Stiles borrowed a sleeveless X-Men tee, a pair of basketball shorts, and a pair of boxer-briefs—since he'd learned the hard way that running in boxers was a terrible fucking idea—from his brother's stuff, as well as a pair of running sneakers before the two of them headed off. Derek drove them to the second ring, parking in the same clearing as he had two days prior—shit, had it only been two days? Felt a lot longer—and led Stiles through the forest on their run, purposely avoiding a certain area.
It was peaceful, uneventful, and exactly what Stiles needed. The alpha held back enough to allow the younger man to keep up, but didn't coddle or baby or make him feel bad about it. It felt good to be able to stretch his legs like that and even though his wolf wasn't exactly pleased about not being able to take over and get some exercise itself, it seemed placated by the compromise. Stiles made up for it by chasing a squirrel up a tree, Derek fondly shaking his head at the action.
He wasn't sure exactly how long they stayed out there, only knew that what little light was seeping through the trees was getting dimmer. He figured it had to be about late afternoon, that they'd run for an hour or so, and while he felt physically exhausted and parts of his body were hating him, he was glad for it. A shower, a quick nap, and he'd be good to go.
They took it easy on the trip back, walking at a sedate pace, Stiles yammering about the history of Marvel Comics, with Derek chiming in every now and then and pretty much reiterating how fucking perfect he was. They were a few miles away from the SUV when they heard it, a strange repetitive honking. Both of them froze, neither breathing as they listened, heads snapping to one another as they seemingly figured out what it was at the same time.
"That's the Toyota's alarm," Derek pointed out, voice calm but heartbeat frantic. The sound of it only caused Stiles' own heartbeat to race even faster, his wolf whining and barking, knowing something was wrong. Holding a hand in front of him, the alpha gave him a serious look. "Stay here. I'm gonna check it out."
Stiles snorted, pushing his arm away. "I can take care of myself," he muttered indignantly, stepping forward only to have Derek move in his way.
"I'm sure you can," he replied honestly, hands on the omega's upper arms and forcing eye contact. "But it would make me feel better if you stayed here and stayed safe." When Stiles opened his mouth to argue further, he held a finger up. "Don't make me order you," he requested, almost pleading with the younger man to not make him do it.
He let out a huff as he folded his arms over his chest, ducking his head as he nodded. "Fine."
"Thank you," Derek sighed out, kissing the top of Stiles' head before turning and jogging off in the direction of the car.
Stiles took a half-step forward, fully intending on following him, agreements be damned, only to stop. The alpha that killed Stu was still out there and if his brother was right, Stiles was his next target. If the guy really had murdered his mom before going after his twin, then it was clear that this wasn't a man who could be stopped. He probably had a plan C, D, E, and F now that A and B were out the picture and there was a damn good chance Stiles was involved in at least one of them. It really was better that he stayed put and stayed safe.
Didn't mean he wasn't happy or relaxed. Hell no. He was pacing back and forth in that same spot, chewing on what little nails he had left, worrying himself sick. Derek was an alpha, he was ex-military, he was an S-Dub, he was fully capable of taking care of his damn self.
But what if the alpha was stronger? What if he hid and blindsided Derek? What if the alarm was just a distraction? What if the alpha had gathered friends and Derek was walking into an ambush? What if...
A snarl filled the air, followed by a menacing growl, and Stiles stopped pacing, head snapping to the noises. Focusing his hearing in that direction, he could pick up the sounds of a fight, growling, snapping jaws, slashing claws, bodies being slammed and howls of pain being let out.
He started walking towards the sounds on automatic, determined to help, determined to make sure Derek was okay, but the older man's voice stopped him dead.
"Run!" he called out, gasping, coughing wetly. "Run!"
Without hesitation, Stiles turned on a heel and did just that.
He followed the scent trail he and Derek had left behind, figuring it was a good way to not get lost, before realizing that the alpha would be doing the very same thing. No, it'd be safer to try and throw the guy off, try and trick him somehow.
At a small creek, he turned left, running along in it until the water got ankle deep and started slowing him down. He moved to the right bank, running alongside it before veering right and heading that way.
He ran with no real plan, changing directions suddenly in the hopes of keeping the alpha on his toes and slowing him down. His legs were aching, lungs burning as he struggled to get air in, but still he kept on going, not slowing down. He thought of Coach Finstock yelling at him during suicides at lacrosse practice. He thought of Stuart doing this very thing and losing his life. He thought of his dad and how he couldn't leave him alone to mourn an entire family. He thought of Derek.
He took a sharp left, slipping on wet leaves. He took a sharp right, tripping over a high root. He took another left, stumbling as his legs grew weaker before he slowed to a stop inside a familiar group of trees.
Including one with a hollowed out trunk, perfect for hiding in.
Oh shit.
Without even realizing it, he'd managed to take another route to the scene of his brother's murder, the scents of fear, death, and anger still potent even days later. He spun around, breathing heavily from more than just the exercise and the adrenaline and the fear for his life. The place was overwhelming, assaulting all his senses, and he felt his chest tighten and saw his vision go black around the edges.
The sound of an angry roar snapped him out of it, head jerking around to the direction he'd just stumbled in from. In the distance, he could hear twigs snapping, leaves crunching as someone charged closer, as the alpha gained ground. He had a horrible sense of deja vu, that pseudo-vision playing in his head, how Stu had experienced all this before his life had been ended.
But not Stiles.
Turning around, he noted the direction he'd entered the space in with Derek two days prior, mind churning with an idea. If he kept running that way, eventually he'd hit the clearing and possibly Derek. They could get in the SUV and get away to safety, maybe even call for back-up from the other S-Dubs. He was pretty sure he'd spied a CB radio in the Toyota when he got in it his first day in Oak Creek.
Mind made up, he took off in that direction, slipping on wet leaves before finally getting his feet under him. Adrenaline fueled his every move, determination to find Derek—and find him alive—his motivation to keep going. His brother didn't leave him all that shit just for Stiles to die the same death in the same place. Fuck that.
He raced forward a few dozen miles before feeling something snap around his right ankle and he fell to the ground, howling in pain. The air was knocked out of him as he faceplanted, stars swimming in his vision as his head ricocheted from the impact, his entire front throbbing. But none of it compared to the searing pain around his ankle, the sharp bite of something digging in, the snap of a broken bone, the wetness of blood pouring out.
Gingerly, he turned onto his back, glancing down at his body, only to let out a horrified yell. Around his ankle was a bear trap, his foot completely caught in it. Blood was soaking his sock, covering his leg, the leaves around his foot, and he gagged at the sight of it. Frantically, he sat up, tried to pull his foot closer, only to yelp in pain when it dug in more, a chain rattling as it emerged from its hiding place beneath leaves. He scooted towards it instead, grabbing the two sides of it to try and pull it apart, only to wind up being completely unsuccessful. His teeth grit and his face scrunched up in determination, breath held in his lungs and leaving him on a prolonged yell as he tried again and again to pry it open, the iron remaining steadfast.
The sounds of crunching leaves had his head jerking up and he caught sight of Peter stalking forward, dressed in another low v-neck and dark jeans. Only now his white shirt was splattered with blood, the same with his face, clawed fingers dripping with the red stuff. His eyes were glowing crimson, narrowed as they stared Stiles down, lips pulled back in a feral sneer to display a full set of fangs.
The sight of him had Stiles doubling his efforts to get free, fingers slipping on the metal, frantic cries leaving him as his eyes teared up. He wasn't going out like this, no fucking way. He was getting out, he was getting free, he was gonna find Derek and...
Oh fuck. All that blood on Peter. Was Derek even still alive? Had the asshole killed his own nephew?
Nausea had his stomach rolling, fear had his chest constricted, and his every frantic inhale pulled in the scents of anger and blood and violence. He gave up on the bear trap, grabbing the chain itself and yanking, trying to free it from whatever had it attached to the ground. He could feel it give slightly, the hook pulling free from the mud. A slight moment of joy was felt, lips curving up every so slightly before his face steeled back into a hard look of determination and he yanked even harder, throwing all his strength into it.
"I must say, I'm getting rather sick of chasing wayward omegas through the woods," Peter drawled through his fangs, sending a chill down Stiles' spine.
Because he knew that voice, that garbled growl and the lisp through fangs.
"I told you, you shouldn't run."
Oh fuck. It was him.
Stiles pulled twice as hard, feeling the hook slip free of the mud. He couldn't run, couldn't even stand up, but he wasn't going down easily. Turning, he crawled on his hands and knees as fast as he could, dragging the chain behind him. His chest was heaving from fear and exertion, his blood pumping loudly in his ears, his skin prickling with danger. He should've gone after Derek even after he'd been told to stay put. He should've suggested they invite some of his S-Dub buddies on the run with them. He should've never come to Oak Creek in the first place.
No.
The chain was grabbed from behind, yanked hard and causing him to fall onto his stomach. He screamed out a "No!", arms reaching forward to try and get a grip on something, anything as he was dragged backwards.
"Omegas are so much better when they just do as they're told," Peter snarled and Stiles fought harder against the pull.
He felt the heat wafting off the alpha as he crouched behind him, a foot on either side of his legs, before a hand wrapped around his neck and yanked his torso off the ground. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat against the hot palm pressing on his esophagus and he whimpered, tears falling as he sniffed.
Peter pressed his lips against his ear and Stiles cringed, fighting in vain against his hold. "Now I'm gonna teach you a lesson that your brother couldn't seem to get through his thick head."
"I'm gonna show you what happens to little omegas who shove their snouts where it doesn't belong and don't obey their alphas."
His eyes widened and he gasped, terror seizing every part of him. He opened his mouth to let out a scream, a yell, a howl, something, only to not get any of it out. His head was slammed against the hard ground and he lost consciousness immediately.
His first thought when he woke up was that he was fucking cold.
His second thought when he woke up was that he was fucking gross.
His third thought when he woke up was that he was fucking hurting.
Stiles let out a groan, slowly coming to awareness, mentally taking stock of everything. Okay, laying on his back on what felt like dusty cement, probably in a basement. He felt sticky and dirty all over, most likely due to dried sweat he hadn't showered off. Oh, and faceplanting in the woods, that would definitely add to the ick level. His chest felt tender but was healing, his head was throbbing and his ankle killed. What the fuck was going on?
The memories started rushing back then, the running through the woods, being chased by Peter, his head slammed on the ground, the bear trap.
His eyes shot open at that and he jerked upright into a sitting position, bruises on his chest twinging at the sudden movement, but he ignored it, focusing solely on his legs. The trap was still there, still locked on his right ankle, and he let out a frustrated cry as he tried to pry it open again.
Okay, okay, he was okay. He had a night-terror like that once, being trapped in a basement with a bear trap on his ankle. This was probably just another one of those. Lifting his trembling hands, he counted his fingers.
Ten.
He felt through his sneakers as he counted his toes.
Ten.
He pulled his foot closer, finding no give, scooting closer to it as he had in the woods, finding a warning label on the side.
That he could read.
Shit. Not a dream. Definitely awake.
Frustrated tears began rolling down his cheeks and he sniffed loudly, the noise echoing off the walls. He took in his surroundings then, noting the chain on the bear trap was now locked to a hook on the wall directly on his right, all four of them—plus the ceiling looking more chiseled than built. A small window was located near the top, darkness spilling through and he wondered how long he'd been out.
Several feet behind him was a set of bars much like in a jail cell, the door open but no one inside. To the far left was a table covered in papers he couldn't see, a rolling corkboard to the side of it littered with print outs and book pages and scribbled notes. Stiles recognized the Blaszkiewicz family tree, a map of Beacon Hills, info on the Nemeton.
Shit. Stu had been right.
Metal creaking caught his attention and he jerked his head to the right, seeing a large metal door opening and Peter stepping into the room. Although stepping wasn't quite accurate. He sauntered with the lethal grace of a jungle cat, the swagger of an egotistical prick, the raised chin of a victor.
Stiles glared at him, noting he'd changed his shirt and had washed up, his fangs and claws put away, a smirk on his face that made his blue eyes twinkle. He had that same thought about how Peter would be considered incredibly handsome if it weren't for that undercurrent of malevolence and egotism that was radiating off him at every moment. He suddenly thought of Derek, whether or not he was okay, or even alive. He wouldn't put it past an alpha who'd killed his Mate to kill his own nephew. Peter was clearly a sociopath, had zero regard for life, only cared about his own endgame.
The asshole smiled at Stiles, stepping closer, and Stiles let out a low rumbling growl, feeling his claws expand. "My, aren't we feisty?" Peter drawled, seeming more amused than threatened. Which he probably was, since an injured omega caught in a bear trap and fixed to a wall didn't really pose a whole lot of danger.
Didn't stop Stiles from snarling at him though.
"Now, now, that's enough of that," Peter chastised as though talking to a small child, pausing halfway across the room and tutting at him. "If you cooperate, then we'll both walk out of here much happier and better for it."
Stiles snorted, shaking his head as his growls cut off. His head hurt even more due to the noise and the vibrations from creating it, his stomach rolling with nausea. He probably had a concussion, and the blood loss from his ankle was starting to make him woozy, his energy drained far too quickly.
"What do you want from me?" he asked weakly, laying on his side and propping himself up on an elbow, claws still out.
"You mean your big mouthed brother didn't tell you?" the alpha questioned, slight curl of the lips at the mention of Stu, before he smirked. "I want access to the Nemeton, and you're gonna help me get it."
A humorless laugh left him at that, head barely shaking as it hung. "Why? Why the Nemeton? What do you need it for?" he inquired, hoping like hell Peter was the idiotic type of villain who loved to hear themselves talk and went on long boring monologues detailing their evil plan. He needed the time, needed those moments so there was a better chance of someone realizing he was gone and in danger and where the hell he was.
Wherever it was.
The older man looked perplexed by the question, smelled genuinely confused that anyone would ask that. "For its power, of course," he stated, tone making it seem as though it was completely obvious.
Which, okay, yeah it was. Stiles had figured out that the stalker alpha—who turned out to be creepy uncle Peter in a not-so-bizarre twist—was after the Nemeton for its power. Why else would one go after a giant dead tree stump? He just didn't know why he wanted it.
Other than feed into his giant ass ego.
Not that it seemed to need any aid there or anything. Was doing fine on its own.
Stiles watched as Peter began pacing the room, not nervous or anxious, just a casual stroll back and forth across the enormous space. He sniffed, subtly trying to scent the space, the man he was trapped in there with. He smelled a whole lot of earth and dirt, leading him to believe he was underground somewhere—hence the window being so high up—stale blood that had seeped into the rock around them, anger and aggression. He figured this place was used to house feral wolves on a full moon and he shuddered against the violence still trapped within the walls.
"You see," Peter began casually, drawing Stiles' attention back to him. "I was supposed to be State Alpha. I was the one who was supposed to be in charge and have all the power that came with it. But since my sister Talia—" He sneered around the name, nose wrinkling in disgust "—was born a mere three minutes before me, I was screwed out of what was rightfully mine."
The omega shook his head in disbelief, not only due to this egotistical jackass' belief that he'd been denied something he was supposed to have, but also because of the sheer amount of fucking twins there seemed to be in Oak Creek. Peter and Talia, Derek and Laura, him and Stuart, Aiden and by default Ethan.
"My original plan involved Kate," Peter went on, unaware of Stiles' recent zone out or the sharp inhale he made at the mention of Kate's name. "We had teamed up to take Talia down, had come up with the perfect plan to get rid of her once and for all, and then we would share the power and benefits of me being State Alpha and she being my Mate." He sighed in disappointment, shaking his head as he turned on a heel of his cowboy boots, clacking his way across the room once more. "But she screwed it all up by falling for Derek, becoming obsessed with him, and she made a move before we were ready, effectively blowing the whole thing to smithereens." He leaned his head towards Stiles, sad look on his face, features pulled in disappointment and disapproval. "That was the last time I decided to work with a partner."
Turning, he picked his story back up, voice almost jaunty as he spun his words, like he was describing a fun vacation to one of those Sandals Resorts in the Bahamas or wherever the hell they were, rather than a tale of deceit and murder.
Total sociopath.
"It was during my travels that I heard about Nemetons and the one located in Beacon Hills, about all the power it possessed." His grin returned, a malevolent edge to it, eyes twinkling with evil delight. "I knew it would grant me the ability to take my sister down, to become more powerful, more stronger than her, and take back what belonged to me. I just needed to gain access to it. That's where your family comes in." At that, he turned his wicked grin on Stiles.
The omega felt his blood run cold and a shiver race down his spine. His heart was pounding in his chest, anxiety rushing through his blood because he knew where the story was going, knew what was up next. Knew why Stu had included their mother's medical records in all his research.
"See, I tried wooing that Alpha Martin at first, but turns out, she doesn't actually have any access to the Nemeton. Only the True Alpha line of Beacon County did. Besides, she was an alpha, too, and I can't go sharing my power or position with anyone. So I did some digging and found out that a one Claudia Blaszkiewicz was in charge, but already Mated to another. I tried talking to her, reasoning with her, but alas, it was no use. Not much of a surprise considering she was certifiably insane."
Stiles felt his heart drop, tears spilling over the edge of his eyes and running down his face. Nausea churned his stomach and he only just managed not to puke right then and there. Because town gossip had been fucking right, his mom really had been murdered—just not for the reasons or by the person they believed. But because some big headed motherfucker who thought he was entitled to something he wasn't.
"The crazy bitch resisted me," Peter sighed out, shaking his head as though it was a damn shame. Stiles watched through narrowed, angry eyes as he walked over to the table on the opposite side of the room, resting on the edge of it with his ankles crossed and his arms folded casually. "And she went on telling everyone that I was threatening her, that I was out to get her. 'Course everyone thought it was part of her sickness, but still. I couldn't take the chance that someone might actually believe her." He let out a laugh and shook his head like it was this absolutely preposterous thing, this bewildering idea so far-fetched it was unfathomable.
And he was right to think that way. Because no one had believed her. His mom had been crying out for help for so long and everyone had just thought it was another delusion. They could've saved her, could've allowed her a more peaceful ending, maybe drifting off to sleep surrounded by her boys. But no, it'd been a violent, painful end, either killing herself or being killed by another, a car crashing into a wall and cutting her already short time shorter.
Stiles ducked his head down, sniffing, watching as tears dropped onto the dusty cement beneath him. He felt sick, wracked with guilt, hating himself, the doctors, everyone for not believing his mom. But there was nothing he could do now, no way to change what happened. She was gone and that was that.
Didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell to know why she'd died, to learn that you were wrong.
Peter let out a pleased hum, hands clasped in front of himself as he grinned happily. "That plan didn't work out so well, but it led me to my next one, and Stuart. It was quite a fortuitous turn of events that he would turn out to be my True Mate. Shame he didn't quite share my vision though. Oh well, lucky for me he has a twin and therefore is replaceable. And it only seems fair that I steal Derek's Mate from him as he stole mine from me." His smirk disappeared, face falling into a pout of sorts, brow furrowing in disapproval and disappointment. "Honestly, I'm getting rather tired of others stealing my things."
His wolf growled long and steady in his head and he turned the full force of his glare on the alpha prick. He was so callous, so careless, so...heartless over the fact that he'd taken someone's life. And not just any someone, but his Mate, the one being on the planet that had been created just to complete him, balance him out, make his life better and worth living. But Peter had destroyed all that and his only comment was a petulant complaint over people taking his stuff.
Stu wasn't stuff. He was a person. Or at least he had been. And he'd been a Mate, a brother, a son, a friend, an employee. He'd been so many things to so many people and the one person he was supposed to be the most important being to had slashed his throat out, torn his Claiming Bite with his teeth, and raped his corpse in a final act of claiming his property.
Fuck, it made Stiles sick.
"He was your Mate," he spat out weakly, pausing to sniff. "How could you just kill him like that? How can you be so heartless and cruel and just not care?"
In a flash, Peter was across the room, crouched in front of Stiles, hand cupping the bottom half of the omega's face in a bruising grip. Stiles felt his cheeks getting pressed against his teeth, spit flying as he hissed against the pain through lips that were pursed through no action of his own. Glowing red eyes met his whiskey ones, anger and agitation rolling off Peter, and he scowled down at the younger man as though he'd personally offended him.
"Because Stuart was an insolent, uncooperative little shit," he hissed out, eyes fading back to their normal blue hue. "He was an insult to omegas everywhere. Omegas are supposed to be quiet and obedient, always doing as they're told. Everyone knows the best place for them is on their back or on their knees and the only use for their mouth is to pleasure their alpha. Other than that, they should keep their traps shut."
Stiles glared at him, reaching up with clawed hands to scratch the other man's forearms in an attempt to get away, but they were quickly captured and used to pin him down on the floor on his back, Peter on all fours straddling him.
"Stuart, much like yourself, was a freak of nature," Peter went on with a sneer. "He rebelled against his proper place, against his true nature, and while I wouldn't have minded breaking him of those nasty little habits, he was threatening to tell Derek of my plans. I couldn't have that, not when I was so close. So I took care of him, just like I had your mother. I didn't want to, you understand, but it had to be done."
The alpha moved so both of Stiles' wrists were clasped in one hand, using his now free one to trace down the side of the younger man's face. Stiles tried to move away from the touch, grimacing, whimpering as a claw lightly scratched along his jaw.
"And then you showed up and I knew I'd been given a second chance," Peter said almost reverently and Stiles felt sick. He tried kicking up with his left leg, but the older man moved so his knee was pressing down onto his thigh, holding his lower half still as well. All the squirming in the world couldn't free him from the alpha's bruising grip and he let out a groan of frustration, tears falling once more.
"I'm gonna enjoy training you to my liking," Peter stated, feral grin on his face as he stared down at him.
Stiles spat right in his face, glaring angrily. "Go fuck yourself."
The alpha closed his eyes upon impact, a low rumble of an angry growl vibrating up from his chest. Head tilting to the side, he slowly reopened his eyes, revealing glowing red irises, scent fully pissed off and agitated and Stiles had fucked up. But he didn't care. If this asshole thought Stiles was just gonna roll over and let himself be taken advantage of, used for some supposed access to a potentially powerful fucking tree, kept around as nothing but a fucktoy and a cum-dumpster, then this fucker was sorely mistaken. He wasn't going down without a fight. He was gonna rebel, gonna punch and kick and scream and claw and bite. He knew it wouldn't end well for him, but it was better than a lifetime of being nothing more than Peter Hale's property.
Calmly, Peter lifted a hand and wiped away Stiles' spit, smearing it on the omega's dirty shirt. "I'd much rather fuck you," he drawled, salacious smirk spreading across his features and causing a wave of dread to wash over Stiles. "I can tell you're still unclaimed, that no one's fucked you yet." Leaning down, he took a deep inhale at the crook of the younger man's neck, letting out a satisfied hum. "Yes, still virginal, despite the fact that my nephew's scent seems to be all over you."
Stiles froze at that, at the reference to Derek. Shit, they'd tried so hard to be discreet and it still didn't matter. People could still tell, Peter could still tell.
Although really, it might not matter. There was a chance Derek was dead, that Peter had killed him, too. There was a chance no one knew Stiles was missing, had been taken, or where he'd been taken. There was a chance that Peter was gonna get everything he wanted and no one could stop him because it would be too late.
He was screwed. In every godawful terrifying form of the word.
"But that's alright," Peter continued, hand back to tracing the outside of Stiles' face, saccharine smile on his face as he peered down at him with cold blue eyes. "It's not embedded enough to where it can't be covered up with mine. And as soon as I claim you, knot and Bite you, you'll know who you belong to and no one can do a damn thing to change it." He let out a wicked laugh, grin growing victorious and proud.
Whiskey eyes went wide as the implication of those words sunk in. They weren't leaving that room with Stiles' virginity intact. Peter was planning on Claiming him right then and there, on the dirty ground, not caring about consent or willingness or any-fucking-thing else. Stiles was about to be raped, just like his brother, only he'd still be alive to feel every part of it, remember every second.
His efforts to escape redoubled and he began tugging at his arms, trying to pull them free from the hand still gripping his wrists. He kicked his leg as much as he could with it still stuck in that damn bear trap, tried to pull his left one free from the knee digging into his thigh. He wriggled his body, bucked and arched and fought with everything in him to try and get free.
Only to stop when claws were pressed against his throat.
He stared up at the older man, eyes wide, chest heaving from exertion and panic and fear. His face was sticky and wet from fresh tears, snot dripping from his nose, and his skin felt cold all over. His wolf was clawing at the surface, trying to take over but unable for some reason and Stiles couldn't help but think that he'd been drugged while he was out so Peter could prevent that very thing from happening. He was defeated, it was over. All that was left to do was accept his fate and hope that at some point he'd be presented with something he could use to end his life.
He closed his eyes as he sobbed, Derek's face appearing behind them, his green eyes sparkling, dimples on his cheeks as he smiled, showing off those bunny teeth, the reverent way he looked down at Stiles and called him beautiful.
"That's it," Peter cooed, like he was talking to a well-behaved pet rather than an adult, claws still pricking at Stiles' throat but not piercing, not yet. "Don't fight it, just be a good boy and take it like you should. I'd hate to have to kill another Blaszkiewicz twin."
His chest went tight, stomach rolling, bile rising in his throat. His luck was such shit that his twin wound up with Stile's True Mate and the guy had been perfect, while Stiles' wound up with the guy who'd been meant for Stuart and was a homicidal, sociopathic, egotistical, elitist asshole.
Stu might've been dead, but he was definitely coming out of this whole thing on top.
'I love you, bro,' Stiles thought as he closed his eyes, another tear rolling down his cheek. 'I'm sorry.'
Just as he said his final goodbyes in his head, a crash sounded out in the distance, metal clanging, rock breaking, and a vengeful roar was released, shaking the walls with its force.
The cavalry had arrived.