Scott collapsed on the bench, breathing heavily. He had been running on the trail for hours, trying to keep his stamina high. Not that he needed to, since he was a werewolf. But appearance was important and he didn't want people to question his athleticism despite lack of exercise. So he made it his daily goal to work out in public.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead, pushing back the damp strands of hair that stuck to his face. Scott glanced around, wanting to find someone he recognized. He frequently would get bored during his workouts, thus tried to convince Stiles to join him who would refuse every offer.
Scott smiled, seeing Summer jogging on the same trail he had finished. Even if he had rarely talked to her, he quickly discovered that she was someone he wanted to be friends with. When she slowed down to a stop, leaning against a tree, he got up to approach her.
"Summer!" he called out, waving his hand. He stopped, seeing a man coming from behind her and placing a hand on her shoulder.
She looked up.
From the distance, Scott could see their lips move, talking, but he inched closer to listen to their conversation.
"… it is?" the man asked, chuckling.
"Yeah, it's…" she glanced at her watch. "… 8:43."
"Oh, thank god." He laughed, running a hand through his hair. "I have to stop by my niece's to pick up my dog."
Scott could see Summer stand up straighter, interested. "Oh, I have a dog as well! Name's Bashful. Yours?"
For some reason, Scott wanted to march over to them and bash the man's face in.
The man gave a smile. "I was hoping you were going to ask for my name… But I guess you're just more interested in my dog."
Summer blushed, a bit embarrassed. "Oh! Sorry 'bout that." She let a nervous laugh.
"But her name is Butterscotch. It's my ex's favorite candy. After she dumped me, I kept the dog. But I call her Scotch. Because that's my favorite drink." The man held out his hand towards Summer. "I'm Mark. You are?"
"Summer," she said, shaking his hand.
"So, you come out here every night?"
"Ev'ry night." She looked at him curiously. "I've never seen you here."
"I run different paths each time. Try not to get used to one terrain."
"Ah, competitive runner?" she asked. "Military?"
"You could say that," he said, his voice trailing off. "Hey, you wanna go grab some lunch tomorrow?"
She nodded, unable to keep the smile from getting larger. "Sure. I'd – I'd love to."
He grinned. "Great!"
Scott watched from behind a water fountain as Summer gave the stranger her number. Watched as he left, heading back to his car. Scott knew the man couldn't see him, but he didn't care. He still glared at the guy.
After the man drove away, Scott got up, knees cracking from crouching for so long.
He jogged up to Summer. "Hey, Summer!"
She turned around, smiling once she saw Scott. "Hey! How've ya'been?"
"Good, good." He kicked his shoe against the dirt, scuffing it, wondering how to bring up conversation he wanted to share with her. "Who was that?"
She feigned ignorance. "Who?"
Scott looked at her, eyebrow raised. "Are you really going to do that?"
Summer laughed, linking her arm with his, and walked towards her '67 GTO. "I'm goin' to give you a ride, Mr. McCall. So you best not say anythin' more." She gave him a wink.
"Thanks!" he said, happy. He didn't want to walk home, even if it would only take 10 minutes. Because - although he was a Supernatural - he was exhausted and because who the hell wouldn't want to touch the glorious vehicle? "But I'm not going to stop asking. So who was he?"
"Just a man."
"And?"
"His name is Mark."
"And?"
"And he has a dog."
"And?"
"And her name is Scotch."
"And?" Scott stared at her, exasperated.
"And we're meetin' up for lunch."
He yanked his arm out from her hold. "You can't!"
Summer stared at him, incredulous? "Why the hell not?"
" 'Cause - 'cause," he stuttered, not sure what his argument could be. He searched his mind frantically but only came up with: " 'Cause he's funny!"
They had arrived at her car, shining and gleaming from the moonlight. Summer leaned against it, arms crossed almost maternal – like. "And?" she asked mockingly.
"Funny as in shady."
"And?"
"And I'm a werewolf so I can smell weirdos from a mile away."
"And?"
"And… And…" Scott struggled to think of a better reason. His face almost lit up with triumph. "And you're with Derek. So you can't see Mark."
He saw her expression change, crestfallen.
"What is it?" Scott took a step closer, touching her shoulder, concerned. "What's wrong, Summer?"
"We were never together, you know that." She unlocked the door to her Pontiac. "And I get the feelin' that he ain't interested. Maybe before, but he sure as hell ain't no more." She sat in the seat and reached over to the other door, pulling up the lock. "Come on, Scott. Let's get you home."
Derek scoffed. For a werewolf, he was acting like a nervous, prebuscent teenaged boy. He adjusted his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles and brushing off the lints. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door, strolling in with his head high and back straight.
He looked to the front and smiled when he saw Summer.
But the primal side - the ferocious side - of him oozed out when he saw her talking to a man.
She was leaning towards him, her forearms resting against the counter, her hands twiddling with a straw wrapper. Her hair was down, the dark locks grazing the marble top. He could see that the top three buttons were undone, exposing more than just her neck - he could see the top curve of her breasts and Derek knew that this other man could see it, too.
He growled.
Growled even louder when she tilted her head back and let out a chiming laugh, her eyes gleaming with amusement.
"That's my laugh," Derek thought possessively, the wolf inside baring its fangs, snarling with fury. "My laugh, my body, my Summer."
He could feel the ground shake under each heavy slam of his shoes even though he tried not to stomp his way towards her.
"Summer," Derek said, trying not to sound so curt but failing.
She looked up at him. "Derek!" she said, surprised. She frowned when she saw the his teeth clenched tight and she could almost feel the anger exude off him, suffocating her. She gave the man a quick smile before turning back to werewolf.
"You gon' stop actin' like a petulant child?" she asked him in a biting tone.
He raised his brows and crossed his arms. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you haven't been around these past weeks…" she started to say, lifting a finger to count the reasons. "Ev'rytime I see you – an' I know you see me, too – you turn around and walk away… Oh, and that." She pointed to his face. "That expression."
He could feel his face scrunched into a frustrated frown and so he immediately loosened his facial muscles.
"Uh – uh," she said, shaking her head. "Too late to hide it now. I already saw that look." She looked back to the man sipping his coffee. She ran her fingers through her hair. "I've been tryin' to talk wit' you. But you always run away."
Derek curled his hands into rigid fists. The desire to repeat her actions - to twirl her long strands around each of his fingers - was getting strong. He just wanted to yank her hair, to pull her head back and expose that beautiful neck of hers. He wanted to bite her there, to claim her. Because she was his and only his. And he wanted her to know that he will never tolerate her flirting with someone besides him.
"Mark, give me a few minutes, will ya?" she asked, untying the bow of her apron. "I promise, we'll still make it for the reservation."
Summer walked around the counter, approaching Derek with a serious look in her eyes. She placed a hand on his arm and guided him to a booth far from Mark. "So when I finally stop chasin' after you, that's when you decide to talk to me? What ever. What do you want, Derek? Is it – " she glanced around the diner. " – is it 'bout the Wisps? Grayson?" she whispered.
He stared at her, wishing that he could kiss away her worries. "Who is he?" But his frustration was overpowering his tenderness.
"Who is he? You know, the murder – "
"Not Grayson, I know who Grayson is. I freaking found him," he snapped, his nails digging into his palms. "I meant that douche sitting over there."
She frowned. "Derek! That wasn't nice at all. He's a nice gentleman who invited me out for – "
"He is a tool. I'm a nice gentleman.
She leaned back, dropping her hand from his arm. He felt the urge to snatch her hand and put it back on him.
"Right now you ain't," she said, exasperated. "What in the hell is wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with – what's wrong with you?" Derek's voice was rising steadily. It took all his strength to not jump on Mark and pound his face in.
" 'Scuse me?"
"You're not going." He stared at her, wishing she was a wolf so he could compel her to listen. A deadpanned, serious expression was glued to his face.
She looked at him incredulously. "I can't believe – "
"I'm not letting you." His eyes flashed red and Summer gave him a frantic look.
"What are you – stop that! Don't do that here!" she hissed. "And I am goin'. And you most certainly can't stop me."
She got up, with Derek doing the same. Summer turned to leave but Derek quickly reached over, gripping her wrist tight in his grasp, not noticing her wince in pain.
"Let – "
He cut her off, yanking her towards him, her body slamming against his hard chest. "You're mine," he growled, his hot breath burning against her skin.
She struggled, wrenching herself free. "How dare you touch me like that!" she snapped, her eyes blazing with fury. "I'm not like one of your puppies who you can bully 'round." Summer wrapped her fingers around her aching wrist, trying to massage the pain away. "He asked me to join him for lunch and I'm goin'. "
"Probably because you were pushing your tits into his face."
He froze. He didn't want to – he didn't mean to say that. He didn't mean it. It was just his wolf – his stupid wolf was so enraged at the thought of her being with someone else. Derek watched as Summer stumbled back just a bit, shocked. He watched as the vivacious frustration slowly dripped away, an almost dead – like anguish glazing over her eyes.
He wanted to rip apart this entire diner, shred everything to pieces. Destroy. He wanted to hold Summer tight in his arms, to run his fingers through her hair, down her back.
He should have known. He always ruined everything. Hurt everyone. Always. It was like some curse; he touches something and it breaks. And he was watching Summer break.
He saw the tears clinging to the eyelashes, looking like diamonds. He lifted his hand to brush them away and something clogged in his throat, asphyxiating him when he saw her flinch.
"Summer…" he said, his voice tinged with agony.
She shook her head, taking a step back.
"Summer, I – " He felt a throb in his chest. As if fists were pounding against his chest, punishing him. "I – "
She raised a hand, silencing him. "Don't." She turned to walk away but he grabbed her arm, pulling her back to him.
"Wait, please," he begged, fingers brushing her loose hairs away from her face, trailing down to her cheek to wipe the falling tears off her skin. "Please don't leave me. Please – "
"Let go!" she screamed. She tried to get away but his hold was too strong. Her punches were nothing to his powerful body. "Let go, let go, let go, let go!" She stomped on his foot.
Derek grunted, not feeling the hits and kicks, but feeling the heel jab his foot. His grip loosened and Summer noticed. She yanked free, tripping back from the force. She drew her hand back – and with as much strength she had – she slapped him hard.
His head snapped to the side, partially surprised that he could actually feel the sting on his cheek from a human, but fully hurt by the fact that Summer now hated him.
He ignored the glares of disgust from the customers and workers that were aimed at him.
"Fuck you, Hale."
She whirled around and rushing towards the door, shoving it open.
"Fuck you, Hale."
The words pierced his heart, his mind, his soul. Like tiny needles injecting silver into his veins.
"Fuck you, Hale."
He stumbled backwards, hand gripping the counter, splintering it. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't. There was something – something there in his throat. What did he swallow? A baseball? He tried to gasp for air, to fill his lungs with oxygen.
His heart was pounding furiously, ramming against his chest, like it was trying to beat its way free, through his bones, his muscles, his skin…
"Fuck you, Hale."
It was 10 pm when he found her. She was laying on the bench. Her left arm was resting against her eyes, blocking the harsh glare of the light from the post. The glow of the moon was stretching against her skin, giving her beautiful and ethereal appearance.
Not that she needed it. She was so beautiful to begin with. So beautiful with those brown eyes that reminded him of melted chocolate rich with delicious flavor. With those plump lips that made his length throb. Her voice, her hair, her legs… Everything. She was a goddess. An angel. She looked so much like his mother...
"Summer?"
She jolted up, startled. She relaxed after recognizing him. "Mark! How – how'd you find me?"
He smiled, sitting down next to her. "Where else would you be?"
Her skin tingled at his touch, his fingertips brushing against her shoulder.
She looked at him.
Derek. Derek? No. She didn't love him. Not anymore.
She smiled back.
She was so hurt. So… lonely.
She reached up to touch his face.
She just wanted to feel special. Feel loved.
She noticed the distance between them was getting shorter.
She felt the pain leave her, replaced with a feeling of thrill and excitement.
She could feel his breath, warm and soothing against her skin.
She was tired of running away. Of getting hurt.
She could smell his aftershave. A scent that smelled different from Derek's.
She felt Mark's lips press against her. She opened her mouth.
She needs this.
In my best (fake) Southern accent... Ya'll need to keep readin' for th' next chapter, ya hear? Somethin' crazy s'gon' happen. Cuh-ray-zee!
And I'm sure by now, you can guess who Mark REALLY is... ? I'll explain what he's doing in Beacon Hills. Worry not!