Blood on the Moon

Summary: With a new pack in town, Stiles is put in danger and Derek has to find a way to protect him without pushing him away completely. Slow!burn Sterek. Tropes galore.

A/N: Huge thank you to everyone for reading, and thank you for the comments also :D And on the fourth chapter, she the sadistic writer, said: 'Let there be drama.' And there was. But I promise, update coming soon - like Monday soon, as that's my aim at the moment, update twice a week, every Monday and Thursday. Fingers crossed.

Rating may change, but currently this is suitable for teens and up...

Warning: Slash!

Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, I'm just playing around with them.

Chapter 4

Chemistry was a mixture of elation and dread, two polar opposites in the form of Lydia and Harris – both paying almost equal attention to Stiles. From Lydia, this was welcomed, but as Harris was still determined to make Stiles' life a misery, Stiles found himself doubly determined to keep his head down and focused on the pop quiz in front of him. But he could still feel Harris' glare, along with the stare from his new werewolf stalker.

When class finished and he turned in his seat to look her way, she was long gone and Stiles couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Though given the way his arm still hurt, he reckoned not knowing where she was wasn't exactly the best thing.

Scott's new timetable meant that it wasn't until after the last bell rang, signalling the end of the school day, that Stiles had any chance of catching up with his best friend. He leaned against his jeep, eyes trained on the front doors to the school, waiting for Scott to emerge.

"You smell different," Derek murmured from behind him, and Stiles would swear down on his life that he didn't jump. No jumping, at all... but okay, yeah – there was a bit of floundering.

"Dude!" he managed to breathe out after calming his heart somewhat, because werewolves... really, they would be the death of him. "You ever thought about getting one of those little bells? You know, let's people know you're there, being a creeper..."

But Derek just frowned and took a step closer to Stiles, and was he sniffing him? Was the brooding werewolf in front of him actually smelling him?

"Okay, seriously?" Stiles questioned, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat as Derek came far too close. "This isn't creepy at all. You, sniffing me... that's just... I don't even know what that is. What're you-"

Derek grabbed his arm a little too roughly and his words fell away to be replaced by a meagre cry of pain. If the fact that Derek's grip was right where the stalker werewolf's had been wasn't enough, the widening of Derek's eyes and the thinning of his lips most definitely were. It was Derek's seriously pissed face, which differed from his usual pissed face and his 'why are you talking' face, because it also came with a vibe that told Stiles the only reason Derek's eyes weren't flashing red was because they were in public.

"Hey! Ow... ow... that hurts. Yep, that definitely hurts."

Ignoring him, Derek pulled the sleeve of Stiles' jacket up to reveal the blood and claw marks still so bright against his pale and freckled skin. He glowered at Stiles, which wasn't really fair because it's not like it was Stiles' fault they were there.

"Who did this?" The words were a sharp demand, and when Stiles tried to pull his arm away to hide the wound, Derek held on fast.

"This? This is nothing... in fact, it's less than nothing. No one did that to me..."

There was a low rumble at the base of Derek's throat, and his eyes did flash red now. It stilled Stiles completely, stopped him from attempting to pull away again. In fact, if anything, he fell slack in Derek's grasp, his eyes locked on the dangerous red that should have caused his heart to flutter like crazy, but for some reason, it calmed it instead. Even the pressure around his ribcage seemed to lessen, breathing coming easier, even though the answer didn't.

Derek seemed to sense the change, the red vanishing to be replaced by the usual array of colours that weren't quite green or blue or brown, and were far too complicated to be called just hazel. His grip softened, along with his features.

"Stiles," he continued, the growl gone and voice so gentle it was almost a whisper, "who did this?"

But really, Stiles didn't need to answer. Derek already knew who, and Stiles could see the exact moment when Derek realised it himself. So Stiles said nothing. There was nothing to say.

The anger was back in Derek's eyes, the tension returning to his jaw, but his grip still remained slack. "They tracked your scent," he finally said, gaze falling away so briefly before locking with Stiles' once again. "How many of them? What did they say? What did they do?"

Each question was just as urgent as the last, and Derek seemed to move an inch or so closer with each because hey, personal space just didn't exist in Derek's mind. It had to be a wolf thing.

"It's not that bad," Stiles tried to answer, but the words weren't enough to placate Derek. "Can't we just forget about it?"

"Forget about it? Stiles, this pack tracked your scent to your school and threatened you! They're not just gonna leave you alone now."

"Yeah, I kind of already got that when the psycho werewolf chick told me she wanted me as a pet."

Derek looked like he was about to say something further, push the matter more, but he took a step back instead and forced his hands down to his sides. Derek, holding himself back because, yes – Stiles was very much scarred by that encounter with Mae the twisted werewolf, quite literally, and a little sympathy would be nice.

"What happened?" Derek asked eventually, the restraint evident upon his features.

Stiles shrugged, mouth twisting in the corner at the memory. "We talked, and then Lydia interrupted and that was it."

Eyebrow raised, Derek looked him over appraisingly. "Since when did just talking end in claw marks on a person's arm?"

"Dude, I'm like a freaking werewolf magnet – you guys just can't help putting your hands all over me. It's like a compulsion or something."

"I'm serious, Stiles."

"So am I! Come on, admit it – I'm irresistible, right? I'm like werewolf catnip."

Derek was halfway to burying his head in his hand, and there was a definite rolling of the eyes there as well, when he suddenly jerked it to the right instead. Stiles didn't catch on at first, until he turned his gaze in that direction and spotted her, the crazy werewolf herself, standing there at the edge of the parking lot, watching them. Derek must have smelled her, recognised her scent from whatever lingering smells she had left on Stiles – and that thought right there just made Stiles feel incredibly dirty all of a sudden.

"You're thinking about ripping her throat out, aren't you?" Stiles questioned, surprised when his voice didn't waver as much as he thought it would.

Hands forming fists, Derek nodded, already taking a step away from Stiles and toward her instead. Stiles grabbed Derek's shoulder immediately, fingertips digging into tense muscles as he used Derek's frame to help swing himself around and in front of the Alpha, blocking him. Leaving go of the shoulder, he held his hands out in front of Derek's chest, inches away from being flat against the surface of that greyed shirt Derek wore too often.

Derek paused and looked to Stiles' hands before raising his gaze to meet Stiles'. "Get out of my way, Stiles."

"You don't want to do anything," Stiles offered up, knowing that if Derek truly wanted to make him move, he would do so forcibly. He didn't need to have special werewolf super strength to do so, the rock hard muscles would do nicely.

"She needs to pay," Derek answered, moving forward just enough so that his chest was now against Stiles' hands. The contact seemed to stop him immediately and he moved no further, but his stare was still locked on Mae.

"Not here she doesn't," Stiles continued with a shake of his head.

"Why not?"

"Because, you can't just go over there and kill some innocent girl. It's crazy!"

Derek met his eyes once more, offering up a pointed answer. "She's not innocent."

"Yeah, well, try telling that to every other person in this parking lot."

At that, Derek seemed to force himself to relax somewhat, which in turn allow Stiles to relax, his arms falling back to his sides as he stared imploringly at Derek. The tension didn't lessen along Derek's jaw line or fall away from his shoulders, but he didn't advance either, which Stiles counted as a win. When he dared a glance behind him, Mae was gone, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

By the way Derek backed off a little, Stiles guessed that even her scent was disappearing too. Wherever she was, it was no longer there, watching them. For that, Stiles was eternally thankful.

"Tell Scott to meet me at my house," Derek spoke up, snapping Stiles' attention back to him. "We make our move tonight."

"Tonight?" Keeping the disbelief from his voice was nigh on impossible, so Stiles didn't even bother trying. "Don't you think that's a little soon? Do you even have a plan?"

Derek cocked his head ever so slightly to the side. "Yeah, I have a plan – I'm gonna make sure they can't hurt anybody else by whatever means necessary. That's my plan."

"Well, I gotta say, dude, as far as plans go – I've heard better."

But Derek's gaze flitted briefly to Stiles' arm, the movement so quick that Stiles was sure he wasn't supposed to see it – or the concern and anger written in Derek's eyes. And that was it, that was all Stiles needed to know. The fact that the new pack had made a move, the fact that they had used Stiles to get to Derek and the others – that was why Derek was behaving irrationally. If Stiles had been able to keep the wound hidden like he had wanted to, Derek wouldn't be planning something so stupidly rash as attacking the new pack tonight.

"If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it," Derek answered, stoic manner returning, a blank mask falling in place over his features.

Stiles opened his mouth, ready to say something, anything, to Derek as the Alpha turned his back and headed off toward wherever it was he had come from. Ready to call him an ass for overreacting to Stiles getting hurt, and an ass for shutting everyone out whilst letting his anger get the best of him.

"Tonight," Derek called over his shoulder without turning around. "Make sure Scott gets the message."

"Well, what did you expect to happen?" his uncle asked not long after Derek had arrived back at the house. "You practically introduced them to his scent. They were bound to be curious."

Derek paced the floor, letting Peter's words wash over him, refusing to react to them. After all, it was true. Stiles getting hurt, that was Derek's fault. Instead of leading the pack away from Stiles the previous night, he had only served to pique their interest. Because of Derek, they had caught a taste of Stiles' scent, and they liked it. The Alpha of the pack had liked it.

Because there was no denying it. The female wolf in the school parking lot, she had been the one watching from the shadows – her red eyes taking everything in.

"I mean, what were you thinking?" Peter continued, a mocking smile twisting at his lips and causing his eyebrows to rise. "And let's face it, 'thinking' – not your strong point. Throw in a little Stiles and you're like a buddle of blind rage."

Head snapping around to his uncle, Derek glowered at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

A bored expression fell into place on Peter's face, his gaze level and head tilted forward an inch or so. "Like you don't know."

"What?" Derek growled out, demanding and sharp.

"It's obvious you care about him."

With a shake of his head, Derek turned away and offered up a grunt. "He's pack."

"Not yours though."

The words were a sharp sting, surprisingly bitter and painful as they rang clearly in the empty air of the room. He was aware of the bare and naked look his eyes probably gave away, so vulnerable as he looked to Peter, mouth hanging open. Any argument was void, because it was true.

"That doesn't matter," he forced out instead, lowering his gaze and breathing out a tired sigh.

"Because you care about him," Peter insisted.

His jaw tightened again as he practically bit out his next words. "Drop it."

It wasn't a matter of caring about Stiles. It wasn't. After all, Stiles was infuriating and insufferable and he never shut up or backed down... Trouble seemed to follow him around in the same way it followed Derek, and the fact that his eyes shone with loneliness when he thought no one was looking, it meant nothing. Everything about him drove Derek mad.

"You know, you should just give him the Bite and get it over with. I mean, he fits your criteria, doesn't he?"

Jaw clenching, Derek's glare found Peter. "Shut up."

"Come on, though – he just reeks of self-loathing, poor little Stiles; best friend is a werewolf, his father thinks he's a liar and a failure... not to mention how hopelessly in love he is with that one girl who will barely give him the time of day. And yet you won't offer him the one thing that could help...?"

"Stiles doesn't want the bite," Derek grit out, a low warning etched into the words – the message clear. Stay away from Stiles.

"Really?" Peter raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Have you even asked him? Because I recall a time in a parking garage when I did... and I remember that distinct skitter in his heart. You know the kind, anticipation, fear... excitement. He may have pulled away before I gave it to him, but it wouldn't have taken much to change his mind. He wants the bite, Derek... Oh, he wants it."

Derek was across the room in seconds, maybe less, his fingers bunched up in the front of his uncle's shirt. In one smooth movement, Peter was slammed against the wall, the wood quaking and dust floating down around them on a spiral of chaos. Derek leaned in and bared his teeth, eyes flashing red. "You stay away from him! You leave Stiles alone."

"I'm not the one you have to worry about, remember?"

That didn't calm Derek in the slightest. If anything, it made him tighten his grip on his uncle's shirt. It took him a few more huffs of breath before he reigned in his temper enough to release his uncle and take a step back.

"Stay away from Stiles," he warned, but with less venom and growl than before.

Peter just smiled, his silence almost worse than any answer because Derek couldn't tell what the man was thinking. No matter how much he claimed to be friend instead of foe, Derek still had his reservations. After all, this was the same man who gave Scott the Bite against his will, the same one who had used an innocent teenage girl as a backup plan... the man who Derek had grown up with, and therefore the one who knew him better than anyone else alive. And that, above anything else, made Peter dangerous.

The familiar rumble of Stiles' jeep announced the end of the conversation and Derek refused to look at his uncle, refused to even offer up one last warning glare. It would do no good anyway. So he schooled his features and attempted to lock away that dripping pain that continued to seep into his gut from somewhere in his chest, twisting it up.

He heard the door click open, heard the footsteps making their way through the house and toward the main room, and he knew maybe he wasn't done locking everything away. Peter's words still bit at the back of his mind, and his hands still formed loose fists.

"Yo!" It was Stiles who spoke first and Derek rounded on him before the youth could finish getting out the rest of his greeting.

"Why are you here?" he asked, the words more throaty and frustrated than he intended, his anger aimed at completely the wrong person. Yet, at the same time, he reasoned – he was angry with Stiles, for being there. For always being there. He was a human. He was breakable, and he never seemed to care.

Stiles paused at the doorway, just behind Scott and Isaac, his eyes shifting left then right. "To help...?"

Derek shook his head. "I told you to tell Scott to come. I didn't say anything about you coming."

"Well, it's a package deal, buddy – deal with it."

"No, Stiles – not this time. Go home."

"What?" Stiles whined, voice rising. "Seriously? Why? Because I can't wolf out like you guys?"

"Stiles, this isn't up for discussion." Derek could still smell the faint scent of blood, hidden underneath a mixture of generic soap wash and excessive amounts of body spray. If it wasn't for the fact he knew it was there, he might have missed it altogether. But it was there and Derek was quite aware of how the wound on Stiles' arm had looked, and would still look.

Stiles took a step forward instead of shrinking away under Derek's intense glare. "Is this about what happened with that werewolf chick?"

"What...?" Scott interrupted, glancing between Stiles and Derek, confusion evident. "What werewolf chick?"

So that explained why Stiles had doused himself so heavily in body spray.

Derek felt something snap inside of him. Was Stiles truly that careless? "You didn't even tell him?"

"It slipped my mind, okay?" An outright lie. Stiles stank of deception and his eyes fell away from Derek's face as he shifted from one foot to the other.

"Slipped your... Stiles, she..." But the words would barely even form in his mind so they had no hope of reaching his lips. Frustration, pure and utter frustration, bubbled through Derek, setting his whole body on edge, jaw clenching and eyes narrowing. "You are an idiot!"

"Yeah, well – I'm the idiot this Mae chick wants as a pet."

How was that a valid argument at all? If anything, that was even more reason for Stiles to just stay away... maybe locked in a circle of mountain ash where no one could reach him.

"You think she was joking around with you?" Derek questioned. "This isn't a game, Stiles. She tracked you down at your school. You think she's going to just give up and leave you alone because you act like you're not afraid?"

"Dude, my point exactly! I am the perfect bait."

Isaac shifted from somewhere near Scott and Derek's gaze shot to him, taking in his uncertainty and hesitation as he licked his lips and opened his mouth. "He does kind of have a point..."

"No!" Derek answered before turning to stare Stiles down – which should have been easy, him being an Alpha and Stiles being human. Nothing was ever easy with Stiles. "No," he repeated. "You're not bait, Stiles. You're never going to be bait. That's not how this works."

"I can do this!" Stiles continued on, completely ignorant of the fact that by playing bait – he could get hurt. He could even get killed.

"You're not coming, Stiles. You're a distraction! I can't think straight with you there." The words slipped out before Derek realised they had even flash through his mind. Given the stutter in Stiles' heartbeat and the hurt that flash across his face, Derek knew immediately that what he had meant had come out completely the wrong way.

"Look, I know everyone thinks I'm just some hyperactive kid with nothing to offer, but I can do this... This, this is one thing I can do."

Derek felt the anger flood from him system, replaced with a hollow feeling instead. His shoulders slumped, his voice softened. "Stiles, I didn't mean... I didn't..." Didn't mean it like that. At all.

Stiles wasn't listening though. It was like watching a wall fall into place behind those amber eyes, and Derek knew that Stiles was feeling just as hollow as he was – which was worse, because Derek knew he was the cause.

"Stiles," he tried again, refusing to acknowledge the glances each of the others gave him – the knowing and gloating look from Peter, and suspicion that lined both Isaac and Scott's eyes. "This is dangerous."

What he didn't say, what he didn't explain, was that he wouldn't be able to focus whilst thinking of Stiles being in danger. He refused to admit it out loud. He could barely even admit it to himself. He had lost too many people he had cared about, and he wasn't prepared to lose anymore. And for some reason, for some incomprehensible reason that Derek really didn't understand at all... he cared about Stiles.

Next chapter coming Monday...