Chapter 9: Can't lose you.

"Now what?" Stiles' voice trembles, his heart going erratic with Peter standing too close for comfort. He can smell the alpha's enticing scent, a bit surprised by the fact that the werewolf's wearing cologne. It seems like such a human thing to do. He had this whole idea of what the alpha would be like. A red-eyed monster out for blood, a heartless and uncontrollable animal. He certainly didn't expect...this. Peter Hale. An intriguing...character. This man seems so much more than a werewolf, he seems wise, clever.

"Whatever you want, Stiles," Peter leans in, pulling his body close, their lips brushing tenderly, the light touch making Stiles' legs turn to jelly. Peter's hands come up to his hips and hold him firmly on the ground, keeping him from actually succumbing to his weakened legs. Stiles enjoys this more than he should. Peter is painfully attractive, and Stiles is alas not immune to the man's charm. It feels good to be wanted for once, to have something that's just his and no one else's. Too often Stiles has had to stand idly by the sidelines, watching everyone have their moment of glory, their share of romance, of love. It's quite twisted, Stiles realizes, but he somewhat likes the attention Peter is paying him. Stiles never gets noticed as anything other than the goofy nerd. Especially since Scott was turned, Stiles has had to watch his best friend steal all the thunder at lacrosse, get Allison, the fast-rising-to-popularity girl in school.

"What do you want, really?" Stiles asks, his breath ghosting across the werewolf's lips.

"I want you," Peter answers him truthfully, or at least as truthfully as Stiles can imagine the man can sound. "You fascinate me, Stiles."

"Why?" Stiles can't help but think Peter has an ulterior motive for his behavior. Why would he take such an interest in him when no one ever has before? Stiles has a hard time believing Peter is just interested in his personality—granted, Stiles is a great catch, but still, it's too weird, the timing too convenient for this to be true.

"You're smart enough to recognize a bad situation when you see one and yet you still put your neck out for those you care about," Peter explains, moving his head next to Stiles', burying his nose in Stiles' neck, a hand coming up to caress Stiles' short hair. Stiles can hear Peter take a deep breath, a little puzzled by this weird obsession of Peter's with his scent. Stiles doesn't smell anything in particular, he just puts on deodorant, like most teenagers. "You're smart and you're loyal, that makes you an incredible candidate for my pack."

"So that's it, I'm just someone whose resume looks great in your weird recruiting operation?" Stiles can't help showing his disappointment in his tone.

"Well, if you must know," Peter leans back, his azure eyes meeting Stiles' again. "I have a little conflict of my own to resolve, and I could use your help. And Scott's."

A little conflict. Stiles suddenly remembers his conversation last night with his dad. The murder victims. All connected to the Hale house fire. Peter isn't killing random people, he's conducting his own little vendetta. "Do you mean revenge?"

"Yes," Peter lights up at his question, regarding him with delighted eyes. "You are smart, Stiles. Like I told you, I want you in my pack. But I could do without it."

Peter inches their faces closer again, his arms securely settled around Stiles' body. "What I can't do without though, is having you. As I told you, I like you, Stiles."

Stiles likes Peter's silky voice, it's mesmerizing, it sends shivers all the way down his back through his spine. He can hardly believe this is happening to him but apparently it is. All this teasing is making Stiles go insane, he just wants Peter to kiss him already and he can't bring himself to close the distance between their lips. In retrospect, he should not be doing this; he should not even be considering this, them. Peter is so much older than him, this is just all kinds of wrong. Stiles has never been attracted to men, not like this. Everything around him is a blur; it's just him and Peter, secluded in their own world. It feels strange, dangerous, thrilling. Stiles finds himself liking the prospect of having his own secret, something that's just for him to know.

"This could be our little secret," Peter says, as if he was just reading Stiles' thoughts, the words making Stiles' heart flutter. "This could just be ours."

"Stiles!"

Scott finally makes an appearance, at quite the most inopportune of times, Stiles thinks. Scott's chest is heaving fast, his eyes glowing a golden shade as they set on Peter.

"Leave him alone," Scott growls out, his face slowly shifting into his werewolf form. "Stay away from him."

"Calm down now, Scott," Peter turns to him, leaving one arm wrapped around Stiles' waist. "We were just having a nice little chat."

"I'm okay, Scott, really," Stiles offers, nodding at his best friend, not quite sure what to do with his own body. Peter is warm at his side and Stiles wants desperately to lean into that warmth. Pull yourself together, Stiles, that man is a werewolf, a killer. He detaches himself from the man, a little astonished when Peter just lets him go without resisting. As he glances up at him, Stiles sees a soft smile on the man's face. Stiles walks slowly to Scott's side, feeling his best friend relax as he does so. Stiles is lost. He doesn't know what to think of Peter anymore. Just last night he was wildly attacking his own nephew at the hospital where he had been staying for years; today he's acting all docile and seductive with Stiles. It seems surreal, too suspicious.

"Are you okay?" Scott whispers to him and Stiles just nods silently.

"Well, while you are here, Scott, I have something to discuss with you," Peter announces, his eyes not once leaving Stiles', rendering him completely immobile from where he's standing. Stiles finds it hard to breathe, all this attention focused on him is just too intense.

"I need your help," Peter elaborates, breaking eye contact with Stiles briefly.

"I don't want to help you kill people," Scott retorts, taking a defensive stance, putting his arm in front of Stiles—which Stiles finds a little offensive, he's not some fragile flower, thank you very much. Although he probably could use the protection from a killing machine such as Peter.

"Well, I don't want to kill all of them," Peter replies. "Just the responsible ones, and that doesn't have to include…"

Peter looks back at Stiles, prompting him to complete his sentence. It takes him a second to connect the dots together though.

"Allison," Stiles breathes out; eyes wide open as the realization strikes him. Peter is after the Argents. Of course. What better way to get to them than to attack the latest generation?

"You're on his side?" Scott demands as he grabs Stiles' arm, his tone reproaching.

"No! I'm not," Stiles shoots back, returning his best friend's glare. Actually, Stiles is not entirely against Peter. If he could get revenge on whoever caused his mother's death, he certainly would. And Peter lost almost all of his family due to that fire. Stiles doesn't know nearly enough to confirm the Argents' responsibility in the case, but who could've caused it, if not them? Allison's aunt seems like a good candidate anyway, from what he's heard about her from Scott. "It's just…Scott, he just wants to get revenge, he's not killing people randomly, okay?"

"Do you even hear yourself?" Scott looks at him like he's insane, a look that Stiles has alas seen too many times before. "What have you done to him, huh?" Scott turns his attention back to Peter, pointing at Stiles.

"Nothing…yet," Peter walks towards them slowly, circling around them, hands behind his back as he speaks up again. "See, I've come up with an idea. Like how it might be easier to convince you to be part of the pack…if your best friend is too."

"What?" Scott looks back and forth between Stiles and Peter, eyes wide. "Stiles? Did he…? Are you…?"

"No! He didn't," Stiles assures him, a little taken aback by Peter's words. So Peter really does want to use him to his own end. God, Stiles should've known better than to even begin to think Peter could be decent.

"I wouldn't do that to him without his consent," Peter stops right in front of Stiles, looking him straight in the eye. "Give me more credit, Stiles. You know I meant what I told you earlier."

It's really scary how Peter seems to be able to tell what Stiles is thinking.

"What did he say to you? Stiles!" Scott is getting impatient and Stiles doesn't have the words to explain what is going on between him and Peter. It's beyond his own comprehension; he can't even say what this thing is. It could very well be nothing at all, really; just Stiles imagining things, just Peter taking advantage of Stiles' attraction to him.

"What I said to Stiles is private, it remains between us," Peter says as he glances at Scott, pinning the latter on the spot with his intense gaze. Stiles is grateful for that, his best friend's agitation was seriously beginning to irritate him. Stiles is excited enough as it is, what with Peter leading him on from the get go.

"I need to know what you're up to, what you did to Stiles," Scott threatens with a low growl, his eyes glowing once again as he stares at the alpha.

"And I need you to understand how much more powerful we are together," Peter counters, steering the subject off of what occurred between him and Stiles. "You, and me, and Derek."

"I don't care!" Scott shouts.

"See Stiles? You understand why I wish it was you," Peter tells him and heaves a sigh, taking Stiles' hand in his, pulling him forward. Stiles is too dazed gone to react properly, too caught up in Peter to do much. He lets Peter wrap an arm around his waist again, and the look on Scott's face almost makes him regret how much he enjoys the feel of Peter surrounding him. The truth is, Stiles feels protected, he feels safe in a way that he never did with anyone other than his Dad, and he'd rather not think about that for fear of making a correlation between his Dad and Peter. But it's too late, he just did that.

"Let him go," Scott marches up to them, claws sharp and ready to attack but Peter hits him with the back of his hand, sending Scott flying off against a tree. Stiles gasps and tries to move to get to Scott but Peter won't let him this time, his grip on Stiles' shoulder is firm.

"Don't be selfish, Scott," Peter says. "Stiles has been a loyal friend to you, he's helped you from the very beginning. You owe this to him. He doesn't want to be a werewolf and I don't want to force him."

"You never had this problem with me," Scott gets back on his feet, walking up to them.

"Well, I didn't care about you then," Peter replies, causing Stiles' heart to skip a beat. "And I still don't care that much about you now."

"And you expect me to help you kill innocent people?" Scott snorts, and moves closer, the situation making Stiles more nervous as the seconds go by.

"What will it take for you to understand? They're not innocent!" Peter raises his voice, startling Stiles. "Maybe…you could try and see things….from my perspective."

Peter moves fast, Stiles barely gets to see the alpha's claws growing before the latter moves right in front of Scott in a flash. Stiles yells Scott's name as Peter plunges his claws in Scott's neck, leaving the latter shaking on the ground. Stiles rushes to his best friend's side, who seems to be having some sort of seizure.

"Wh-what did you do to him?" Stiles stutters, scowling at the alpha. He's crouching beside Scott, pondering whether touching his best friend right now would be a good idea. This looks bad—really bad—and Stiles hates himself for letting Peter go that far. He should've stopped the alpha from this, he could have, after all.

"Just gave him something to see, to open up his eyes," Peter answers, hovering above him. "Take him home, I'll keep in touch with you."

With those last words, Peter lifts Stiles' chin up again, urging him to stand up, blue eyes boring into his for a moment before he kisses him fully. Stiles pushes the man off of him, breaking the contact of their lips, surprising himself for this newfound willpower. He's not happy about Peter hurting Scott, to say the least. Scott might be dense at times, dumb even, but he's still his best friend, and as Peter put it so well earlier, Stiles is loyal.

"I don't want to see you again, unless I have your head on a stick," Stiles spits at the werewolf as he slips one of Scott's arm across his shoulders and lifts him up.

"Stiles, Stiles, Stiles," Peter chuckles behind him. "Keep telling yourself that but you know the truth. You know you love me."

Everything around Danny seems to slow down and all exterior sounds are muffled, the only thing he can hear is Derek screaming in pain and a loud heartbeat pounding in his ears. His breath is caught in his throat; he can't get any air in or out for what seems like an eternity.

In actuality, however, everything goes fast. He hears another gunshot, then another one again, and Derek falls in his arms, the weight bringing them down to the ground. Danny feels hands pulling at him but he can't move, he can't let go of the man in his hold. He wants to cry, he screams his lungs out in despair, tightening his grip on Derek. He's scared to death, his heart is contracting erratically, and he feels blood on his hands where they're holding Derek's back. Derek can't die; he can't be dying, not now, not ever.

"Derek," he manages to get out, his throat dry and closed as he feels sobs coming up, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Derek, stay with me."

His father is shouting at him, so is Jackson, but he can't make out any of the words they're saying. Danny spins his head around, looking at his father who has his hands held up in the air with an equally shocked expression marring his face. Jackson looks at him with wide eyes and shakes his head, telling him that his father didn't shoot. Danny never questioned it, his Dad couldn't have shot Derek from where he's standing; Danny had his back turned on him, hiding Derek from him. Danny inspects his bloody hands and takes a look at Derek's back, locating a bullet wound somewhere near the medial border of Derek's left scapula, and two others in each of his thighs. Danny looks up ahead of him, resting Derek's head on his shoulder with his hand in Derek's soft hair, looking for the shooter. His vision is off, and he shakes his head but it won't go away, everything is blurred yet clear at the same time, it's focused in one central point ahead of him and he can't see any colors at all. As he looks left and right, he manages to see details he normally couldn't, especially in the twilight. He can see the look of incomprehension and horror on Mrs Dunnigan's face through the window of her house facing theirs, he can see the same look on other people's faces appearing at their windows, probably attracted by the sound of the gunshots. But apart from that, he can't see much, can't see any guns, can't see anyone in broad daylight shooting at them. Whoever did this is hiding, and is no amateur. The shooter aimed straight at Derek's heart, and then shot at both Derek's knee joints to keep him from standing.

"Danny…" Derek mumbles weakly and Danny cups the werewolf's face with his hands, cringing at the blood smudges he's leaving on that beautiful face. Derek's sweating a lot and his breathing is ragged and short, eyes barely open. "Dan…r-run…"

"Dad, help me, please," Danny begs his father although he has no idea what his father could possibly do. He just doesn't know what to do himself; he can't think and it's always easier to have someone else decide and be in charge in this kind of situation. His father is speaking to him but Danny still can't hear anything other than the same heartbeat, and he suddenly realizes it's not his heart he's been hearing all this time. It's Derek's. He focuses on the sound, hoping the beats never stop. He barely pays attention to anything else as he carries Derek's body effortlessly, walking backwards to get back into the house.

A sharp pain pierces through his right shoulder and then the left one, causing him to scream in agony. Unable to move his arms, Danny loses his grasp on Derek who falls on top of him, the two of them lying on the floor. Danny squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he would just pass out and not endure this throbbing pain through his barely recovered shoulders. He hears loud thuds beside him and turns his head left and right but sees nothing. Craning his neck up, Danny catches a glimpse of his father inside the house, lying unconscious next to Jackson's equally unconscious form. They have just been tranquilized, Danny tells him, not wanting to think that they got shot too and that their lives are endangered as well. God, he hopes that's true.

"Dad? Dad can you hear me?" Danny manages to say despite his sore throat. "Jacks, come on, man, say something."

Nothing. Fuck. What the hell is going on? Who is doing this, and most importantly, why?

Danny's breathing shortens as he tries to move past the pain but in vain, his heart rate going through the roof, as he fears what's coming up next. Why aren't people doing anything to help them? Where are the police? Danny saw his neighbors, they're not deaf, and they're not blind either, so what the hell are they waiting for? Danny cries for help but his voice is stranded after all the screaming he's already done. This can't be the end. He can't die like this. All of a sudden Danny relives through a vivid memory of Derek's uncle stabbing him, and the fear of dying that's still fresh in his mind is ignited again. He's having a panic attack, his breathing speeding up, and he's unable to move, feeling like a stranger in his own body, having lost all control. He keeps saying Derek's name like a madman, eyes shut, praying for the other man's survival. It almost makes him want to laugh at the irony of the situation. He's a feral atheist and has never once believed in any deity; yet here he is, praying to some God to save them.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

Danny's eyes shoot open, and hovering above him he sees a woman, smirking like the devil himself. She's carrying a rifle over her shoulder, her stance casual as she studies him. He never expected this, never expected this rather beautiful woman to be the cause of all their problems.

"Where have they been hiding you all this time, kiddo?" She's talking to him. And he has no idea what she's talking about but he can only assume this means nothing good. He tries to move his leg, but Derek's still lying unconscious on top of him, and if not for the steady heartbeat that Danny can hear coming from Derek, one could think the werewolf was dead.

"What do you want? Why are you doing this?" Danny chokes out, tears rolling down his cheeks. He can't help but feel like his death is approaching. It's a terrible sensation, the fear of imminent death. And Danny has experienced it twice within the same day. Only this time, he's fearing for Derek's life too, for his father's and for Jackson's.

"You'll figure it out soon enough, but for the time being? You're coming with me."

Danny barely has time to process the woman's last words before everything blacks out.

tbc...

I'm sorry if some of you don't like Peter/Stiles but I just love Peter. The actor is gorgeous. Check his twitter out, there are some nice pics of him.

Also, I'm developing the plot, as you can see, I'm incorporating elements from the show. I hope you like it, tell me what you think!

I'm exhausted. It's been almost 24 hours I've been up. I wanted to publish this now to focus fully on my studies starting tomorrow. My first final is in a month and I haven't done much studying yet. So little warning: I might not be updating for a while.

Thank you, dear readers, lurkers and reviewers alike. I really appreciate you sticking with this story. Now, if you could tell me what I could do to bring you out of the dark, dear lurkers, I would do it. To the regular reviewers, thank you so so much, I love you, really. I love reading your reviews, it makes me happy.

I'm starting to stop making sense, I need some sleep like yesterday, so I'll leave you to it.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter :)