If Control Is Not Enough

by Kindre Turnany

Stiles doesn't talk about the darkness around his heart. He doesn't talk about the nogitsune that possessed him or the young man he killed. He doesn't talk about the night he said he didn't want to be a monster like Peter Hale. He doesn't talk about how Peter said he was lying. Or, at least, he didn't when he was human.

2. Who You Are

I think the first chapter is the shortest in the entire story, and I won't lie, it's 100% because I liked the drama of ending the chapter when Stiles ran away. I debated including this in the first chapter instead of making it the second

Chapter Two: Who You Are

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Stiles ran until he couldn't hear the police siren or Lydia's voice. Then he ran some more. These were the woods east of town. The trees were sparser here, with more room between and less underbrush. As he headed west, they grew denser and, eventually, would thin out again nearer town.

He pulled his phone out but dropped it when the screen blinded him. Stiles blinked his vision back and found his phone. He squinted before turning it on this time. There was no signal out here. He turned off the location tracking before his dad could use it to find him.

Rain began to fall in light drops. Despite the date, California wasn't cold enough to freeze the rain into snow.

To the west, Peter howled.

Stiles had heard Peter howl before, but he wasn't sure that should be enough to recognize it.

He bared his teeth in Peter's direction. Why was Peter out? Stiles felt certain the howl was meant for him. How could he know that? Did Peter mean to help him or kill him for his power?

The thought made Stiles growl. He itched to fight, to hunt, to... Stiles squeezed his eyes shut against completing that thought.

Peter liked Stiles. Not as much as he liked Malia, and not as much as a normal person liked their friends, but he liked Stiles. For Peter, that was a lot. This was what he'd wanted: for Stiles to turn.

Peter had wanted Stiles as a beta. He had tried to kill Scott for being an alpha.

If Peter tried to kill him, Stiles could fight back now. If Peter did kill Stiles, Malia would never forgive him. The pack would destroy him. Again. Stiles didn't think Peter would come back this time.

If Stiles died, he wouldn't have to deal with what he was becoming or what he'd done.

Peter howled again.

Stiles howled. By the sound, Peter wasn't far out of town. Stiles ran toward him. They had to howl twice more before they found each other. As soon as Peter saw Stiles, he sat down, unaware or unbothered by the wet grass.

Confused, Stiles tilted his head to study Peter. The rain had remained light so far, but Peter's short hair dripped down over his forehead. His grey v-neck clung to his torso. Mud speckled his boots, but lightly. He watched Stiles expectantly.

Stiles walked over to sit beside him. Peter's heartbeat was steady. He smelled... it wasn't calm, but it wasn't agitated. Stiles watched him a moment, trying to sort out his scent. Only when he focused on Peter's smirk did Stiles realize he was excited.

"I'd have killed him for you," Peter said conversationally.

Stiles growled. If Peter had done it, he would be an alpha again.

Peter was undeterred. "I mean if you didn't want to. Are you happy this way?"

"You know I didn't want this."

Peter tilted his head. "Do I?"

"You may not have believed me, but you know I made a choice," Stiles snarled, leaning forward into Peter's space.

Peter didn't pull back. "You can't be human again."

"Did Lydia call you?" Stiles couldn't think of how Peter would have known to find him otherwise.

Peter nodded. "She told me several disturbing things. Fenris was an alpha, and he was sick. Wolfsbane and mountain ash couldn't stop either of you. You're an alpha now."

"Why would she tell you?"

Peter laughed, actually laughed. Stiles almost latched his teeth into Peter's throat to shut him up.

"You know Scott's pups can't help you," Peter said.

"Pups?"

"They're hardly wolves."

"You are such a dick."

Peter shrugged. "Why did you answer me?"

Stiles dug his claws into the dirt. "I need help."

"You became an alpha moments after being bitten by a dying werewolf. You need more than help."

Stiles scowled.

"But you haven't attacked me," Peter continued, "and you're fully coherent, if anxious and hostile."

Stiles held up his claws. "I can't make them go away."

Peter didn't spare a glance for Stiles hands and focused on his eyes. "I noticed."

Stiles growled, "How do I do it?"

"There are several ways. The best is an anchor."

"I know about anchors."

"Then imagine yours." Peter's smirk deepened.

Stiles resisted the urge to claw Peter's face off, but only after reaching his claws nearly to Peter's hairline.

Peter sighed. "I assume your father should do."

Stiles pulled back. Peter hadn't flinched. His heartbeat hadn't changed.

Stiles asked, "Do you believe I won't hurt you or that you're so strong I can't?"

"Can't it be both? Focus on your anchor."

Stiles bared his teeth but pulled back. He closed his eyes and thought of his dad, how much he loved him. How Stiles would do anything for him. How he must be worried sick about Stiles now. How Stiles couldn't go near him for fear of hurting him.

"I don't feel calmer," Stiles said.

Worrying about hurting his dad left him too anxious. He needed someone else.

Stiles loved his mother, but thinking about her, he remembered watching her die. He remembered her attacking him on the roof of the hospital. It hadn't been her, but he also remembered the ghost that lived with his father after the Wild Hunt took Stiles. Clinging to Claudia Stilinski's memory had caused too much harm.

Peter finally shed his smugness for a frown. "It needs to be something that reminds you of who you are, not what you can do. Become who you are, and you'll be able to do what you please."

"That's different than I've heard it described before." Stiles had always heard that an anchor kept you human.

"No doubt," Peter sneered. "You're a werewolf now, Stiles. Clinging to anything else will only weaken you."

"I don't care about power," Stiles said.

Peter let out a long-suffering sigh. "If you don't want it, there are ways to pass the alpha spark on. It's how older alphas retire before they're killed."

"I'm not giving it to you."

"Did I say me?"

"You didn't have to."

Peter shook his head and sighed again. "Then you'll need a powerful anchor, so who are you, Stiles?"

"I don't know how to answer something that vague." He dug his claws back into the dirt to keep them away from Peter's face.

"You didn't go to college to find yourself. You already had a plan. Maybe it's who you are; maybe it's who you want to be."

School and a job wasn't enough to be an anchor.

Stiles asked, "Your anchor's anger, right?"

"I can teach you to use anger, but I don't think that's what you want." Peter's eyes glowed a cold blue.

"That doesn't seem calming."

"Calm isn't our goal. When the ocean rages around you, your goal isn't to calm the storm because you simply can't. Your goal is to keep your ship upright without getting lost at sea." Peter repositioned himself to lean against the trunk of the tree he'd been sitting beside.

Stiles asked, "What if there's something wrong with me? What if I can't anchor myself?"

"There is something wrong with you. A newly turned wolf is not meant to be an alpha. It's too much power." Peter leaned forward, eyes still shining blue, though Stiles couldn't imagine what else he had to say. "You've had power before. The control you already have is nigh impossible. You should be mad with your own strength, but we're only having a slightly less sarcastic chat than usual."

Stiles remembered helping Malia during the full moon. She had nearly mauled him, but he refused to leave. He became her anchor. That wasn't what he told her though. He had described being the nogitsune, feeling as the nogitsune. It reveled in its power, in its control over others. Stiles had told Malia what control meant to him, what it became after feeling the nogistune's control as his own.

"Control is overrated," he muttered.

"You're not going to anchor yourself thinking like that," Peter noted.

Maybe Stiles wasn't going to anchor himself.

Peter leaned back again and watched Stiles pick at the soggy ground. "Who do you want to be?" he asked again. "What do you want to do with your life?"

"I want to help people, to save people," Stiles said.

"Like you saved Lydia?"

Stiles nodded, unsure how Peter knew about that.

"Focus on how you felt when you knew you had saved her," Peter suggested.

"It felt good," Stiles said, though it was an understatement.

It had been relief at knowing she was finally safe, pride at having gotten her out, and completion as their pack became whole again.

Only when it faded, did Stiles realize how much pressure had built up inside him tonight. He lifted his hand to study short, human fingernails caked with blood and mud. His tongue ran across dull, human teeth. The burning in his eyes had stopped, and he knew they were brown.

Power still churned in his chest, ready to burst forth at a moment's notice. He thought it should be quieter now.

Peter said, "Good. My next suggestion was going to be pain, but I wasn't sure I'd keep the hand I hurt you with."

Stiles furrowed his brow. Peter didn't seem like he was lying, but neither did he seem afraid of Stiles.

"Not every idle thought is strong enough for a chemosignal," Peter said. "You'll smell the most significant emotion at a given moment, not subtle nuances behind every sentence. I'm calm now. Thinking about a situation in which I might be less calm won't necessarily change that."

"But you knew I was confused even though I think I was mostly relieved."

"Because you told me with your face."

Stiles snorted. "I'm not the first person you taught, am I?" Confidence was an aspect of Peter's personality, but in this case, it hadn't been unwarranted.

"I had a family once, Stiles. I didn't linger at the fringes like I do with Scott's pack. I even helped with the children." He frowned. "Maybe Talia thought forgetting my child would be easier if I had others to care for."

Stiles wasn't sure how to respond. He couldn't remember if Peter had ever shared with him, discounting his questionably accurate story about Derek's first love.

Peter sighed. "You're not done learning, and just because you're anchored now doesn't mean you will be, come the full moon. We're approaching the new moon as it is, which likely helped to make tonight easier than it might have been."

"Which is why I'll continue to need you, I assume." Stiles narrowed his eyes. "It doesn't explain why you want to be sure I come to you for help. Scott will be here soon."

"Scott isn't your alpha."

Stiles opened his mouth to argue but couldn't. Eventually, he managed, "We've seen that packs can have more than one alpha." Deucalion's alpha pack had been a special case, but Scott's pack could be too.

"A stable pack has one alpha and at least three betas. Even the alpha pack had a single leader, the alpha of alphas." Peter said the title mockingly.

"So?"

"So will you submit to Scott?"

Stiles growled. Power spiked in him a tense moment before he could smooth it out. He wanted to help people, not maul Peter.

"You need better control before you even could submit," Peter noted. "An alpha wants to lead."

"Tell me what you get out of this, or I'll take my chances with Scott," Stiles ordered.

"My motivations are complex."

"I've got all night."

Peter frowned, though the effect was marred by water dripping off his nose. He must have brought up his family to manipulate Stiles. Whatever he said now would be different, unless he thought of a plausible lie in the next few seconds. Stiles wouldn't put it past him.

Peter sighed. "First is Malia, obviously. You're her friend. She would want me to help and be angry if I didn't."

Stiles nodded, "Which covers tonight. Tomorrow, when I have options, you're off the hook."

"If I take the opportunity to keep my distance, I won't find out how you resisted the wolfsbane and broke the ash barrier. Maybe you just hadn't finished turning, but maybe it was something more. Lydia said the alpha did the same." Peter studied Stiles like he could find those answers if he looked hard enough.

"You want both advantages for yourself," Stiles guessed.

"Naturally. And if I can be harmed by whatever affected the alpha, I'd like to learn of it sooner rather than later." Peter said it much too casually, like he already suspected he would be protected.

"You plan on using me as an excuse to hide away so you can't be infected," Stiles accused.

"So?"

"So you're an asshole."

Peter shrugged.

Stiles frowned. "Everything you said sounds reasonable."

"You don't believe me?"

"I don't think you lied," Stiles clarified. "I think there's more you didn't tell me."

"I've always liked you, Stiles," Peter noted. "I offered you the bite. I let you say no. I helped separate you from the nogitsune. I saved you from the Ghost Riders at least twice."

Stiles squinted at Peter suspiciously. "There's something more," he muttered, more to himself than Peter.

"There's always more," Peter said. "The question is which piece satisfies you, not where we reach the end."

"Then what is it I need to hear?" Stiles asked.

"That I want your power even if indirectly." Peter flashed a wolfish grin. "I'm alone, but I could never join Scott's pack. Now, there's a new alpha. We would both be stronger."

"I'm not building a pack," Stiles snapped. "I'm with Scott, with all my friends."

Peter shrugged. "I wasn't going to mention it, remember?"

"I don't believe you'd be content as anyone's beta," Stiles said.

"I wouldn't. Joining you would be a temporary measure."

"Meaning?"

Peter raised an eyebrow.

Stiles growled.

Peter rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't kill you, if that's what you're worried about."

He stood, and Stiles found himself surging to his feet to keep the omega from looming over him.

"That will pass," Peter said. "I'm sure you remember how unbearable my nephew was as a young alpha."

"More tolerable than you," Stiles grumbled, surprised again at the rumble in his voice.

"Less murderous, you mean." Peter smelled amused.

Stiles liked Peter mocking him no more than standing over him. Peter stood at ease beside Stiles, practically languid in the darkness.

Stiles said, "Scott didn't act different when he became alpha."

"Scott is a different kind of alpha." Peter paused. "His power also increased gradually rather than all at once as it would for most alphas." He motioned for Stiles to follow. "We can use Derek's loft. No humans about for you to maul, but it does have a shower."

The alpha's blood had covered Stiles' clothes and skin, and his own had spilled over his torso from the wound in his neck. His run through the woods had added dirt without managing to obscure the blood. The rain fell too gently to wash it all away, instead leaving red and brown streaks over his skin and clothes. Stiles wondered how terrible he must look and whether Peter truly hadn't cared or had such perfect self-control that Stiles would never know better.

Stiles said, "Yeah, thanks. For the rest too."

"I have an idea how you can help me until you're fit for human company."

Stiles caught his arm. "How?" His voice vibrated with distrust.

Peter laughed, much harsher a sound than last time. "You're the smart one, Stiles. Figure it out."

Stiles growled, but Peter was unperturbed.

They ran through the woods. Clouds obscured the waning moon, but Stiles saw clearly in the night, even without his eyes burning red. The air here smelled earthy and pure. Stiles breathed deeply, savoring it as wind and rain swept through his hair. Stiles could almost imagine the wind blowing the blood away as the water cleansed the skin left behind. It was silly, but he felt like nothing could catch him. He laughed. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so free.

Once, he had thought werewolves' need to run was a problem. When Liam ran through town naked on the full moon, Stiles had lectured him and wondered how Liam could be so stupid. Stiles understood now. Not throwing off his clothes in the street, but running as a wolf.

They reached Peter's car, and Stiles almost asked if they could run the rest of the way despite the weather. Peter smirked like he could hear the unformed words, and Stiles clamped his teeth around them. Peter pulled a towel from the trunk and laid it over the passenger seat before letting Stiles in.

"Try not to touch anything," Peter ordered. He set another towel against Stiles' front and buckled his seatbelt outside it.

Stiles bared his teeth but didn't argue.

Once they were on the road, Peter said, "You should get signal here if you want to call your father."

"I... yeah."

After scrubbing his palms over the towel on his lap, Stiles tugged his phone from his pocket and traced a finger along the edge of the case. He was afraid to call. It made him feel small and weak. He thought it should make him feel human. Thunder boomed above them, and the rain finally began to pick up.

"How different did you feel after becoming an alpha?" Stiles asked.

Peter shrugged.

"Not even an exaggerated motivational story?" Stiles prodded.

"I was in a persistent vegetative state. While I could move when shifted, I was never fully present. The alpha's power was enough to heal me. How do you think I felt?" Peter spat the question through a snarl. His grip tightened on the wheel. Spikes of agitation burst through the calm amusement of his scent. It was stronger now, in a confined space without the rain washing it away.

What Peter described was miraculous. He should have felt alive after years of hell trapped in his own mind, driven mad with pain and grief. But he had killed his niece for it.

Peter had returned to Derek's pack after Lydia revived him. He had stayed by Cora while she was sick. He loved Malia and had risked his life for her more than once. Peter cared about family, in his own way. He must have cared for Laura.

"Is that why you killed your nurse?" Stiles asked.

Peter's heart was steady, and his scent had smoothed out. He was too calm. He had to be controlling his physical responses now. Whatever he claimed could be a lie, and Stiles would have no way to tell.

"Call your father," was all Peter said.

Stiles did. He held his breath.

When Noah Stilinski answered, his voice was urgent. "Stiles, where are you?"

"I'm safe. I'm with Peter." Stiles bit his lip too hard again. "I'm sorry."

"We'll take care of everything, son. Just come home."

"I can't, not until I know I won't hurt you."

"Lydia doesn't think you're going to attack anyone."

"I have to be sure," Stiles insisted. "You saw what I did to Fenris, didn't you?"

"He attacked you."

"What if someone tries to mug me, and I rip them to pieces? What if I snap at someone for bumping into me?"

"Your friends can help."

"I'm sure they will, but they'll help me away from humans."

"I thought you hated Peter." Noah had changed tactics, which meant he couldn't argue Stiles' point.

"Dad, I need a werewolf right now, even better, one who has been an alpha. I need Peter right now. He's already helping. We just need more time."

Noah was quiet a moment. "Call me every day."

"I will."

"Let your friends do as much as they can. Don't rely too much on Peter Hale."

"I promise. I'll be home soon, Dad, just not yet."

"I love you, son."

"Love you too, Dad." Stiles hung up. "That went better than I expected."

"No doubt he's relieved you weren't the one who died," Peter said.

Stiles ignored him. He texted Scott, I was bitten.

Scott replied immediately. Lydia called. I'm on my way.

He must have decided to drive in the night rather than wait for morning.

Stiles texted Malia next, but she had heard from Lydia already too. He had been in the forest for a while. That gave Lydia plenty of time to contact everyone, arrange everything.

"Did Lydia tell you to have me stay with you?" Stiles asked.

"She promised to stay away since her healing factor is less than ours," Peter said. "She seemed to think you'd demand it of her."

Stiles texted Lydia, Is there anyone you haven't told?

I spoke to everyone who is in town or returning for break. After a moment, she texted again, Including Argent.

It's too ominous when you say it like that, Stiles complained. Chris Argent was an ally. He wouldn't be hunting Stiles.

He's worried about how Fenris was acting. And about you. He's working with Deaton now.

Stiles wasn't sure what to say, so he texted someone he knew wasn't in town or coming home soon: Derek. I was bitten tonight.

Are you ok? Derek replied after a few moments, which was miraculous in itself since he'd agreed to carry a phone less than a year ago.

I think so.

Who bit you?

Fenris. Stiles hesitated, but sent another text saying, He can't bite anyone else.

Derek called.

"'Sup, Der?" Stiles kept his voice hollowly cheerful.

Peter looked over and raised an eyebrow.

"Is he dead?" Derek demanded.

"Yeah," Stiles confirmed. "I did it."

"Shit," Derek breathed.

"Peter's helping me handle it," Stiles said.

"Peter."

"If you have any helpful tips, I'm all ears. I switched over from eyes and thumbs when you decided texting wasn't enough."

"Don't let Peter kill you."

"Well, there go all my plans." Stiles sighed.

With false hurt in his voice, Peter asked, "Why does it feel like no one trusts me?"

"Because no one trusts you," Stiles answered.

Derek asked, "Do you need me to come back?"

"No, man, do your own thing. Scott's on his way as we speak, and he's a little closer than you anyway."

"Call if you need anything," Derek said.

"I was kind of hoping you'd know a way to stop overreacting to everything. I keep growling at people. I snapped at Lydia. With my teeth. Like a dog."

"Practice," Derek said.

"Somehow, I forgot that you were the most eloquent Hale."

"Find your anchor and spend time with Peter. He'll make you angry enough to test it." Derek's voice went wry, like the idea of Stiles rooming with Peter amused him despite his earlier warning.

"That's actually our plan."

"Good luck. Don't die." He hung up, so maybe in Derek's mind that was a valediction.

Stiles grimaced at his phone. "I've seen him fake normal human interaction, which means he has to be like that on purpose."

"I think you and Scott are his best friends," Peter said, "which is sad."

"You have no friends," Stiles pointed out.

"And yet Derek is somehow naturally more depressing."

"Derek is in South America spending time with his sister and earning his master's in history. You're hanging out with your daughter's ex-boyfriend in small-town in California." Stiles smirked and wondered if Peter would react.

Peter sighed. "You're your own man, who needs my help."

"I'm not even old enough to drink legal—" Stiles groaned. "Please tell me there's a secret way for werewolves to get drunk."

"Your friends encountered a sound wave that can make werewolves act intoxicated."

He meant the bonfire when Haigh's men had almost killed Scott, Malia, and Liam while the Benefactor's dead pool was still active. The music had weakened them so much they couldn't stand, and Haigh had ordered his cronies to burn them alive.

"But what about alcohol?" Stiles pressed.

"Wolfsbane," Peter said. "I admit, I don't know if it will work on you, but there's a strain known to impair our healing that has almost no taste when dissolved in liquid." A smirk played at his lips.

"I hate you."

"An overdose leaves you unconscious, unable to heal, and therefore vulnerable, anyway."

"You're as much against fun as Derek, aren't you?"

Peter's eye twitched. Stiles doubted he'd have noticed except that he was watching, trying to find ways to read Peter. He had a feeling he'd need every advantage in the coming days.

"I don't find dulling my senses and diminishing my faculties to be fun," Peter said.

"Exactly what the anti-fun Hale would say."

"If you mean Derek, we both know he'd give a lecture about ever-present danger. Tonight, it would feature whoever poisoned the alpha you killed."

Stiles tensed. He wished Peter would say, 'the alpha who bit you,' or just, 'Fenris,' but it wasn't like he was wrong. Stiles couldn't deny what he'd done. He'd be home by now if he hadn't. He'd still be a werewolf, but not an alpha.

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Scott is the true alpha. We both know that isn't something you could achieve."

"I know." Stiles wondered what made him so easy to read. Had his heart sped up? His scent gone sour? Did Peter just know him that well?

"Then why pretend his bland, self-deceptive pacifism is some perfect measure? Maybe it works for Scott, but you aren't Scott."

"Stop," Stiles ordered. "I refuse to be okay with killing."

"What about mutilating your victims beyond recognition?"

Stiles roared. His voice filled the car's cabin and pressed in around him. Peter's eyes went wide. His heart raced. He gasped for breath. Clenching his teeth as if against pain, Peter swerved to the shoulder and parked with a jerk. He dropped forward to rest his head against the steering wheel.

"Don't do that when I'm driving," Peter panted.

"You did fine. Are you pretending to freak out to make me feel bad?"

Peter choked out a harsh half-laugh. He sat up and leaned his head back to turn his closed eyes to the car's ceiling. He blinked a few times. His eyes were watering. A vein pulsed at the side of his neck.

"You're not faking," Stiles realized.

"There's a difference between a roar and an alpha roar. An alpha can do both."

"I'm guessing that wasn't the normal one."

"No."

Stiles had encountered alpha roars several times, though the first had been Peter's when he tried to force Scott to kill his friends. Derek had used his roar to stop Isaac attacking Stiles. Scott had used it to force Malia to transform back into a human. It was more than a call or a threat like most roars. It was a command.

Stiles said, "Sorry. I..."

"I know you can't control it yet," Peter said. His heart and breathing slowed. "And obviously, I can resist it since I think I was supposed to prostrate myself in apology and submit, or at least that's the feeling I got."

"Sorry," Stiles repeated. "You're not the one I'm mad at."

"I know," Peter said like it was obvious. "But even if you'd taken me up on my offer to join your pack, I wouldn't submit."

"Because it would have been temporary anyway."

"Right."

"Just until you were strong enough to find an alpha you aren't invested in and kill them," Stiles said. He should have seen it sooner, but he was distracted.

"Yes," Peter confirmed, easily.

"And what would you do then?"

"Whatever I want."

"Scott tolerates you because you've helped us. I don't think he'd feel the same if you were an alpha again."

"I don't care how Scott feels," Peter's eyes flashed.

"Malia won't leave his pack for yours."

Peter's lip twitched back in a sneer.

"I'm just saying maybe you should think it through," Stiles said.

"Apparently, that's what I have you for."

"I live out of town. You don't text nearly enough for me to save you. Do you even have my number?"

"Of course I do."

"I don't have yours," Stiles noted.

Peter pulled his phone from his jeans' pocket and texted Stiles a pound sign.

"Cute," Stiles said.

The car door ripped off its hinges. A woman in a ski mask snarled at him. She had no scent. The rain didn't wash it away; it simply was not there. She reached a clawed hand into the car and tore Stiles out, shredding his seatbelt.

"It would be one of you," she muttered. Her voice was distorted.

Howling, Stiles lashed out with his claws. She knocked him back.

His feet skidded through the mud at the side of the road and left him on the ground looking up at his attacker.

She stood over him. Though her claws were out, her eyes did not glow. "You're a strong one, Stiles, but you don't know how to use your power yet."

She knew his name.

Stiles scrambled for her mask. She fought him off.

Peter crashed into her.

Another woman followed Peter around the car, dressed like the first, masked and scentless. She held a gun in either hand. Her eyes didn't glow either.

Stiles leapt forward. She shot him.

Screaming, Stiles fell back to the mud. He dug the bullet out with his claws. It didn't smell like wolfsbane. She shot him again.

The night went red. Stiles charged. He swung for her face. His claw caught the edge of her mask.

The other one kicked Stiles away. She stomped his face into the mud.

They ran as he cleared his eyes.

Peter grabbed Stiles to pull him toward the car.

"Who the hell was that?" Stiles asked.

"I don't know. Get in the car." Peter's eyes lingered on the woods.

"Shouldn't we follow them?"

"You're not ready."

Stiles got in, though there was neither a door nor seatbelt on the passenger side anymore. Peter shoved his passenger door in the trunk where it stuck out precariously while Stiles dug the second bullet from his shoulder.

"She knew my name," Stiles said as Peter pulled the car back onto the road.

"They wore masks, hid their scents, and disguised their voices. I think it's safe to say they were worried about being recognized." Peter grimaced. "They also knew what they were doing. I think one of them may have been human, but we couldn't do more than drive them off."

"At least we did that," Stiles mumbled, scrolling through his contacts while holding his phone practically over Peter's lap to avoid getting it wet. Maybe Liam had already encountered these two.

Peter said, "The way the shifter reacted to you, she knew someone would be bitten, even before she recognized you."

"You think they were out looking for whoever the alpha bit?"

Peter nodded. "Which means he was released specifically to bite someone."

"Or more than one, since I doubt they expected me to stop him."

"Murder and mutilate," Peter corrected.

Growling, Stiles texted Liam, You guys had any trouble with werewolves or a lady with guns?

Liam didn't respond, though Stiles doubted he'd gone to bed so early.

Stiles texted his dad next. Two women attacked us. Knew I'd been bitten; called me by name but seemed surprised it was me. Both wore masks, disguised voice and scent.

Noah responded in seconds, Come home.

Can't.

Description? Height? Weight?

Stiles asked Peter, but he hadn't noticed more than Stiles except the one with the guns was a couple inches shorter. Both had long, dark hair that fell past their masks. Stiles shared what little they had with Noah but didn't text more. He would just try to convince Stiles to come home, and Stiles couldn't risk hurting him.

They reached the loft without being attacked again, though the rain pouring through the gaping hole in Peter's car left Stiles drenched.

"You know some cars are made with back seats just in case the front door is ripped off in the middle of a rain storm," Stiles grumbled at Peter.

"I don't think that's why," was all Peter said.

From outside, the building looked the same. Stiles recognized the window to Derek's loft even from below. It sat above a notch in the building's exterior walls that led the eye directly to the window. Looking at it from this angle, Stiles thought maybe the frequency of attacks on the loft made sense.

Inside, Peter had done some work on the loft, but Stiles didn't spend much time exploring between showering, borrowing Peter's clothes, stuffing his face, and climbing gratefully into Derek's old bed. Stiles didn't want to deal with Peter anymore tonight. He didn't want to deal with anything. Peter had shrugged and gone to a room Stiles didn't remember being there before.

Stiles lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He didn't have his pillow; he'd left it in Lydia's car. Peter had warned him the bed still smelled of Derek. Stiles wondered how a scent he could never have detected as a human but hadn't encountered since becoming a wolf could feel so familiar.

Eventually, Stiles fell asleep, even without his pillow. He dreamed of the nogitsune. A bear trap closed around his ankle and held him back as he watched himself building traps and taking lives.

But that wasn't how it happened, the nogitsune taunted.

Stiles felt the thrill rush through him when he stabbed Scott and the ecstasy of the pain Scott had unwittingly taken for him as it passed through Stiles to the void, serving his insatiable appetite. It was better than pack, better than sex, better than saving someone's life, better than his meager anchor. Stiles watched his own face leeched of life. He watched his body crumble to ash.