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Jordan sighed. “He’s also not talking.”
Wolves don’t materialize out of thin air, Chris frowned. He was sure the officers who worked for Beacon Hills meant well, but he was willing to bet anything they tried to speak to the kid in the interrogation room after his key card stunt, and he didn’t know anyone who would talk freely in that room.
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There are times when he feels as if they could fall into bed together, easy as breathing. If Stiles were not highborn, if he were an omega without connections, Derek would be sorely tempted. As it is, he resists. Derek wants, he yearns, but he resists. Still, the sight of Stiles in his cot is enough to test him, even now that it is familiar. At the end of each lambing season, he sleeps for a week, worn down by months of hard work, of relentless struggle. He doesn’t know how he’ll feel by the time Stiles leaves, how he’ll feel after long days and longer nights spent resisting the insistent tug of Stiles’s scent and the inclinations of his own foolish heart.
All Derek wants is to get through the lambing season with his body and spirit intact. He had thought that the blizzards would be the main danger, not a highborn omega with beautiful eyes and a stubborn streak.
NB: it baffles me that I have to say this, but please don't put this fic onto goodreads.
Bookmarked by indecisive_penguin
14 Oct 2014