Summary: One way or another, Peter always gets what he wants.
Disclaimer: Don't own Teen Wolf. 'Nuff said.
Author's Note: … enjoy?
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Metamorphosis
By: Lady Azura
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Lydia Martin is a force to be reckoned with.
He knows this the instant he sinks his claws into her milky flesh, tastes her blood on his tongue. Her scent is nothing short of intoxicating, like a drug he can't get enough of. It makes his mouth water, and he doesn't know whether to kill her or claim her. It would be so easy, even as she writhes beneath him in a feeble attempt to get away, but Peter likes to think he has some class. His inner wolf might not care, but Lydia deserves more than to be taken in the middle of a lacrosse field like a dog.
Before he can decide what to do with her, he's interrupted by his beta's little friend – the clever one with a penchant for mouthing off. He begs for her life, and it's music to Peter's ears.
Tracing her jawline with the tip of a claw, he ponders for a moment.
She is rather beautiful.
If she lives, she'll make for a marvelous wolf – he can feel it already. A part of him wants to stay, to witness her transformation firsthand but alas, he has a nephew to save and a pack to avenge.
oOo
Killing Kate won't bring back his family, but it does feel good to finally rip out the cunt's throat and watch the light leave her eyes.
Sadly, he doesn't get to revel for long before his nephew and rebellious beta turn on him.
As he lay dying, he can hear Scott pleading with Derek.
"You've… already… decided…" He manages to choke out, staring up at the latter as he crouches over him. His nephew has the decency to look conflicted but his heartbeat betrays his intent. "I can smell it on you!"
Seconds later, Derek deals the killing blow.
oOo
Luckily, he has a backup.
oOo
Lydia's mind is a fascinating place.
She's hardly the vapid princess she pretends to be but so, so much more. Her carefully constructed persona is all a façade, a mask to hide just how cunning and intelligent she truly is. How ruthless, with her sharp tongue.
But smart as she may be, she has no idea what kind of world she's become entangled in. While her friends keep her out of the loop under the guise of protecting her – how utterly naïve of them – he sets his plan into motion. Sometimes he appears in his true form, a burnt husk of a man – a shell of who he used to be. Other times, he's the handsome boy, a classmate who's taken an interest in her, who notices her, sees her and seduces her with his charming smiles and snarky wit.
He invades her dreams and twists her memories and oh, how fun that is. Instead of simply biting her and leaving her to deal with the Argent bitch, he gives into his baser instincts. At first she struggles – always, she struggles, nails digging into the dirt as she sobs, trying to crawl away, but he pins her beneath his weight, snarling into the crook of her neck, claws piercing the delicate skin of her hips as he fucks her. Sometimes he fucks her through her transformation, the full moon gazing down on them and the sweet smell of her blood so thick in the air that it drives his wolf mad with lust. Sometimes he takes her in front of a jeering crowd, or up against the chalkboard, or in the privacy of her own room. Every time she closes her eyes, he's there. Waiting.
It doesn't take long to break her. As the Worm Moon draws closer, he finally makes himself known. He tells her what he wants and opens her eyes to this new reality: a world of werewolves and kanimas and hunters. A world she's been purposely kept ignorant of.
"Doesn't it make you angry, Lydia?" He goads as she makes preparations for his rebirth. She does her best to ignore him, ignore the phantom presence that's been terrorizing her for weeks, but he can feel the rage simmering beneath the surface, the indignity and the hurt. "I know I'd be furious if my friends kept me in the dark like this. Murderous, even."
She doesn't respond, but he knows she's listening, lips pursed tightly as she stirs aconite petals into the punch she's going to serve at her party. Peter smirks as he observes over her shoulder. Lifting a hand to her slender neck, he curls his fingers around her throat, feeling her pulse spike. Her grip on the ladle tightens, but she keeps stirring.
"Good girl." He croons in her ear. "It'll all be over soon."
oOo
"I heard there was a party." He drawls. "Don't worry. I invited myself."
oOo
He kills Derek.
It's nothing personal –
(it's a little personal)
– but it's necessary.
He knows it should incite some semblance of grief – Derek is, after all, the only family he has left – but those feelings have long since been snuffed out, first by the fire that took his pack and then by Derek's own hand.
"No… no, don't… Peter, please –!" His nephew is disoriented, body weak from the wolfsbane still coursing through his system, and the magic that drained him to bring Peter back.
He knows he can't fight. Can't defend himself.
Peter knows it too, and though it's frowned upon to kick someone while they're down –
"You beg so beautifully, Derek."
– well, he's never been one to take the moral high ground.
With that in mind, he brings a clawed hand down and slashes his nephew's throat wide open.
The power that surges through his veins is almost too much – it overwhelms him, fills him to the brim until it's practically bursting out of him. He throws his head back and lets out a triumphant howl that echoes throughout the night. He's the Alpha; he's always been the Alpha, and now every wolf in Beacon Hills knows it. When the euphoric rush finally wears off, he stands up straight, cracking his neck and flexing his fingers, still dripping in blood, before turning his sights to his accomplice.
Lydia, having snapped out of her trance-like state, is pressed up against the nearest wall, trembling like a frightened rabbit. Her hair is disheveled and her face is streaked with tears. She stiffens, choking back a sob when he takes a step toward her – then another, and another, until he's crowding her with his body.
"I did what you said." She tells him.
Reminds him.
As if afraid he's forgotten – afraid he's going to do to her what he did to Derek.
"I know you did." He assures her, cradling her face and wiping her tears. "And I can't thank you enough."
Lydia sniffles.
"However, there is one more thing I need you to do for me…" Her head snaps up in defiance but as soon as her gaze meets his, her protests die in her throat. Her eyes glaze over, transfixed by his own hypnotic stare, and Peter smiles, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb. "You see, I have a pack to rebuild and you, sweet Lydia, are going to help me."
Her immunity to the Bite prevents her from turning, but she can still carry his progeny. She's young and healthy and fertile. She'll be an excellent mother – the perfect mate – and just the mere thought is enough to get him going.
He leads her to the dilapidated remains of the living room and lays her down on the rug, smoothing his hands up her thighs until her dress is bunched around her waist. Peter considers just ripping the flimsy thing to shreds but decides against it in the end. He's not so generous with her panties, using a claw to slice through it before discarding the satin material and leaning back to admire. She really is an exquisite creature, he muses, watching thighs quiver in anticipation. She's already glistening, and a noticeable flush is slowly creeping up her chest, staining her cheeks.
Peter breathes in the sweet scent of her arousal, a growl reverberating in his chest as he finally gives into his wolf. Mounting her, he hoists her legs around his waist and takes her right there and then, bathed in moonlight, with his nephew's blood still on his hands.
She feels incredible, just as he knew she would, her walls clenching tightly around his cock and nails raking down his back. Breathy sighs and guttural moans fall from her lips as she arches beneath him. It's been so long since he's had anyone like this.
It should disgust him; she's only sixteen – a child, by human law – but as a werewolf, an Alpha, he transcends man-made laws.
He wants her by his side.
Needs her.
And one way or another, Peter will get what he wants.
oOo
Later, much later, when Lydia is curled up beside him, completely spent, Peter basks in the afterglow.
In the distance, he can hear the mournful cries of wolves echoing in the night.
Lost and confused, with no Alpha to guide them.
Yet.
It won't take long for the ragtag pack of misfits Derek accumulated to fall in line – to submit.
And this time, Peter doesn't plan on giving Stiles a choice. It's a gamble, he knows; Stiles will definitely resent him, probably try to kill him again. Or perhaps not. Not while Peter has Lydia. Not when insubordination means forfeiting the good Sheriff's life – and with Stiles in his pack, Scott will soon follow. Jackson will be dealt with accordingly, of course, as will Gerard and his ilk.
Yes, he thinks, placing a hand on Lydia's flat stomach. He has great plans for this pack.
Their pack.
Under his reign, the Hale name will be revered once more.
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FIN
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So I was re-watching season 2, noticed how creepy and rape-y Peter came across and decided I wanted to write some dark Pydia because why not. This is the end result.
Please REVIEW and let me know what you think.