Authors Note: HEYO! ^_^ Please tell me what you think; I would love to know XD I own nothing and no one, apart from the following: Harlequin (Harley),Sam Campbell, Charlie Jones, Zane, Chase, Gabriel, Ben, Mia, Stiles' fox = Melrakki (Rak, Rakki), Stiles' wolf = Okami (Oki, Kami), Derek's wolf = Cana; Sheriff Brian Dawson.

JUST SO YOU KNOW: I know we are now aware of Stiles' real name, as well as his dad's, but I'm NOT about to go through every chapter and change them XD Also, I've made up Stiles' middle name XD

Please, please review XD

Chapter 52 – Part 3

Stiles

Waking up, I didn't want to get out of bed.

I had fallen asleep in Derek's room again, with him behind me and Harley against my chest. When the morning before I could bear to stay with them, that morning I couldn't will myself to move. All I wanted was to cocoon myself in the blankets, to stay there for weeks if I could.

But I knew I couldn't.

I knew that wouldn't help me.

I could, however, indulge for a little bit.

I didn't have to look at the alarm clock to know that it was the early hours of the morning. We hadn't gone to bed until late, and the sun wasn't even close to rising. Lying there, I listened to the gentle breathing of the two on either side of me, letting myself drown in their scents. Something about them always calmed me down, the moment the aromas drifted to my nose. They would settle deep inside me, warming me from the inside out in the most pleasant way, and all I could do was let it.

Staring into the darkness, I couldn't help as my thoughts strayed toward the home movies – of Mom and Dad. Seeing their faces, seeing them as happy as they were, it hurt. More than I ever thought it would. I missed them; of course, I missed them. I loved them fiercely; probably had since before I understood who they were. They had given their everything to me.

Then Mom got sick and it had all gone to shit.

I didn't know a lot about Dad's dad; I still didn't. But I knew he wasn't a nice man, and I knew alcohol problems ran in the family. Dad didn't like to drink much because of it, only ever having a beer or two on special occasions, like Christmas or birthdays or anniversaries. When Mom died, he broke. His control had snapped and he turned to drink.

It got worse slowly; I was probably about twelve when I noticed a real change in Dad.

He started to slur his words and stumble around, or leave things like the hob on with a tea towel far too close for comfort. His mood would change at a drop of a hat, little things being able to set him off on an angry rant or a destructive rampage. It had never been towards me though, that was something he always avoided. Something he refused to ever do.

Until I told him I was gay.

I always wondered what it would have been like if I had never told Dad. Would I have stayed in Dallas, eventually marrying a woman to keep up the act? Would I have waited until I was eighteen, and moved to an LGBTQIA+ friendly state for university? Would Dad have, somehow, found out by himself and I would have ended up in the same situation? Maybe it would have been worse if he had found out himself. Maybe he really would have killed me that first time.

A soft whine brought me out of my musings. I could feel Derek's frown on my neck as he unconsciously held me tighter, nuzzling ever so slightly. Taking a deep breath, pressing my nose into Harley's hair and snuggling back into Derek, I let everything about them wash over me. Their heartbeats, their scents, their warmth – everything.

I let it lull me back to sleep.

When I opened my eyes again, slithers of sun rays were beaming through the cracks in Derek's curtains. From the sound of his heartbeat, Derek was awake, but Harley was still sound asleep against my chest. A gentle brush of lips passed over my shoulder; a slight scratch of stubble rasping across my skin.

A sickening ache settled in my stomach and chest, and my eyes began to sting with a fresh wave of tears. I was sure there couldn't be anything left in my tear ducts; nothing more to cry out. Obviously, I was wrong. A harsh pressure pushed itself down onto my lungs, refusing to let me take the deep breaths I needed.

Derek was always so gentle with me; immensely kind. He held me like I was something precious, a special treasure to be protected and loved. He would make sure I ate and kept healthy; made sure I didn't want for anything. The only times Derek had 'hurt' me was when he had gone into protective-Alpha-mode, quickly reeling himself in when I told him that was what he was doing and apologising profusely.

But how long would that last?

Zane was nice to me for the first three months of our 'relationship' before he turned on me. Would it be the same with Derek? Would everything fall apart at the three-month mark?

They kept saying it wasn't me that changed them – Dad and Zane. They believed it; I could tell. But what if they were wrong? What if, without me, Mom wouldn't have died? What if, without me, Dad survived Mom's death and fixed his drinking problem? What if, without me, Zane had been caught earlier?

What if everything would have been better if I had never been born?

"Shhh," Derek hushed, his hand moving to rest over my heart. "You're safe; I've got you."

I hadn't noticed the erratic beating of my heart until then; how lightheaded I was from having to take such shallow breaths. I hadn't noticed how my entire body shook.

Derek pressed his palm firmer against my chest, shifting until he could push us together a little tighter. He whispered soft words I was sure I wouldn't remember and brushed more gentle kisses over my shoulder, my neck, my cheek, my temple. He nosed at my hairline, behind my ear, his chest expanding against my back as he breathed deeply, deliberately.

Curling the arm underneath me tighter around Harley, my free hand shot up to Derek's. I wanted to push him away; wanted him to not touch me. I couldn't handle the fact that he would change.

But Derek didn't realise that.

The moment my hand was on his, Derek linked his fingers with mine, bringing our entwined hands up to his lips. After kissing each of my knuckles, the back of my hand, and my wrist, Derek brought them back to my chest and held me impossibly closer.

"I've got you," Derek repeated, burying his face into my hair. "Just try to breathe, Cub; it'll be alright."

I wanted to shake my head; I wanted to tell him that, no, it really wouldn't be. But I couldn't make myself move, couldn't make myself speak. All I could do was squeeze my eyes closed and wish, hope, that he would realise his mistake and let me down easy before everything went to shit. If he stopped now, I would be able to handle it.

I would make myself handle it.

But Derek – sweet, sweet Derek – would never hurt me like that.

And I was too selfish to end it myself.

"Do you want to lie in for a bit?" Derek asked after a short while, kissing my shoulder again. "You can stay here with Harley and I can make sure everyone gets fed. Let us look after you for a change."

"No," I managed to whisper. "I wanna do it. I have to do it."

I needed to do something useful; I needed to do something. I needed to battle the ache inside me, to make myself forget about it. Dwelling on it would make everything worse; would probably bring it all on sooner, by pissing Derek off or something. No. I needed to put it off as long as I possibly could.

No matter what.

"You don't have to, Gen," Derek sighed. "You don't have to do anything."

"Yes, I do. I need to, Derek," I whimpered out. "Please."

I could feel Derek's frown pressed into my shoulder; could feel the tightness in his brow.

For long moments, he didn't speak, didn't move. He kept hold of me as we lay there, with Harley none the wiser as they slept soundly. My eyes stayed on the child, focusing on them instead of Derek, as I waited.

I took in the soft fluff of hair on their head.

I took in the slight point at the top of their ears.

I took in the way that, in their sleep, with eyelashes brushing against the tops of their cheeks, they looked so much younger than did.

I took in the way that they cuddled the stuffed elephant; thumb almost-but-not-quite brushing against their lips.

"Ok," Derek finally said. "Ok, yeah… As long as you don't mind having some help."

I felt a little bit of tension release from my shoulders, and I nodded.

It didn't take long for Derek and me to shuffle around, until I could pass Harley to him, making sure the kid didn't wake up. Having already sorted himself out before I had woken up, Derek followed me to my room, so I could do my morning routine.

When my teeth were brushed and my bladder was empty, Derek wrapped his arm around my waist and led me out of my room, with Harley balancing on his hip and cuddling against him. I let myself get lost in the familiar walk down the stairs and to the kitchen; let myself drift around the room on autopilot as I pulled ingredients from the fridges and cupboards.

Derek didn't stray far, staying close by my side but never getting in my way. I could smell the confusion and worry coming off of him. I couldn't think of what to say or do to make him feel better. If I did, then I would have done it. But it was all I could do to keep myself together, that I could barely form a coherent thought about how I could help Derek relax. I worked hard to stay in one piece. I didn't want to fall apart again. Crying didn't feel right. Not crying didn't feel right.

Nothing feels right!

However, once trays of sausages and bacon were shoved into the oven, cooking them for simple breakfast sandwiches, I found myself lacking anything to do. I had buttered all the bread while I had waited for the oven to preheat, and they were now covered with damp tea towels to keep them from drying out. Sauce bottles were on the table, ready for everyone to help themselves and add their own desired amount. And, as much as eggs were liked in the house, none of us ever seemed to want a fried egg sandwich for breakfast.

So, until the meat was done, I was left with nothing.

Gripping the edge of the counter, I leaned against it heavily and let my head hang between my shoulders. The smell of food made my stomach churn, and I could practically taste the bile that would burn my throat. But it never came. It just kept flopping around and around, like a washing machine. Derek's hand landed on the middle of my back, a large, comforting weight. At least, it should have been.

All it did was push me over the edge.

My entire body shook as I cried. I had lost count as to how many times that was now. It was like anything could make me cry, no matter how small, or stupid. As fast as he could with only one hand, Derek turned me to face him, bundling me against him. I pressed my face into his neck and fisted his t-shirt, trying to keep as quiet as possible. Derek's arm wrapped around me as tight as he dared, his hand stroking my side as my tears soaked the shoulder of his top. He rested his head on mine, gently swaying us from side to side. I didn't know what I was crying for; who I was crying for.

Dad?

Derek?

Both?

Myself?

Everything was just so muddled and, all I knew was, that I hurt. My head, my chest, my heart. Nothing made sense! It was all a jumbled mess that I couldn't sort through; a confusing whirlwind of information that I was both processing and not all at the same time.

It was all too much.

"That's it; let it out." Derek soothed. "Let it all out."

"Wa-ant… Sto-op…" I stuttered out around gasping sobs.

"I know, I know you want it to stop. But, right now, this is what you need to do, whether you realise it or not. You need to let yourself grieve."

"It hur-ur-urts! Ma-ake it sto-op!"

I tightened the hold I had on Derek's shirt, pressing impossibly closer as I tried to muffle the sounds that were pulled from me. Harley didn't need to be woken up to me sobbing like a child; didn't need to try and comfort me, like they were the adult.

"I wish I could, Gen. I really wish I could," Derek sighed, pressing a hard kiss to the top of my head. "If it were up to me, you wouldn't have to deal with any of this."

A whimper trembled out of me, my body shaking as I attempted to reign everything in – to stop. But, no matter how hard I seemed to try, the tears continued to flow. The last time I had felt like this, so broken, was when Mom had died. I had been a wreck for weeks; I could barely breathe. I couldn't be like that again. I didn't want to be like that again. I wasn't sure I could handle being in those little pieces, unable to haphazardly put myself back together. Didn't want the Pack to have to deal with me like that – didn't want Derek to.

But Derek just held me.

He kept me close, almost unwilling to let me go, cradled against his chest by the one arm around me. He stood there, continuing to sway us, all big and strong and steady, trying to keep me together with his sheer force of will and tight hold.

"You're not alone, Cub," Derek whispered. "Let us help you. Let us look after you."

And didn't that sound nice? To be looked after? Like a family should. But, again, I hadn't had that since Mom, not really. Even after a year and some change of the Pack caring for me, loving me as one of theirs, it was still hard for me to let everything go; to let someone help. How could I? Sure, they proved they wouldn't hurt me. I knew they wouldn't intentionally hurt me. But it was hard. It was hard to change a decade of habit, of protection. I had been hurt too many times for comfort.

But I wanted, God knew I wanted, to let everything go. To relax and trust them like I knew I could. To let them look after me and care for me and love me.

I wasn't sure if I would ever be in a place where I would be able to let that happen.

After the Betas had left for their classes, after everything from breakfast had been cleared and cleaned, I was in the living room with Harley and the two Hales. Derek had managed to get me curled up on his lap, while Harley had climbed up onto Peter, the four of us lounging on the couch; the two older wolves had ottomans in front of them, propping their legs up so they could sit comfortably. We had two soft, large blankets thrown over us, and a table between the ottomans holding our drinks and bowls of popcorn.

It had been Peter's idea to have a little movie day, just the four of us. He had taken Harley into the kitchen, gathering the food and drinks for us, telling Derek and me to relax and find a movie to put on. Immediately, Derek handed over the decision to me. He stayed close as I looked at the extensive movie collection, scanning over the more light-hearted stories that we had. He kept, at least, one point of contact between us.

I had chosen Aladdin.

Disney was always a good choice, in my opinion. Catchy songs, happy endings, a reminder of carefree days of being a little kid. I had Wolfy in my hands, clutching at the toy wolf. I had grabbed him from my room before the four of us had settled down, needing something to hold on to. Some kind of familiar comfort. It helped that, even after all this time, there was still a faint hint of Mom's scent since I never washed him. Derek had smiled when he saw the toy in my hands, and I had heard a slight flutter in his breathing. Just for a second. He never made me feel stupid for needing the fake wolf, none of them did. I wasn't sure whether they thought it was weird, but didn't want to upset me, or if they genuinely didn't care and were happy that it helped me. I hoped for the latter; I would always hope for the latter.

As the movie began, I tried to relax. I wanted to let myself breathe and melt into Derek's hold; to forget everything around me. But, today, my mind didn't want to let me. A little voice niggled in the back of my head, reminding me that, any day now, Derek would turn on me. That something I did, or said, or even just my presence, would change him for the worst. Because why wouldn't it? Why would I be allowed someone as wonderful as Derek? Why would I be able to be happy now?

By the time the movie first introduced Jasmine, I had slid off of Derek's lap, until I was in between him and Peter. I moved until my knees pressed lightly against the older wolf's leg and leaned my head on his shoulder, leaving a small gap between Derek and me; I reached out my right arm, draping it over Harley's legs. I didn't need to see Derek's face to know he was frowning, eyes full of confusion and hurt. I could smell it, the scent permeating the air. Curling up a little tighter, I squeezed the toy wolf to my chest and clenched my eyes shut.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Okami shrieked. "Why– What– Stop!"

"Enough, Oki," I sighed, monotone. "This needs to happen."

Okami stood in front of me, his fur a dull grey instead of its usual brilliant white. His red eyes were wide, almost feral, and he could just barely keep himself standing on his shaking legs. He seemed skinnier, smaller. Not at all the healthy boy I knew and loved.

"No! No, it fucking doesn't!" Okami screeched. "Go back to him. Go back to our Mate, now!"

"Calm down, Oki." I tried, taking a step towards him. "It's alright."

"No, it's not! Why are you doing this?!"

Okami whined as I got closer to him, hands extended and moving slowly. He fell to the ground before I reached him; I hardly managed to save his head from smashing down. I cushioned his head on my knees when I knelt, stroking my hand between his ears. His breathing was shaky, erratic; he felt both too hot and too cold.

"You know why," I whispered to him. "We – I – can't do this to him. I refuse."

"But it wasn't us!" he cried. "It was never us! Why won't you believe that?"

"We can't be sure–"

"I'M SURE!"

Leaning down, I rested my forehead against Okami's, cupping my hands behind his head. I buried my fingers into his fur, softly nuzzling against him.

"Please," Okami whimpered, quietly. "Move back. You're making him sad."

"This'll be better in the long run, for all of us," I croaked. "You'll see. Wh-When Derek moved on, an-and we're just friends, you'll see it was for the best. It is for the best."

Because it had to be. It had to be for the best. Derek needed better than whatever I was. Needed better than someone who would corrupt him and turn him into something, someone, he's not. And, if Derek wouldn't do that for himself, then I would do it for him. I had to. I had made up my mind.

No matter how much it hurt.

"Where's Rak?" I frowned, moving a hand to scrub at my quickly tearing yes.

"I don't know," Okami sniffled. "I haven't seen him since yesterday morning after you left. I'm scared…"

And that wasn't normal. Sure, Melrakki and Okami had their own spaces, but they usually chose to be together, in the place where the three of us could interact. Even when they were annoying each other. Melrakki hated being alone. He abhorred not having Okami near him; in the same room as him. He would only put up with it if I took Okami's place until the wolf came back.

I wondered if I should go look for the fox – to seek him out and bring him to Okami. But I knew that wouldn't help anything. If Melrakki had gone off, then there must have been a good reason. That, or he just didn't want to see me. Either way, I knew I had to leave him; to let him come to us, instead.

"Can we go back to Derek now?" Okami asked, meekly. "I promise I'll be good forever if you go back now."

"I'm sorry," was all I said to him.

I stayed with Okami until the others came home, with Sam and Charlie in tow.

Sluggishly, I blinked back to reality, standing up and stretching out my tight muscles. Sam was the first to get to me, quickly sliding her arms around my torso and pressing close. I barely had control of my limbs when I managed to hug her back. She didn't say sorry, didn't give me her condolences. Neither did Charlie. For that, I was grateful. I wasn't entirely sure what the Betas had told them, but I was sure it had been enough.

"Hey, Samster," I whispered.

"Hey, Stilino," Sam mumbled, burying her face into my chest.

Charlie walked over to us, slowly, resting her hand on my shoulder as she hugged us both from the side. I managed to wiggle an arm out to wrap around Charlie, holding her to us as we stood there. I took in deep breaths – of them, of my Pack; I was surrounded by the scent. All I wanted was to stay there and let everything else just melt away into nothingness.

I wished that was possible.

As the afternoon drifted into evening, I went to get up and start dinner. I was quickly pushed back into my seat by Charlie and Boyd, the two of them declaring that they and Harley would cook, not me.

They were in the kitchen before I could complain.

Sighing, I sunk back into my armchair, Sam squished onto the seat with me. I hunched down a little more, leaning into her smaller frame, as she ran a hand through my hair. I could hear her heartbeat in my ear, pumping a soothing rhythm. I wrapped an arm around her bent legs, rubbing my thumb against her knees. Her free hand moved until it rested on my arm, a warm and soothing weight pressed into my skin.

Which was when I saw it.

I knew what it was. I would always know what it was. I had enough of my own that it would be difficult for me not to recognise it. The sleeve of Sam's long-sleeved shirt had rucked up, exposing the skin on her arm, where a new burn sat.

Sitting up a little quicker than I should have, almost knocking my head against Sam's, I took her right wrist in my hand, gently. I pushed her sleeve up to her elbow, two other burns appearing from underneath the fabric.

"Sam?" I frowned, looking up at the blonde huntress.

"Oh, don't worry about that," she laughed, nervously. "It's fine; just a silly little accident."

"Di-Did you just– Did you just lie to me?"

Wide-eyed, still holding onto her wrist, I stared at Sam. As far as I could remember, in our friendship, Sam hadn't lied to me. If she had, then it hadn't been about something like this. Surely, she knew she didn't have to lie to me about this. I thought she knew she could trust me.

"Did someone hurt you?" I asked, growling softly at the thought. "Was it Chase? Did he do this?"

"What? No!" Sam shook her head, quickly; heartbeat steady with the truth. "No, nothing like that. Trust me, I'm one-hundred per cent a-okay."

"Are you su– Is that a bruise?!"

As she shook her head, the collar of Sam's shirt moved. Finger-shaped bruises were layered and curled over her left shoulder, a dark purple with an edge of a sickening yellow. I couldn't be sure how old they were. Hundreds of possibilities shot through my head, each one worse than the other. I could feel the clench of my chest and the tightness of my throat; my stomach dropping.

"What the hell happened?" I shrieked. "Fuck, how hurt are you?"

The panic was obvious on Sam, without the supernatural senses. She huddled in on herself, pulling her collar up higher and her sleeves down, wrapping her arms around herself.

"I think I'd like an answer to that, too." Peter coughed. "Please tell me I'm imagining the smell of blood."

Snapping my head around to where the elder wolf sat, I noted the stiff set of his shoulders and the way the electric blue was starting to seep into his eyes. Apart from that, he seemed to be the depiction of calm. One of the most dangerous types of protectiveness and anger, I thought.

"Excuse me?!" I barked.

"I'm fine!" Sam insisted.

"Like hell!"

Sam jumped to her feet, looking ready to yell and, maybe, scream. To tell us to back the hell off and believe her. Before any words could leave her mouth, however, Isaac was behind her, a hand on her right shoulder. He kept his touch light, but Sam still spun around with practised ease, ready to defend herself. The moment she saw the pup, her shoulders relaxed minutely, resting the hand ready to grab him on top of his. Softly, Isaac squeezed at Sam's shoulder, something akin to understanding, or sympathy, in his eyes.

Sam gave him a grateful nod before she fast walked to the kitchen.

"Isaac, what–" I began.

"No." Isaac shook his head. "If she says she's fine, then she's fine."

I couldn't help the way my eyes tracked Sam for the rest of the evening. The way she held herself, and the way she moved. Even Charlie was acting differently. At first, it was little things – a hand on the back of Sam's neck; taking Sam's chin between her thumb and finger, making Sam look at her. It wasn't too out of the ordinary. Just typical things they did that were now slightly different.

Then Charlie refused to give Sam her plate of food until the huntress 'asked nicely'.

She was getting Sam to say, in full detail, what she wanted before getting her to, lightly, beg for it.

She would, deliberately, press into the bruises on Sam's right shoulder, grinning at the intake of breath that got her.

Sam's face was constantly in a state of red. She wouldn't meet our eyes. When she would, I would see that she seemed a little far away, her eyes slightly glassy. And it went on until Sam and Charlie left for the night. It was only once their car had left, that the others had told me that there were definitely more injuries on Sam than the day before.

"Do… Do you think that Charlie's…?" Allison couldn't finish the question.

"No," I said. "No, she wouldn't She couldn't. She knows, more than us, what Sam's been through."

But what if Charlie was?

What if Charlie had been the one to hurt Sam? What if that was why Sam had lied to me?

That was all I could think about as we went to bed that evening. I couldn't get it out of my head, the possibilities circling around and around. All I could picture was, Sam, trusting and completely in love, in pain as Charlie, a supernatural being, attacked her. The image didn't quite compute in my head, but what else could have happened?

Sighing, I scrubbed a hand over my face. I decided that I would keep an eye on my friend and, if needed, I would step in and make Sam tell me what was going on. I was not about to let her suffer.

I slid into bed. My bed. I had forced myself to walk past Derek's room, closing the door to my own when I had walked in. I had gone about my evening routine mechanically, on autopilot, ignoring the aching pull that made me want to go to Derek. To hold him and be held back. To feel his warmth seep into me; to feel his lips on my skin. I wrapped my duvet around me tightly, a deep cold settling into my bones all the same. I was hoping that, with sleep, came some kind of clarity.

I wasn't holding my breath.

As expected, Saturday morning did not bring the simplicity to everything that I had hoped. If anything, my head was only more jumbled. I moved listlessly, dragging my feet as I went. I couldn't seem to get myself to move any faster; barely noting what I was doing, like I was in a haze.

The Pack was downstairs long before I was finished making breakfast.

I kept myself away from Derek. I moved away when he came closer; brushed him away when he tried to touch me. I refused to sit with him in his armchair, going to mine instead; I hardly looked at him. If I couldn't make myself say anything to get Derek to see sense, then I would have to separate myself from him as much as possible. I would push him until he decided that I was not worth it and decided a romantic relationship was a bad idea. Until he decided to end it. And it wasn't like it would hurt too much. Right? We'd only started this aspect of our relationship a little over a month ago – one month, two weeks and one day, to be precise. Surely, we would come out of it alright.

Right?

I tried to ignore that same pull from the night before, the one that made me want to go to Derek and forget about my plan. But, I couldn't. I needed to do this. For him. I needed to make sure he would be ok.

Harley took their usual place with Derek, however. I wasn't sure if they had looked into my head; if they knew what I was thinking. If they did, they didn't say anything. But they kept glancing over at me, a worried frown marring their little face. I tried to smile back at them, to make them feel better.

I was sure it came off as more of a grimace.

I watched as Harley snuggled down close to Derek, clinging to him. Derek held the child back just as tightly, unable to hide the confused glances he shot in my direction. I could feel the pain through the connection we had; could smell the concern that came off of him in droves.

It put the pups on edge.

"So, um," I said after a while. "What was high school like here? Were you guys all kind-of-friends?"

I wanted anything, literally anything, to take us out of the situation. I wanted something else to focus on.

"Pfft, as if," Erica snorted, just on the side of hysterical. "I mean, Allison and Scott were joined at the hip when Allison started; Jackson, Lydia and Danny had their little clique; Isaac, Boyd and I kept ourselves to ourselves. Pretty sure us three only started hanging out after Derek bit us."

"It wasn't a clique," Danny sighed, rolling his eyes. "How many more times?"

I had my wish, it seemed. The conversation seemed like one they had many times over the years, how many I wasn't sure. But, at least, it had the desired effect. The focus was taken off of me and how I was behaving. That was all I wanted.

"It was a clique." Scott nodded.

"You're just jealous that you weren't popular." Jackson bit out. "You had, what? One or two friends?"

"I'd rather those two friends, than all the fake ones you had."

"That's what all the lonely weirdos say."

I moved my head back and forth between the two, like I was watching a tennis match. Maybe it wasn't the best subject to bring up, I was starting to think. The scent of frustration and ire slowly took over, filling up the space. Scott and Jackson both shifted forward on their seats, glaring at each other, eyes flashing at each other.

"At least I know my friends actually liked me." Scott countered.

"Only because none of you had any better options," Jackson growled.

"Ok, put your dicks away," Lydia snapped. "Stop the pissing contest."

Still glaring, Scott slumped back into his seat, arms folded over his chest. Jackson, however, stayed perched on the edge of his seat, eyes flashing back and forth between their normal colour and electric blue.

"I thought we moved on from this," Lydia huffed.

"Not my fault he's still a jerk, sometimes," Scott muttered.

"Fuck you, McCall," Jackson spat.

"Hey, enough!" Derek barked.

Silence fell upon the room and I could only feel stupid. They hadn't gotten along all that great when I first met them, so I wasn't sure why I thought high school would have been different.

Cringing, I scrambled for something else to say, to change the conversation. Perhaps there was a way to diffuse the situation, to calm the two of them down and avoid the uncomfortableness that was starting to take over.

I didn't get a chance to speak.

"Besides, most of those girls only hung around you, because they thought you and Lydia would break up and they could get with you," Scott stated after a few moments, throwing his hands up into the air. "They just wanted to be able to say that they had been with the Jackson Whittemore, ladies' man extraordinaire."

"Hey, come on now," Boyd teased, snickering slightly. "It's not Jackson's fault that he's a stud."

"Would probably be worse if he wasn't straight," Isaac mused. "Could you imagine? No one would have a chance."

"Whatever," Jackson hissed.

Getting to his feet, Jackson grabbed up his mug and stormed off into the kitchen.

It was about an hour later that Jackson came up to me.

He took me by the wrist and dragged me upstairs, all the way up to my room. He said nothing as we went. Neither did I. His hand was sweaty where it gripped me; his fingers flexing nervously.

Jackson didn't let go until we were inside the room, the door closed and locked behind us. He paced back and forth as I went to sit on my bed, running his hands through his hair over and over again. Still, however, I said nothing. Whatever the reason he brought me upstairs, it was for him to explain in his own time.

Pushing him would only make it worse.

"I'm not," he said, eventually, not once stopping to look at me. "I'm not. And I know they don't know that, so I can't blame them for thinking I am, but I'm not and it pisses me off!"

Frowning, I kept quiet. I fiddled with the edge of my duvet, running it through my fingers as I waited for him to explain. He tugged harshly at his hair as he continued to pace, a soft growl rumbling out as he breathed.

"Why do people do that? Huh?" Jackson continued. "Why do people assume that, unless they're told otherwise? Why is that normal?"

I could say, with one-hundred per cent certainty, that I had no idea what Jackson was going on about. I couldn't find a point in the conversation earlier that would get him like this. Unless something had happened since then. After he had gone to the kitchen, Jackson hadn't come back to us. Others had gotten up and left the living room, doing their own thing for a bit, so there was a possibility that someone had something else to him.

Either way, I didn't know.

"Have people ever done that with you?" he asked, turning to me. "Have they ever assumed you were?"

"That I'm what?" I asked, carefully.

"Straight."

And that was not what I had expected.

Blinking, open-mouthed, I tried to get my brain and mouth to work together. I needed to answer his questions; needed to get him to talk to me. To explain. To tell me what exactly was going on inside of his head.

Sitting up a little straighter, I pulled at a loose thread on my duvet.

"I, uh," I stuttered. "I-I, um, y-yeah. Yeah, I've-I've had some people think I wa-was straight."

"Why do people do that?" Jackson whined, walking over to fall face first onto the bed next to me. "Why?"

"I-I'm not really sure, Jax. I guess, maybe, it's because that's what everyone expects? Because they thinking anything other than that is wrong?"

"But why?"

"Religion, mainly. You know, God apparently thinks being gay or anything like that is wrong, and we'll all be damned to hell, yadda, yadda, yadda. I'm sure you know all that."

"It sucks,"

"Yeah, yeah it does,"

I rubbed a hand up and down Jackson's back, feeling the way he relaxed slightly. He rested his head on his arms, not looking me in my eyes, face slightly turned down towards the duvet as he took in deep breaths.

"So, what's this all about, huh?" I asked, carefully.

"I– Well, you see–" Jackson sighed, turning onto his back as I moved my hand to his arm. "I'm bisexual. At least, I think that's the right word for it, I'm not really sure. I guess it's the most accurate. When we were, like, thirteen or fourteen, Danny and I… experimented with each other. I didn't really know if I liked guys or girls; he thought he liked just guys. We wanted to know for sure, you know? Help each other out."

I nodded.

"It's not like we did much. Just kissed and jerked each other off a couple of times," Jackson shrugged, staring at the bed covers and scratching the backs of his hands. "Danny knew for sure he was gay and, well, I realised I liked both… I lean more towards women, though."

Even though he tried to seem aloof, Jackson was unable to hide the undercurrent of anxiety. At what I wasn't sure. Not being accepted? Sure, I knew that a lot of people, even those in the LGBTGIA+ community didn't accept bisexual people. Which was stupid, because what the hell did they think the B stood for?

But surely, he knew that none of us would react badly?

"Thank you for telling me," I told him, squeezing his arm. "Does anyone else know?"

"Just you and Danny," Jackson admitted. "Don't think I'm quite ready for anyone else to know. Not even Lydia."

"Your secret's safe with me. For as long as you want it to be."

Before I could react, Jackson had moved until he could hug me, wrapping his arms around me even as he stayed laying down. Running a hand through his hair, I laid myself down too.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"No need to thank me, Jax," I assured. "Now, you and I can stay here for a bit, yeah? Just chill out for a bit, before we go back downstairs. Sound good?"

"Sounds great. You're a great friend."

"What, not Mom this time?

I delighted in the light laugh that pulled from the young wolf.

It wasn't long after lunch, not too long after Jackson and I had gone downstairs, that Sam and Charlie turned up. Harley had just disappeared upstairs when Sam bounded into the living room, flinging herself onto me, as Charlie went to the kitchen, saying something about putting a few food items in the fridge. Of course, that was when I noticed the red marks on Sam's wrists and another new burn on her shoulder.

One look told me the others had seen them too.

"Sam, is Charlie hurting you?" I asked, slowly.

"Excuse me?" Sam responded, dangerously.

"Before you start yelling, I can see the burns and it looks like someone's tied you up, and if someone's hurting you, then you need to tell me right fucking now because I have no idea what to think and I'm worried and–"

"Woah, woah, breathe! Breathe, would you?!"

Sam gripped my shoulders, balancing on the very edge of the armchair, on her knees; I hadn't even noticed that my breathing had become strained. I shook where I sat, gripping onto Sam's arms and scrunched my eyes closed, trying to even out my breathing.

It took a few minutes before my ragged gasps evened out.

Opening my eyes, I found Charlie standing behind Sam, her hand rubbing soothingly over the blonde's back. The Pack were on their feet, gathered close; Derek was inching closer by the second. Jumping up out of my seat, I paced back and forth near the corner of the room, a short distance away from them all. My hands raked through my hair, stills of the basement and the chains and the blood flashing through my head. I clenched my teeth together, fighting the tightness in my chest.

This is no time for a panic attack!

"Just–" I gritted out. "What is going on?!"

All eyes turned to Sam and Charlie. Neither of them met our eyes, staring at the floor. Charlie's hand had found Sam's shoulder, the blonde holding it gently with her own hand. They leaned against each other, heavily, the scent of anxiety flooding the air.

Sam glanced up at Charlie.

"It's up to you," Charlie told her. "Do you want to tell them?"

"Think we have to," Sam sighed, quietly.

"No, you don't," Isaac spoke. "If you don't want to, you don't have to say anything."

Subconsciously, Sam's free hand drifted up to the chocker around her neck, toying with the infinity symbol there.

"Isaac, do you– Do you know?" Peter asked, gently.

The Beta nodded, fidgeting where he stood. He didn't look at any of us, keeping his eyes on Sam and Charlie. He gave them a small smile when they looked at him, one that they returned in kind.

For a while, no one spoke.

Everyone moved until we were all sitting on the floor, in a wide circle around the coffee table. We fiddled with our drinks, glancing around at each other every now and again. I could only be thankful that Harley hadn't come downstairs.

"Charlie and I have a BDSM relationship," Sam blurted out suddenly.

Someone choked on their drink.

Someone squeaked.

The majority of us stayed quiet.

"W-We're, um… We're, kinda, you know, like, active members in… the… community…" Sam shrugged, trailing off. "She's not abusing me."

"So, the bruises and burns, and stuff…?" I asked.

"Are part of that. For us, anyway. Everyone that is a part of the community will have their own likes and dynamics."

Sam leant into Charlie's side, hiding her face slightly.

"And you like being hurt?" I frowned.

"Kind of?" Sam sighed. "I don't know. There's a fine line between pleasure and pain, you know? And this is nothing like what-what used to happen to me. I control this, mostly. We both have our safe-words; we will use, and have used, them. Really, it all comes down to trust."

Nodding, I took in the words one by one.

I knew very little about the BDSM community. Honestly, what I knew was probably far from what it was. I had never looked into it; had never really watched porn. I never had a real chance to. But I knew of it.

And I didn't want to judge.

Not Sam. Not Charlie. Not for something I didn't understand.

"And the choker is part of it?" Lydia asked.

Sam's face reddened. Her hand went back to stroking the infinity symbol, lovingly.

"This, uh… This is my Day Collar," Sam whispered. "Collaring isn't something everyone likes, but we do. And I, um… This is a recent development – the Day Collar."

"We were waiting for Sam to be ready for it," Charlie added. "Mentally, emotionally. I'll admit that I've had it picked out for a while."

The two cuddled together a little closer. Charlie ran a hand through Sam's short hair, turning her head to press a soft kiss to Sam's. The blonde relaxed immediately, stroking her hand up and down Charlie's leg, smiling peacefully.

I couldn't help but smile myself, feeling something inside me unfurl. My shoulders dropped slightly, reaching out until I could place a hand on Sam's knee. She turned to me as much as she could, hope flashing through her eyes. Her smile brightened the moment I gave her a little squeeze.

"It makes you happy?" I asked her.

"Definitely," Sam nodded. "Safe, sane and consensual. Always."

"Then that's all that matters."

Charlie mouthed a 'Thank you' to me, over Sam's head.

The others still seemed a little concerned, even though they knew what Sam and Charlie were telling us was the truth. But, thankfully, none of them said anything about it. They had been getting better at watching what they said – the things that could come off as offensive, anyway.

I was glad they realised that this was one of those times.

"So, Isaac," Erica spoke up. "How did you know already?"

All eyes turned to him, again.

Isaac paled, curling in on himself. Charlie placed a calming hand on his, rubbing her thumb along the back of his wrist. His heartbeat kicked up, fear slowly overtaking his scent, as he whimpered softly.

Sam repeated to him what he had said to her – that he didn't have to say anything if he didn't want to.

Even as he lost a little more colour in his face, Isaac began to talk.

"Th-That day that, um…" he stammered. "That day Charlie, Stiles and Harley got those nail-things done, I-I talked to Sam."

He took a deep breath, refusing to look at anyone.

"I, um… When Harley p-pointed out Sam's collar, I kind-kind of guessed what it was," he continued. "Or, at least, I had hoped. So, when I ha-had the chance to talk to Sam alone, I did. Be-Because, that is to say, I, uh… I'm, kind of, maybe, interested… in… it…"

Silence followed Isaac's admission.

Danny stayed stock still, blinking rapidly as he tried to process the information. Blood rushed to Isaac's cheeks, curling even tighter into himself, shuffling away from Danny ever so slightly.

"He came to me," Sam added before anyone else could say anything. "Because we're both the same – we're both subs. It makes things a little easier, I guess, when you're trying to find out a bit more information, you know? A bit more comfortable."

Isaac nodded, still staring at the ground.

It didn't take long before Danny had wrapped his arms around the young Beta, pulling him closer and whispering a soft 'we'll talk more later, yeah?' into his ear. Both Isaac's apprehension and excitement were so palpable that you could almost cut them with a knife.

Charlie and Sam happily answered many of the questions we had. None of them delved too deep into their private lives and, obviously, they refused any question they weren't comfortable answering. All in all, we were learning something new, becoming more informed about a part of their lives that we didn't understand.

They had explained how, when we had walked into their bedroom on Sam's birthday, they had just finished a 'scene'. That Charlie was about to start aftercare, something that needed to happen if they didn't want Sam to experience 'sub-drop'. They had explained to us what that meant; that Sam could crash down from a feeling of bliss and back into her body way too fast, could fall into a panic attack. They explained how that had happened.

I saw Danny listening intently, taking in every bit of information that he could.

It was as the topic of conversation moved on, everyone relaxing and laughing, when I caught Sam dissociating; eyes glazing over a little as she stared off into the distance.

FLASHBACK: Wednesday, October 1st 2014 – Charlie's POV

Sam was still kneeling naked outside our bedroom door, with an O-ring gag in her mouth and her thick, pink leather collar with the word SLUT written in sparkling silver around her neck. I could hear every shift she made; every breath she took.

She had barely moved from her position, clasping her wrists behind her back and head bowed.

This was usually how we began. It allowed Sam to calm herself down and begin to get into the right headspace; it allowed me to set everything up for our scene, to make sure we had everything we needed for during and after.

The last thing I did was wriggle myself into the tight, leather dress that hugged me in all the right places and pulled my hair into a high ponytail. The first time I had put the dress on, years ago now, Sam had dropped to her knees faster than I had ever seen her move, staring up at me with wide eyes and a flushed face.

It became a staple during our scenes.

Grabbing the pink leash off of the bed, I made my way to the door, making sure that Sam would be able to hear me coming. She didn't lift her head until I took her chin in my finger and thumb, pulling it up gently.

"Are you going to be my good girl?" I asked her, softly tapping the metal clip of the leash against her cheek.

She nodded, whispering a garbled 'yes, Mistress' around the gag.

"Mmmm, good answer, Baby."

Clipping the leash to the metal O-ring on her collar, I let go of Sam's chin. Her head fell back down to its original place, and every other part of her body kept stock still. Excitement and lust flooded my senses, colouring Sam's natural scent deliciously. It was like my own personal drug.

Although, just seeing her was enough to get my heart rate up.

Pale skin pulled taught over slight muscles, still soft even with all her scars; gorgeous blue eyes that seemed to shift between blue-grey and the darkest blue I had ever seen. Short blonde hair with long bangs, always combed through with just her fingers; a deceptively delicate face that many people had underestimated.

I let my eyes rake over her body.

Along the bend of her neck, and down the curve of her spine. Over the plumpness of her ass, and following her legs back up. I forced myself not to reach out and brush over the mound between her legs. I dragged my eyes up her taut stomach, up the perfect handfuls of her breasts; over her shoulders, and the faint bite marks that were left over from Veronica on her neck.

Beautiful.

Everything about Sam was beautiful. Her body, her mind, her personality. I couldn't get enough. And she was all mine; my Mate. Mine to love and protect. Mine to hug and kiss. Mine.

And I was hers.

I could never get over the trust she had in me. She put herself in my hands, even though I could break her with one wrong move. Literally. But she knew I wouldn't, couldn't. That it was the last thing I would ever want to do to her.

"C'mon, Baby," I beckoned, stepping back and giving a little tug on the leash. "In you come."

I walked backwards; the leash lax as Sam followed on her hands and knees. We moved slowly, her ass swaying in the air as we went; an exaggerated bend in her back. I knew it was on purpose; it always was. She loved to entice me, to push and see how far she could go before I reigned her back in, until subspace consumed her.

We stopped next to the bed, Sam sitting back on her knees. A wave of excitement pulsed in the air as she noticed the restraints on the bed and, before I could say or do anything, Sam was scrambling up to her feet and started to climb up.

Well, that just won't do.

Grabbing the leg that was already on the bed, I yanked. Sam fell to the mattress flat on her stomach, face bouncing off it; I pulled until she was bent over the bed, feet on the floor. A sharp intake of breath. Hands pushing against the bed. A small wriggle to try and balance.

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

I brought my hand down on her ass, five on each side, one after the other. I didn't give her time to adjust to the sharp sting. I went as hard as I dared, a little coyote strength leaking into the force of bringing my hand down. The first hit was enough to turn one cheek a bright pink, a startled shout escaping her throat. Two each side had her ass a fierce red, whimpers falling continuously. Number ten had her crying, hands fisting the duvet and pushing back into my hands.

Curling my fingers around Sam's hips, thumbs pressing into her dark red flesh, I pulled her hips back until she was flush against me, still bent over the bed. She pressed her face against the duvet, rubbing against it, even as she continued to push back. Grinning, I leant forward, pressing against her back, trailing a hand up her side.

"Who said you could get off all fours?" I whispered into her ear.

Fisting a hand in the long hair of her bangs, I reared back and dragged Sam with me, forcing her back down onto her knees. When she had settled, eyes closed against the harsh tugging on her scalp, I let my hand fall from her head. Drool was falling over her chin; chest rising and falling heavily with each breath she took.

After taking a moment to enjoy the sight of Sam, I hopped up onto the bed. Our dynamic was very much a power play – I had it all; Sam had none. Or so it seemed. If Sam called it off, we would stop. If anything, she had more power than me. We both knew that. But the illusion that it wasn't was enough, something Sam wanted. Part of that was that I needed to be above her at all times.

As I got comfortable, the hem of the dress lifting to the crease of my legs and pelvis. Cool morning air skated over my skin, goosebumps popping up on my legs. Sam's eyes locked onto me, never going any higher than my lower stomach.

One thing Sam loved about the leather dress was that it was near impossible for me to wear a bra or panties with it.

"Colour?" I asked, quietly, brushing her hair back from her eyes.

She tapped my leg three times – Green.

Like many in the BDSM community, we tended to use the traffic light system. Green was ok; continue. Yellow was stop what you're doing, but don't stop the scene. Red was stop everything; scene over. Of course, when gagged, speaking wasn't exactly easy. Or understandable. So, we used taps. One for red, quick and easy; two for yellow; three for green.

Smiling gently, I leaned back onto my hands.

"I know it's your birthday and everything, but…" I sighed, letting my legs spread wide.

Sam almost moved forward; I could see it in the way her muscles tensed. She managed to restrain herself, knowing what would happen if she moved without permission.

"Good girl," I hummed. "Now, give me what I want, Baby. Please me."

She practically jumped on me the moment the words left my mouth. Keeping her hands on her legs, Sam buried her face between my thighs. The first swipe of her tongue, from vagina opening to clit, sent a shiver down my spine. I felt the groan more than I heard it; her mouth pressed in tight against my lips, with the leather rubbing against the insides of my legs. Little kitten licks flicked against my clit, circling before flicking again, rubbing softly, reverently. I refused to let my head drop back; refused to look away from Sam. Her eyes were closed, tongue lolling out of her mouth, and hot breath puffing out against my wet flesh.

Each stroke was like heaven; every prod of her stiff tongue against my hole was like electricity. I couldn't stop my thighs from shaking, even as I lifted my feet to rest on the edge of the bed, spreading myself wider.

When Sam's wet tongue finally pushed past the ring of muscle, a soft sigh trembled from my mouth. I felt it move inside of me, back and forth; around in circles. Lapping at my walls as I clenched around it, as Sam's nose nudged against my clit in rhythmic little prods.

It was sloppy from the gag, salvia running down to my ass and coating every bit of skin Sam brushed against, but it was still delightfully delicious.

I reached out, grabbed the short hairs at the back of her head, and pulled her back. I couldn't help but snicker as she fought to get back, to bury her tongue inside me again.

"You usually do so much better than this," I teased, a little breathless. "Surely, the gag doesn't make it this hard."

She whimpered, tongue stretching out, trying to touch me. I pulled her back a little further. As much as I wanted her back on me, back in me, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to play with her.

"Use your words, Baby," I smirked. "Tell me how much you want to taste me. How much you need to."

"Ah wah oo," she cried around the gag. "Ah ee oo!"

"Aw, can you not speak properly? My poor baby!"

An embarrassed flush spread over Sam's cheeks, but arousal came off her in waves. She liked being humiliated like this, almost as much as she liked to be able to please me. They were kinks we both enjoyed, whenever we had time to indulge in the spicier side of our sex life.

"Does my girl need help?" I asked with fake niceness, tugging a little harder. "Should Mistress help her Baby?"

"Lee," she snivelled, a poor attempt at saying 'please'.

"I suppose; if I must. But I expect you to do better, or you'll be sorry. Birthday or not. Understand?"

Sam nodded as much as she could, straining again to get her mouth back on me, tongue out flat. I waited only a few seconds more until she was whining again, before I pulled her back to me, forcing her face against me. I moved my hips, humping her face and moving her head in tandem, chasing the building pleasure. Nose to chin, Sam was covered in a mixture of her spit and my own fluid. She moved her tongue as much as she could; rubbed her face between my folds, not caring about the mess she was making of herself.

Sam's tongue slipped back inside of me, nose back to rubbing at my clit. I laid flat on the bed, my free hand drifting up my stomach to fondle my chest. My thumb and finger found my nipple, pinching and twisting as I moved against Sam's tongue, back and forth, pushing her closer into my pelvis.

I could feel it, building inside of me, every little touch tingling.

"That's it, come on, just a little more," I panted. "Come on, Baby. That's it, that's it. Make me cum. Make me cum!"

A few more presses against my clit, the slide of Sam's tongue against my walls, and I was cumming. My body spasmed as fluid spurted from me; Sam moaned against me as she tasted it.

I kept her against me as the jerks died off and I began to relax. Only once my breathing was under control did I pull Sam away, hearing her whimper around her panting moans.

I pulled her up on shaking legs, throwing her onto the bed as I moved to stand.

"On your back," I demanded. "Arms spread, legs up."

She complied immediately.

I had her hands in the cuffs quickly, before I grabbed an ankle. I pushed until her knee was bent against her stomach and spread it wide; I grabbed the ankle cuff that attached to the one on her wrist and locked it in place. I did the same on the other side. She was left open for me, unable to hide, her hole clenching around nothing in anticipation, all pink and wet.

Gently, I brushed a finger up and down the crease of her thigh, right next to the mound of flesh between her legs. She whined and tried to move so I would touch where she wanted me most. I moved with her, delighting in the little broken sob that it pulled from her throat. Keeping my finger light, I reached across to my bedside table, grabbing one of our favourite toys.

I hooked the clit vibrator onto Sam, turning it onto its lowest setting. It wasn't enough for Sam to come, never enough. But it got her close enough, keeping her right on the edge, unable to tip over. She shouted out as she felt the vibration run through her, the chains connecting the cuffs jingling as she pulled.

I let a hand run over her body, barely touching, as I watched her squirm on the bed; Sam begging unintelligibly around the gag, with tears in her eyes and move saliva rolling over her chin. Her face was shiny, and our scents mixed on her; it sent pleasure through my body that I couldn't describe. Moving and taking my hands away, I picked up a pack of cigarettes, lighting one up and taking a drag. I didn't usually smoke; I didn't really like the taste. Our scenes were the only exception. Sam liked for me to burn her each time we played, overlapping her old wounds and replacing them with ones of my own.

Replacing them with memories of what we did.

I made her wait. Watching the cigarette with hungry eyes as I smoked. I waited until halfway through, before I made my move, taking her chin in my hand and forcing her to look me in the eyes.

"What colour are you, Baby?" I asked, quietly.

She tapped the headboard three times – Green.

"Hmmm? What was that?" I smirked.

Three taps again.

"No, no, no," I tutted. "I asked you a question, Baby Girl. I expect you to answer me. Now, what colour are you? Speak!"

With an easy move, I turned the vibrator up two levels. I grinned at the scream and the garbled 'Green' that Sam tried to form around the gag and moans. With a laugh, I turned the vibrator back down to the lowest setting, taking pleasure in the frustrated tears that rolled down Sam's face.

"Good girl," I whispered.

Taking the slowly burning cigarette, I grazed it down Sam's arm, another moan spilling from her open mouth.

I took a drag.

Over the mound of her breasts.

I took a drag.

Over and around both nipples.

I took a drag.

Down her stomach.

All the while, Sam couldn't stop writhing in pleasure, moans lifting in pitch the further down I went, still not able to cum. Slowly, I circled the cigarette around Sam's belly button, before stubbing it out on the outside of her thigh, a loud scream cracking through the air.

I threw the butt onto the bedside table easily, my eyes flashing red as my claws scratched at Sam's other thigh, thin trails of blood beading onto her skin. A broken sound left her, a familiar sound, as she tried to form that word.

Reaching up, I unhooked the O-ring gag in her mouth, massaging her jaw after I placed it to the side.

"What did you call me, Slut?" I hummed.

I scrapped her with my claws again, this time down her side, stopping when Sam arched into it, begging for me to press harder.

I moved away.

"I asked you a question." I tsked. "What did you call me, Slut? Don't make me ask again?"

More tears.

More drool.

"You're my Alpha," she whispered.

SMACK!

My hand hit her face.

"Louder!" I growled.

"YOU'RE MY ALPHA!" Sam screamed. "YOU'RE MY ALPHA! YOU'RE MY ALPHA! PLEASE! PLEASE, LET ME CUM, ALPHA! LET ME CUM!"

I rubbed my hands over Sam's stomach and sides, slowly and methodically; massaging until her begs calmed into little whimpers.

I watched as she blinked more heavy tears from her eyes, breasts moving with each heaving breath. It was all I could not to lean over and bite; to make her cry out with each tug at sensitive, hardened nipples.

But she wasn't quite where I wanted her yet.

"You're being so good, Baby," I smirked with a wink. "So good for your Alpha. Can you tell me what you are?"

It was the easiest way for me to tell if she was in subspace or not. If she said it, then I would carry on. If not, I had my ways. But she was almost there. I could feel it. She was so close.

Sam shook her head, letting out a weak 'no'. So, grabbing the leash that lay to the side, I used the leather to smack her thigh, hard enough that it would leave a large, gorgeous welt on her skin.

"Tell. Me. What. You. Are." I ground out, over Sam's cries.

Before she could say anything, however, I leaned over her on all fours, spitting into her mouth.

"I'M YOUR PATHETIC, LITTLE HUMAN BREEDER!" she cried out.

Her eyes were fully glazed over now, her body relaxing into the bed. If she could, Sam would probably live in subspace. When I asked, she said her head felt light and floaty; like nothing was wrong or bad in that place.

The moment she was there, I stroked gently over the welt that was slowly rising on her thigh, pressing my lips against it lightly.

"There's my good little girl," I cooed. "My good baby."

Carefully, I took the vibrator off of Sam, turning it off and putting it to the side. I shushed her gently as she let out a pathetic whine. I rubbed the backs of her thighs, delighting in the purr of comfort that it dragged from Sam, as her eyes closed.

"I've made you wait a while, huh?" I said, keeping my voice quiet. "I think you've earned, at least, one orgasm. From your Alpha."

Sam didn't have time to process my words, before I dropped down, wrapping my lips around her clit and sucking. I expected the scream; I expected the bucking of her hips and the jerking of her arms, as she tried to touch me; wanted to make me go faster. Begs and pleas tumbled from her mouth, already close from the vibrator and weeks of edging.

But I still had my part to play.

"If you don't stop, Baby Girl, your Alpha won't let you cum." I warned.

At just the hit of a command, Sam relaxed. But, still, the litany of pleas was whispered out, begging for me. Not for anything in particular – just for me.

It didn't take long before Sam fell apart. Just a few calculate swipes of my tongue and another suck on her clit, and Sam fell over the edge, cumming on my tongue. I would never be able to get over the taste of her – sweet, like fruit and honey. It was a taste that I was, easily, addicted to.

As Sam jerked with the aftershocks, I quickly stripped the leather dress off and took my hair out.

I moved to the side, still on the bed, releasing Sam's ankles. I massaged her calves and thighs, bringing back the blood flow, before I did the same to her wrists, bringing her arms down to lay next to her. I kissed over her face, whispering to her that I loved her, over and over, a small smile on my face as Sam mewled softly. The second I was sure her arms and legs were alright, I picked up the cream from the bedside table, rubbing it in gently to every burn and welt and slap mark.

Aftercare was too important to put into words. It was vital that every sub was given aftercare; that they were taken care of. I would fight any dominant partner that said otherwise; that would let any sub fend for themselves after it was all said and done.

"I love you my tiny sub," I giggled as Sam purred at each rub, booping her on the nose.

"I love you too, Alpha," she slurred.

As soon as each wound was taken care of, and I had cleaned Sam down a little after she had drank some water, I went to lay back on the bed and tuck Sam into the crevice of my arm. But Sam stopped me. Her eyes were still glassy, she was still in subspace, but there was a serious light behind them. I sat up a little.

"I want the Mark," she said.

"I've already given you loads of marks." I frowned.

"No, I mean, the Mark."

I would swear up and down that my heart skipped a beat, multiple beats, at that. The Mating Mark was irreversible. Nothing would be able to break it. We would be properly Mated. We had held off for a while, saying we would wait until our honeymoon, unless Sam decided she wanted it earlier.

My eyes widened.

"Are-Are you sure?" I whispered.

Sam just nodded, letting her head flop to the side.

Carefully as I could, I climbed on top of Sam, cautious not to put too much weight on her. Leaning down, I pressed a kiss to her forehead. Over both eyes. Down her nose. I kissed her lips, delving my tongue inside, tasting us both with a sigh. I kissed down her neck and over a shoulder, back and forth before I settled in the juncture of her neck, on Sam's right-hand side.

"I love you," I whispered, before biting down over the faint scar that Veronica had left behind.

Sam's hands grabbed my hips, a sharp gasp choking her. I stayed latched to her for only a few moments, sucking as I pulled away and kissing the rapidly healing mark.

Then Peter, Stiles, Isaac and Allison had barged in.

(Two-Hour Time Skip)

Sub-drop was a bitch.

Sam hadn't come back into her body naturally, slowly, so she descended into a panic attack from coming back too fast. I had held her close, touching and rubbing any skin I could, keeping her close. I forced her to look me in the eyes, letting the red seep into them, and getting her to breathe.

I was incredibly grateful for the bite; the bond helped to calm her down quicker than it would have done without it. Even so, it still took two hours.

I didn't leave the room to talk to the others until Sam had fallen asleep, exhausted.

I laid with her while she slept, when I had come back into the room. I didn't sleep myself, just held her close and breathed in her scent. When she did wake up, she cuddled close and buried her nose into my neck.

"Thank you," she mumbled against my skin. "That was amazing."

"Hmmm, yes it was," I whispered back. "Come here, let's get this collar off you."

Sam grabbed my wrist before I could move it, cheeks colouring.

"I was…" she coughed. "I was wondering if I could, um…. Can I keep it on, Mistress? Forever?"

I couldn't breathe for a long moment, my heartbeat kicking up faster than ever before. Love flooded through my entire body as I sat us up, shifting Sam until she was laying between my legs.

"Of course," I said as I moved us. "You're my good little girl."

Blindly, I dug out a plain black box from the drawer of my bedside table, handing it to her.

"I've been wanting to give this to you for over a year," I admitted.

When Sam lifted the lid, there was a black leather collar laying inside, an infinity symbol the same colour green as my eyes looped through at the front. I watched as one of Sam's fingers stroked gently over the symbol.

"I love it," she croaked. "It's beautiful."

"Just like you," I told her, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Happy birthday, Sam."

END FLASHBACK – BACK TO: Saturday, October 11th 2014 – Stiles' POV

"So, that's what girls look like?" Harley's voice sounded, high and giggly. "Pretty!"

Every head snapped towards the living room door. Harley was leaning against the doorway, hugging their drawing pad and pencils to their chest. They grinned at Sam, the blonde huntress blushing a dark red.

Oh God, Harley saw what happened that day.

I couldn't form words, stuttering around every single one that tried to make its way out of my mouth. But Harley didn't seem to care. They just walked into the room, placed their haul down on the sofa, and looked down at their chest.

"I wonder if I'd look pretty with boobs too," they mused.

"Ok, conversation over!" I squeaked, scrambling to my feet. "Dinner time!"

The next thing I knew, Sam and Charlie were cackling like hyenas. Sam was slapping my arm, pointing at my face as I felt it redden.

"But it's not dinner time yet." Harley frowned.

"DINNER TIME!" I screeched.

I ran to the kitchen as fast as I could.

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