"Stiles, little wolf, I'm back," Derek called as he let himself into the hotel room. Instantly, he knew he was alone. His heart gave an uncomfortable twinge. Where was his omega? Why hadn't he stayed and waited for him? He'd made it clear Stiles was his, hadn't he?

He looked around for a note but didn't find one. He didn't let it worry him, though. Maybe his little wolf had to work. Returning to the lobby, he went down to the bar, but it wasn't open for the day. Okay, maybe he had gone home for a change of clothes. Deciding he would find his omega and they would leave from his apartment, he returned to the room, packed his few belongings and brought them downstairs with him.

Going to the counter in the lobby, he watched the manager come over to him, offering him a winning smile. Derek returned it. "Hi, I'm looking for the address for Stiles, the omega who works in the bar? I'm his friend," he said. He wouldn't announce that Stiles was his mate until he'd had the chance to talk to Stiles and ask him to be his forever. He couldn't wait.

The manager's expression changed instantly to disdain. "Friend. Right. Stiles has no friends. Lots of enemies, but no friends. I knew he would cause problems one day. I'm going to have to fire his worthless hide. Look, if you have a problem with him, I don't care, you don't have to lie. Here's his address. You didn't get it from me," he said with a wink and jotted down the address on a slip of paper and handed it to a shocked Derek who just stood there as the manager went about his duties.

Derek didn't bother holding back. Within a second, he'd hurdled over the counter, his canines descending, hair sprouting on his face as he growled, seeking retribution for his mate. He grabbed the terrified manager by the neck and slammed him against the wall.

"You dare give the address of my mate to someone who would mean to do him harm? Do you have any idea who I am and what I can do to you and your piece of shit hotel? You are nothing to me," he roared, growls ripping from his chest as he banged the man's head against the wall again. "You will speak only kind things of my mate or I will call you out on a Death Challenge. I don't care if they aren't done anymore. If you endanger my mate, I will rip your throat out with my bare hands, I won't even bother shifting. Do you understand me?" he spit in the man's face, rage flowing through his veins.

"Yes, yes, please, I understand, I'm sorry. I didn't know Stiles was mated. I'm so very sorry, sir!" the pathetic man whimpered and whined, tilting his head in submission.

"You are worthless, not him! This whole town is nothing but a bunch of self-important bullies," he said, releasing the man. He saw there was a crowd standing around, gaping at them. "All of you are so high and mighty beating up on a little omega. Does it make you feel big and powerful?" he demanded, making eye contact with several of the alphas and betas, some of them turning away from him. "Such impressive shifters taking their pettiness out on a weaker wolf. Spread the word, Battle Born Clan, Stiles is my omega, my mate and I will take down anyone who says or does anything against him." He turned back to the manager. "You will be hearing from my attorney."

He stormed out, not caring if his attorney could even do anything. The point had been made. Stiles was now an omega with an alpha willing to step up and protect him. Anyone who had issue with that could bring it to him. As he reached his truck, he stopped and took several long, deep breaths. He couldn't approach his mate with this kind of fury running through him. When he was calm, he got in and started to drive.

Searching for the right streets, it took him longer than he would have liked to find Stiles' apartment. It was in the poor part of town and it made his wolf prowl around, demanding that they get their mate out of there now. After seeing the response of the hotel manager, he was also worried that his little mate had been beat up again. He really didn't understand the bully mentality of this pack. Stiles had simply been abandoned. It wasn't his fault. It was the damn alpha who hadn't shown up.

His heart stopped as his thoughts ran together.

No.

Oh gods, no.

He closed his eyes tight for a minute as he pulled up to a stop light. Could it be? Could Stiles be the omega he had been contracted to mate with? Could he have been with Stiles five years ago? Was it his fault that Stiles had been abused for all these years? Stiles. That name… it sounded similar to Stilinski. He had wondered if it was a nickname. Oh fuck.

Checking traffic, he hit the gas and zoomed through the red light, ignoring the honking horns of the other drivers. Part of him rejoiced at the thought that he had been destined to be with Stiles, but that part was so tiny when compared with the anguish of thinking – knowing deep down – that he was the reason behind the years of Stiles' torment.

Skidding into a parking space, he followed the scent of his mate to his apartment door and knocked hard.

"Stiles! It's Derek, little mate, let me in!" he yelled through the door.

"What'd the little freak do now?" A lazy voice asked behind him.

Derek turned and saw a portly beta shifter leaning against an open door. "Have you seen Stiles today?"

"Yeah, the loser came limpin' home earlier. Guess he pissed off more alphas. Kid has a tendency to do that. What do you want with him?" the bald man asked. Derek realized he was holding a pipe and could smell the pungent scent of weed.

"He is my mate," Derek growled.

The man gave a wheezy chuckle. "Stiles Stilinski doesn't have a mate. That's why the town blackballed him. I know a guy who knows a guy who says he was supposed to bring the Hale and Stilinski families together, but I guess he chased him off or something. Maybe it was his looks. He is funny lookin' for an omega, wouldn't you say?"

Derek's heart froze. He didn't comment on Stiles' supposed failures or looks, he was too busy, feeling his heart break. It was his fault. He had failed his mate.

He turned back, banging on the door. "Stiles! Open up!" He couldn't contain the anguish that bled into his voice.

"These doors are shit, dude, just use a credit card and open it yourself," the man drawled from behind him.

Following his suggestion, the door opened easily and he rushed in. The first thing he noticed was the open slider door. That didn't seem right for a single omega. They liked to feel safe, enclosed and secure. It wasn't a hot day, there was no reason for the door to be open. After a long inhale, he realized his omega was gone.

"Dammit!" he bit out the curse, unable to stay calm. He wanted his mate next to him, to hold him so he could apologize, try to explain, though no reason – no, excuse, he corrected – could be good enough to make up for what Stiles had been through. Nothing he told himself over the years could possibly explain away the damage his selfishness had done.

The smell of chemicals called him over to an easel next to an uncovered window. His little mate had been painting, he found himself excited to experience what was sure to be brilliance.

Until he saw it.

In the back of his mind, he was amazed at the talent of his mate. Stiles' grasp of color, composition, and perspective were quite phenomenal.

At the forefront of his mind, however, he was starting to panic.

In the background was a beautiful forest glen, he saw crowds of people, faceless people, staring ahead. Off to one side, he recognized John Stilinski and the woman who must be Stiles' mother, every feature clear, light in their eyes, expressions severe, judging. The detail was uncanny. On the other side of the canvas was his own likeness, large and imposing. His gaze, like all the other people in the piece, was centered on the figure in the foreground. Stiles.

His beautiful Stiles lay on the canvas, shifted into a beautiful ash colored wolf with red highlights. Never had he seen a more glorious creature. But that wasn't what made his eyes burn with tears and his breathing hitch. That wasn't what made an anguished howl rise up from his wolf deep inside, and escape into the empty apartment air.

It was the blood leaking out of the wolf's muzzle and the glazed whiskey eyes that had rolled into the back of the dead wolf's head.