Prologue
A Fist of Fear
Derek hadn't meant for this to happen. None of this was supposed to happen. It was just supposed to be a simple hunt, to blow some steam off. Not to bite a certain lanky doe-eyed teenager. When Derek had managed to recognize him, it had been to late for him to stop his wolf from taking over. Now Stiles was laying on the ground, looking deathly pale against the brown and yellow forrest floor. Blood had stopped oozing from the bite mark on this bared shoulder, the effects of being a creature of the night already happening.
The Alpha pressed his eyes against the heels of his palms. This is was horrible. He knew his pack would be shocked and probably angry at him, and, oh Lord, Scott would be infuriated, no doubt trying with all his might to get his claws at Derek's throat. The Argents would be beyond annoying, trying to press into their werewolf business and try and embed a few arrows into Derek while they were at it. Derek didn't even want to imagine how pissed off Stiles would be when he came to.
The thought of Stiles brought him back to reality. The reality where he had just bit Stiles, who was starting to groan and shift uncomfortably.
"W-wha' tha'," Stiles slurred, his lashes fluttering slightly. Derek's heart pounded in his chest. He wasn't ready, he couldn't break the news to him, oh God, what was he going to do. He was the leader of his pack, he was supposed to know what to do. But once he caught sight of those brown doe-eyes, he panicked.
He yanked back his hand, curled it into a tight fist, and punched Stiles back to being unconscious.
I'm just gonna try this out, since I fell in love with this show recently. Feel free to correct any spelling or grammar mistake. If you want more, please review, favorite, anything that you want, and I'll update as soon as I can.