Isla pursed her lips as she inspected herself.

With her bedroom door locked firmly behind her, the redhead had wasted no time looking for her childhood scars. For the remnants of scraped knees and elbows, for the slice she had taken out of her ankle the first time she tried shaving. She looked for the burns and cuts from Jimmy's cooking lessons that should have lined her fingers and was a bit disturbed to find them all gone. Isla's entire life had been erased from her skin. It was disheartening, but she supposed it was a fair trade.

Idle fingers rested above her heart and she inhaled deeply. There was no pain. The action was smooth and easy. There was no strain on her heart or battering against her lungs. A smile blossomed over her lips and she clamped her hand over her mouth to keep Deucalion from hearing her delighted laugh.

But he did. A small, pleased smile tugged at the corner of the Alpha's mouth at the muffled sound. It fell from his lips as he realized she had tried to hide it from him. Deucalion glanced down at the book in his hands and thumbed at the engraved title before his gaze lifted to take in the room.

A few photos lined the pale blue walls and another stood proudly beside the radio on the lone shelf of the room. Curious, Deucalion plucked the lone one from its spot. The man in it was in his early fifties and dressed in a mechanic's uniform. His blue eyes matched Isla's. He was only in one other, one with who he assumed to be Autumn, given the resemblance between the redhead in the frame and the girl down the hall. Given their body language, the Alpha supposed the man to be Isla's father. Isla hadn't said much about him and Deucalion had assumed him dead, but the obvious age difference between him and Isla's mother was only slightly surprising. Isla did have a soft spot for older men, after all, and such a trait had to come from somewhere.

Carefully, he set the photo back in its place. The radio beside it was old and beige and seemed to run by crank. With a smirk, Deucalion picked it up, turned down the volume and gave the handle a few tentative winds. Almost immediately, a smooth jazz melody played through its tiny speakers. With it back in its spot, the man continued his inspection of her apartment.

It was hardly immaculate. Tidy, sure, but his new vision was sharp enough to catch the sparse dust particles in the relatively dim light. Various stacks of books were pushed against the wall and stacked on milk crates to keep them from getting wet. A small bundle of papers was strewn about the small rickety table in front of the loveseat. There was no television or computer to be seen. He wasn't terribly surprised. The few times he had chanced looking around with his alpha vision Deucalion had never seen one but the confirmation struck him as strange.

Feet slow and heavy with exhaustion he made his way over to the small A.M radio and turned it up just a tad. Keeping the music relatively quiet, Deucalion took a seat on the floor a few feet from the loveseat. He didn't chance sitting on it and being drenched in Isla's scent, not with the moon still full and high and his control not quite as stable as he would have liked. It would be all too easy for him to rip the door of her bedroom off its hinges and simply have her whether she wanted it or not, but hurting women, or at least innocent women, had never been in his nature. Much less hurting them with sexuality; as much as a monster as he was Deucalion had never sunk so low as to rape anyone.

Sighing, he let his head fall back against the couch. The corduroy was a pale shade of green and worn in places. In fact, most of the apartment seemed to share that quality; worn and cheap. Tired eyes flickered around it, never staying in one place too long as he tuned into the young woman's heartbeat. A smile stretched along his lips as he listened to it. Pleased by how steady and strong it was, Deucalion leaned forward and pulled one of the papers toward him.

When morning finally broke, the Alpha was still sitting there. His eyes were heavy and sore from exertion, but he couldn't bring himself to sleep. It was too dangerous. Under the soft tinkle of piano keys from the radio, Deucalion could hear Isla rising. Rough fingers rubbed at his eyes and he looked up as the redhead appeared in the kitchen. She didn't notice him, or at least pretended not to as she opened her fridge. With a touch more anxiety than he would've liked, the man rose from the floor and approached her.

Isla paused. Holding the block of cheese in her hand, she eyed him curiously. Tone surprisingly droll, she commented, "You're still here."

Deucalion nodded but said nothing.

A bit impressed, the girl shrugged. "I didn't think you would stick around."

"I said I wanted to change." The man chanced closing a few more feet between them. "I meant it."

Isla's blue eyes roamed over his face. He looked tired and pale and the young woman felt a pang of sympathy for him. A moment passed before she nodded. "Okay. Good. I'm glad to hear it."

Lifting a doubtful brow, he asked, "Are you?"

"I am."

There was no lie in her scent, just a bit of uncertainty, but Deucalion could live with that. Hands clenching at his sides, the man moved to around the kitchen table. It was one of the cheap plastic kinds people often kept in their backyard, which fit the fact that her chairs were lawn chairs quite well. Tapping his fingers along the top of it, he took in the expanse of her impossibly long legs. The pajama shorts she wore only skimmed the top of her thighs and he was incredibly tempted to pull them down with his teeth.

"Stop it."

Deucalion lifted his head and met her gaze with an innocent smirk. "What?"

Isla's blue eyes narrowed subtly at him. Begrudging amusement sparkled in them as she shook her head. "Whatever you're thinking about. Stop it."

"Why would I do something like that?" He swept his gaze slowly over her legs, over the swell of her hips and licked his teeth at the sight of her nipples tenting the thin material of her nightshirt.

With a blush coloring her pale cheeks, the woman glared at him. Uncomfortable, she turned away from him to grab a pot and turned the stove on. Voice weak and squirming restlessly, she told him, "Because I can smell it."

A wicked grin crossed Deucalion's lips. "Oh? And what do I smell like?"

"You smell like sex," The young woman told him a bit nervously. With her back to him, she went about gathering the ingredients as she spoke, "So knock it off."

Smirking, the Alpha leaned casually against the counter. He kept his distance from the woman; her scent was too skittish to approach, so he contented himself to simply look at her. Her fingers were nimble and quick, her movements slightly jilted as she attempted to avoid getting too close to him. With a pot of macaroni on the stove and a block of cheese grated and set aside, the young woman washed her hands. Drying her hands off on an old dish towel, she asked what it was he was going to do with himself.

"Now that you have your vision and no pack," she explained.

"I have you."

Her features tightened a touch. Swallowing, she moved around him to grab the milk from the fridge. Voice soft, she told him, "I don't want you to bite anyone else." She met his stare and with a hint of finality, ordered, "Promise me, Duke."

Irritation bubbled in Deucalion. Eyes narrow, he shook his head. "You don't understand- we're not a proper pack with only one Beta. We need at least three."

Less than a foot from him, she swallowed. "Promise me, Deucalion, or you'll have none at all."

Stubborn, he dropped his gaze. "It's not your place to dictate my actions, Isla."

"Because I'm a Beta?" When the man merely shrugged in reply, Isla set the milk on the counter and took him by the shoulders. Her fingers were cold against his skin. It was then she realized he was in the same clothes as the night before, the same ripped blue t-shirt stained with blood and felt her throat catch at the thought that some of it was most definitely her own. "We can't do this if you're going to view me as a subordinate, Duke. I want a partner, not a boss."

Deucalion chuckled, more rueful than amused. "You don't understand-"

"I understand plenty." The woman flinched slightly, letting him go as his gaze snapped to hers. Rolling her shoulders in an anxious manner, she ignored the sharpness in his eyes as she continued, "I expect certain things from you; respect, for starters. You're not going to control or manipulate me and if you only view me as a Beta, I'm always going to be someone you have to discipline."

"I respect you-"

Isla's blue eyes grew stormy. "No you don't. If you respected me you never would've bit me, but you did and now you have to deal with the consequences. You want to be responsible for me?" She nodded encouragingly, her voice clear and sincere in the bright artificial light of the kitchen. "Fine, great! That's a two way street when it comes to me and you, but I am not going to let you order me around like you did with the twins or whoever else you used to run around with." Features earnest, she thumbed at the exposed skin of his collarbone. "We're either on equal footing or separate ground, that's all there is to this, okay?"

Her eyes searched his, desperate for something Deucalion didn't totally comprehend. Maybe she wanted him to say no; for him to reject her proposal and end things between them. The idea stung, but he understood it. Still, there was something about her scent that made him pause. Something sweet and unfamiliar that reminded him of affection and it was almost startling for him to realize it was hope. She wanted him to say yes, wanted them to be his partner and Deucalion recalled what she had said about being responsible for him.

Licking his teeth, he offered her a stiff nod. "I'll consider it."

"Good." Isla swallowed and bit her lips before stepping back to grab the milk off the counter.

After a few moments, he approached her again. Deucalion had always been attracted to strong women and while Isla had always had a quiet tenacity about her, he had to admit he found her new force very attractive. With a hint of amusement, he watched as her hips began to restlessly twitch, her cheeks flushing as she bit her lip under his stare.

"You're doing it again," The young redhead complained. Still, she never took her eyes off the roux in front of her and didn't complain as the man began to touch her.

Deucalion ignored her, choosing instead to frame her hips by bracing the counter in front of her. Isla's scent sparked with a hint of trepidation as he pressed against her back. He watched her swallowed, inhaled her scent as it sweeten with arousal and fear as he leaned in to brush his nose against her ear.

Voice low and dark with want, he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. "Do you know how hard it's been keeping my distance? Being able to see you walk around in half-naked and smelling like one of my own? Smelling like you belong to me?" He slipped the curtain of orange hair from her shoulder. Letting his thumb trace the shell of her ear, Deucalion cooed, "A torture made even worse not being able to touch you as I please."

"You're not doing a very good job of it right now," Isla replied. Her words were breathy, her skin hot and eager for his touch and she had to fight to remind herself she was still mad at him.

Deucalion tutted with a hint of mirth. Nose brushing along the thin strap of her green tank top, he asked, "Why are you teasing me? Are you trying to provoke me?" He stroked his fingers along the edge of her basketball shorts, letting them ghost along the silk of her inner thighs and repressed the urge to grind his cock against her ass at her shudder. Tone accusing and eyes bright, he continued, "Trying to show me what I can't have? Is this your way of punishing me, Isla?'

Swallowing, the young woman squirmed against the hard press of his hips. As she tried to ignore the smell of his arousal, tried to ignore the hard line of his cock against her back, she squeaked out, "I haven't done anything wrong."

"I've dreamt about what you look like for so long…" At the whisper of his fingertips against her labia he pulled his hands away from her legs and instead slipped them around her waist.

She didn't deserve the pressure he put on her; the pressure to submit and lose her morals for him. She deserved better than that. Touch light and body distant, Deucalion sighed. He wanted more. Wanted to see every inch of her pale flesh laid out beneath him and find every freckle embedded in it. He wanted to watch it flush pink as he scratched his stubble along her thighs and see her long orange hair dark with sweat from their love-making. More than anything he wanted to rest against her chest and feel the now steady beat of her heart against his cheek but Deucalion resisted because she hated him. At least for now, perhaps forever. Just because she let him grope at her in her kitchen didn't mean she wanted him to.

Quiet, he slipped his thumbs under the hem of her tank top, the pads of them gently stroking her cool skin as the Alpha asked, "Do you think one day you'll be able to forgive me?"

Isla shook her head, but didn't lift her eyes from the roux. Bitter and sad at his attempts at seduction (or manipulation or whatever he had just done to her that made her want him, made her want to tear off her skin to sate the itch of want under it), the young woman winced as her voice cracked with her answer. "You mean fuck you again?"

"No." Her Alpha nosed at the back of her head. With a sigh, he inhaled the scent of her hair, the jasmine shampoo familiar and comforting. "I mean forgive."

"I hope so," She replied honestly. Turning her face ever so slightly, she brushed their temples together. Eyes closed, Isla promised, "If you try so will I, okay?"

Deucalion nodded and buried his face in her shoulder, tired and needy for her affection.

A/N: I just want to thank my betas,SomeoftheFameandPriorToMe.