Chapter Text
The faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Stiles drummed his fingers on the surface of the library table, his knee bouncing under it like a restless jackrabbit. His phone screen lit up with another call from Scott, but Stiles ignored it, staring instead at the open police files scattered before him. “So, let me get this straight,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm as he waved a crime scene photo in Derek’s direction. “A high school senior, who, by the way, had perfect attendance up until last week—just poofed out of existence after studying late in the library, and you’re telling me that’s not suspicious?” He reached across the table and grabbed another file, frustration leaking into his every action; the emotion practically radiated off him. Unfortunately for the sourwolf, it did so literally. “Yeah, Derek, I’m sure she just transferred schools and forgot to tell literally everyone. And the antique store owner? Just vanished with his new shipment. Oh, and the collector? Poof. Auction’s over, he’s gone too.”
Derek, standing stiffly near the bookshelf with his arms crossed, glared at Stiles like he was two seconds away from growling. “We don’t know enough to jump to conclusions,” he said. His voice low and measured, and his jaw tight. Stiles could tell the situation was wearing on him too. They’d been at this for weeks, and the last victim was Hallie Day, a senior here at the school. She gave Erica vibes pre-bite if Stiles is being honest. She spent most of her time in the library reading, but she was wicked smart, and Stiles liked to pick her brain occasionally about lore when it came to his research for the pack.
Derek keeps saying stupid stuff like, ‘books can’t kidnap people, Stiles.’ They’ve seen so much in their time here, and the dude’s a freaking werewolf, so, why start doubting the impossible now?
“Oh, forgive me for being the only one in this room with any actual sense,” Stiles shot back, shoving the photo into the file and closing it with a snap. “People are disappearing, Derek. And we’re sitting here playing Nancy Drew in the school library and—what’s this? —oh yeah, no book!” He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he gestured wildly. “Do you think maybe, instead of locking me up here with you, we could be out finding said book?”
Derek’s glare deepened, his brows knitting together in that signature Hale death stare. “If you’d stop talking for two seconds, we might actually find it.” He’d been lurking by the shelves, but Stiles assumed it had more to do with keeping his distance from the spastic teen than looking for an old book. If he had to guess, the book is a cursed relic, the type of curse…he didn’t know. Yet! They also knew from their research that the book is never in the same place after it’s taken someone. Yet the pack has Derek babysitting Stiles here in the school library while they all go into the preserve to check in on a coven that had just skipped into town conveniently when this all started.
A couple of months ago, Stiles got in an accident, one of the supernatural sorts, and now everyone was treating him like glass. He even heard his dad had reamed the rest of the pack while he was unconscious at the hospital. Whatever he said had them all walking on eggshells; worst of all, Derek. The jerk tied him to a chair the other day, a chair, because Stiles had been the one to learn about the witches. He also may, or may not, have been tired of the coddling treatment and went looking for them himself, without backup. He left a note ok!
Still! Nobody else even saw a problem with the whole ‘tying Stiles to a chair’ crap. When they’d gotten back and untied him, he’d thrown a cup at Derek and stormed out. He hadn’t talked to anyone since, and the tension is still lingering.
He’s been jumping into fights with these people for the past three years, and now they’re barely letting him do his independent investigations. He hadn’t even heard about the missing collector and antique owner until a week after the second disappearance. A whole week, he was the researcher that was his niche, his thing. That’s what he contributed the most to the pack, and they weren’t even letting him do that anymore. Or at least not until Hallie disappeared last week and they started realizing again that they needed him.
Stiles grumbled under his breath about knowing the book wasn’t here, and Derek huffed from his isles in the stacks. Stiles was staring at the Beacon Hills map in front of him, a small one his dad had printed off for the case so they could track where the book was going. Stiles knows it’s a book; it must be. Or maybe at the very least something tied to a book, like a magical bookmark or something…probably a book though.
He frowned at the map for a second, then straightened slightly. The online collector had it first, then the antique owner…maybe the book was still here. Hallie helped the librarian out a lot; she may have been labeling and cataloging new books for the school.
“Which means the book wouldn’t be out here, it’d be…” Stiles looked over at the librarian's back room. Pushing past the wooden swinging gate to get behind the front desk, he wiggled the knob to the office, locked. He huffed, and Derek was hovering behind him like a creepy, lurking shadow, as if on cue. Stiles stepped back and gestured at the door, annoyed.
Derek raised a brow but grabbed the knob and gave an effortless push that left a cracking sound and the wood of the doorframe splintering. Stiles pushed past him and glanced around the room for a second. This was the main office; it had a copier, printer, and computer set up in one corner. An obviously fake bush by the only window. The counter had a coffee machine and microwave on it, and small things to make a quick cup of joe. The rest of the room had the basics, like a table off to the side of the room and a trash can by the door. On the opposite walls were two different doors, one of which Stiles knew was Mrs. Woodwick's office; she oversaw the library and had pulled the teens of the pack in there on multiple occasions due to ‘inappropriate destruction’ in her library; she didn’t even know the half of it.
Stiles eyes landed on the other door, and he attempted again to turn the knob; this time the door clicked open. It was a small room, and a long counter on the wall opposite him was stacked with unlabeled books. Boxes sat to Stiles left, stacked two to three high. Some were textbooks for History or Math; he could see from the open flaps. However, some of the boxes had a more travell-esque shipping appearance, like the white boxes on the floor in front of the counter of books.
Stiles walked over to it, glancing at a lot of pop culture covers of romance or drama, a pile off to the side seemed to be non-fiction, historical, or scientific references, like the bibliography of Benjamin Franklin. His eyes flicked back to the barely opened boxes; Derek crouched beside them, shuffling through the plethora of books inside. Stiles looked back over the counter, just looking at the bastard pissed him off. Derek huffed and stood, “I can smell you.” Stile’s head snapped back around to glare, “Good. You know what you did.” The werewolf rolled his eyes, “If you’d stop trying to get yourself killed, we wouldn’t have to take precautions.”
Stiles bulked, huffed, shook his head, huffed again, and started motioning between them with his hands. Yeah, he knows he’s a lot, but he’s irritated.
“Excuse me! I’m trying to get myself killed, me?!” He cocked his head to the side and stuck out his hand, his voice tilting in pitch, “Hi, you must be pot, have you met kettle?” Derek frowned at him, turning to another box of books, and Stiles glared. “You, of all people, don’t get to lecture me about going into dangerous situations. AND I didn’t see you having any troubles with it when I was saving your life.”
Derek’s head fell back for a second, eyes closed, before he stood staring at Stiles, “WE,” he emphasized a lazy finger flicking back and forth between them, “are not the same.” Stiles paused as Derek turned back to the box of books. He felt his eyebrow twitch first, then a twinge in his chest, and finally, he settled on just being angry over shocked.
“I knew it! You think because of your little wolfy powers that you're better than me!” Derek growled, ignoring the books again to turn on Stiles, “If that’s what you need to hear to shut up and find the book, then sure, Stiles.” He looks him dead in the eye and, without mercy, says, “You’re not like us. You’re human, Stiles. You. Are. Weak.”
Stiles blanched before the hurt ripped out of his mouth, in ways that hurt him even more than Derek's own words. “Maybe if you trusted me as much as I trust you, or your pack trusted you, you wouldn’t have lost everyone.” It was venomous when it came out. Derek visibly flinched, his eyes flashing red, and a low growl left his throat, but Stiles was already turning away.
His eye caught the edge of a book that fell between two boxes and grabbed it. There was a complex rune on the front. Stiles dropped the book on the boxes and flipped the book open near the middle; he read one sentence and felt a clawed hand grab his forearm. The next thing he knows, he can’t hear anything but the sound of wind as if he had stuck his head outside a jet. What followed was a deafening boom, as if they had broken the sound barrier, then more wind.
If it was loud for him, he can only imagine how Derek is feeling. Stiles tried to seek him out, but he couldn’t see anything. Everything was a blinding white; all he could feel was Derek’s hand on his arm, still holding on to Stiles as tightly as Stiles weak human arms could handle. So, he curled his body toward that feeling, grabbing Derek’s wrist. His hand blindly felt up the other's arm, pulling them together until Stiles was clinging to the leather-clad shoulders. Derek let go of his arm to hold onto Stiles waist and shoulders.
It felt weightless and yet so heavy wherever it was they were going, like the floor suddenly opening beneath him, and that bottomless gut-wrenching drop brought nausea up to his throat. Wind whipped at his face, and he chanced opening his eyes against the sting of it. Although it was blurry, he saw the world around them. They were pointing headfirst, spinning slowly. When Stiles looked up – down? -the world was quickly coming toward them.
“Derek!”
Stiles felt arms lock around him as they got closer to the ground, and with a sharp twist of Derek's torso, he let go of Stiles, placing his feet on Stiles stomach, giving a sharp push, the two of them now only a mere handful of feet from the ground. Stiles watched Derek crash into it, cratering the earth, while Stiles felt a moment of breathless weightlessness from the momentum of the push. Finally, after what felt like a full minute, he continued falling, now with only 11 ft between the ground and where Derek had come to a crashing stop. He still crashed to the ground in a flailing of limbs Derek was groaning and obviously hurt but managed to push an arm into his side so Stiles was rolling to a stop beside him.
The ‘shove’ had knocked the breath from Stiles, and the deafening boom had left his ears ringing. He groaned, looking over at Derek and forcing himself to ignore the bruises on his body to crawl towards his injured packmate. Derek's shoulder had concaved in towards his chest at an awkward angle, and his head was bleeding. Stiles shuffled on his knees, looking at Derek, his hands hesitated, hovering over the broken, bloodied man, in fear of making things worse. He looked over the rest of him, scrapes and bruises already healing up slowly. Stiles touched his torso and, when no immediate reaction happened, pulled the Alpha up by his good arm, then shifted around to his bad one. The two made eye contact. Derek nodded once sharply, and Stiles slammed into his shoulder, pushing it back to the direction it was supposed to point. The look on his counterpart’s face was agony as he groaned, leaning forward. Stiles felt the bone under Derek's skin move to heal back together and was mildly disgusted, so he moved on to the head injury.
Derek moved his head away with a yank, but with a glare from each party; he relented for maybe one second, looking away. Stiles had managed to barely touch his hair before he noticed a tremor. He thought it was the trauma of the fall kicking in, but Derek’s hair shook too. Stiles felt it again, this time recognizing it as something coming from the ground, accompanied by a large thudding sound. That’s when Stiles noticed how Derek had gone stiff, eyes locked on something behind Stiles; the same way they do when they’re about to be in a lot of trouble.
Stiles barely had time to register the noise before Derek slammed into him again, sending them tumbling. They rolled across dry, compact dirt to a stop. The earth cracked beneath where they had been with an ear-splitting crash, dust and debris spraying into the air as if the ground itself had exploded. Stiles, now braced under the heavy protection of a werewolf, turned his head, heart hammering, and froze.
Where they’d been sitting seconds ago was now a crater, the ground had split wide open, and from the new hole emerged the head of a snake. A creature straight out of mythology. Its body twisted and writhed—the massive serpent, whose scales gleamed like polished obsidian. But it didn’t stop there. The rough, muscular neck of a black goat attached from where there should only be the tail of the snake, the diamond-shaped pattern between its horns glowing faintly. And towering below the two, making a massive figure that it was, was the tan mane of a lion standing proud and furious, its eyes blazing as smoke billowed from its nostrils, the creature braced itself on its haunches.
“Snake…” Derek started, but Stiles was pushing him, “worse, so much worse, up, upupup!” Derek was on his feet already, crouched and in prime fighting position. Stiles scrambled to his feet to get a better look at the beast.
“Chimera,” he breathed, Derek let out one of those forest rattling howl growls, he’s so well associated with, and charged. Stiles called out to stop him, to warn him in some way, but the idiot didn’t stop.
“It breathes fire!” He managed to get out right before the lion let a funnel of blue flame release from his maw. Derek barely dodged it. Stiles, on the other hand, was backpedaling as the jet of flame started arching his direction and his feet took off in the other direction. He felt his back begin to heat just as he was able to duck behind a column, fire blazing past both sides of the pillar. Derek crouched and moved quickly until he was underneath the creature, swiping at its throat. The mane of the lion blocked the damage, and the snake was whipping around, moving towards the left of the beast’s body.
Stiles shouted, leaving the safety of his pillar, “Snake on your left!” Derek moved out of range and grabbed the snake just behind its head and ripped a chunk out of the back of its neck with his teeth before ripping the remainder of the head off with pure strength. He threw the head, spat the rest from his mouth, and dodged the massive lion's paws attempting to pounce on him.
Stiles heard another roar, but it wasn’t the kind he was used to hearing from Animal Planet or even the pack—it was louder, more chaotic, like the roar of a football stadium after a winning touchdown. He glanced up, startled, to see a massive crowd of people on their feet, screaming and cheering. Another roar, this one guttural and animalistic, pulled his attention back to the fight. His stomach dropped as he saw the snake’s head had regenerated, its fangs now sunk deep into Derek’s bicep. With terrifying strength, it whipped him around like a rag doll and hurled him into a wall.
A cement wall…
Stiles shook his head. Deal with the threat, ask questions later. What did he know about Chimeras? It’s a Greek legend, killed by…Bellerophon. Only, he and Derek didn’t have a flying Pegasus or a spea-
About twenty feet away, Stiles spotted a rack of weapons. He sprinted over, scanning it before yanking a thick metal spear off the stand. It was heavier than he’d hoped, the size and length clearly not meant for a person of average size and strength, but he hoisted it onto his shoulder and hurried back toward the fight.
Stiles adjusted his grip on the oversized spear, his arms trembling under its weight as he moved toward the fight. Derek was leaning heavily against the wall, clutching his arm as the chimera bowed down in front of him several feet away, gearing up for a charge; likely looking to crush him into the wall. Stiles’ mind raced; his chest tight with panic. He needed to help—now.
“Derek!” he yelled, but the Alpha was too focused on the beast to respond. The chimera snarled, its goat legs scraping against the ground, and its lion jaws puffing smoke as it braced for a charge. Stiles skidded to a stop near a stone column close enough to feel the earth shake as the beast charged. Stiles planted the spear against the ground and wedged it between the dirt and the pillar to steady it. “Get it to look up!” he shouted, his voice cracking.
Derek, battered and bleeding, didn’t hesitate. With a guttural growl, he sprang forward, clawing his way onto the beast’s back. He grabbed hold of the goats’ horns pushing his feet into its neck and spine. Derek yanked its head upward just as Stiles let out a strangled breath, holding up the spear with all his strength, propping it on his shoulder. It was within that moment the beast had raised itself back on its haunches to knock Derek off that Stiles felt his fear shooting through his body like lightening, hitting every nerve in his body and ricochetting to its next projectile point. The Chimeras snake tale had made eye contact with Stiles and seemed to notice the spear. The Lions golden eyes flickered down as well and with that the lightning in his body seemed to shoot out through his feet. The lion tried to dodge, but the ground beneath it erupted into a jagged sea of rock.
Like a rippling effect, as if it couldn’t be controlled in just this small area, a deafening crack echoed through the arena as the ground split outward in massive fissures, sending chunks of dirt and stone flying in all directions. Stiles stumbled, his arms flailing to steady himself as the spear shot forward, from the movement of the earth at it’s base pushing from the ground, shooting it from the ground into the lion’s throat out the other side and into the throat of the goat. A burst of bright, crackling energy surged from his hands without warning, snaking through the ground and spreading out making the entire arena shake. Torches mounted on the arena walls flared violently, their flames shooting high into the air before extinguishing all at once, plunging half the arena into darkness, the only light coming from the metal spear as it heated to a bright red then white. The smell of cooked meat and the gurgling choking sound the beast made filling Stiles senses.
The dust took a moment to settle, torches near them on the walls reigniting with flames, and suddenly the image in front of Stiles was clear. Holding the beast up were the jagged rocks of the earth stabbed into the beast from below it like a pin cushion turned upside-down. It hung limp on the rocks blood covering the ground around them. Where the spear had been was melted metal coating the jagged stone beneath the heads of the chimera, some hot metal still dripped from the lion's open maw inches from Stiles face.
Stiles stared slack-jawed a moment in the silence of the arena. He flinched when the crowd roared, not in celebration but in confusion and fear. The cracks in the earth had rippled outward, creating spikes climbing up the walls of the arena and into the stands. The crowd's murmurs grew louder, fear rippling through them like a wave. People clutched their neighbors, pointing at Stiles as if he were more dangerous than the beast he'd just killed with his out-of-control power. Because…because Stiles had done that.
Stiles dropped to the ground, his chest heaving as he lost the strength in his legs. His stomach churned as he stared at the destruction around him; his eyes darted around, taking in the cracks in the ground, the torches that were still dark, the corpse in front of him, and the scared murmurs of the crowd. Evidence of the sheer force of magic he’d just unleashed terrified him. He turned to Derek, whose face was pale, his eyes flickering between Stiles and the destruction surrounding them. He was tense, his brows furrowed in a way Stiles recognized. He was just as confused and maybe even just as scared of Stiles as Stiles himself was.
“Stiles…” Derek started, his voice a low rumble in the back of Stiles' thoughts. Stiles muttered under his breath, staring at his hands and glancing at Derek. “What the hell just happened?”
The cracks in the earth still radiated outward from where he stood. The chimera hung lifeless on the jagged rocks like some grotesque trophy, and the melted metal from the spear dripped steadily, hissing as it hit the blood-soaked ground.
Before Stiles could process what he’d done, Derek shouted his name. He turned just in time to see Derek pushing himself off the ground where the beast had thrown him and staggering toward Stiles. The Alpha’s arm was still clutching his bicep, blood seeping through his fingers. Stiles instinctively moved to meet him, his hands hovering uselessly as Derek reached him.
“Are you—” Stiles started, but Derek cut him off.
“Are you?” Derek’s eyes flicked to the destruction behind them, then back to Stiles. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were darker than usual, filled with something Stiles couldn’t quite place—confusion, fear, maybe both.
“I… I don’t know.” Stiles’ voice cracked, and he shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the crowd. The roar of the stadium had picked up in volume since the initial shock. Murmurs of confusion and fear rippled through the stands as people pointed at him, their faces a mix of awe and suspicion. Stiles’ stomach churned. “This is bad, isn’t it?”
Before Derek could answer, the gates at the far end of the arena creaked open. A group of guards filed in, their polished armor catching the faint torchlight as they approached. Weapons drawn, they moved cautiously, their eyes flicking between the fallen chimera and Stiles.
Derek pulled Stiles behind him, “Stay behind me.” He said, his voice low and teetering on the edge of dangerous. He growls at the approaching figures but Stiles was more concerned with the wolf himself.
“Derek. Was it poisonous?” Stiles was inspecting the place the snake had bitten him; it wasn’t healing as fast as the rest of his wounds.
Derek pushed Stile’s back again, eyes not leaving the people approaching. And he says Stiles is reckless. At least when he’s injured, he makes sure he’ll survive it before trying to start another fight.
Speaking of, the group of approachers were fifteen feet from them when Derek crouched lower and growled louder stopping them all in their tracks.
A man put both his hands up in a placating gesture, and the others followed his lead. For those who had placed their hands on their weapons, they moved them away again. Stiles didn’t see hostility toward them just caution, though he was still hesitant as he placed a hand on Dereks shoulder whispering to him.
“Calm down sourwolf, I don’t think they’re going to hurt us.” Stiles’ voice was hushed but firm. “Just... wait a second, okay?” Derek growled again, quieter but no less on guard. The leader took a step closer, his movements careful, as though approaching a wild animal.
He was tall and commanding, dressed in a strange mix of Roman-style armor and ceremonial robes. His expression was neutral, though his sharp eyes flicked briefly to the jagged rocks behind them before settling on Derek and Stiles.
“An impressive feat,” the man said, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of authority. “Your battle was truly a remarkable sight. Few have faced such a beast and lived.”
Stiles blinked, then muttered under his breath, “Yeah, well, next time, maybe give a guy a heads-up about the giant murder-beast?"
Derek shot him a look but didn’t relax his stance. The leader took a step closer, his movements careful. “We mean you no harm,” he continued. “The arena chooses the challenge for all who enter. You’ve proven your strength and earned the right to stay among us.”
“Wait, wait, timeout,” Stiles said, stepping out from behind Derek despite the Alpha’s low growl of protest. “The arena chooses? And what’s this about earning the right to stay? Where is this, exactly?”
The leader tilted his head, studying Stiles for a moment before replying. “You are within the book. A world created to hold us all, prisoners to its curse.”
“The book,” Stiles repeated, his brain struggling to keep up. “So, not time travel. Great. Probably worse.” He says over his shoulder to Derek.
“Definitely worse,” Derek muttered, his tone dry but his eyes still fixed warily on the guards.
The leader gestured behind him, and a woman stepped forward. She was tall and striking, with auburn hair and pale skin dusted with freckles. Her features were sharp but softened by a serene expression. “Perhaps we can explain more at the feast tonight,” she said, her voice calm and melodic. “For now, your companion requires attention.” Her gaze shifted to Derek, lingering on the sluggishly bleeding bite wound on his arm. “If the serpent’s venom is left untreated, it will spread.”
Stiles’ heart lurched. “Right. Okay, lead the way. Derek, come on.” He hooked an arm under Derek’s uninjured side, supporting his weight despite the Alpha’s protests.
The auburn-haired woman turned to a small, feathered figure beside her. The harpy tilted her head, her sharp, bird-like eyes narrowing at Stiles and Derek. “Celaeno,” the woman said, “collect the serpent’s heads. We’ll need them for the anti-venom.” The harpy nodded sharply, side-eyed them as she walked past, her taloned feet clicking softly against the stone floor. Stiles couldn’t help but stare, muttering under his breath, “Of course she’s a harpy. Why not? This day’s just getting better and better.”
Stiles pulled his attention back to Derek. The werewolf was sweating, and the skin beneath his eyes was turning purple. Stiles started leading him after the retreating woman.
The guards stayed behind, their wary eyes still tracking Stiles as the leader exchanged words with a massive man standing nearby. The man’s braided orange hair and Viking-like stature made him look like he belonged in an entirely different story.
“You’re lucky you’re bleeding out,” Stiles muttered, turning once again back to Derek as they passed under a stone archway. “Otherwise, I’d be interrogating the hell out of all these people.”
“Lucky me,” Derek rasped, but his pale complexion took any bite out of it.
The woman’s study was far from the arena, the halls they passed through echoing with the faint hum of life. The whole place was giving off a Roman vibe. The architecture, the clothes, the servants within the... castle? Is it called a 'castle' for the Romans, or do they have a different name for it? Either way, it was very Roman-esque. Beyond the initial stairs from the underground part, the rest of the building seemed to be one floor. As they walked deeper into the structure, Stiles noticed odd, modern touches—like the flickering teal lightbulb above one doorway and the stainless-steel sink in a nearby alcove. It was a strange, unsettling blend of eras that only added to the surreal quality of the book’s world.
The quarters the woman led them to were filled with books, scrolls, and jars, jars filled with…things. She wasn’t just any woman, apparently; she was a witch.
The way she began methodically mixing herbs and whatnot was more than proof of her practice. Stiles led Derek to a couch and helped him sit down. Unsure what to do with himself after, he hovered nearby, his eyes darting between Derek and the healer’s meticulous movements.
“How ya doin’ sourwolf?”
“I feel...like I’ve been poisoned.” Derek deadpanned, though his tone lacked its usual bite.
Stiles glares, “yet, well enough to still be a smartass.”
“Pot…kettle.” He groaned, clutching his elbow. Stiles looked at the snake bite and felt nauseous again. “Oddly enough, what with it being the same arm, this is bringing back some memories.”
Derek huffed something Stiles swears was a laugh and had Stile’s smirking.
“I promise I won’t hesitate this time if you ask me to cut it off. I might barf on you, but I’ll do so with zero hesitation.”
The Harpy came and left, leaving a jar full of snake's teeth on the work table with the witch.
Derek’s eyes peeled open slightly, “promise?”
Stiles made an ‘x’ over his heart, “scouts honor.”
Derek rolled his eyes, either from amusement or because of the pain in his arm.
The witch sat beside Derek on the couch and smiled at them both. She began to rub a purple salve over the puncture wounds on Derek’s arm. He tensed, and Stiles steadied him, grimacing at seeing the usually stoic expressions on his asshole packmate's face now covered in pain.
The witch hummed, “he’s healing quickly, very strong, what breed of creature are you, may I ask?” Derek seemed to be waning now, so Stiles helped to settle his head onto the back of the couch, moving to kneel in front of him instead. “He’s a werewolf, the second alpha of our pack.”
“Second? Odd, from what I understand, Alphas don’t usually lead together. Power struggled and all that.” She said with a roll of her eyes, waving her hand back and forth. Stiles smiled, chuckling, “We all butt heads a lot, that’s for sure. Derek is a born wolf, and Scott was bitten, but Scott's a true Alpha, and Derek inherited his from his uncle. It’s a long story. One I’m willing to share if you’re willing to share info of your own.”
The woman paused, tilted her head, then smiled with a soft giggle. “I would love to…”
Stiles extended his hand with a lopsided grin. “I’m Stiles, and this walking scowl is Derek. He’s a pain, but he’s our pain.”