Work Header

My Wolf

Work Text:

Stiles playfully pranced around in the snow, yipping with joy as he tumbled onto the ground with Lydia.

This winter wasn’t as harsh as the others, but enough that they heard the howls coming from over the mountains, signals that other packs were perishing. Their pack always responded with the melancholy call back to the new pack—one that told them they were recognized but not welcomed.

That was the same winter Stiles saw the black wolf pacing by the pack boundary line. He was playing with Lydia when he saw the wolf. He hesitated to get behind Lydia when she stiffened upon seeing the wolf. The Betas were meant to defend against outsiders when the Alpha wasn’t present. Omegas were meant to stay back—remain a safe distance away as the threat was neutralized.

The black wolf stared at Stiles and Lydia, unmoving in the cold winter breeze. When the wolf took a step forward, Lydia lowered herself, a deep growl emitting from her chest. The wolf stopped as soon as Lydia’s growl begun. It seemed unfazed once it understood that it was Lydia growling at it. It began moving once more, coming closer to them.

Lydia backed up, forcing Stiles to do the same. Stiles, on the other hand, was intrigued by the black wolf and its nerve to cross into another pack’s territory, unwelcomed.

The black wolf was closer than it should have been when in a flash of grey fur, another wolf came rocketing forward. The grey wolf released the roar of an Alpha that forced the black wolf to scamper back until it was outside the pack’s boundary.


Alpha Stilinski’s enraged barks forced the black wolf into a prostrating submission outside the boundary line. He turned back towards Lydia and Stiles, barking at them to head back to the pack. Lydia obeyed their Alpha as she moved to leave, only pausing when she noticed Stiles lingering.

Stiles was staring at the way the black wolf remained by the pack boundary line. He cocked his head to the side when the black wolf snorted into the snow, as if it was annoyed at being kept outside in the cold. He moved from his crouched position, taking a few steps toward the black wolf, only to have his father stop him. He almost toppled backwards over himself when his father blocked his path. He looked up at his father, folding his ears back when his father sternly looked at him. He slunk away, following after Lydia as he snuck a look back at the black wolf.

The black wolf was staring at Stiles, its golden green eyes tracking his movements.


“The wolf has to be from one of the decimated packs,” Jackson stated as they sat within the pack’s main tent.

The harsh winters resulted in most of the packs electing to stay in their lupine forms, their fur warmer than any clothes they could create for their human bodies. It wasn’t unusual for the packs to remain wolves for the entirety of winter, but the Stilinski pack chose to linger in their human forms while inside the sanctity of their tents. They would wrap themselves in fur blankets, often times huddled against their mates for warmth.

Stiles buried himself in the blankets his mother and father exchanged over the years together, pretending that the warmth could replace the feeling of a mate curled around him.

“Shouldn’t we try extending our hand then?” Stiles questioned.

“What if it’s the one that decimated its pack?” Lydia countered. “We know nothing about this wolf, and it could be unwanted danger.”

“It didn’t challenge our Alpha,” Stiles replied as he turned to look at Lydia, settling beside the fire. “It obeyed the command to leave. It clearly wants to be part of a pack.”

“Lydia’s right,” Alpha Stilinski stated, pushing Stiles’ argument aside. “If this wolf challenged its Alpha and won, but the pack didn’t back him, then he probably killed the others.”

“Him?” Lydia questioned.

“He was giving off pheromones,” Alpha Stilinski answered, his eyes moving to Stiles. “He could smell an unmated Omega—that’s why he approached and then respectfully obeyed my command for him to leave.”

Stiles shrunk some, knowing that everyone in the pack would blame him for the stranger if danger befell the pack. It wasn’t his fault that his body released periodic pheromones to attract a mate—all Betas in the pack were either mated or uninterested in Stiles because he was an Omega. He was lucky enough to share in his father’s portion of the kill whenever the pack brought an animal back. Most of the time, Stiles was shoved to the back of the line until his father fixed the problem by offering him his own portion. Stiles knew it didn’t help with everyone already calling him weak, but he enjoyed actually getting part of the kill other than the bones.

“If he wants to mate Stiles, why not let him?” Jackson asked, ready to part with Stiles if need be.

Everyone in the pack knew that Stiles would more than likely be mated to the strongest Beta when Alpha Stilinski passed, meaning Lydia. Lydia was the most treasured Beta in the pack, and the thought of Stiles mating with her pissed everyone off. Lydia didn’t mind it, not caring if Stiles stayed with the pups while she hunted.

“Because if I did that, I’d be demoting Lydia,” Alpha Stilinski replied.

“We don’t even know how good of a Beta he is,” Lydia countered, bristling some that her status was being challenged.

“That’s because he’s not a Beta,” Alpha Stilinski stated. “He’s an Alpha.”


It had been a few days since the first sighting of the black wolf. Although things quieted, down, Alpha Stilinski ordered that everyone remain close to the pack’s camp. Outside the boundaries were off limits, which naturally lead them to being an ample spot for tracking small prey daring the vacant open area.

Stiles kept low to the ground, his eyes scanning the snowline as he waited for movement. He kept his tail still when he spotted the hare hopping across the snow. He waited until it had its back turned before dashing forward.

Stiles’ wolf form was smaller than the Betas’, resulting in being weaker than the others as well. But where Stiles lacked in strength, he made up for in speed and agility. He could out maneuver even Lydia.

Catching smaller animals was easy for Stiles, it was hunting with the pack to bring down bigger animals that gave him trouble. Stiles was fast enough to attack the jugular, but he wasn’t strong enough to hold on as the others brought the animal down with their weight. Stiles was too light to weigh the animal down, only taking up room meant for a heavier wolf to utilize the spot to the pack’s advantage. Pack hunts always resulted in Stiles remaining behind to care for the pups and older Betas.

Hares made good practice for Stiles.

Stiles tumbled to the ground as he snatched the hare up in his jaws. He hated the initial taste of blood in his mouth when he killed a hare, having to get over the fact that he was taking a life. The growl of his stomach made it easy for him to ignore. Though his father gave Stiles more than his share of the Alpha portion, Stiles rejected most of it. He pretended to be full, giving the food back to his father. He wanted to make sure his father stayed strong, worrying that a challenger could come along any day and dethrone him.

Stiles shook his fur, ridding himself of the snow. He tightened his fangs on the hare as he turned to head back to the pack. As Stiles turned, his yelp was muffled by the hare as he jumped back from the black wolf standing right in front of him. He released a faint growl while easily backing up.

'He could smell an unmated Omega.'

His father’s words sent a chill down Stiles’ back, standing his fur up in an attempt to make him look more formidable than he was. He knew this rogue Alpha would know he was the unmated Omega in the Stilinski pack, but Stiles wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

The Alpha snorted at Stiles’ attempt to appear bigger. He moved to stand up to his full height, his shoulders reaching just below Stiles’ head if he were to stand up right.

Stiles was fucked. There was no way he could challenge the Alpha and win. He had two options: submit or die. If Stiles submitted, he might end up with the rogue Alpha’s pups, resulting in him being kicked out of the pack. If Stiles died … well, Stiles would be dead, and that would give his father a heart attack, and then the rogue Alpha would be able to take over the pack with little resistance.

Stiles decided to take a third option: he threw the hare at the Alpha and ran for the boundaries. He scurried across the boundaries, halting when he heard a faint bark laced with a sad whimper. He turned to look at the Alpha.

The Alpha was standing there, staring at Stiles, with the hare discarded in the snow.

Stiles turned his head to the side, observing the Alpha in confusion. He nearly leaped out of the snow when the Alpha turned his body towards Stiles, taking a step forward. He quickly scurried to the side, hiding behind one of the rocks. He slowly peered out from behind the rock when he didn’t hear the familiar sound of snow crunching beneath the black wolf’s paws.

The Alpha was staring at Stiles in confusion. He moved to sit, the hare still resting in the snow forgotten. He released a playful yap, something completely uncharacteristic of an Alpha.

Stiles perked his head up more as he watched the Alpha stare at him more. He noticed the hopeful look the Alpha gave him.


Stiles crept out from behind the rock, taking uncertain steps closer to the Alpha. He paused, the invisible boundary lines marked by the trees seemed to keep them permanently separated. He reached a hurried paw out, trying to get the hare to roll over to him without getting closer to the Alpha.

The Alpha appeared to arch his eyebrow at Stiles, causing Stiles to stop and stare at his eyes. He kept eye contact with Stiles as he bent his head down, hooking his muzzle under the hare’s limp body, easily tossing it up in the air and over to Stiles.

Stiles caught the hare in the air, scuffling back a little as he laid down. He eyed the Alpha, the hare’s blood stained fur cold in his mouth. He hadn’t realized it begun to get colder, thankful that they kept to their wolf forms while outside the tents during the winter. He wondered how the Alpha was staying alive in such cold times.

Images of stray wolves huddling by the Alpha came to mind, a small growl coming from Stiles as he dug into the hare. He hated how jealous he felt at the idea of the rogue Alpha cuddling with other wolves, which Stiles noted as an insane way to feel.

The Alpha moved to lay down, resting his head in the snow as he watched Stiles eat the hare. He appeared content to watch Stiles.

Stiles wanted to cuff the Alpha upside the head, telling him that the pheromones were making him think whatever it was that made him look at Stiles that way. He settled for tossing one of the hind legs at the Alpha, satisfied when it hit him on the snout.

The Alpha looked surprised, no doubt never receiving a portion of a kill from an Omega, something that didn’t happen in packs.

That’s right, Stiles thought. I can fend for myself. I don’t need a big strong Alpha to do it.

Stiles waited until the black wolf finished with the hind leg, tearing off the other one and offering it to him. A warmth sparked in his chest when he saw the faint happiness falling over the Alpha’s face—as if he was all too happy to share something with another wolf.

What happened to you?

The black wolf was bigger than his father, his shoulders broader and stronger than anyone in the Stilinski pack. He was young, his fur thick, clean and pristine, a pure inky color that made him stand out against the snow. He was also a rogue Alpha, wandering into a pack’s territory that he seemed to realize belonged to another pack. He wasn’t trying to trespass, but was looking for something.

Stiles thought that perhaps he was lost, or worse—his pack had been decimated and he came wandering in hopes of finding a new home. Before Stiles could realize what he was doing, he had inched closer to the Alpha, his tongue darting out to lick at his bloodied lip.

The Alpha’s head perked up, looking at Stiles with bewildered interest. He let Stiles lean in again, almost welcoming the contact.

Stiles could taste the blood on his snout, knowing that he probably looked worse than the Alpha. But there was something about the lone black wolf that made Stiles want to comfort him. He knew what it felt like to be left alone—to feel abandoned. He had watched as wolves paired off without officially mating, cleaning each other’s muzzles in mutual affection. He never had that—sure, his dad did so when he was but a pup, but he really didn’t want to think about his dad doing the equivalent of wiping his face for him now that he was older.

Stiles pulled back, inspecting his work. He gave one last reluctant lick at the Alpha’s lip, his tongue grazing one of the other wolf’s fangs. He knew he was wading into dangerous territory. Inviting a rogue Alpha into an intimate act with a matured, unmated Omega was essentially asking for the Alpha to mount him here and now. He just had to present himself for the Alpha to have him, practically gift wrapped.

The Alpha hesitated before leaning forward, delicately licking Stiles’ muzzle. He paused when he felt Stiles jerk back. He watched Stiles for a sign that his reciprocation was unwelcomed.

Stiles had never had another wolf beside his mother or father clean his face for him. He was glad that his fur was covering him, knowing that if he was in human form, he’d likely be blotched red all over his ugly pale skin. He slowly placed his muzzle on display for the Alpha, allowing him to continue.


Stiles loved meeting with the black wolf. He enjoyed having the wolf’s attention all to himself. He would slink down the mountain, away from the sight of the pack, heading towards the rocks. He yipped with joy as the Alpha played with him, both of them tumbling in the snow. Sometimes, Stiles would curl up beside the Alpha, exhausted from the day’s events as he fell asleep against the larger warm body beside him.

It was a playful routine they both accepted, until the black wolf changed it all.

One day, as the black wolf lay in the disappearing snow beside Stiles, he rubbed his muzzle against Stiles’ head, gaining his attention.

Stiles pushed back, turning to nuzzle into the Alpha. He froze when he noticed the black wolf turning his head in such a way that he placed his neck on display. He knew that it was an invitation to come closer—to accept his vulnerable offer of courtship. More importantly, Stiles knew his father would have to approve in order for the wolf to be accepted by the pack.

Stiles knew it all, but still didn’t care as he pushed forward, burying his snout in the fur of the Alpha’s throat. He released a pleased purr when the Alpha settled on closer, hooking his head over Stiles’.

Stiles knew it was foolish, that he was leaving himself open and vulnerable. But the Alpha didn’t take what Stiles didn’t give. There was a welcoming change from the neglect he felt from the pack.


“Have you presented yourself to him?” Stiles’ father demanded.

Stiles hadn’t been able to get more than a few words out before his father resorted to accusing him of engaging in unsanctioned sexual interactions with a rogue Alpha.

"I haven't," Stiles almost grumbled as a blush burned his cheeks. "I'm not some stereotype, dad. I don't sleep with any wolf that looks at me."

“You know I don’t think that,” Alpha Stilinski answered as he rubbed a hand over his features. “This wolf has respected our boundaries and even the customs. He has shown himself to be a suitable candidate for acceptance into the pack. But now it is my turn to answer his proposal.”

Stiles stared at his father in silence, waiting for his answer.

“And I believe that Lydia is a more suitable fit for this wolf.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at his father. "Am I not ... good enough to create a pack bond?"

“You know you are,” his father answered. “But you are my son—and by pack rights if I mate you off to this Alpha, he would ascend as Alpha when I pass.”

“So?” Stiles asked. “What difference does it make if you accept him into the pack as Lydia’s mate or mine? If something happens to you and I am not mated, he will become the Alpha, and the pack will do with me as they see fit.”

“You know they wouldn’t harm you,” his father argued.

“Do I?” Stiles demanded. “The only reason they tolerate me having a standing in the pack is because you are my father, and I happen to be the son of two Alphas.”

“This is my decision, Stiles,” his father commanded. “Lydia is better suited. Whether you reject this wolf’s offer or not, I don’t care. The wolf will be offered the right to join the pack through a union with Lydia.”

Stiles looked away from his father, biting his lip in anger as he stormed out of the tent.


Stiles released a dejected huff, his fur barely keeping him warm from the gentle nip of the cold wind. He perked his head up when he heard the snow crunching beneath a set of paws in the distance. Excitement blossomed in his chest when he saw the dark black fur clashing against the white of the snow around them.

The black wolf was leisurely walking towards Stiles, an ease in the way he maneuvered around the rocks. A plump, dead hare hung from his jaws. He looked smugly satisfied as he deposited the hare by Stiles' paws.

Warmth radiated through him as Stiles looked from the hare to his black wolf.

Stiles' heart hurt. He wanted to take the hare, to continue their unofficial courting. But his father's words heavily rang in his ears.

'Lydia is a more suitable fit for this wolf.'

Stiles released a sad whine as he turned his head away from the hare and the wolf. He hoped that spurring the gift would be enough to anger the wolf into leaving him. He pressed his muzzle into the snow, acting as if he was content in looking away from the wolf.

Snow crunched under paws as the wolf walked forward. A warm muzzle gently pressed against the side of Stiles' head, weakly pushing in hopes that he'd look at its owner. A soft whine of concern cracked through the black wolf's chest.

Stiles kept his head turned away, even when he heard the sound of a heavy weight dropping to the ground. There was the sound of shuffling, as if the black wolf was confused. Stiles knew what he was doing—he was slowly approaching Stiles in order to rest beside him. He wanted to cry when he felt the warmth of the black wolf's fur press up against him, becoming a shield to cut off the windchill from hitting Stiles.

Stiles never showed aggression in the pack, knowing that any one of the Betas could overpower him and snap his neck if his father wasn't there to protect him. He never even growled his discontent vocally when in wolf form. But he pushed himself. He released a growl, allowing it to radiate from his chest. He hoped that it sounded discontent—not heartbroken.

When the black wolf didn't move away, but pressed in closer, Stiles turned towards him. He snapped his jaws, releasing a huff of anger as he stood up, dancing away from the black wolf. He made certain to kick the hare as he ran away from the black wolf, his gangly limbs doing him no favors against the rocky terrain the snow hadn't managed to cover. His breathing was heavy as he ran as hard and fast as he could, back to the pack boundaries where he knew the black wolf couldn't follow.

His heart ached when the faint taste of copper sparked across his tongue. He realized that he had actually bit the black wolf by accident, a few of his fangs trickled in blood. He whimpered when he heard the mournful howl coming from the rocks.


Stiles preoccupied himself with the pups, looking after them as their parents prepared to go on the hunt. He playfully nipped at one of the pups that tried to tackle him. He pretended to fall over when more than one of them jumped at him. He turned onto his side, wiggling his limbs as the pups yipped and howled in joy at standing victorious over Stiles.

Stiles rolled his eyes, moving to sit up. He felt an overwhelming silence fall across the pack, the sound of paws crunching through the thin layer of snow. He turned his head, catching sight of his father’s grey fur, accompanied by the inky black of the rogue Alpha.

Stiles looked away, his heart hurting at knowing that the first time the Alpha was welcomed into the territory, and it was meant to hunt with the pack—without Stiles.

If the Alpha hadn’t known about Stiles’ worthlessness before, he’d know now—he’d see how low Stiles was on the pack chain. Maybe he’d even see Stiles for the handout he was considered. Maybe he’d be angry that a worthless Omega wasted his time and accepted his gifts meant for a better match.

Stiles did his duty in pulling the pups in close when they started to shiver out of fear of a foreign Alpha in their territory. A few of the pups whined as they pushed into Stiles’ side, other ones had to be pulled back from barking at the Alpha. He regretted looking up when he noticed that the Alpha had seen him. He looked down out of shame, the only matured young wolf not joining the hunting party.

Stiles glared at Jackson when he walked by and allowed the swish of his tail to hit Stiles in the face. Embarrassment and shame welled in his chest when he realized that the black wolf—his black wolf was seeing how it was inside the pack; that the black wolf was going to become part of the pack that viewed Stiles with disdain.

Stiles saw Lydia coming down from one of the tents. He allowed the pups to stay with Melissa, moving to speak with Lydia. Maybe he could convince her to go against his father—maybe she would listen to his plight and feel sympathy for him. He was trotting gently towards Lydia when he heard the growling. He froze, knowing that one of the Betas were growling at him for going towards Lydia.

Please, not now.

Stiles shrunk to the ground, laying his ears flat in an attempt to placate the growls. He wanted to die from humiliation, knowing the black wolf could see it all. The growling grew louder as the owner’s muzzle came close to his neck. He tried to shuffle to the side, hoping that it was enough to be out of Lydia’s line of sight. The growling deepened before turning to a snort.

Stiles slowly turned his head to see Jackson trotting away from him, towards a few of the other Betas—the twins. He could hear the heckles coming from them. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the black wolf, only seeing his paws out of the corner of his eye. Tears burned his eyes as something in his chest cracked and he did the stupidest thing he’s ever done: he charged Jackson.

Stiles slammed into Jackson’s side, sending the Beta tumbling to the ground. He growled and snapped his fangs, tears burning his eyes.

Jackson quickly got back onto his paws, glaring at Stiles before lunging for him.

Stiles only ever playfully tumbled with Lydia, neither one seeking dominance over the other. This was completely different—Jackson was going for Stiles throat, to pin him down and claw him up some to reassert his dominance. Stiles kicked at Jackson when he landed on top of him, snapping his teeth at him. He managed to scurry back onto his paws before Jackson, ready to lunge for him.

Stiles screamed when fangs sunk into his hip, ripping him down to the ground. He spun around, snapping at the skull. He heard a loud roar, but couldn’t stop himself from trying to get the random Beta to let him go. He twisted out of the Beta’s grip, stumbling to the side. He barely got onto his feet when a heavy body rammed into him, causing him to yelp as he tumbled down the small incline his father and the black wolf had previously hiked up.

Every muscle ached as Stiles weakly clambered onto his paws. His head was pounding, his leg hurt and he knew it was bleeding. He did the one thing he wasn’t supposed to—there was a lot of that happening with him lately—and he challenged a Beta for respect. He started running before he could even think about the outcome. His breathing was loud in his ears, the sharp pain in his leg growing with every stride, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t do it anymore—he didn’t want to do it anymore. He ran as hard and fast as he could, leaving his pack behind. He didn’t stop, even when he heard his father howling for him to come back.


Melissa moved to stand in front of the pups, blocking them from the scuffle.

The black wolf reared his head back when he saw the twin Betas attack Stiles. They were trying to tear Stiles apart, not assert dominance like Jackson was trying. He released his roar without thinking, knowing that he wasn’t supposed to interfere in pack matters that weren’t his own. Regardless, he charged when one of the twin Betas rammed Stiles over the incline, ripping a sharp cry from the Omega. He easily knocked the Beta down, pressing his paw into the wolf’s chest as his claws bore down to keep him pinned. He turned his head, grasping at the other twin when he tried to attack him from behind. He snatched the Beta by the scruff of his neck, discarding him into the ground.

It became obvious that the black wolf knew how to fight, especially in a pack setting. He released a low growl, a threat to them both should they think of moving. He turned his attention towards the hill, looking down it to see Stiles gone.

Alpha Stilinski’s barks forced them all apart, the black wolf respecting the Alpha’s command to back away from the Betas.

Lydia, however, didn't hesitate after the shock wore off, running and charging straight into Jackson, knocking him down and into the twins Betas as they attempted to stand from the black wolf’s attack. She snapped her teeth at them, digging up the dirt beneath her claws as she growled at them.

Alpha Stilinski released a howl, calling a fleeing Stiles back. When Stiles’ howl didn’t answer, he tried once more. Still, no howl answered.


Stiles didn’t return home that night. He stopped by one of the old trees he remembered passing by when out on walks with his mother. He collapsed into the small alcove the tree’s giant roots provided. He licked at his hind leg, lapping at the fresh wound in an attempt to clean it of any dirt his running may have kicked into it. He whimpered when a stinging sensation traveled up his leg, knowing that his running hurt it more than anything. He curled in on himself, tucking his muzzle around his leg as he started to drift off.

Stiles fell asleep, ignoring his father’s third distant howl for him to come back—that he was being searched for. He dreamed of playing in the snow with his mother, before the pack crumpled under the weight of her loss. He dreamed of the way he would duck underneath her paws, feasting on the portion of her kill that lay at her feet. He missed the way she playfully nipped at his hind legs to make him run. He missed her hugs most of all—the way she would wrap his tiny human body in her fur blanket made from her various hare kills over the years, and sing him to sleep.

Stiles woke with a faint cry of pain, the fang marks throbbing. He had a little difficulty standing, struggling to get onto all four paws. He limped his way towards the small stream trickling by the tree. He was thankful spring was coming, the snow almost all gone thanks to the rising temperature. He perked his head up when he heard another howl in the distance—this time, it was the black wolf’s howl.

The black wolf was calling to him—begging Stiles to let him know where he was.

Stiles moved to rear his head back, beginning his own resounding howl. He startled himself to a stop, his howl cut off and incomplete, when he heard twigs snapping in the distance. He moved backwards, away from the sound.

His father’s howl broke through the air, pleading Stiles to come back to the pack boundaries. It was a warning howl.

Danger. Intruders. Come home.

Stiles didn’t hesitate, howling loudly, his own plea for his black wolf to come find him. He knew being found was his only guarantee of getting back alive.

A harsh bark caught Stiles’ attention. He looked toward the owner of the bark, catching sight of two strange wolves standing just outside the trees.

One wolf was a dirty blonde, fur darker than Erica’s. The other wolf was slighter bigger, a rough grey fur that was often attributed to older wolves. Both of them stared at Stiles, watching him and waiting for him to move.

Stiles’ eyes dashed between them, knowing they must have been the reason for his father’s warning. He tried to step to the side, wincing at the sharp pain he felt run up his leg.

The blonde wolf followed his movement to the side.

Stiles froze in response, prompting the other wolf to mimic him.

The black wolf’s responding howl cracked through the sky, reassuring Stiles that he was coming.

Stiles fled towards the howl, without looking back. He hurried, zigging between the trees to break the other wolf’s line of sight. He ignored the pain in his leg, knowing that if he let up, the other wolf would have him. He could hear her giving chase, the sound of her paws drumming against the ground blocked out Stiles’ own. He yelped when she nipped at his hind legs, prompting him to turn—she was herding him away from where he wanted to go.

Stiles lost his balance, tumbling to the side, unintentionally tripping the blonde wolf. He scurried to his paws, knowing the blonde wolf wasn’t going to leave him alone. He evaded her attempt to snap at his face, clawing at hers in return. He felt a small well of victory when he managed to rip a gash through her eyelid, injuring her eyes as best he could.

But she didn’t give up her chase.

When the grey wolf darted out in front of him, Stiles tumbled backwards, falling over himself once more as he kicked his hind legs to claw at the blonde wolf’s face. He yelped when she managed to dig her fangs into his leg.

Stiles dug his claws into the ground, trying to dig his way away from the blonde wolf. He yelped in pain when the grey wolf body slammed against him, causing him to roll to the side. His chest constricted under the pressure, his legs wobbled from the exertion of trying to stand. His entire body screamed at him to just give up. He was going to die here, alone and without a pack.

The grey wolf loomed over Stiles, leaning down to sniff at Stiles’ head, running his nose down and dangerously close to Stiles’ throat. He inhaled, his teeth lightly snapping in response to the scent he caught.

Stiles knew he still smelled like the Alpha, regardless have having spent more than a day away from him. But the Alpha had left scent markers on him, ones that Stiles knew his father had caught on to.

Stiles released a low whine when the stray wolf grasped a harsh mouth full of his neck. He didn’t bother struggling, knowing that the wolves were going to start tearing him apart. He knew he could try and run—prolong the pain—or just remain still and pray that it was over quicker.

A loud howl ripped through the air, several barks echoing its call to follow. It was Stiles’ father, too far away to save him.

Stiles released a weak cry when the blonde wolf grabbed his hind leg and pulled.

A sudden force slammed into the blonde wolf, causing her to cry out in pain and release her hold on Stiles. The grey wolf released Stiles from his grasp when the dark looming figure leaped with snapping jaws at him.

Stiles weakly lifted his head, trying to see his sudden savior. He felt the warmth of the animal’s fur brushing against his back. He lolled his head to the side, catching sight of the black fur he grown accustomed to seeing. His black wolf.

The black wolf lowered himself over Stiles, growling at the grey and blonde wolves. He snarled when the blonde stood. He dug his claws into the dirt by Stiles’ body, grounding himself over his injured body. His rage didn’t subside, even when Stiles softly licked at his muzzle—an attempt to let him know that he was alive.

The pack suddenly broke through the trees, flanking passed the black wolf and Stiles as they attacked both the grey and blonde wolves.

Stiles allowed his body to go lax, completely pliant in the way his muscles burned now that his adrenaline was disappearing. He offered a soft whine in response to the black wolf gently pressing their muzzles together. He tried to lift his head, only to be too weak to do so.

Everything was blurry, his head pounding as Stiles tried to look at his wolf. He saw a tall, gorgeous man leaning over him, his hands large and warm, gentle in touching his face.

“Can you hear me?” The man questioned as he looked over Stiles’ body. “I’m going to bring you back to your pack. Just stay with me. Please, stay with me.”

Stiles whined when a pair of strong, human arms moved him. He rested his head over the stranger’s shoulder, breathing in his scent. He released a huff of air, feeling safe when he realized the scent belonged to his wolf. He fell asleep before he could even think to fully look at the man the black wolf shifted into.


Stiles ran through his fever, his dreams prompting him to run through the wintery forest. He groaned in pain when he briefly regained consciousness, his father’s comforting hand resting on his shoulder.

“Dad,” Stiles breathed, trying to open his eyes to see his father.

“I’m here, kiddo,” his father answered as he brushed Stiles’ hair from his sweaty forehead.

“I’m so—”

“No,” his father cut him off. “I’m the one that is sorry, Stiles. I should have listened to you. I should have—” he shook his head, guilt pulling at his features. “I should have been a good Alpha, like your mom. I should have realized that it wasn’t what I thought.”

“I should have told you sooner,” Stiles uttered, leaning into his father’s touch.

“Rest, Stiles,” his father offered in comfort as he secured the blanket around Stiles. “Stop blaming yourself, and rest.”

Stiles softly nodded as he took his father’s advice, slipping back into sleep.


Stiles woke to the warmth of the small fire burning in the middle of his tent. He was shifted into human form, covered in the fur blanket his mother had made him when he was younger. He opened his eyes to follow the movement of the smoke coiling up through the tent opening. He heard voices outside the tent, listening to his father speaking to the pack and outsiders.

“My son nearly died because of all this,” Alpha Stilinski harshly stated.

“Your son nearly died because your pack chose to devalue its Omega,” a sharp male voice countered—the same male voice that saved Stiles. The Alpha—his black wolf.

“I won’t argue with Derek on that one,” an older male voice added.

“An Omega is meant to be respected,” the Alpha continued. “They’re rare—yes, they are physically weaker, but are better leaders than Alphas and Betas. They’re nurturers and will fight until their last breath for their pack.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” Lydia commented.

“My father was an Omega,” the Alpha answered.

Stiles rose from his bed, wrapping his fur blanket around him to cover his nudity. He slowly made his way towards the tent opening, trying to remain hidden as he gained a glimpse at the others. He saw a tall, older man standing next to his father, dressed in a pair of simple trousers and vest. He knew it was warm enough for him to wear simple clothes, like the stranger, but he found a comfort in his fur blanket.

“You came here seeking my son because he’s an Omega,” Alpha Stilinski countered in suspicion.

“I came here because my pack was torn apart,” the Alpha growled in opposition. “I came here because my mother spoke highly of the Stilinski pack. When you told me to stay outside your pack boundaries, I obeyed you. Your son showed me kindness—I was attracted to that.”

Stiles took a deep breath, taking the necessary steps forward to make himself known.

“Stiles,” Alpha Stilinski immediately acknowledged his son’s presence.

Stiles offered a weak smile to his father before looking at the other two men. He saw a young woman standing beside Lydia that he didn’t recognize, either.

“Omega Stilinski,” the older man addressed Stiles with a respectful bow of his head.

Stiles offered a bow in return, uncertain why a visiting Alpha was bowing to him and not his father.

“Stiles, this is Chris Argent, a Beta from the Argent pack,” Stiles’ father explained. “And this is his daughter,” he gestured towards the young woman next to Lydia. “Allison Argent. She’s the new Argent Alpha.”

Stiles smiled at the young woman. He hurried to bow lower than her when she bowed her head to him. He moved too quickly, losing his balance as he fell to the side—a sharp pain shot through his leg as his almost healed wound. He collided with a solid warm chest, arms holding him upright.

“Careful. You’re still healing.”

Stiles realized that it wasn’t his father that was holding him—the black wolf had moved faster than the others, reaching Stiles first. “Thank you,” Stiles uttered against his chest. He tightened his hold on his blanket as he started to look up at his black wolf. He wasn’t surprised to find that his wolf was as beautiful as a human as he was a wolf.

The Alpha’s chest was broad, covered in a dusting of hair. His tan skin warm and soothing against Stiles’ own. He was about the same height of Stiles. He had a shortly trimmed beard that accented his jawline and cheekbones, short hair of the same shade to match. His eyebrows were thick, capable of an infinite amount of judgment. But his eyes were the most gorgeous eyes Stiles had ever seen. His eyes were a spiral spectrum of green and golden specks, similar to the distant aurora lights Stiles often times found himself staring at.

He was gorgeous.

“Hi,” the Alpha stated when Stiles continued to stare at him.

“Hi,” Stiles echoed, offering a soft smile as he steadied himself. He looked back down at the Alpha’s chest, noticing that he was clutching his vest. He reluctantly released his hold on the Alpha’s vest.

“And this is Derek Hale,” Alpha Stilinski calmly stated. “The last living member of the Hale pack.”

Stiles nodded, keeping his eyes on the Alpha—his wolf, Derek.

“It was our fault for what happened—if we had arrived sooner, we could have prevented it all,” Allison chimed in. “My aunt and grandfather, they …” She stopped, releasing a deep sigh.

“I understand,” Stiles answered, looking away from Derek to look at Allison.

Allison frowned, a gentle nod of her head showing that she accepted Stiles’ kindness.

Stiles continued to lean against Derek, taking in his warmth as he started to lull once more. His eyes burned with exhaustion, despite his days of rest. He listened to his father talking to the Argents about a possible alliance—one that would benefit all three Alphas. He was comforted by the fact that Derek had chosen to still hold him close.

“You’re still healing,” Derek suddenly commented, turning his attention on Stiles. “If you want, you should rest,” he offered.

Stiles looked up at Derek, ignoring the others. “I don’t want to miss anything,” he explained his reluctance to leave.

“I could fill you in later,” Derek offered.

“You’re … you’re not leaving?” Stiles hopefully questioned.

“Do you want me to leave?” Derek asked.

“No,” Stiles admitted. “No, I don’t. What happened last week—”

“Your father explained,” Derek stated, cutting Stiles’ unsure words off.

“I want you to stay,” Stiles softly stated.

“And I want to stay,” Derek confessed.


Years Later …

Stiles stretched across the fur blanket, rolling onto his side. He smiled as he watched his baby move his little limbs back and forth, stretching until he snatched his little toes in his hands. He propped his head up in his hand, his other hand moving to tickle along his son’s tummy.

Sammy softly cooed, a gurgling laugh emitted from his tummy as he smiled up at his father. His skin was pale, like Stiles’, with a small birthmark in his hairline just by his ear. His hair was dark, an inky color that made him look paler than most of the pack’s other children. When he was old enough for the shift to take over, Stiles knew his fur coat would be a strong, solid shade of black.

Stiles released a soft chuckle when Sammy rolled onto his side, pressing his face into Stiles’ chest. He scooped a hand underneath Sammy, easily rolling him onto his back to look down at his face. He made little faces at him before swooping down to place pretend bites all over his neck and chest. He smiled when he heard the laughter erupting from his son. He pulled back, staring down at him, his smile softening as he thanked the gods that he had him in his life.

Sammy’s vision turned to looking passed Stiles’ head, a wide smile pulling at his lips when he realized what he saw. More importantly, who he saw standing behind Stiles.

Stiles didn’t react when he felt the weight press against his side, soft lips caressing his bare shoulder. He was happy when the familiar pair of strong arms slipped around him, a stubbled chin smoothly running along the curve of his shoulder.

“I missed you,” Derek breathed against Stiles’ skin, burying his face in the mate mark along the curve of Stiles’ neck.

“I heard you,” Stiles uttered, leaning back into Derek’s touch. He knew Derek was coming home when he heard the distant howls slowly getting closer and closer with every passing hour.

Their son released a soft, amused coo as he kicked his limbs at them, smiling.

Stiles smiled as he looked down, moving to run a gentle hand along Sammy’s stomach. “I can’t believe he’s almost a year old,” he thoughtfully commented.

“He’ll be shifting soon,” Derek added, reaching a hand down to wrap around Sammy’s small one. A warmth spread through his chest when Sammy held onto his hand, pulling his arm closer.

“I think I want another one,” Stiles admitted, no louder than a whisper, knowing that Derek would hear him. He turned to look at Derek, offering a reassuring smile.

Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles’ lips, moving to bracket himself over Stiles. His hand moved passed Stiles’ hip, caressing along the scar that ran low on his stomach. “I don’t deserve you,” he huffed against Stiles’ lips. “The pack doesn’t deserve you.”

“You’ve changed the pack—for the better,” Stiles corrected him. “I am yours, and they know it,” he smiled against Derek’s kisses.

“No,” Derek replied, curling around Stiles. “I’m yours, and they know it.”

“My wolf,” Stiles fondly murmured, pressing kisses to Derek’s lips.