I suppose you must be Stiles.
You must be Stiles.
Must be...
It sent a lurch of nausea through him to hear those words, almost right but not exactly, close but not close enough and still way too close for comfort. A prickling rush of electricity ran down his spine and his entire body went cold, his words, Peter's words said in the foreign voice of a stranger, in a sneering, derogatory tone. It made him feel clammy, physically sick, and at the same time caused anger to swell in his chest like a sunburst because how dare this little hit come swaggering up and open his mouth like he had the right to say that...
Stiles felt his lips pull back off his teeth in what could only be described as a snarl, and for the briefest moment he wished he could grow the teeth and claws that a werewolf could, because for just a fleeting second his heart leapt with the intention of throwing this little bitch to the ground and tearing him up.
It was an intense surge of desire for violence that he wasn't prepared for and it nearly knocked him back on his heels. Clenching his teeth against a wave of vitriolic words he hadn't even realized he knew, he forced himself to ease back, to subtly drop his shoulders and straighten his knees, slightly bent in readiness, prepared to spring. He could feel Calvin relax beside him, the older man no doubt ready to jump in and pull Stiles away from a poorly considered and doomed-to-failure attack, but he was by no means calm. It was only every bit of steel in his spine, only Calvin standing next to him and watching on with judgmental eye, only how much he hated every part of all of this that kept him still.
Well, that and the haughty, sneering look on this man's face.
Some cold, angry part of him hissed in the back of his mind, predator-reptile uncurling itself in the face of prey, of a challenger, and Stiles fought the sudden urge to bare his teeth a second time. He didn't quite succeed, curling his lip in sneer because fuck this guy and his superiority, his undeserved self-confidence, his pathetic little claim on Stiles' bonded...
Woah, okay, no.
Nope.
Nuh-uh.
And again in Spanish, no.
He was not jealous of this guy, this skinny, too-sleek jerk who Stiles had already seen make an ass of himself – and no way in hell was he gonna be afraid of him either. Seriously, what did this guy have that Stiles didn't?
Besides teeth.
And claws.
Supernatural speed, strength, senses...
Yeah, besides that.
Well nothing, that was what!
Sure he was... good looking - objectively! - in a posh and polished sort of way, but Stiles had already found himself in that happy middle-place where he could lean toward either side of the fence. Track and lacrosse and a slow-moving growth spurt meant that his chest and shoulders were broad enough to go manly-athletic, but he was also lean and baby-faced enough that he could play up the twink thing if that was Peter's...
And again with the nope.
He didn't care what Peter's type was. It didn't matter.
Ugh, whatever.
Stiles might not be a werewolf, but he was smart enough to take this guy on.
Besides, he was pretty sure he already had Calvin and Laura on his side, which was more than he could say for Luca.
"Yeah that's right," he acknowledged, crunching the last of his sucker and gathering up all the best of his courage, his sarcasm. "Stiles Stilinski, as in Sheriff Stilinski." Raising an eyebrow, he blatantly looked the man up and down, forced himself to be unimpressed. "You're obviously not from here - how are you enjoying Beacon Hills, Mr..." Stiles trailed off, huffed an affected chuckle. "Sorry, no one's mentioned your name."
Luca sneered, an oddly delicate expression as though he'd gotten a sniff of something foul. Stiles caught the barest flicker of gold around his pupils and made a note of it – the guy's control wasn't a hundred percent. Would certainly make it easier to get on his nerves, but didn't bode well for his ability to keep his claws to himself, and despite his greeting there was no bond between them to save Stiles' skin.
"My name is Luca Patralia," the werewolf said proudly, drawing himself up to his full height and really?Grecian? That was the stellar bloodline that should make Stiles feel inferior? "And your father may be the sheriff in town but he has no jurisdiction here."
Beside him Stiles felt Calvin stiffen and immediately recognized the younger werewolf's mistake. By declaring that the Sheriff had no jurisdiction over the pack, Luca was speaking in Talia's place, speaking for the Hales, and even Stiles could guess that that was a no-no.
"Interesting," Stiles hummed, glancing in Calvin's direction. "Since Alpha Hale is inside right now, negotiating with said Sheriff. Perhaps you should stop her, since you're speaking for her and all."
Something in him went sickly pleased at the sight of Luca going white as a sheet, the blood draining from his face as he realized what he'd done, the subtle threat in Stiles' words, and it urged him to press his advantage, to sink his teeth in and worry at the weakness he'd found.
"Even though the last time I checked you weren't actually pack..."
"I am an allied envoy here on official pack business," the young man hissed, painful red color flooding his cheeks and his eyes flaring, and Stiles had to clench every muscle he had to stop himself from taking a step back, from flinching away from the sheer anger in his words, the scramble to defend his actions. "I have every right to speak out, to be concerned! But you, who are you little boy? Who are you to come here and bring trouble, break rules?"
Stiles blinked, traded a carefully unimpressed, skeptical look with Calvin.
"Didn't we just go over this?" he asked, feigning concern. "I mean, I thought the whole pack knows who I am by now."
Calvin scoffed, crossed his arms and offered Stiles a toothy grin.
"Believe me kid, the pack knows who you are. You're all anyone's talking about."
"So, what? Were my sentences not short enough? Implications too subtle?"
"Are you calling me stupid?" Luca snarled, all his posh accent and detached superiority falling away as his eyes flared and he bared his teeth in indignation.
"Yup, too subtle," he muttered.
Shrugging casually, he took a step in retreat, disguised as redirecting his attention back to the infuriated werewolf, raised his hands up in a placating manner. He could feel his heart thundering against the inside of his chest, felt the hair standing up on the back of his neck and wondered if he'd gone too far because shit, this was a werewolf in front of him, perfectly capable of slicing him like bologna and Stiles had just pressed some pretty big buttons.
Too bad he'd never had a good grasp of self preservation.
"I mean, I'm just saying. You might be an envoy, but as an objective third party it kinda looks like your pack ditched you up here without protection or plans to bring you back..."
And whoops.
Apparently that was the line.
Growling, Luca lunged forward and lashed out with a clawed hand, aiming for Stiles' face.
To anyone else it might look like he stood tall, unafraid and ready to take it, but really it just happened so fast that he didn't have the time to react. One second the man was glaring at him with a hot, petty sort of hatred and the next he was going for the throat. All Stiles saw was a glint of gold eyes and sharp, white teeth before Calvin caught him by the wrist, twisting it neatly behind his back with a short, commanding snarl. Luca jerked in his grasp, struggled, swung around in an attempt to claw at the older werewolf's face, but Calvin just turned and tightened his grip, resulting in a sharp crack, a pained yelp, and another vicious snarl. Digging in, Calvin bared long, vicious fangs, roared in Luca's face as he pressed him down, forced him toward the earth, but the smaller man refused to yield, raised his free hand and...
"Luca!"
One word.
One word and the world stopped.
At least it felt that way.
Peter's voice rang out sharp and clear across the valley, sending a chill shock of electricity down Stiles' spine. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention and his stomach swooped, anger-anxiety-fear flooding his system even as Calvin and Luca froze, their brief, violent tussle ended as Calvin shoved the man roughly away. Instinctively he took a step back, aligned himself with the scarred, battleworn Hale who'd just leapt to his defense as Peter came stalking across the grass, looking like the embodiment of murder.
"What the hell are you doing down here?" he snapped and Stiles went cold, sure that his bonded was barking at him until Peter grabbed hold of Luca's coat collar and jerked him backward.
"I was looking for you baby," he whimpered, ducking his head in a gesture of submission so fake that Stiles actually let a little sound of disdain escape him.
Luca's head snapped up, his eyes boring into Stiles like he was trying to set him on fire.
"But then this child - he would accuse me, insult me... and your brother, he sides with him. A human, an outsider. Baby, he broke my wrist," the werewolf whimpered, cradling it in his free hand and lifting the limp appendage like some macabre courtroom exhibit.
Stiles sneered, sucked in a breath to defend himself in a burst of righteous indignation, but Peter flat out ignored him, looked to his brother with burning blue eyes and tight jaw.
"Little shit's forgotten his place," Calvin growled, his good eye flashing gold. "An envoy holds no seat at the Alpha's table."
Peter's eyes narrowed, fury hardening his features as his brother's meaning became clear. He turned on Luca slowly, a low rumble emanating from deep in his chest, and Stiles' thanked god that look, that quiet, controlled anger wasn't being turned on him. His knees were already wobbly, his nerves jumbled by Peter's proximity, his flash-fire emotions. He wasn't sure he could handle that.
"Get back to the house," Peter said, calm, quiet, deadly.
Yeah – like those first two were fooling anyone.
"But baby..."
"Now. I told you to finish drawing up the status agreements, and so help me god Luca if you don't have them done by tomorrow morning I will personally make sure Talia takes it out on your ass instead of mine."
"Peter..."
Barking a challenge, Peter took a threatening step toward the younger man but once again Calvin stepped in, placing a hand flat against his brother's chest to stop his advance.
"Leave it," he suggested lightly, staring Luca down. "If it's too much to ask for him to do his fucking job we'll just inform the Castellanos that we are dissatisfied with his services and that, while we appreciate their offer, we feel it unwise to accept at this time."
Luca went white and wide-eyed so fast Stiles thought he would faint, but then he was swallowing hard and ducking his head in an acquiescent nod, turning around and trotting off again the way he'd come, only looking back to send Stiles a wicked glare that promised payback.
Well great.
He was just making friends all over the place wasn't he?
For a moment silence and stillness reigned as the three of them watched Luca's retreat, then Calvin turned to him with a toothy grin and clapped him roughly on the shoulder.
"Well done," he praised, and Stiles felt his cheeks go hot.
"Thanks," he mumbled.
Suddenly nervous, shy, he angled slightly toward his soul-bonded and shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Um..."
Chuffing a short snarl, Peter shook his head rapidly and stalked away without another word, trailing quickly after Luca.
"Right."
"Don't worry kid," Calvin sighed, this time squeezing his shoulder gently but firmly. "Peter's no different from the rest of us – he doesn't actually like Luca either."
"Sure," Stiles shrugged, going for nonchalant and failing miserably when his voice came out hoarse and stilted. "Anyway. Thanks, for that. Stopping him, I mean. Didn't really mean to piss him off that much..."
"Hell that was a thing of beauty kid," Calvin snorted, chuckling as he folded his arms across his chest. "Technically he is a guest, and a visiting envoy, so there's not a lot the pack can do to knock him down a peg. You just did what every one of us has spent the last month dreaming about – you'll be a silent hero by the time the sun goes down."
"Jesus," Stiles hissed under his breath, planting on hand on his hip and scrubbing the other through his hair in frustration. "And here I was planning on keeping a low profile."
Calvin barked a laugh, started heading back toward the main house.
"Yeah good luck with that. Anyway, Luca was out of line. If my sister heard what he'd said, if she'd seen him go after you the way he did, he'd be limping away with a lot worse than a broken wrist."
"Should we tell her?" Stiles asked, chewing his lip and falling in line beside him.
"Not if you don't want to. She'll hear about it before the day's over."
"Yeah, but I provoked him..."
"Oh bullshit," Calvin scoffed. "He's a grown man – he should be able to handle a few harsh truths. And it wouldn't matter either way – he has position as a representative of an allied pack, but he's not our pack. He has no say here, no vote, no right to dole out warning, threat, or punishment. He's here to relay communications to the Castellanos in Ohio, that's all. Talia could make an argument for killing him after he tried to jump you – a human under her protection, in her territory. Peter too."
Stiles steps faltered, his heartbeat skipping.
"Why?" he demanded, confused. "I mean, I get it with Talia – she's your Alpha. But why would Peter..."
Calvin slowed, stopped, turned to Stiles with an unreadable look on his face.
"Because like it or not, you are his bonded," he said quietly, smoothly. "You're human, not mated, not pack - not yet at least. That means you're vulnerable. Attacking a werewolf's bonded is a serious offense, and one not often committed, because bond mates tend to be... protective. Territorial. Aggressively so."
Stiles sniffed, rolled his eyes and started up the porch steps.
"Yeah, pretty sure I don't need to worry about that happening."
Behind him Calvin followed, catching the screen door before it swung shut and speaking too quietly for him to hear.
"I think you can count on it kid."
