A figure moves into the booth across from me, and I grin as I set my book aside.
"Yay, you're her-" I stop short, because the person in front of me is not Derek Hale. For starters, the eyebrows are all wrong. Much too light and not nearly full enough. No, it's the guy from the other group, and he's sitting at my booth like he belongs. Which he doesn't. He absolutely does not, and he needs to get out of that seat before I throw my milk at him.
"A Werewolf of Paris," he reads, pulling the book towards him with a finger and flipping it over to get a better look. "Isn't there a movie about this?"
I furrow my brows. "An American Werewolf in Paris? Yeah, no, that has nothing to do with this book." The guy makes a face, like he doesn't appreciate being called out on not knowing what he's talking about.
"What's this about then?"
There are times I wish I had Derek's skill to convey how stupid I think someone is with just my eyebrows. But alas, I cannot. "A werewolf. In Paris." The guy rolls his eyes and leans back a bit. "Is there a reason you're sitting here?" I ask, reaching for my book. He pulls it back, and the noise of disgust that comes out of my mouth would have shamed any decent person.
"My friends and I saw you sitting here all by yourself." He jerks his head back to the group. The boys are watching, snickering amongst themselves, and the girls look embarrassed. One girl in particular, a blond, mouths I'm so sorry to me. "And we thought you could use some company."
"Right," I draw it out, and look around for Angie. Surely she, with her special brand of customer service, can help me in my time of need. But she's stuck with some old couple that won't shut up, despite the disdainful frown she wears. "Well, sitting alone was intentional," I tell him. "I'm waiting for someone."
"You could wait with us," the boy says without missing a beat, and it takes everything in me to keep from slamming my head into the table. Maybe if I'm unconscious or dying he'll get the hint.
"I'd prefer not to," I say, tilting my head to the side. "So, if you would give my book back, that would be great." I hold my hand out for it. He scowls, just for a split second, before looking down at the book. A grin spreads across his face.
"I'll only give it back if you come sit with us."
Are you. Kidding me. Right now.
The guy has a smug look on his face, like he's proud to have cornered me. Which honestly, if I didn't want to join them before, I definitely want nothing to do with this fuckboi now. I look to Angie for help, but she's serving someone coffee. She catches my eye, and nods to the door knowingly.
The bell chimes, and in walks Señor Lobito. He pauses for only a moment to glance around, and when he sees the asshole in my booth, he narrows his eyes and scowls a murderous kind of scowl that would look fantastic for the cover of Werewolf Diaries.
Oh thank God.
"Enjoy the book then," I say, pulling my hand back. His expression darkens, and his hand shoots out, latching onto my wrist and squeezing hard. He tugs me toward him roughly, and the edge of the table digs into my ribs.
My reaction is without thought.
Fuckboi sputters in rage as chocolate milk drips down his face and front. "You fucking bitch," he snarls, jumping out of the booth and halfway pulling me with him. He's faster than I thought he'd be, and stronger, and I don't have time to react when he raises his hand.
But Derek apparently does.
He appears, seemingly out of nowhere like the creature of the night that he is, and he's got his hand wrapped around Fuckboi's raised wrist. He's leaning in close - looming, really.
"Let her go."
I try to tug my wrist free to maybe do to some damage control, because the asshole's friends have gotten up and are starting our way like an angry mob from an old horror movie, but with silverware instead of farm tools. But the guy seems to lack self-preservation or has some huevos the size as Texas. Probably the former.
"Fuck off. This isn't your business."
"Jesus, Davis, just leave her alone," one of the girls says. A blonde who looks on with horror. The same blonde who offered me condolences earlier. I'm not sure if it's at her buddy's actions or at Dereks. Both, probably.
"Shut up," he snaps back, trying to pull free from Derek's grip, and when that doesn't work, he tightens his grip on my wrist and I cry out in shock as he jerks me forward out of the booth completely.
This is a very big mistake on his part.
Derek wrenches the asshole's arm back as his other hand snakes around his throat. The color drains from the fuckboi's face and his eyes go wide as Derek pulls him close.
"Let. Her. Go." His voice is a low, almost feral growl, and oh my God. Derek's gonna kill this guy. The guy gasps, eyes flickering between me and Derek, before he opens his hand, and I pull free, stumbling back, cradling my wrist to my chest. The diner has gone silent, and one of the boys has his phone out, and he's talking frantically as he moves away from the commotion.
"...attack my friend at the diner…"
Jesus Christ, things just keep getting better and better, don't they.
Derek hasn't let go of the guy.
"Der. Jesus, Derek, stop." I reach out and catch the back of his jacket. "Derek." He looks back at me, and the darkness in his eyes softens. "He's not worth it," I insist, grabbing his arm. It's shaking with pent up rage. "Please."
For a second I don't think he's going to listen, and I'm going to witness a murder. But he inhales deeply, shaking his head as he looks back to the asshole.
"If I see you here again," he says, voice sharp, controlled but only just, "or anywhere near her again, I will rip out your throat." And he absolutely means it, if the tick in his jaw is anything to go by. "Do you understand?"
The asshole gives a short nod and croaks out a raspy, "yeah."
"Good."
And Derek shoves him back into his gathered group of friends. The girls flinch away, and the boy he had been talking to when I first came in catches him. Derek steps back and turns back to me, expression softening, eyes checking me over for any obvious signs of damage.
"Fucking freak!"
Derek looks back to the group, positioning himself between them and me. The asshole has righted himself, and rubs at his wrist. It's his friend that had shouted out. He turns to face us, and it isn't lost on me how Derek draws himself taller, squaring his shoulders. Literally raising his hackles. The asshole takes an alarmed step back.
"I called the cops, so don't even try anything else," the friend continues, holding up his phone tauntingly and not realizing the very clear danger he's in.
"That's enough." I blink in surprise to see Angie moving between them, looking absolutely done with the whole thing. "You wanna involve the Sheriff, fine," she says, leveling them with a look. "But you do it outside my diner."
The fuckboi straightens his jacket, having gathered some courage from his friend's example. "Fine," he snaps, glaring past Derek at me. "Hope your bitch is worth it."
Derek takes a step forward, and you can see the asshole's soul leave his body. "Der, no." I tug him back, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze before glaring at the asshole.
"Out," Angie orders, pointing at the group. She turns to us. "You. Sit." I look back at the booth. Half covered in chocolate milk. My book is pretty much ruined. And I only just started it. "The other booth," she says in exasperation.
The group files out, and a sort of calm returns to the diner. I let out a breath and drop my head on Derek's arm. "Jesus. Jesus, that was intense."
Derek doesn't speak, but he leads me to the booth behind the one I had been waiting at. I slip into the side facing the door, and he slips in next to me. He lets me hold onto his arm, and doesn't say anything as he takes my hand in his. I think it's for his comfort as much as it is for mine.
"You okay?" I ask, because he's rigid, tense, and glaring out the window at the group like he wants nothing more than to jump out and tear them to pieces. He inhales deeply and holds it for a second before nodding once. "That was… that was because of the moon, right?" I ask quietly, because honestly, there can't be another reason for that reaction.
He doesn't answer.
"There were better ways you could have handled that," Angie says in annoyance as she starts cleaning the mess of milk.
"He deserved that milk-" I start to argue, and she clicks her teeth, grabbing my book and wiping it down as best she can before tossing it toward us. It lands on the stable with an unsavory thwap.
"Not you. You." She gives Derek a look. "Kill the boy, why don't you?"
Derek doesn't answer, but his expression is answer enough. His brows furrow, and the glare he gives her would make a weaker human shake in terror. But Angie is, as previously stated, probably an Angel of the Lord, and Derek's glare does nothing to her.
"Sheriff will probably be here soon," she goes on.
"I'll bail you out if you get arrested," I say, and mean it. "I don't think you will though. I'll talk to whoever they send."
"They like you at work that much?" he asks, and his voice is rough, but the tone is lighter, not as scary werewolf as before.
"Derek Hale, they love me at work." He hums, and the rigidness of his posture melts away as I rest my head on his shoulder. "I'm the best."
The red and blue flashing lights appear not even five minutes later. Angie goes out to meet them, and I very much want to brain myself on the table when I see that it's actually the Sheriff that showed up. With Silverman.
"Aw, Christ, are you serious?" Sheriff Stilinski gripes after walking in with the asshole and he points us out. Silverman follows close behind, and gives a quizzical look at Derek.
"That's the guy that attacked me," the asshole says, trying to push past Stilinski to get to Derek. "Nearly broke my wrist. Threatened to rip out my throat." He points at said throat dramatically, as if we don't know what a throat is.
The Sheriff lets out a long suffering sigh, holding his hand up. "Okay, okay." He looks to us as Derek slides out to meet them, and when I move to follow him, he keeps an arm out to keep me in the booth, away from the boy. "Angie, help me out here, will ya?" She doesn't seem to like it, but Angie steps up anyway. "What happened?"
"I just told you what happened-"
"I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to Angie," Stilinski says sternly, and the guy snaps his mouth shut. "Angie?"
She wipes her hands on her apron before starting. "Girl was minding her own business when this boy started pestering her. And I suppose she told him no too many times, because next thing he's pulling her into the table and she's throwing her drink at him and he's making like he wants to hit her." The Sheriff looks at the boy sharply and he takes a step back in alarm. "Well, her boy was walking in and saw that, and I can't say I blame the way he reacted."
"You tried to hit her?" Silverman demands.
"She threw her drink on me!"
"Sounds to me she had good reason to," Sheriff Stilinski says, and his voice takes a deadly sort of calm that only comes from great anger. Demons run and all that. "Ares, he grab you first?"
"Yup."
"He try to hit you before Derek jumped in?"
"Yup."
"Do you want to press charges?"
I blink in surprise and the asshole throws an arm out. "Are you kidding me, you're just gonna take her word for it?!"
"It isn't just her word, it's Angie, it's one of the girls outside, and I bet if I look, it's the security camera too," Sheriff Stilinski says, and little by little you can see the asshole's tough guy facade chip away bit by bit. "So the best thing you can do after attacking my receptionist thirty minutes after she got off her shift is sit down and shut. Your. Mouth."
And holy shit. Sheriff Stilinski. Even Derek seems shocked, if his thunderstruck expression is anything to go by.
"You-your receptionist?" The asshole looks between me and the Sheriff.
"The little girl works at the Sheriff's department, didn't you know?" Angie says, and it's the most cheerful thing I've ever heard her say. Ever.
"Ares. You want to press charges?" Sheriff Stilinski repeats.
"I." I look around, unsure of what to do. "No?"
Silverman and the Sheriff seem a bit disappointed. "Get out of here," the Sheriff orders the asshole, whose jaw drops in disbelief.
"You're not going to do anything to him?!"
"He acted in defense of his friend. Who you attacked. Who is very well liked among the deputies of Beacon County," Silverman says, adopting his Deputy Dan persona. "You're lucky she isn't pressing charges, because it would not be a pleasant experience."
The asshole scowls. "Fucking bullshit," he mutters, turning on his heels and storming away.
"You know, I think his tag was expired," Silverman says once he's out the door.
"Let him go," the Sheriff sighs before turning to face us. "What are you doing here?"
"Food. Didn't wanna cook. No dinner. I'm dying," I say, dropping my hands on my stomach and mimicking a hunger growl as I slouch into the booth. "And it feels blasphemous to be here without Derek, so."
Which leads him to turn to Derek, who had been suspiciously quiet this whole time. "Did you really threaten to rip that boy's throat out?"
He doesn't even have the decency to act ashamed. "If he came near Ares again."
Silverman draws back in surprise at Derek's calm tone, and he looks between us, brows furrowed. The Sheriff, however, studies Derek closely, as if looking for a lie. He must find whatever he's looking for though, because he gives a nod and clasps Derek's shoulder.
"Good man. Make sure she get's home alright." He looks to me. "You, young lady. Stop getting into these situations. Between you and Stiles, I'm going greyer than I have any right to be."
I draw back in offense. "Excuse you, don't blame me for your unsightly aging." He gives me a look. "And it's not my fault some fuckboi doesn't know how to take a no."
"I know, I know. Just be more careful."
"I'm the most careful. Everyone else sucks."
He looks like eh wants to argue, which, rude, but instead just shakes his head. "Angie," he says, nodding her way before turning to go.
"Sheriff."
Silverman seems hesitant to go, and he looks at Derek almost suspiciously before turning to follow the Sheriff. And shit. What if Tara had been right?
"That was fun," I say under my breath as I move over, making room for Derek. He slides in next to me as Angie pulls out her pad.
"Drink?"
"You didn't have to come along, you know," I tell Derek, waiting for him to meet me on the porch. Stiles had called some fifteen minutes ago; he had to go home, and Scott was still handcuffed to the radiator, and it would be best if Melissa didn't come home to see her kid like that. "I'm sure he's fine by now."
"Fine," Derek drawls, making his way up the steps. "With the full moon. And the Alpha messing with his head."
Asshole werewolf with his stupid logic.
I crinkle my nose. "Touchè. But he has his anchor now. I made him call Allison. Maybe he'll be all cool and collected like you now." I pause as I unlock the door. "Almost breaking some guy's arm aside."
Derek huffs. "He deserved it."
"Oh, absolutely, I'm not arguing with that," I assure him, pushing open the door. "But you could have also, you know, not done that." I look back at him as I flick on the lights and hang up my keys. "Not that I don't appreciate you defending my honor like that, because I do. But just know I totes would have shanked the dude with a fork if you weren't there."
"I believe that," he says. "Not a doubt in my mind."
"Scotty! You okay, mijo? I call out, making my way to the stairs. "Still chained to the radiator?" There isn't an answer, and Derek catches my arm. I look back at him, and his brows are furrowed as he stares at the stairs. "What?"
"He isn't there."
"I'm sorry, what." I pull free and rush for the stairs. "Scott, you shit!"
"Ares, stop!" And there's a pair of arms around my middle, lifting me off the bottom step and pulling me back. Derek sets me down by the couch, and I stare up at him in shock.
"Did you just-"
"Stay here," he orders, cutting me off. Which. How rude. "I'll check."
"Or I can check since it's my house," I counter, because I'm not a fan of how he just manhandled me. "And Derek Hale, if you ever pick me up like that again-"
"I'll send an apology letter later, complete MLA format," he calls over his shoulder as he heads up the stairs, leaving me with my ruined mood. That. That asshole. With his stupid quips. And well-fitting jeans. And-
We're not going down that rabbit trail; danger that way leads.
"Asshole," I mutter, crossing my arms. "Quédate aquí, he says. Como si fuera su casa. No concept of casa ajena." Though, I will give him some leeway. He has slept here, and helped cook… Still an asshole werewolf.
I wander into the kitchen, because fuck Derek Hale, I do what I want, and wonder where the hell Scott could have gone to. The backyard borders a wooded area that eventually turns into the Preserve, but not for a mile or so. If we're lucky, he just went for a walk. To stretch his legs. Maybe eat a couple bunnies-
The back door is open.
Which is. Not fantastic.
I move into the kitchen, slowly, and head for the counter where Melissa keeps the knife block. Because I have seen entirely too many movies with Warren where some stupid girl goes Nancy Drewing without some sort of self defense and end up super dead.
Plus, being a minority and not a virgin has the stats against me.
The door isn't open all the way, and it swings gently on its hinges. I take in a breath as I step toward it, gripping the handle of the knife tightly as I grab the knob and pull it open all the way. If I expected to see Scott just sitting there snacking on Bambi, then I am sorely disappointed. But also relieved. I make to close the door, letting out a breath I had been holding, only for it to catch at my throat when movement out to corner of my eye catches my attention.
A figure moves in the dark, and a part of my wants to say it's just Derek coming to give me shit for not staying put where he told me to. But it moves too slowly, too carefully, calculating as it hugs the shadows.
And there's a voice screaming in my mind, just shrieking for me to move, muevete, Aracely, because this is not something I want to face.
But I've made a habit of making poor decisions, and face it I do.
It stops where it is, standing by the table, just in the shadows. The knife shakes before slipping from my hand, clattering on the floor, and I open my mouth to call for Derek, because what's in front of me isn't him, but my throat has gone dry and my lungs seem to have seized.
The figure takes a step forward, and his eyes flash gold.
Fuck. Me.
welp.
As always, bless y'all for leaving reviews and following/fav the story. I adore all of you.
Sooo it's getting that time of the semester where everything is starting to be due, so I won't be able to work on this as much until the winter break. I'll post 28 next week (bc i can't be so cruel as to leave you with that) and maaaaybe 29 after that, but I won't post past that until things chill. I appreciate the patience - and lets be real, this isn't the first time I've had to disappear for a minute. But if I counted right, that's only like, 3 weeks without an update after the last one.
Stay schway my dudes!
Translations
Quédate aquí - stay here
Como si fuera su casa - as if it was his house
casa ajena - strange house, like when you visit a house for the first time and aren't comfortable doing anything