A/N: Yep, so here's part 2. It's just a little tidbit in Derek's POV. It might be OOC, but I hope it's not so terrible. I'm not sure if this fic will end up full-on Sterek, because I've never written it before, but it will definitely be hot.

Derek was glad Stiles had finally caught on. It saved him a lot of trouble. And words.

But Stiles was wrong on one count. Derek didn't need to mate with Stiles, even though he desperately wanted to. He just needed to mark him as his territory, because right now, he smelled like Scott, as if Stiles was his property, and Scott was worthless at the moment.

Derek watched the boy, who was now sitting with his back pressed into the door like he wanted to phase through it, his eyes wide and his breath caught in his throat. Derek listened to the sound of Stiles' heart, which fluttered like a panicked hummingbird in his chest. He could feel the wolf clawing at the back of his eyes, wanting to take control of the situation, wanting to take Stiles.

At first, Derek hadn't felt a strong connection at all to Stiles. It had been the wolf that had liked him, for whatever reason. But as the wolf grew fonder, it wanted to follow the sheriff's son around, catch a whiff of his scent, or listen to the delicious sound of the bloody organ thrumming in Stiles' chest.

It became difficult for Derek to pull apart his emotions and determine which ones were truly his and which ones were the wolf's. Eventually they blended together, until the wolf's emotions were his own. Now, as Derek stared into Stiles' wide, warm brown eyes, watched the blood flow more fully into the boy's face so it flushed a lovely shade of red, and felt his own mouth ache and water, he knew that it wasn't just the wolf anymore that wanted Stiles. He felt a dull pain in his stomach that was radiating downward in waves of intense arousal, and he felt things stir that hadn't stirred in quite a while.

Derek closed his eyes, held his breath, blocked out the sound, and was finally able to gain control of himself. He could feel Stiles watching him, felt the prickling of hairs standing up on the back of his neck, and knew that being in the room alone with this kid was far from a good idea.

However, the desperate need he felt to keep Stiles safe overpowered the wolf's lust. Bad things were coming, and it wasn't safe for him to depend on Scott as his only means of protection, especially since Scott knew very little about pack dynamics and didn't know that Stiles was tied to him and could be used against him.

Derek had to break that tie and get Stiles under his own protection. He tried to convince himself that it was only because Stiles and Scott were in danger, but the harsh tug Derek felt in his chest at the thought of Stiles being hurt told him otherwise.

Suddenly Derek became aware of Stiles standing up, still pressed into the door, eying Derek as his hand felt for the doorknob. He was scared—Derek could smell it rolling off of him like thick clouds of smoke that obscured his own thoughts—and he was going to try to escape. The werewolf ignored the sadness that came at the thought of Stiles not reciprocating his feelings, of wanting to actually get away from him because he was afraid of him. It felt like a punch in the gut.

In a split second Derek was standing up, and in another he was right in front of Stiles, crowding into his face, growling low in his chest. The boy's knees almost buckled. He was fucking trembling, and now his scent was strong as ever, and the wolf was viciously clawing at the front of his mind. Derek could feel himself being nudged out of the way.

"Don't. Move." Derek said through gritted teeth, grabbing Stiles' upper arms and holding him still against the door. He resisted the urge to press his body flush against Stiles', to feel him and smell him and taste him.

After a minute or so, Derek was able to suppress the wolf, and he quickly let go of Stiles. The boy watched him, like a wide-eyed doe, unmoving and not breathing. That was good. He was catching on.

Derek grabbed the front of Stiles' ridiculous plaid shirt and started undoing the buttons. Stiles squawked and tried to push his hands away, but stopped when Derek glared fully into his eyes.

"The clothes you're wearing still smell like Scott," Derek explained. "I need them before I kill you."

"What? You're going to kill me?!" Stiles hissed, panicked, but apparently not wanting to alert his father.

Derek listened hard for a moment. The sheriff had fallen asleep. Derek didn't need to worry about him right now.

"I'm not going to kill you, I need them or else I'm going to kill you. Scott's scent is overpowering. The wolf doesn't like it."

The boy was smart, he caught on, and Derek felt him shudder at the thought of the wolf taking over. Stiles went perfectly still again, except for the occasional fearful quiver that he wasn't able to suppress. His breath was hot and heady against Derek's neck. Derek pursed his lips, because Stiles didn't know it, but he was making the perfect prey.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Derek said more to himself than to Stiles. "You just have to smell like me, and not Scott. Then the wolf will calm down."

But Stiles didn't relax. Derek decided he didn't have time to wait. He needed to do this now, not only to control the wolf, but before Scott caught on and got in the way.

Derek took a deep breath. This was probably the last time he was going to smell Stiles' scent without it being mixed with his own. He wanted to remember it.

END CHAPTER TWO