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Sleep was elusive, always within reach but forever out of grasp. Wind whispered, howled throughout the nights, calling out to Stiles. Every night it was the same. He drifted off into a light slumber with his arms around Adara, head buried against Derek’s neck until the wind picked up, his mother’s voice riding the back of the breeze. At first he ignored it, laying in bed with his fingers digging into Adara’s fur as he pet her, his eyes wide as he listened until dawn.

After a while, it was too much to ignore. He would pull Adara out of bed, carrying her in his arms as she slept, then walk outside. He passed by the other cabins surrounding his and Derek’s, passing by the well, the barn, and heading into the nearby meadow. There he sat, staring up at the sky with the wind howling around him.

His mother’s words whipped past him as he lay in the grass, counting the stars.

“Do not forget me.”

“I haven’t,” Stiles whispered night after night, looking down at his bare chest, his markings shown plain as day by the moon’s light.

“You were so brave,” her voice rang out, an echo of Moira’s last words to him. Stiles would shut his eyes, then, and hold back a shudder as he thought about his life, of everything he had gone through. Being taken by the Magisterium, tortured, used as the Alethiometer took its toll on him. Even though their village, the one they built for themselves, was warded to keep enemies from crossing the gated line, he was unable to switch off. He couldn’t put his mind at ease.

He'd been running for as long as he could remember. He and his father never stayed put for long, and building a life for themselves, a permanent place, had always seemed out of the realm of possibilities. There was no more running, no more worry about being chased. Stiles knew on the surface that he wasn’t in danger, but that didn’t mean his subconscious understood.

Everything was different at night. During the day he had the sun, he had his father within shouting distance, he had Derek’s gaze upon him, Adara’s reassurance. At night, though, he had none of those things. He was alone with his thoughts, with his memories.

At night all he could do was follow his mother’s voice carried by the wind with messages of vigilance and unease, a warning sign of things to come that Stiles was finding hard to ignore as days turned into weeks.

It wasn’t until one day, two years after they had settled down in their village, that he realized he still had reason to stay focused, keep a mindful eye. That the Magisterium wasn’t the only evil out there, that not everything was after him.

Sometimes, evil came for those he loved instead. And that was something that Stiles would never allow. Not when they had fought so hard, went through so much. He wasn’t about to let that get taken from him.

Chapter One

The village, which Lydia coined ‘Evenstar’, because one used said star to guide them home, grew in two short years since its first construction. What started off as three cabins and a few small buildings turned into something more but felt just the same as when it began. A well was the center of the village, made of stone with a roof and a hand-made crank shaft that made it easy to pull water up by the bucketful. Cabins were mixed in with small shops and buildings; an Apothecary, a chicken coop, an outdoor hearth with an awning to keep out inclement weather when baking still needed doing; the barn which housed cows and horses, a gated area next to the inn where goats were kept, the inn itself, along with a supply building that housed candles and soaps as well as spare linens and cloth that was bought at market from neighboring towns.

Evenstar gained a blacksmith, a man named Danny who arrived one day, along with Jackson, a man of wealth who caught Lydia’s eye at market. Apparently they had been courting for some time and had even talked to Stiles’ father before bringing two strangers to their close knit village. Stiles found Danny amiable, and the horses were grateful for the horseshoes he provided them. Jackson brought with him money, and money meant more. It meant more horses, pigs, and cows. It meant a two-story house for him and Lydia, two new carts, and enough grain to last three winters. Stiles thought Jackson a show off, but he wasn’t going to begrudge someone just because they had too much of something, not when Jackson had no problem giving what he had for their community as a whole.

The inn only housed his father and Melissa McCall, since Laura opted to live on her own in a small one room cabin by the hearth, overlooking the nearby lake. Laura used the hearth not only for baking breads and cakes but also for pottery that she then sold at market. She and Allison then bought fine threads that they wove into tapestries or sometimes ribbons that they braided into their hair. Lydia was best at braiding intricate patterns into her hair, always to Stiles’ amazement. Laura also liked dyes. She liked making them herself, wandering off into the woods picking berries and things in order to dye cloth into vibrant colors. She always put up clothes lines full of drying ribbons of purples and blues. Stiles had a ribbon tied around his wrist in the brightest, deepest blue he had ever seen. Laura had put it there herself, with a warm smile as she kissed Stiles’ cheek. It covered scars from shackles, forever etched into his skin, reminders of his capture by the Magisterium.

Not all his scars and markings reminded him of torture and pain, though. The marking on the palm of his hand, the intricate knot that matched perfectly with the one on Derek’s, let him know that he wasn’t alone. He had Derek, he was bonded to Derek. He and Adara were forever linked to him, the three of them together. Derek who spent his days with the horses, in the fields with Boyd. Derek who hated market, was the same Derek that risked everything for him, protected him, and saved him.

Once a week Stiles went into the woods with Allison, along with her owl daemon named Adrastos, Derek, and Boyd to hunt for game. Allison taught him how to shoot with a bow and arrow as the two wolves tracked down deer and fowl. Stiles’ aim wasn’t always on target, but he was slowly getting better. He found the concentration necessary hard to grasp; he had a difficult time forgetting all other thoughts and breathing steadily before he shot, always shooting before taking proper aim.


Stiles sat barefoot, without his shirt on and with a leg pulled up close to his chest, his chin resting on it as his other foot pushed back and forth so that the rocking chair he was in swayed ever so slightly as he looked out across the quiet village. It was just after dawn in late spring, dew drops covering the grass surrounding the cabin as the sun slowly rose after another night without sleep for Stiles. Adara was tucked in bed with Derek, the tug of her distance barely even registering with Stiles. His mind was fuzzy, his eyelids heavy, but sleep eluded him still. With sleep came remembering, came nightmares. He’d rather walk the meadows in the moonlight following the sound of his mother’s words of warnings than to revisit the things that haunted his mind once his eyes closed.

Stiles didn’t flinch when he heard the sound of creaking wood, of footsteps approaching him. He had left the front door ajar, in case Adara woke up searching for him. It didn’t surprise Stiles when he felt Derek’s hand on his shoulder, his thumb running up and down his shoulder.

“That is three days I have woken up without you in my bed,” Derek teased, his voice soft. Stiles smiled against his knee, his lips rubbing against it before turning his head and looking up at Derek.

“Couldn’t sleep,” was all he said in an answer. His eyes drifted back towards the meadow, his mind wandered back to his mother, to the sound of his own screams, the pain of being an Alethiometer consuming his thoughts. Stiles closed his eyes, trying to rid himself of the ghost pains. He let out a low moan as Derek’s hand moved from his shoulder to his hair, his fingers kneading against his scalp. Stiles’ head leaned towards Derek, loving the feel of the head massage.

“Come back to bed,” Derek whispered into Stiles’ ear. “We have time before the hunt.”

“Mmm,” Stiles hummed, his eyes remaining closed as Derek’s hands left him.

By the time Stiles opened his eyes again, Derek was gone. He didn’t know how long he drifted off for before he made his way inside, closing the front door behind him and crawled into their bed, burrowing his head in his pillow, wrapping his arms around Derek’s sleeping form. Adara was curled up in Derek’s arms as he lay with his back to Stiles. Stiles tucked his head in against Derek’s back, shutting his eyes tight as he intertwined his legs with Derek’s, rubbing his cool feet against Derek’s bare legs. Derek groaned, shifting ever so slightly at Stiles’ touch.

“Your feet are cold,” Derek grumbled as he inhaled deeply. Stiles heard Adara whine out a yawn as his hand reached for her, running his fingers through her fur.

“Went for a walk in the meadow,” Stiles conceded, his lips pressed against Derek’s shoulder blade lazily, his body relaxed finally. Derek shifted then, turning towards Stiles. Stiles hung limp, letting Derek pull him close, his stubble brushing against Stiles’ cheek as he kissed him.

“Talk to me, Stiles,” Derek urged him. Stiles, barely awake now, furrowed his brow as his eyes remained closed.

“I followed the wind,” Stiles mumbled as Derek cupped his face with his hands.

“Let him sleep,” Stiles heard Adara tell Derek before he let sleep take him at last.

Stiles was aware. He knew immediately that he was not where he was supposed to be, despite feeling at the same time that everything was how it should be. He was in the meadow, with Adara at his feet and Derek as the wolf by his side, his fingers dug deep in the wolf’s fur, holding tight. Standing before him was a woman in black, her face hidden by a shroud. Stiles’ grip tightened as he held onto Derek. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he looked at the woman. The silence surrounding them was deafening and encompassing. Stiles felt a tug deep in his gut, a pull. He took a step towards the woman as she reached a hand outwards, her palm upturned.


The voice was his mother’s, though Stiles knew deep down that she was not Moira, was not his mother, his flesh and blood.

“Who are you?” Stiles inquired, his voice steady and calm. Stiles swore that if her face wasn’t hidden from him, that she would be smirking at him. Instead of an answer, the wind picked up around him. The grass moved silently, eerily absent of the noises the wind normally brought about. Stiles looked down at Adara, who lay close to the ground, as if ready to pounce. Derek snarled to his other side, baring his teeth for the woman in black.

She ignored Stiles’ question, her gaze falling to Derek.

“Your wolf will not always be by your side.” Stiles mimicked Derek, snarling just as the wolf beside him was as he lifted the corner of his mouth with his eyes narrowed.

“Yes, he will be.”

With that, she laughed, her hand that was extended clenched into a fist abruptly and Stiles felt a painful tug deep within him as he dropped to his knees before her. Stiles grasped at his shirt over his heart, his hand burning where Derek’s bond to him shown on his skin. Beside him, Derek disappeared, turning into black smoke.

Stiles woke up covered in sweat, panting.

He was alone with the covers pushed down towards the foot of the bed. He pushed himself up by his elbows as he got his bearings. The sun was up and the curtains that Laura had made them were pulled open, lighting the small room. The door was shut, as if Derek wanted Stiles to sleep as long as he could. Stiles got up, walking over to the water basin to wash the sweat off of his face and neck before Derek saw him; he didn’t want to worry Derek.

Stiles pulled on a clean linen shirt, rolling up the sleeves to his elbows before he replaced his loose sleep pants with his pair of leather, front-laced pants that hugged his hips and thighs tightly. His boots were on his side of the bed on the floor. Sitting down to put them on, Stiles heard voices coming from the other side of the door.

Someone was talking to Derek. Stiles walked carefully towards the door, putting his ear up to it as he held his breath so that he could hear better.

“Are you sure he will be up to going?” It was Scott, his voice full of concern. Stiles’ brow furrowed as he realized that Scott was asking about him, about the hunt.

“He won’t say no, he will want to go,” Derek responded, his voice obviously hushed.

“He hasn’t been himself.” Stiles heard Derek sigh at Scott’s admission, pointing out the elephant in the room, what Stiles had hoped no one had noticed. “He won’t talk to me, he just wanders off-”

“Stiles is fine,” Derek said a little too quickly. Stiles couldn’t help but smile, albeit sadly. “He will tell us if something needs to be said.” Stiles felt the tugging in his gut at Derek’s trust in him, the same pull that the woman in black brought about.

It was then that Stiles remembered his dream about Derek disappearing. Stiles shut his eyes as he bit his lip, concentrated on breathing evenly as he grabbed the doorknob, twisting it before he walked out of the bedroom. Both Derek and Scott looked over at him with guilty faces while Adara, who had been at Derek’s feet, trotted over to him then pawed at his pants to be lifted into his arms. Stiles picked her up immediately, nuzzling her, his fingers digging into her fur for comfort as he walked towards Derek.

“You didn’t sleep long,” Derek pointed out casually. Stiles shrugged as he leaned against the table next to Derek. Being close to him helped rid Stiles of the feeling the nightmare left him with, seeing Derek calmed his rapidly beating heart.

“Didn’t want to miss the hunt.” Scott looked to Derek at Stiles’ words, he didn’t miss the exchange. “It isn’t too late, is it?”

“The dew has barely lifted from the grass,” Derek uttered as a hand lifted, his fingers raking through Stiles’ growing hair, tousling it. “We wouldn’t leave without you.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Stiles acknowledged with a sigh as he put Adara down. “Is there time to eat at the inn?” He asked. Derek smiled at him, nodding his head.

“I think that’s where Allison is, actually,” Scott confided. “Helping my mom and Laura with dough for tonight.”

“Right,” Stiles said with a curt nod. He had forgotten that they had a big dinner planned with everyone in the village that night, with a bonfire. They all rarely ate together, and bringing back deer, they would cook one fresh over a spit. “We should get going soon, then, to be back in time.”

“There is plenty of time,” Derek said as he walked towards the door, Adara right on his feet, bounding around him.

“I want eggs,” Adara exclaimed as she pounced towards the door handle, wanting out. “And dough, before they cook it into bread.” Derek chuckled, lifting an eyebrow as he opened the door.

“Not too much, you’ll get sick.”

Adara didn’t listen as she rushed outside, running in a circle as she waited for Stiles to join her. Stiles walked over to where he kept his bow and quiver of arrows, grabbing them before he and Scott joined Derek and Adara in the walk over to the inn.

“Are you coming today?” Stiles asked him as he watched Adara do her usual run ahead only to circle back around them to do it again. Derek walked ahead of them, talking at Adara every time she passed by him. Stiles closed his eyes, trying to push the woman in black’s words from his mind. ’Your wolf will not always be by your side.’

“No, I am staying behind. Danny promised to teach me more metalwork.”

“I have no patience for that,” Stiles joked. “But I am sure you will make great things.”

“I’m starting with arrowheads,” Scott pouted. “I have made a few, actually. Allison is going to try them out today.”

“I want some, from your next batch.”

Scott beamed, nodding his head.

Breakfast consisted of eggs, oatmeal with fresh cherries, bread Laura had baked the previous day, along with raspberry preserves that Melissa had left over from winter. Stiles had oatmeal along with a few slices of bread, which he loved. Laura put different herbs in her breads, and she had made Stiles’ favorite the day before. He liked his with butter, after putting it over a fire for a little while, toasting it slightly.

Derek sat next to Stiles on one of the benches that surrounded the massive table. The inn was built so that they could all gather during the winter months without eating out under an awning they had built for the warmer times of the year. Stiles’ father sat at the end of the table, near to where Stiles usually sat. Derek’s thigh was touching Stiles’, Stiles knowing that Derek and he both liked the casual contact. Derek was deep in conversation with Danny, who joined them. Derek was midway through an apple that looked so juicy that Stiles reached for Derek’s wrist, tugging it close to him. Derek let Stiles take a bite from it without a word.

Stiles hummed, letting a smile escape his lips as he chewed it happily. Derek returned the smile, brushing his lips across Stiles’ temple before returning to his conversation about firewood for that night’s fire.

Allison, Stiles, Derek, and Boyd were the only ones to go on the hunt. They hiked into the woods in silence, Derek and Boyd flanking Allison and Stiles as wolves, on the lookout for prey. Stiles let his mind wander as he followed behind Allison, concentrating on the swing of her braid as she walked.

His mother’s voice that rode on the back of the wind, the voice he heard while awake, couldn’t be the same as the woman in his dream. His mother warned him of trouble, whereas the woman in black only used his mother’s voice to gain his trust. He tried to rationalize the faceless woman, but he couldn’t. He knew, despite it being a dream, that it had not been the first time he had laid eyes on her. He wondered, briefly, if that wasn’t the first time she had been in his dreams.

“Stiles?” Allison asked, bringing him out of his reverie. Stiles noticed that they had stopped walking, and that Allison was looking at him with concern. “Did you hear what I said?”

“What?” Stiles asked, shaking his head to make thoughts of his nightmare disappear. “I’m sorry, Allison. What did you say?” Allison gave him a tight-lipped smile. Her cheeks were red, as if embarrassed. Stiles was confused.

“I’m pregnant.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped, then gulped as if he was a fish out of water.

“Holy shit, really?” Stiles asked, breaking out into a grin as he pulled Allison in for a hug, wrapping his arms around her. “That is amazing!” Allison laughed into Stiles’ neck as she nodded her head. “I assume Scott knows.”

“Not yet, actually.”

“I’m not first to know-” Stiles started, but Allison shook her head.

“Melissa knows.”

That made sense, considering Melissa was the closest thing they had to a physician, next to Lydia who dealt with medicines.

“I wanted to tell you because I know you’ll keep it to yourself. I’m not ready to tell Scott yet, Melissa and I want to wait a little longer in case-”

“In case something happens?” Allison nodded her head. “Nothing will happen to that baby, Allison,” Stiles told her, meaning it. Their conversation quieted as they started walking once more, looking for deer.

Stiles felt a swell of pride for Scott and Allison, knowing that there would be growth in their small village. He also felt it for himself, that Allison trusted him more than anyone else, even Lydia, who had become close with Allison since they founded their settlement.

Besides Scott and Derek, Stiles felt closest to Erica. Sometimes late at night he found himself on her porch, where she would sit in a rocking chair with him in silence. It was like she knew, more than the others, how everything had affected him. How every time he looked down at his body all he saw was the stab wound, the scars around his wrists, and the markings of the Alethiometer, the very reason he had been hunted and captured.

Allison’s movement ripped Stiles from his own thoughts once more as she let loose an arrow, then knocked back another one, taking aim. Stiles wasn’t paying attention, his mind not in it. He might as well just be on a hike, for all that he cared. Usually he was more attuned to his surroundings. He felt off, unlike himself as he too readied an arrow and shut one eye as he took aim towards the direction that Allison had shot.

Movement caught Stiles’ eye, and he released the arrow. A thud was heard, snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves as they ran towards their kill. Allison got one, right in the eye. She bent over, observing the doe.

Stiles’, though, made him ache. It was young, a fawn. Stiles got it in the leg; it was still alive. A pang of regret hit him hard as he dropped to his knees. His knife, strapped to his thigh, shown in the sunlight, its glint reminding him that he had a job to finish. Instead, he pressed his hand against its head, petting it as it whined. Adara was by Stiles side, her nose nudging the fawn.

“What are you going to do?” Adara asked him. Stiles shrugged as he looked up just in time to see Derek and Boyd’s wolf forms come out from the brush. Stiles’ eyes didn’t leave Derek’s, as if pleading with him about he didn’t even know what. Stiles’ throat was dry as he breathed. His breath hitched as the fawn licked his palm. Stiles recoiled.

“I can’t,” was all he said as Derek approached, sitting on his haunches in front of the baby deer, his head cocked to one side as if contemplating. Stiles’ hand was still on the knife, unmoving. Derek didn’t even so much as look at Stiles before his teeth ripped the fawn’s throat.
Stiles closed his eyes, telling himself that it needed to happen. Derek was stronger than he was.

Stiles carried the fawn back over his shoulder. Allison had his shirt folded up in her arms to save it from getting bloodied. Derek and Boyd, clothed in human form, had the doe hanging on a stick between the two of them as they walked slowly back to the village. Allison had Stiles’ bow and quiver as well, so he could keep his hands on the fawn. Stiles’ mind was blank now, numb.

He didn’t know why he froze. He felt broken, bent out of shape. Stiles closed his eyes, seeing not only the fawn, but himself and his knife, killing. He killed so many without the blink of an eye, without so much as one sign of remorse, because he had to kill them. Self-defense was a good motivator. But the fawn had done nothing wrong.

When they got back to town, Stiles couldn’t rid himself of the fawn fast enough. He walked bare chested through the village, both dried and fresh blood down his back and front, mixing with the red of his markings plain as day, with clenched fists. Adara trotted quietly beside him, her tail hung low to the ground.

Stiles barely had time to start the fire to heat water for a bath when Derek arrived home, his massive form standing silently in the doorway. Stiles’ eyes cast downwards, watching the water roll slowly to a boil. He looked at his hands, smeared in blood, then back up at Derek, his teeth catching his bottom lip as he stepped towards him.

Derek kissed him as though he hadn’t felt Stiles’ touch in months. It made Stiles’ knees give out, if only for a second as their bodies crashed together, Stiles clutching at Derek’s shirt, keeping him close.

“Thank you,” Stiles whispered against Derek’s lips, his hand sliding up Derek’s chest, his fingers brushing across Derek’s stubbled cheek as he kissed Derek again. Derek breathed Stiles in as the kiss deepened, his blunt fingernails raking down Stiles’ back before cupping his ass, pressing Stiles against his body.

“Anytime,” Derek said as his lips trailed down Stiles’ neck. “How about we wash the blood off your hands.” Derek had Stiles’ face cupped in his hands. Stiles nodded, leaning forward to capture Derek’s lips once more with his.

Derek stripped himself of his shirt as Stiles poured the hot water into the tub he had dragged into the middle of the room, mixing the boiling water with the cold. Derek’s hands were back on Stiles in seconds, deft fingers tugging at Stiles’ pants, unlacing them and shoving them down his thighs. Stiles let Derek undress him, stepping out of the skin tight, worn leather, his hands on Derek’s shoulders for support.

Stiles got into the tub slowly, his eyes watching as Derek rid himself of his pants, dropping them by Stiles’ before he, too, climbed in. The water sloshed as Derek grabbed the sponge and soap, their legs entangling. Derek took his time scrubbing the blood off Stiles in soothing, circular motions. Stiles sighed, his eyes closing.

“I don’t want to go to the bonfire,” Stiles admitted, looking down at his hands which were immersed in the water. Derek hummed as he poured water over Stiles’ shoulders. He looked back, turning his head towards Derek. “Go without me.”

“No,” Derek grunted, his eyes casting a glance towards Adara, who was laying on a makeshift bed, stuffed with hay and covered in a dyed piece of fabric. Her eyes were open, watching them. “You’re coming, you want to.”

Stiles sighed.

“What happened?” Derek asked. Stiles shrugged.

“I don’t know, my aim was off.”

“It wasn’t about your aim,” Derek chided, his arm wrapping around Stiles’ torso, pulling him back against Derek’s chest. Their fingers linked together beneath the surface of the water as Stiles rest his head back against Derek’s shoulder.

“If I had gotten a better shot, it wouldn’t have suffered.”

“If you had killed it in one shot, would you feel less responsible?” Derek asked him. Stiles shrugged again. “The fire will be fun, it was your idea.”

“I know,” Stiles smiled, his eyes closing. It had been his idea, he just wasn’t feeling like himself. “I wouldn’t miss Laura’s cake, anyway.” Derek chuckled as Stiles felt his muscles moving behind him. Derek was making himself more comfortable, his lips ghosting over Stiles’ bare shoulder. “We have time, before it starts...”

“This is true,” Derek mused, his hand on Stiles’ stomach dipping lower. Stiles arched his back, his teeth raking over his bottom lip. “It isn’t yet dusk, we have time.” Derek’s fingertips brushed against Stiles’ cock, causing him to let out a breathy laugh.

They barely toweled off before they fell into bed. Stiles straddled Derek, the palms of his hands on Derek’s chest as he moved, his head thrown back as he moaned at the feeling of Derek inside him. Derek gripped Stiles by his hips, hard enough to leave bruises as he fucked up into him. Stiles choked out a sob of ecstasy as Derek, in one swift movement, rolled them over, shoving Stiles back against the mattress, his body practically laying on top of Stiles as his momentum slowed. Stiles clawed at Derek’s back, his legs wrapping around him as he went deeper, his pace agonizingly pleasurable. Stiles panted, his mouth open, pupils blown as Derek reached down between Stiles’ legs and jacked him off as he thrust into him.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped as he reached up and hooked a hand around Derek’s neck as he squirmed, his chest heaving. “Don’t leave me.”

Derek’s pace faltered, but Stiles pulled him forward, capturing his lips. He gripped Derek’s ass in the palm of his hand, making him move within him. Stiles began rolling his hips, rutting against Derek, not allowing him to stop. Derek broke the kiss in order to leave a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses down Stiles’ neck, his teeth scraping against his flesh.

Derek pulled out, then wrapped his hand around the both of them, jacking them both off together until they made a mess on Stiles’ stomach and Derek’s hand. Stiles’ fingers were in Derek’s hair, tugging at it until Derek’s lips were on his once more.

“Why would you think I would leave you?” Derek asked, his hand on Stiles’ chest as they caught their breath. Stiles shook his head, scoffing as he rubbed at his eyes.

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“You said-”

“It was nothing,” Stiles said as he rolled off the bed, away from Derek’s embrace. Stiles washed himself off, then set about getting dressed. He felt Derek’s gaze on him as he moved about. Adara was on the bed with Derek, now, on her back as he scratched her belly. Stiles’ eyelids were heavy with the feeling of their touch, but he didn’t return to bed.

Instead, he emptied the tub outside. The sun was just beginning to set, marking the start of the bonfire. Stiles walked back inside to find Derek still in bed, with Adara pulled close, his face buried in her fur, with her tail flopping around lazily. Stiles felt a pang of want, of need at the sight of them. He crawled into bed, his fingers going once more to Derek’s hair. They laid there until the sun was fully gone and the smell of the fire made Derek stretch, then get out of bed to dress. Stiles was content to continue laying with Adara, but she sat up, watching every movement that Derek made, her tail brushing against Stiles’ chin, her head tilted to one side.

Stiles didn’t want to tell Derek about his dream, about the woman in black. He didn’t want to worry him. It was only a dream, after all. It wasn’t real.