Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf.
Read on, oh faithful ones...
...
Her lips are as red as her heels, and her red dress matches the red polish on her nails. Lydia's dressed to the nines, she looks amazing, and she knows it. She ignores the people that stare as she walks past, head held high and eyes forward because she knows that she has Stiles and Derek waiting for her at home; she has her lovers, so why would she look elsewhere when they're all she's ever needed?
Lydia still maintains this belief, even when she's grabbed and slammed into an alley wall by a man who's been following her away from the rest of the Vegas population for the past few minutes. Her attacker's voice is hot and disgusting in her ear as he sneers at her, tells her that she's a bitch, tells her to fucking look at him, clutching her face, bruising her cheeks as he turns her around so they're face to face. He's made a mistake though, thinking that she'd be afraid, that she would freeze, that she would be weak. He's left her arms and legs free, though he's practically pressed up against her so she can't move her legs to knee him in the groin, and his slimy body feels so disgusting that she almost ruins her outfit in utter revulsion.
"You're just like the rest of them, you and those stuck up bitches that think they're so much better than everyone else, that they're too good for me. I'll show you, I'll show you," he mutters.
Lydia smiles when he's busy fumbling with his belt with his free hand, the other still holding her against the wall. She brings her hand up to caress his cheek, to hold his face for a moment, and he goes pale at the unexpected action. Lydia smiles even broader then, white teeth showing through red lips, and presses her thumb against his eye, pushing and pressing down until she can feel his eyeball squish and sink around her thumb. She's ruining a perfectly good salon job on this little prick.
"You're right: I'm so much better than you, and I'm definitely too good for you," Lydia says, turning them with a speed that's not quite human and slamming him against the wall, ignoring his screams as his eye bleeds and goops down his cheek.
She takes a breath, and her eyes glow as red as her lips, her heels, her dress, her nails. Then Lydia screams and tears the man's throat out with her bare hands.
Derek and Stiles are in the alley with her moments later; they'd probably already started running as soon as she was pulled aside by the disgusting excuse of a man, and it's one hell of a run from Beacon Hills to Las Vegas. Stiles probably used magic to help Derek run for the both of them, even though Derek isn't fond of having magic used on him, and Stiles hates not being able to walk (or run) properly on his own, but his limp would have slowed them, no matter how much magic he used.
"Where was Deucalion? Or his pack?" Stiles asks, even as Derek tears the man apart with his claws, though they all know he's already dead.
Lydia frowns at the bloody mess on her hand, hopes she moved aside fast enough so she didn't ruin her outfit too, and then looks up at Stiles. He's usually patient, but apparently, seeing her covered in blood and tearing her own attacker apart will whittle his patience to threads. He's clutching his baseball bat, looking as though he wants to beat the man alongside Derek, and Lydia gives him a soft smile.
"I convinced Deucalion I could have one night without a bodyguard. Don't worry, I won't make the same mistake again; it would have been so much easier to dispose of the body if someone was around to carry it for me," Lydia mutters.
Stiles sighs and takes her hand, his eyes glowing white with a ring of red, and the blood disappears. "I don't think it'll be enough, Lyds. We heard you scream; Derek almost put another hole in the loft just to get out."
"I'll accept one bodyguard, no more, and I refuse to stay in the loft until Derek's calm again. No offence, Derek, but we all know that that won't be happening any time soon."
Derek lets out a howl in response. There's a faint answering howl from Deucalion and his pack, and Lydia walks over to Derek, placing her hand between his shoulder blades.
"Derek, stop before you tear open his intestines. I have no desire to smell like blood and shit tonight."
Derek's hands still, but he's trembling, as if he wants to keep going. There's little left of the man anyway, bar for his face which Derek kept so he could see the man who hurt his Lydia, his pack. He stands up in a fluid motion, pulling Lydia into a tight hug against his body, breathing in her scent and covering her in his own.
Stiles removes the blood from Derek's hands, then Lydia's outfit, and presses kisses to Derek's clawed hands to help calm him and let him shift back. He's human by the time Deucalion steps into the alleyway, staring between the body and the three Alphas with trepidation.
"Alpha Hale, Alpha Stiles. I swear, I would never have let Alpha Lydia out of my sight had I known this would happen," Deucalion said, eyes wide.
Just because he's human again, it doesn't mean Derek's calm enough to reply like one, so Stiles moves between them. Lydia is still caught up in Derek's embrace, and she's whispering things to him that Deucalion and his pack are pretending not to hear.
"It was not your intention, nor was this man one of your wolves or even a rogue in the area, so that is forgiven. However, Alpha Deucalion, this did happen in your territory. We expect higher security details, especially in a place like Vegas, no matter what arguments one of us makes against a bodyguard."
"Threats," Deucalion muttered, coughing slightly. "Alpha Lydia made threats, not arguments. I would have won an argument."
Stiles glances back to Lydia, who's showing no remorse whatsoever, and nods to Deucalion briefly. "I would have expected you to have someone follow her anyway."
Deucalion has the decency to look embarrassed and nods quickly. "I will remember that for next time, Alpha Stiles. I hope there will be a next time, despite what has happened here tonight?" he adds, wincing.
"There may be, there may not be. It will be up to Alpha Lydia to decide," Stiles says clearly, for both Deucalion and Derek's benefit.
Derek pulls away from Lydia with a soft snarl, but Stiles ignores it, and Lydia pulls him in close again, kissing Derek until he's calm again.
"Of course, Alpha Stiles. If you would be so kind as to accept a gift of apology, I will personally escort you to my hotel where you shall receive the suite. I will also ensure that this is cleaned up with no trace left behind," Deucalion added, glancing to the dead man behind Derek and Lydia.
"No, leave it," Lydia says, turning around in Derek's embrace.
He wraps his arms around her, nuzzling Lydia's neck, completely ignoring the other werewolves. If Deucalion and his pack hadn't fought alongside them against Peter, and were more lenient towards informality, Derek's dismissal of the pack might have been considered a slight against them. Derek either didn't care or was too worried about her to worry about the hurt feelings of other wolves; Lydia thought it might be a bit of both.
"I want everyone to see what happens when they threaten us, human or otherwise," Lydia adds, smiling even though she can see a few of the werewolves behind Deucalion shifting uncomfortably.
Leaving the mauled man to be found is risky for their kind, but she's issuing it as a challenge for Deucalion as well, and Lydia can see that he knows that as well.
"Very well, Alpha Lydia. Please, allow me to escort you, Alpha Derek, and Alpha Stiles to the hotel personally," Deucalion offers, bowing slightly.
Lydia nods in response, keeping Derek close as she steps forward. Stiles is beside them in a moment, shrugging off the leather duster jacket he'd been wearing, and wraps it around Derek's shoulders. Derek manages to keep a hand on Lydia even as he slips his arms into it, doing up the buttons in a moment.
Deucalion is murmuring to his second and third-in-commands, telling them to get rid of the cameras and any evidence that would incriminate them to the humans. Lydia allows it, simply because she doesn't want to go to jail herself. Deucalion and his pack will spread the video of the man's demise to surrounding packs so they will know not to mess with Lydia or her Alpha lovers.
Lydia wraps her arm around Derek's waist, threads her fingers between Stiles', and walks with them on either side of her towards Deucalion's hotel on the Strip.
Lydia still looks amazing, she feels even better now that Stiles and Derek are with her again, and her only regret is that she didn't bring her axe.
...
Lydia spends her night wrapped in Derek's arms. He only lets go of her so Stiles can join them, his body curled up against her back. Her cheeks are still bruised in the morning, both men knowing better than to heal her. She's survived another attack, and Lydia's not afraid to show that.
They eat breakfast in the large suite's large bed, and watch the news to see the report about the man that had attacked her. His face still intact helped police, though they had no idea who or what had attacked him to have his organs practically painting the walls of the alley. (There's news footage of a police officer trying to pick an ear off a wall; another picking up the intact intestines, only for them to explode all over the officer, and a bare second of unedited footage of more than one person puking in response. Lydia laughs so hard she almost knocks the plate of waffles and strawberries off the bed.)
Derek stays shifted when the news starts, growling or reverting to monosyllables in response to the sombre reporter's story, and he doesn't turn back for almost three hours. Lydia spends extra time touching and kissing him, drawing Stiles in close so Derek can be close to his pack.
"How was the pack business going, before all of this?" Stiles asks at lunch, spearing his fries on his fork from his place on Derek's lap.
"Good. They're willing to negotiate territorial rights over Paradise with the Henderson pack. Spring Valley are proving to be more difficult; they're claiming that they already have rights over Paradise."
"Who's their Alpha?" Derek asks curiously, rubbing his cheek against Stiles' shoulder, stealing one of his fries.
"Alpha Brian Craigson. Claims he's been here longer than the Henderson pack, but Henderson was built 40 years before Spring Valley existed. Duke and Alpha Jacquelyn are building a case against him. Craigson hates the fact that I'm mediating, but he'll get over it. Eventually," Lydia adds with a smirk.
"Craigson doesn't hate you enough to want to hire someone to kill you, does he?" Stiles asks, almost hesitantly, but no less firm.
Derek's eyes glow red immediately at that, his arm tightening around Stiles' waist.
"I honestly have no idea. He might hate me that much, but the others might be desperate enough to want to frame Craigson so he loses his territory. That way, they don't have to bargain for Paradise," Lydia says.
She knows it's a risk saying that their own host is a possible cause of what happened to her, but she also doesn't want Derek and Stiles to think that it could all fall to one person.
"Of course, it could have just been the whim of a disgusting excuse for a human being who is now dead and no longer a threat," Lydia adds, firm as she looks at them.
"All right, Der-bear, that means the claws go back in. We're staying with you for the rest of the negotiations, no arguments," Stiles adds.
"You'll stay, but you'll be quiet. This is what I'm doing for us and our pack, and for the future of werewolf kind, so I don't want either of you to say the wrong thing and ruin it for all of us, all right? No arguments," Lydia adds with a smirk.
"Agreed," Derek says, sighing.
"Hey, why'd you want to go out on your own anyway last night?" Stiles asks curiously.
"I was planning on cleaning the casinos out and playing the ditzy, vapid, beginner's luck card to escape any casino security."
"Ooh, let's do that! Derek, we have to do that. We need a new wall in the loft, and the library's sorely lacking some high-end, expensive books that can help me with my magic. Please, please, please?"
Derek looks as though he's going to be stubborn about it, so Lydia pouts at him as well, knowing that he's helpless to both of them pleading. He caves in mere seconds.
"Fine, but neither of you are leaving my sight. I mean it, stay together at all times," Derek growls.
"You've got it, Der-bear," Stiles quipped, turning his head to kiss him.
"You need suits. Don't worry, I'm not leaving," Lydia says when Derek looks up at her.
She heads to the hotel phone, presses the button for the concierge, and tells the woman exactly what she wants, adding for it to be charged to Deucalion's name, hanging up a few minutes later. Derek seems pleased that they didn't have to leave in the middle of the day, and Lydia smiles before pressing a kiss to his mouth.
"Come on, let's go test the shower," Lydia says over her shoulder, heading to the bathroom as she strips off her clothes.
"I just finished eating, Lyds," Stiles calls. "Ah, fuck it. You'll help me get through any cramps I get, won't you, Derek?" he murmurs, and Lydia grins when she sees Derek pull him in close for a kiss.
She stands naked in front of the bathroom mirror, head tilted to the side as she surveys her body and the marks from the previous night. He'd slammed her against the wall harder than she'd expected, and there was a large bruise creeping over her left shoulder. Maybe I should have torn his face apart too, Lydia mused. She could still feel the heat of his breath on her neck, the stink of desperation oozing from him, and she suddenly couldn't get under the shower fast enough. Vaguely, Lydia heard Derek and Stiles come into the bathroom, but she was trembling under the boiling hot spray, trying to wash off the stench.
"I can't get it off. Derek, it won't get off. Stiles, get it off me," she begs, teeth chattering despite the hot steam curling around her.
They both step into the shower with her, silently cleaning her with their broad hands and tiny bars of hotel soap, Stiles even using magic when she can still feel that bastard's scent lingering on her. Lydia almost feels back to her normal self when the water starts to run cold, and she forces herself to step out of the shower. Derek and Stiles are barely a second behind her, Stiles taking the fluffiest towel he can find to dry her while Derek starts to brush her hair in long strokes. They don't speak, and she lets the silence fill her, drowning out the noise of the world. Lydia can tell that Derek's been leaching her pain, her shock, but she's glad for it. She can be brave and strong later, but when it's just them, she doesn't have to keep up a façade. She can be herself, completely and utterly, and Lydia is immensely grateful for that.
"Thank you," she says, her voice loud in the quiet, and they both nod in response.
There's a knock at the hotel door, so Stiles slips a bathrobe on to go answer it, his limp making the ten metre journey a few minutes rather than seconds. Derek looks at Lydia's reflection in the mirror, brushing back a stray piece of hair.
"Love you, Lydia."
"Love you, Derek."
"And I love both of you," Stiles says to their suits. "Please tell me the grey one's mine?"
"Of course. Derek gets the navy one," Lydia replies, smiling.
Stiles places the suits on the bed carefully before returning to the bathroom. He kisses Lydia, then Derek firmly, pulling away before they can respond.
"I really do love both of you," he adds, serious now.
"We know," Derek says, a joke between them, and Stiles grins at him happily.
"Love you, Stiles," Lydia replies, kissing his lips lightly. "Now, come help me choose a dress for tonight. Last night's will need to be destroyed, I think."
"Let me do that," Derek says, eyes glowing red as he follows her to the bedroom.
...
Lydia ensures that their suits are on straight, Derek's tie is tied correctly, Stiles' three-piece is buttoned properly, and her own green dress looks fabulous before she lets them leave. She's wearing a light shawl around her shoulders to hide the bruises, because while she's not afraid of showing them, other people might get the wrong idea about Stiles or Derek, and Lydia doesn't want that sort of crap tonight. She's going to have a good time, she's going to forget all about last night, and she's going to clean the casinos out with Stiles and Derek by her sides.
At least, that was the plan, right up until a yellow-eyed Omega snarled and leapt at her mere metres outside of the hotel.
The Omega is thrown across the sidewalk before he could land a blow, Derek snarling and getting the Omega to submit. Lydia and Stiles are beside him in seconds, the three of them staring down at the Omega with red eyes.
"Freshly turned," Stiles murmurs.
"The wound is on the back, not the front of his body. Do you know who bit you?" Derek asks, receiving a quick negative shake from the cowering Omega.
"Gambler, if the dice cufflinks are anything to go by. You were promised money to attack me?" Lydia asks, getting a nod in return.
"Male or female voice?" Stiles asks, thinking of the numbers of the three packs, the percentage of men and women in each, and who they might be able to cross off their suspect list.
"N-neither. Voice synthesiser," the Omega admits, whimpering.
"Were you given a bribe? Surely you wouldn't have accepted this without getting some of the money beforehand?"
The Omega's hands are trembling as he reaches back for his wallet and holds it out to Derek.
"Catch a scent?" Stiles asks when Derek sniffs and frowns.
"No. It's completely clean."
"Must be magic. Money is never clean," Stiles mutters, taking the notes from Derek's grasp.
He chants a few words, eyes glowing a mix of white and red, and the money hovers between his palms for a few seconds before fluttering back down to his open palm.
"Try now," Stiles says to Derek, holding his hand out.
Derek doesn't bother to take the notes, simply sniffs, eyes closed as he concentrates.
"Cocaine, mostly. There's something else. Kind of flowery," Derek says, pulling away with a frown of confusion. "Not wolfsbane," he adds.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I've still got money that needs to be multiplied, and we can let Duke take care of the Omega until we get back," Lydia says.
They're not going to get anywhere with this tonight. The Omega's practically worthless to them, the amount of laundered money that passes through Vegas borders on ridiculous, and the scent of a flower isn't going to help when there's no sun out for flowers to be blooming.
"Can we trust him with it?" Stiles murmurs.
"Yes, because if we come back and the Omega's dead, then we'll know he was the one that tried to kill me, and we'll kill him," Lydia says, eyes ringed red as she smirks and makes her way back towards the hotel where the concierge and front desk staff are staring with wide eyes.
Derek and Stiles follow without hesitation, but they're both anxious to find out just who wants Paradise so much to try to kill their lover.
...
End of the first chapter.
Thanks for reading!