring had left on his cheekbone. He tried to stop his lip from wobbling.
How had his life gone from the joyful bliss of safety in Derek’s arms, to this?
“I’m sure you believe that,” Seamus lowly stated. “But you preyed on my son. My heir. And for what, Stiles? An attempt to better yourself?”
Stiles shook his head, unsure if he was supposed to verbally answer.
“You’ll remain in your room for the next few months,” Seamus instructed. “A healer will be called to check you.” He took a step forward, his grip firm when he took Stiles’ chin in his hand.
Stiles moved at Seamus’s will, making sure he didn’t complicate the moment with his desire to shy away.
“If you’re pregnant,” Seamus evenly started, his gaze calculating and angry.
When Stiles first came to live with the Hales, he had thought at times that Seamus and Derek resembled one another. But they looked nothing alike now.
“A cutter will remove it.”
Stiles trembled, tears actually falling. He gently touched Seamus’s wrist. It was what he saw Talia do from time to time to calm him. “Please, don’t—”
Seamus tightened his grip. “Then you should have kept your fucking legs closed,” his voice grew louder with each word. “You better pray that you’re barren.”
Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat as he tried to suppress his panic.
“I was kind to you,” Seamus continued, shaking his head slightly. “That ends.”
Stiles held his breath, unsure if he was hoping to be cast out.
“I will do my job, and claim you on your next heat,” Seamus stated with finality.
Stiles trembled as he cried. “Please, I don’t want that.”
“And neither do I,” Seamus almost snarled before releasing him, shoving Stiles away.
Stiles stumbled, falling to the ground. He tried to calm his breathing, unable to stop the panic that gripped him.
“Because of you, I had to injure my son in a stupid challenge,” Seamus spit. “For you.”
Stiles drew in a shaky breath.
Derek had lost. It wasn’t a shocking surprise—Derek wasn’t a matured Alpha like Seamus. It would be years before Derek could overpower him.
“Just send me away,” Stiles begged. He turned his tearstained face towards Seamus. “Please—I won’t bother you—”
“And have everyone talk about this?” Talia sneered incredulously. “If anyone knew he tried to claim you…” She bit her tongue.
“Derek’s reputation would be stained,” Seamus finished for his wife.
“I told you he would bring ruin,” Talia spoke under her voice.
“And I am correcting that mistake,” Seamus answered her. He cast a distasteful look at Stiles. “You’ll never be alone with Derek again, do you understand that?”
Stiles stared at Seamus as his heart broke.
Seamus closed the space between them, his grip roughly ripping on Stiles’ hair.
Stiles gasped in pain as he felt a few pieces of his hair tear from his scalp.
“Tell me you understand that you are never to be alone with him.”
Stiles drew in a breath, “I understand.”
Seamus released him, shaking his hand to rid his fingers of the hair he had taken with force. He left without another word in parting.
Stiles stared at the ground, tears silently dropping from his eyes to plop onto the ornate carpet.
Talia sighed. “Derek will be sent to the academy—likely a military role now.” She walked over to Stiles. “I want you to know, if my son dies, I will make your life agony.”
Stiles looked up at Talia.
Talia looked at Stiles as if he was a pebble that had been trapped in her shoe for too long.
“Please,” Stiles started.
Talia released a bark of laughter. “You grovel now?”
Stiles shook his head. “I didn’t… it just happened.”
Talia glared at Stiles. “You just happened to fall onto my son’s knot?”
Stiles winced at her words. “I haven’t had a heat since… I didn’t know what was happening, I swear. I would have stayed away from Derek if I knew.” He tried to calm his breathing as he explained. He needed someone to understand.
Talia was silent as she observed Stiles. “I’ve always hated you.”
Stiles blinked up at Talia, making no attempt to move or speak as he tried to not squirm under the woman’s gaze.
“But Seamus said he owed it to your father…” Talia shook her head. “So he did me a disservice by accepting you as his second spouse. His Omega spare.” She arched her brow. “I think I almost would have preferred it if he had been fucking you. It would at least mean he was doing this for selfish reasons.” She fixed her long sleeves as she allowed the silence to grow between them. “But no. He pitied you. He pitied your father for having to deal with such a disgrace.” She dropped her sight to Stiles again, this time allowing her judgement to show. “A pregnant Omega slut who couldn’t even carry a bastard to term. Claiming rape when it was your heat that enticed them.”
Stiles shook with sobs. “Please, don’t let him do this to me,” he gently grabbed at Talia’s skirt. “If I am pregnant, it’s your grandchild.” He would give the child up for adoption—he would even rather Talia claim it as her own, though he knew she never would.
Talia was silent as she pulled Stiles’ hands away from her skirt. She knelt, holding Stiles’ hands gently in her own. She was studying Stiles’ face for a moment that could almost be mistaken as tender. “Let’s hope then that it always takes eight Alphas to get you pregnant.” She released Stiles’ hands and left him on the floor of her husband’s study.
Stiles wrapped his legs against his chest, smothering his sobs into his knees.
Derek had been removed from the estate, recovering in a private hospital ward. And Stiles hadn’t been allowed to say goodbye.
Stiles was thankful when the healer announced he was without child. But the air of the manor hadn’t changed regardless—Stiles was to be kept at a distance by everyone.
Stiles became separated from them all, though Cora had grown more tenacious in her attempts to continue her friendship with him. He never told her what transgressed, and he assumed her parents never informed her either.
Stiles kept quiet whenever Cora excitedly informed him of the arrival of a letter from Derek. He would pretend that he didn’t hang onto every word Cora read aloud.
“Tell Stiles I am thinking of him as well,” Cora would read some variant of the chaste sentence that always had been placed towards the end of Derek’s letters.
Cora always promised to send any words Stiles wanted said back.
Stiles never gave her any to reply.
Derek was deployed in a military role, though was passing through the ranks fast enough that he had surpassed Seamus. And within time, he had begun to work in close proximity to Stiles’ father.
“Please let Stiles know that General Stilinski sends his love.”
Stiles waited for Cora to leave before he cried.
There were too many tears for Stiles to remember why he shed them through the years. His heat never came back—a blessing despite the healer expressing worry that Stiles may be completely barren now.
Stiles had lost any chance to be with Derek and he would never want to have another’s child. A blessing, Stiles thought as he sat in the garden with his book closed against his lap.
It had been another gift from Derek, sent via Cora as courier.
Cora was not inept as her parents assumed—she quickly realized in the passing years that Stiles was treated differently than she had assumed. Derek wasn’t home to show such affection, and that hole was felt by both of them.
Cora lied to her parents when she said she purchased the books herself. “I have an allowance, do I not? Besides, it is his twenty-second birthday.”
“Your allowance is for you, not Stiles,” Talia remarked.
“Perhaps if you didn’t keep him caged,” Cora snapped.
“He is kept where he is needed,” Seamus answered Cora’s ire with exhaustion. “An Omega with his history cannot be unsupervised.”
Cora had grown angry at her father’s words, huffing in annoyance as she vented to Stiles.
Stiles remained silent, watching as Cora paced. “You don’t need to lie for me,” he offered.
“I lie because of them,” Cora countered, growling in frustration before plopping down next to Stiles on the bench. “They act as if you are some pariah.”
Stiles’ index finger picked at the corner of the book’s cover.
“You aren’t to blame for what happened,” Cora softly stated.
Stiles nodded, his heart simply ached from the emotional bruise his life refused to heal. “Cora,” he said her name with caution, unsure how she would react with such news. “They haven’t told you why Derek was sent away, have they?”
Cora angled her limbs towards Stiles. “Father said Derek was growing territorial. He was approaching maturity, so it makes sense. Derek would probably be able to challenge father successfully now.”
Stiles blinked the blurriness away, realizing too late that they were tears obscuring his vision.
“Stiles?” Cora sounded concerned as she touched Stiles’ shoulder.
“I went into heat,” Stiles was barely able to get the words out, his voice strained. “And… Derek was there. We…” He released his hold on the book, pressing his palms into his eyes as he tried to smother the tears. He couldn’t even react to grab the book from slipping from his lap. “It’s my fault.”
Cora didn’t say anything as she wrapped her arms around Stiles, hugging him tightly. She hated how small Stiles felt, confirming her worst suspicions that he was losing weight over the months. “It’s not—”
“Derek attacked your father because of me,” Stiles sobbed, his body shaking as the emotions finally surfaced. “I haven’t had a heat since. I could have… if I was pregnant, your father said—” He stopped himself, biting his tongue hard.
“He said he’d call the cutter. He said he would break whatever claim Derek had.”
Cora held onto Stiles tighter, allowing him to rest his cheek against her collarbone as she tucked his face beneath her chin. “I’m sorry,” she repeated as Stiles’ tears continued. “I’m so sorry, Stiles.”
Cora made a silent vow to herself—she’d protect Stiles. It didn’t matter that she was a Beta, she would destroy whoever hurt him. Even her family.
Though fate had a funny way of twisting plans.
Stiles was twenty-eight when Seamus died.
A heart attack was what the healers said.
Before the mandatory months of grieving were over, Stiles had been shocked when Talia informed him that they would be attending an evening ball. He nodded his head, accepting the first words she had spoken to him since Seamus’s passing.
Stiles should have known better.
He should have realized that it was just a final scheme of Talia’s attempts to do away with him.
Stiles was keeping to himself at the party, when Talia escorted an older looking Alpha towards him. He politely stood, offering a small smile in introduction.
“Alpha Anderson, this is Stiles,” Talia sweetly spoke out the introduction as if Stiles was expecting such.
Stiles bowed his head. He startled when the man touched his hand. He had been afforded very little touch in his socializing, confused by the forwardness. Though he didn’t pull back when he saw Talia’s face. “It is nice to meet you, Alpha Anderson.”
Anderson lifted Stiles’ hand to his mouth, leaving a chaste kiss to Stiles’ knuckles.
Stiles’ skin crawled with the lingering action. He attempted to force his hand away, tilting it down and towards his side. He was relieved when Anderson released him.
“I am sorry for your losses,” Anderson dutifully looked to Talia. “It is a shame to lose Seamus.”
Stiles caught the pain that cracked Talia’s mask just briefly.
“Yes, it is,” Talia echoed. “My son will be taking care of everything.”
Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat. Derek.
“Ah, Derek,” Anderson noted. “He has made quite a name for himself,” he lowly chuckled. “I should wait to speak with him about—”
“Oh, no,” Talia smiled. “He has already given his approval of the match.”
Dread dropped like a weight in Stiles’ stomach when Talia looked at him. “Stiles, Alpha Anderson has made an offer for you.”
Stiles blinked a few times, forcing himself to look from Talia to Alpha Anderson.
An offer.
Like Stiles was an object to be bartered.
Alpha Anderson was a handsome older man, years having been kind to him to not curse him with an ailing body. But he was older, perhaps even older than Stiles’ father.
Anderson appeared kind enough to not touch Stiles again. He gently cleared his throat as he looked at Talia. “Perhaps he and I could speak more. Together.”
Talia appeared surprised by this, but pleased all the same as she bowed. “Of course. But I ask that you not try and bring him anywhere… private.”
Anderson looked aghast at her suggestion. “I wouldn’t, my dear lady.”
Stiles wanted the floor to swallow him up, even as he watched Talia go before taking Anderson’s offered arm in the mechanical way he once had been taught by his stepmother before everything imploded.
Stiles had danced with Derek at more formal events, though that was years ago. He was unsure of himself as he faced Anderson. “I… I may not be very good.”
Anderson offered a kind smile. “I never quite cared for dance,” he admitted. “But if we are both terrible, at least you can blame it on my lead.”
Stiles allowed a genuine smile to pull at the corner of his lips. “Thank you.” It was kind of Anderson to afford Stiles the chance to evade judgement.
Omegas were meant to be graceful. Stiles had never been.
Stiles found himself fond of Anderson, though there was no spark of desire.
It had been the fourth ball Stiles attended that Anderson asked for his dance card.
“You don’t have to ask for it,” Stiles informed him as they sat in a secluded corner from the dance floor, taking a break as another song started.
Anderson arched an eyebrow at Stiles.
“No one asks me to dance except you,” Stiles explained. He looked at his glass of water, watching as the ice clinked and cracked. “It is nice of you. But not necessary, is all.”
Anderson gently took Stiles’ free hand. “You deserve to have me ask.”
Stiles drew in a shaky breath, tilting his head down to blink away his tears. “May I ask why you are asking for… me?” He looked up at Anderson.
Anderson brushed his thumb over Stiles’ knuckles. “Being widowed for over a decade has allowed the loneliness to grow,” he honestly admitted. “And to be honest, I saw something in you that I recognized.” He offered a sad smile to Stiles. “Grief.”
Stiles drew in a breath.
“And perhaps a longing for something you can’t have.”
Stiles offered a soft laugh. “You’re very observant.”
“I do want you to know, Stiles,” Anderson continued, though he kept his voice quieter—just for Stiles to hear. “I would never force you to do anything.”
Stiles blushed at the acknowledgement of expected intimacy between partners.
“I seek companionship,” Anderson specified. “And I would hope you are open to that.”
Stiles gently nodded his head. “That would be… nice.” He pretended a part of his heart wasn’t breaking.
Derek had accepted Anderson’s offer, after all.
Derek didn’t care if Stiles was gone. The sparse letters he sent to Cora since the war ignited again had very few words, yet he always asked after Stiles.
Cora had started to write back with more information, despite Stiles’ insistence that Derek was only being kind in his inquiries.
Derek’s last letter mentioned the approach of an expected skirmish—one Derek had reserves talking about. A long silence had followed that letter, one that twisted Stiles’ stomach into knots.
Talia had promised to make Stiles’ life agony if Derek died. She hadn’t realized that a life without Derek was already agony.
Stiles brushed away his tear that slipped down his cheek. “Thank you,” he said as he leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on Anderson’s cheek.
Derek had his duty as Alpha, while Stiles had his duty to obey.
~*~
Stiles’ steps slowed as he approached the house. He twisted the handle of his parasol in his hands, wishing he could delay the inevitable.
Alpha Anderson would ask for his hand soon, and Stiles would accept. He would leave the Hale estate and start his life as Omega Anderson.
The scars from Derek’s teeth burned at the thought of carrying another Alpha’s name.
Stiles reached a hand up to touch the bend of his shoulder, caressing the scars through the thin fabric of his collar. Sometimes, the scars would pulse, an aching reminder of just how lonely he was without Derek.
On the more lonely nights, when Stiles would rarely indulge his desires—as he touched himself to the memory of Derek—he could still feel Derek’s teeth buried in his throat.
Stiles dropped his hand, quickening his steps towards the gates when he heard the noises emitting from the courtyard. He halted inside the gate, dropping his parasol to his side as he watched various objects being removed from storage, while tapestries and rugs were cleaned of dirt and dust.
“What’s going on?” Stiles asked as he closed the parasol, taking a step to the side as the courtyard bustled with servants.
“Lady Hale has asked that we are prepared for guests,” the servant explained. “For Alpha Hale.”
Stiles blinked in confusion.
“Stiles!” Cora’s voice called as she hurried down the steps, a worried expression plastered on her face. She waited until the servants dispersed, pulling Stiles with her. “Mother said that she is interviewing families. For Derek.”
Stiles felt his heart skip. “What?” He softly asked in confusion.
“She said that there are rumors of the war being over, and that Derek should be returning in the coming months,” Cora quickly explained.
Stiles felt his heart lodge in his throat. His hearing was muted as his pulse beat faster. “Why is she interviewing families?” He croaked.
“She is choosing an Omega for Derek,” Cora’s features were pinched. “This makes sense why she pushed Alpha Anderson on you.”
Stiles faintly shook his head. “She said that Derek accepted his offer.”
Cora rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you believe that.”
Stiles clenched his jaw. “I have no reason to doubt Alpha Anderson.”
“Neither do I,” Cora replied, a sad expression taking over. “But I don’t believe my mother.”
Stiles looked at Cora in surprise.
“I don’t trust her—not when it comes to you,” Cora continued.
Stiles felt unsteady. “Derek has to be the one that agrees for me to marry Alpha Anderson.”
“Not if she forges his signature,” Cora pressed. “Why do you think she is in such a fury about this now? If Derek comes home, she can’t lie about his approval.”
Stiles gently shook his head. “Cora, I don’t think we can hope he’ll suddenly show up and declare Talia a liar.”
“Then we need to come up with a plan to hide you,” Cora began.
Stiles drew his arm out of Cora’s hold. His heart hurt when he saw how sunken her expression was. “I can’t keep hoping,” he gently bit his lip. “Alpha Anderson is kind, and if that is my future then I have to accept it.”
“Stiles,” Cora started, prepared to argue.
Stiles forced himself to turn and flee to his room.
Derek could have anyone.
Stiles was filthy, and more people than just Talia believed that. Any child he had would be tarnished, regardless of any true legitimacy. Any name he passed would be ridiculed and hated.
Derek didn’t deserve that. Cora didn’t either.
~*~
Stiles stayed by Alpha Anderson’s side all night, watching as Talia theatrically performed to announce her son’s intended arrival. There were, after all, marriage proposals to be considered now that Derek would be home. He was certain he would be forced to meet and be humbled by the gentle, perfect Omegas that were under consideration.
Regardless of his distraction, Stiles had noticed that Alpha Anderson seemed more tense than before.
“It seems silly,” Anderson stated when Stiles inquired about his mood. “To be nervous.”
Stiles tilted his head in confusion. “We don’t have to dance if you are nervous.”
Anderson released an amused laugh. “It’s actually about this.”
Stiles looked down at Anderson’s hand. At the open jewelry box, with a golden band. It was slender, as most engagement rings befitting Omegas were. The detail was fine, two thin bands that were twisted together, small speckles of diamonds.
Stiles pulled his eyes from the ring to look at Anderson.
“It’s a formality, of sorts,” Anderson reasoned. “But I still wanted to ask.”
Stiles bit the inside of his lip. He hated himself for the lack of excitement—the joy he knew he should have felt. But his heart was breaking all over again. He forced a kind smile.
He knew he would marry Alpha Anderson.
It was the only prospect Stiles had.
“Will you accept my intentions to lay a claim on your hand?”
Stiles nodded, a soft, “yes” leaving his lips. He had been unsure he spoke, even as Alpha Anderson removed the ring to slip onto his finger. Stiles stared down at his hand in Alpha Anderson’s, watching the way the band was a little loose on his slender finger.
“It can be changed or resized,” Alpha Anderson noted.
Stiles gently shook his head. “I will simply need to gain some weight.”
Alpha Anderson gently smiled. He took a bolder step, pressing a faint kiss to Stiles’ temple.
Stiles should be happy. But the ring felt like a weight. Perhaps it was better to be grounded in this reality, despite the burning of the scars in Stiles’ neck. He had thought, briefly, about explaining things to Alpha Anderson, but he realized that Derek’s mark could be substituted for the mark Seamus never gave him.
Another lie.
“Thank you,” Stiles offered Anderson. “I am the happiest I have been.”
What was another lie?
~*~
Stiles’ heart hurt. He allowed Cora to link their arms together as they walked through the courtyard behind Talia once arriving home.
Talia was busying herself with several calling cards she had gathered. She had tossed some to the ground, the only judgment she deemed them worthy of was to be cast aside.
“You said you’re happy,” Cora started, a seriousness to her tone. It was the first she spoke to Stiles since seeing his ring and being told of his engagement.
There were no longer eyes on them, and Cora would curse her mother openly if Talia tried to silence her.
Stiles nodded.
“Stiles,” Cora sighed.
“I am,” Stiles stated before she could continue. He needed her to accept it—because if she accepted his happiness, then he could.
Cora pursed her lips, shaking her head. She pulled her shawl tighter around her. “Will you…” She stopped herself, sneaking a glance at Stiles.
Stiles simply kept an eye on the floor before their steps, feeling her gaze like a brand.
“Do you think you’ll have more children?”
Stiles did his best not to stumble. “No,” he said, his gaze flickering up to watch the span of Talia’s shoulders.
“Is that what you want?” Cora asked.
Stiles sighed, looking at Cora. “My heart still breaks for Nathaniel. I don’t know if I could,” he honestly explained. “But, things change. I… I’m not sure, Cora.”
Cora nodded, hugging Stiles’ arm more tightly. “Regardless of what happens, please don’t forget to visit me.”
Stiles placed a gentle hand on Cora’s. “You’ll be able to visit me.”
“Oh, yes,” Cora noted with a theatrical nod. “I will need to help you decorate your estate.”
Stiles faintly laughed.
“You Omegas are hopeless when it comes to—”
“Derek!”
Stiles was grateful that Cora stopped, unsure if he would have been dragged. His feet had simply stopped moving as his eyes registered the scene before them.
Cora’s grip on Stiles tightened as she stared at her mother—and brother.
Talia was hugging Derek, asking various questions that all went unanswered from Derek’s lack of response.
Derek was staring over Talia’s shoulder at Stiles.