"Bo nan bouch, men pè dan."
Joe stared at the foreign words carved into smooth stone below a name few would recognize and a set of dates where only one was true. Around her, the wind susurrated through the trees while a few scattered raindrops hit the top of her head. Beside her, her father sank to his knees with a huff befitting his age and placed the intricately carved box in the ground. Made of caoba tree, he'd told her, a type of mahogany native to the Caribbean and sacred to plenty of indigenous tribes.
A funeral. Just the thought made Joe want to laugh, or scream, or howl. A goddamn funeral. Apparently, it was called an interment, putting someone's cremated remains in an eternal resting place. Could just as well be called a farce.
Her dad got back on his feet, the knees of his trousers stained from the dew-filled grass, and reached into his jacket for a cigarillo. He met her questioning gaze with a shrug, and Joe did not bother to comment. There were only the two of them there if you didn't count her mom's ashes and the hundreds of other people buried at the Beacon Hills cemetery.
"I'm sure she would have loved to know Beacon Hills would be her final resting place," Joe commented if only to fill the gap left when the wind died down.
Her dad briefly disappeared in a cloud of foul-smelling smoke. "It's not."
"What?"
"The box's empty."
For a second, Joe wondered if he had lost his mind. For a second, Joe wondered if she had lost her mind. For a second, Joe wondered if Kali had really died. It was not that far-fetched to doubt, was it, since no one else seemed to properly die in this town. Kali had even mentioned it herself in limbo, how she wanted no resurrection. And with Peter Hale walking around to this day, there was a chance, however minuscule, that the box was empty because Kali was alive.
For a second, a tendril of hope clutched around Joe's heart. Only for a second, though.
"Why are we putting an empty box in the ground, Dad?"
"I dunno," Rob mumbled with the cigarillo moving around on his lips. "Liked the idea of havin' something to remember her by. Somewhere to visit and bring flowers and talk 'bout her and with her and, y'know… A grave, or a tombstone anyway."
Joe nodded and shuffled closer to her dad, who immediately raised his arm to lay it across her shoulders. "What're you gonna do with the actual ashes?"
"I was thinking the ocean would be nice. She was an island girl once."
Despite herself, Joe smiled at the imagery. She tried to keep smiling as the tears slipped down her cheeks, some settling into the curve of her mouth and others rolling down to her neck. A false funeral for an empty box. Only her dad could come up with something this dumb. And yet, she suspected it would still give both of them some closure. Maybe not now, but at some point.
"What does it mean?" Joe asked when secure her voice would hold. "What kind of language is that even?"
"Haitian. From what I remember, and dependin' on how much of it's true, her mother was from Haiti and her father from one of the Spanish islands."
"You mean I might actually be Puerto Rican?"
"A quarter, at most," her dad muttered and threw her a mock glare. He had no lost love for the way Joe spoke Spanish. "And I know it's not exactly befittin' a tombstone, but it was a phrase your mom used to throw around, and I always liked the sound of it. Bo nan bouch, men pè dan. Kiss the lips, but fear the teeth."
A hard laugh burst from Joe, ringing into the empty cemetery. "Not really the most respectful epitaph, no. But yeah, I like it too."
"I wish you coulda met her." Her dad heaved a deep sigh and rubbed his thumb on Joe's shoulder. "When she was good, I mean. Before—"
"Before I came and ruined everything?"
"Listen, kid, I know you're a full-grown adult and all, but if you ever say somethin' stupid like that again, I promise you I'll find some way to put back the fear of God in ya. I mean it, I'll show up to your dissertation in the FBI windbreaker and red tie and even bring Raf, so you know you're gonna have to answer the dumbest questions you can imagine in front of all your academic peers."
"Relax, Dad. Just a joke. Sort of."
"Well, I'm not jokin', kid. Seriously, knock it off with the self-deprecation, or I'll sic Mel on ya. You're the best goddamn thing to ever happen to me, and it's not your fault your mom had a rough time and decided to make it everyone else's problem, okay?"
Taken aback by her dad's intensity, Joe glared at the tombstone with the slight breeze cooling the tear streaks carved down her cheeks. In one way, she supposed it was a welcome change that her dad took that tone with her again. It sure as hell beat the eggshell-walking some of the others were doing in her presence, especially Aunt Mel.
The last week had been intense to say the least. Between the reunions and heart-to-heart conversations and cover up-stories, this funeral was downright peaceful in comparison. And Joe knew she only had herself to blame for the way everyone worried about her and to be fair, she worried about everyone else again, but it was taking a toll.
"Okay," Joe eventually agreed, in the voice of a sulking teenager following a reprimand. "Whatever."
"Whatever," her dead repeated with a snort. He shook his head and patted her back. "Whatever. Come on, kid, we're at a funeral. Show some respect."
"To what? The empty box you just buried?"
"It's the principle of things."
Joe snorted.
The breeze died down completely while they stood there side by side, staring at the so-called final resting place of Catalina Garcia, Kali, her mom. Some funeral, with no priest and no eulogy and no one else here to pay their respect. Not that she wanted anyone else here. Derek had offered to come because, of course, he had, and so had the rest of the so-called pack, except for Jimmy, who knew better. Joe wasn't so blind that she didn't understand they were offering to come for her sake, not Kali's, but she tried to make it clear that this was for her and her dad alone. The grief was complicated enough with all the pain her mom had caused Joe, let alone all the pain Kali had inflicted upon the rest.
Not just pain, though.
"She talked about you all the time," Joe found herself saying, breaking the silence to escape her own thoughts. "Mom, I mean. She talked a lot of shit about you. And it was a lot, too, like every other sentence she could get a jab in." Still holding her shoulder, Rob let out an amused snort that made Joe smile in turn. "She, uh, also said she'd never loved anyone as much as you. And, uh, she sort of told me to tell you that she still loves you."
Her dad didn't say anything for a while until she heard him clear his throat. "Tryna make your old man cry as payback for lecturin' ya?"
"No," Joe said and leaned her head on his shoulder, careful to avoid looking at his face to give him time to wipe away the stray tears. "Just figured it'd be appropriately sad for a funeral."
"Heh. O por Dios, Josefina. How different things coulda been, eh? I know your mom hated the 'what ifs'; I knowthere's no use dwellin' on it. Doesn't mean there aren't any lessons to be learned." Rob kneaded her shoulder, like preparing her for a wrestling match. "You and Derek—"
"We're figuring things out," Joe shot in before her dad could take it any further. "Talking. Communicating."
"Communicating, huh? That's what the kids call it these days?"
Joe groaned in progenic fashion. "Dad."
"I gotta admit, I miss being able to mortify you this easily. Sorry, kid. Couldn't help myself. So you're talking and figuring stuff out, huh? That's good. And how do you feel about this whole mate thing? I admit I don't know much about it. It's very rare from what I've heard."
"Yeah, that's what everyone keeps saying," Joe mumbled and glared at the tombstone as if that could help her answer his question. "I don't really care about the whole mate thing anymore, to be honest. Don't get me wrong, I care about Derek, and there's some practical aspects of the mate thing that we gotta take into account, but other than that, it doesn't matter."
If she had to be honest with herself, she had probably figured that out before the lunar eclipse. Then again, there was that thing about probably and definitely.
"And this whole destined-to-be-together thing doesn't stress you out?" Her dad gave her a knowing look. "You're my daughter too, ya know, and I know it'd send my head for a spin if I was in your situation."
"I'm not sure if 'destined to be together' is actually part of the description. If there's one lesson I gotta take from the last months, it's to not take anything for granted." Joe bit her lip in thought, spelling things out slowly for her own benefit. "Besides, it seems counterproductive, doesn't it? To sabotage something that's good now because it might continue to be so good that we want to stay together. Even if it's forever."
Her dad nodded slowly, even if he looked a bit surprised. Or it could have been proud. "You really are figuring things out, aren't ya?"
"I think we are, yeah."
"Physically too?"
"Dad!"
"I meant your powers and the whole pain thing you have together," her dad clarified as if he wasn't trying to rile her up again. "Get your mind out of the gutter, kid, this is a goddamn funeral."
"Uh-huh. Yeah, we're working on it."
She still slipped up at times. It was hard to let go of the obsessive control she'd had over the pain bond for the last months. And since she wasn't really in much pain these days, it wasn't always easy to tell when she was doing it or not. Who could have guessed that her pesky habit of biting her lip all the time would ever come in handy? Derek had resorted to texting her if he went too long without feeling it.
"That's it?" Her dad prompted after Joe had pondered in silence for too long.
"Yeah. I don't really feel comfortable discussing this any further without my lawyer present."
"Oof, you're gonna spin my concern into somethin' crooked. Why am I not surprised? I told ya, mija, I don't hunt werewolves, I hunt criminals."
Joe waited for him to continue, but instead, he succumbed to a silence she knew all too well.
"You're leaving." Joe untangled herself from his side-hug to hug herself instead. The look on his face told her everything she needed to know. "You couldn't wait until we had left the cemetery at least?"
"I was plannin' to tell you in the car after, all right?"
"Right. Where? South again?"
"I'm sorry, kiddo. My friends down there have a pretty decent lead on what looks like a supernatural spree-killer. I don't know if it's her, but either way, they've requested my aid."
"How bad is it?"
"Pretty bad. Lots of people turning up with their hearts missin'. Possibly eaten." Her dad pulled his hand over his fresh-shaven face and stared at the tombstone for a beat. "But if you need me to stick around a bit longer, I will."
"Hard to compete with a heart-eating killer."
"I booked a round-trip ticket," he said, making Joe's eyebrows shoot up. He'd never booked a return flight in advance, as far as she knew. "I'll be back in two weeks to bother ya some more. Thinkin' maybe we could get the whole family together for Thanksgiving this year. Includin' Derek."
"Okay, yeah. Maybe. Speaking of, you taking Uncle Raf with you?"
Rob frowned, a mirror image of Joe's own face. "No. I've tried to pull some strings to get him assigned to some other cases, but he seems determined to hang around town for a while. I think I might've inspired him to rekindle his relationship with Scott."
The laugh escaped before Joe could stop it. "Wow. How sad is it that he considers this inspirational?"
"Yeah, yeah, save your jokes for the show, would ya? This is the fucking Olympic standard of father-daughter bonding compared to a couple of years back. You know Raf, always following in my footsteps and all."
"You're not gonna tell him?"
"Thought about it," Rob admitted with a shrug. "But Raf, he's one of those skeptics, ya know? He's gonna need something undeniable before he even considers believin' and, besides, it's up to Scott in the end, isn't it? Do me a favor while I'm gone, and keep an eye on him."
"Uncle Raf?"
"Scott. Kid got heart, but," Rob shook his head again, "I'm afraid that's gonna be his biggest problem."
Joe returned her attention to the tombstone. Bo nan bouch, men pè dan. "Yeah, I'm kinda afraid of that too."
When it became clear there was nothing left to do or say, Joe and her dad sidled back to the gravel path twisting around the cemetery. They kept a leisurely pace, at least Joe lost in her own thoughts, and didn't see the newcomers until they stood right in front of them.
"Sierra." Her dad gave Walker a respectful nod before repeating the motion to: "Miss Morrell."
Like Joe and her dad, Walker and Marin had their arms linked, and the taller woman somehow supported herself on the petite Marin. Both were dressed appropriately for a (real) funeral, but Walker lacked her usual polish, and half her face hid behind large sunglasses. The more Joe looked at her, the more she saw a certain rawness as if it had cost her much just to get fully dressed. She clutched a bouquet like a shield in front of her, filled with dark flowers Joe did not know the name of.
"Agent Delgado," Marin said evenly, her Mona Lisa smile back in place with dark eyes glittering with secrets. She looked fully recovered after her so-called flesh wound, but it was hard to tell with most of her concealed in a long coat. Her trademark smile fell somewhat when she met Joe's gaze. "Joe. As somber as this occasion is, I still cannot tell you how good it is to see you."
"Are you…" Walker started in a hoarse voice that did not sound remotely like her. She cleared her throat, apparently to no avail. "Are you well?"
Sarah Sierra Walker, her creepy werewolf professor that turned out to be her creepy werewolf aunt. The one who set her up to be kidnapped by the Alphas, but then turned around to help her in the end, particularly with Erica. A lot of conflicting emotions, leaving Joe at a loss on how she should react. Marin had also been integral to Joe's kidnapping, and while both of them had only acted at the threat of Deucalion, Walker's betrayal struck deeper.
"I am," Joe answered, now recognizing Walker's hoarse tone as someone holding back tears. "You know, all things considered."
"Good. That is good. Is that— is that her place, over there?" Walker asked, indicating the direction Joe and her dad had come from. "Gods, how she would have hated having her tombstone here of all places. On Talia's turf." Her thin lips pulled into a sad smile, the dark sunglasses facing Joe. "But I suppose it is your turf now, after all. If you'll excuse me, I just want to lay these down."
"Here, I'll go with ya," Rob said and held out his arm, which Walker gratefully accepted. He gave Joe and Marin a somber nod and accompanied the shivering woman over to her sister's grave. Or her tombstone, at least.
"Is she okay?" Joe asked Marin, not really caring that Walker's hearing would pick up on her words. "Didn't think there was much love lost between her and Mom."
"Grief, like love, works in strange ways. There is a certain finality about death that can take even the most hardened of us by surprise. While Sierra may not grieve Kali, she could still grieve her sister, your… mom."
"Right." Joe looked away from where Walker had knelt down with the bouquet. "How are you holding up, being out of a job and all?"
Marin tilted her head. "Luckily, Beacon High keeps me busy these days. There's a dire need for substitutes lately."
"Guess that's what you get with half your faculty either dead or missing. Speaking of, you know Deucalion better than anyone," a flash of panic on Marin's face, gone so fast Joe could have imagined it, "both the man he used to be and the monster he turned into. My idiot cousin let him loose, as you probably already know, and I'm just wondering: how worried do I have to be?"
"Mercy is a great strength indeed," Marin acknowledged and crossed her arms over her chest, more in thought than indefense. "I dare say Beacon Hills is more protected than it has been in quite some time, and I hope, sincerely, that Scott's actions made a lasting impression on Duke."
"You hope, huh? Could have done with a bit of knowing, to be honest."
Marin graced her with another secretive smile. "I only pretend to know everything, Josefina."
Joe couldn't help but smile in return, taking note of how her insides still tingled when Marin smiled at her, then souring into guilt for doing so. Joe cleared her throat. "So you're sticking around too, then? Not gonna find another pack to emissate or something?"
"No, I'm staying here, for now. I thought that maybe if you — and Derek, of course — want, I can be of assistance and help you find your footing. Your pack is like your betas, strong but inexperienced." Marin shook her head, correctly guessing Joe's thoughts. "Not as an Emissary, but as an ally of sorts."
"Right. Thanks. I'll run it by Derek. Quick question: do we even need an Emissary? Is it mandatory or something?"
"When or if you need an Emissary, one will find you. Perhaps one already has."
Thankfully, Dad and Walker made their way back, sparing Joe from more cryptic druid bullshit. Walker said something to Joe's dad that she couldn't hear, but whatever it was, it made him nod and continue on towards the parking lot with a claim of waiting in the car.
"Did you give it to her?" Walker adjusted her sunglasses, trying to surreptitiously wipe away tears at the same time.
"No, not yet. I thought you might want to be here to help explain," Marin answered while Joe looked between them with growing trepidation. Marin reached into her coat and produced a small wooden box with carvings similar to the one Joe's dad had just put in the ground. "Every pack has different traditions when it comes to tending to their dead. Except for one thing that is shared by all. When a new Alpha inherits the old one, it is custom to preserve a part of the old Alpha for the next one in line."
She handed Joe the box with both hands as if it deserved an extra degree of reverence. Joe accepted it with both of her hands as well, but more in terms of how one would handle a bomb than a holy object.
"When you say part of the old Alpha," Joe started, not daring to even look at the box, "do you mean that literally or figuratively? Are there body parts in here? Are my mom's body parts in here?"
"Technically, no."
"Technically? Out of everything that should not be down to technicalities, this might be the most crucial one." Joe tried to talk without actually moving the box, her entire body revulsed at the thought of hearing something move in there. "What is in here?"
"A gift."
"Which is what, exactly?"
"Open it."
"Uh, no? Please, can you tell me, in the most obvious layman's terms, what the hell is in this box?"
Before Joe could move, Walker reached over to open the lid. "Her claws."
"Oh, I'm gonna throw up—"
"Taken and preserved as our kind has done for millennia. Presented to the next Alpha, as is our way, from the river to the sea, from the deserts to the forests, from the islands to the canyons."
"—this is sick, I can't even—"
"Both for the memory of the pack inherited and for the power within them, all to continue with the new Alpha."
"—literally going to vomit—"
"This is a gift, and you will treat it as such!" Walker finally snapped, a faint yellow glow behind her sunglasses. Theharsh tone and the growl in her voice both made Joe go from zero to sixty in a heartbeat.
"Talk to me like that again and see what happens," Joe snarled, her eyes shining red and her lip curled in a poor excuse of a snarl. "You're on my turf now, remember?"
"Sierra," Marin said in a warm, but firm voice and placed a hand on the other woman's arm. "Perhaps we can try a different approach for once? Joe, I understand how this might be confusing to you, but it is meant with the best ofintentions."
"To gift me my dead mother's fingernails?"
"Alpha claws hold a power, even in death," Marin said in the same calm voice, her hand still on Walker's arm. "They are the key to re-entering limbo, to reconnect with Alphas of both past and future. And, in your case, we took the liberty of doing something a little," her eyes flickered down to the open box, where Joe still hadn't dared to look, "extra."
Marin would have made a decent hostage negotiator, Joe thought wryly, her eyes dimming just at the sound of her soothing voice. Steeling herself for the worst, Joe glanced down into the box. Instead of Kali's severed fingers, as Joe had feared, there laid what looked like two black and gold bracelets. Fascinated despite herself, Joe realized that the black parts were Kali's long and pointed claws, laced with gold, slotted into each other in a circle, and held together with a series of thin chains.
Beautiful, really, if you didn't know what they were.
"Try them," Marin encouraged and let her hand drop from Walker's arm, probably sensing that the impending storm had passed.
"Gross," Joe muttered under her breath but did as told out of her own morbid curiosity. They fit perfectly, just the sweet spot between dainty and clunky, stretching to accommodate her wrists. For some reason, Joe flicked her right hand to see if the bracelet would fly off and watched in awed silence as the movement disconnected the claws from each other. They shot up her hand, each claw now more or less a long pointed thimble that fit perfectly over Joe's fingertips where they landed without fault. All five of her fingers now ended in a sharp claw.
"What the fuck?" Joe could not stop staring and repeated the motion on her other hand, producing the same result. She wiggled her fingers experimentally, but the claws did not budge. In fact, they seemed both secure and strong enough to endure quite a bit of force. As in, say, swiping them across someone's face in a fight. "What the actual fuck?"
On a whim — or instinctually? — she flicked her hands the other way, and the claws snapped back into place around her wrist.
"They're not as strong as real claws," Marin had a satisfied smirk on her mouth, "but they might give you an edge when needed. As Walker said, they are a gift, and you are free to do what you want with them."
"If you find the need to revisit limbo, come see me and I will help." Walker's voice was back to the business-like tone she used at the university. "And if you ever want to learn more about where you come from, where we come from, I will be happy to tell you. I understand if it might take a while before you are ready to listen."
With that, they both bowed their heads and left, leaving Joe behind with her dead mother's fake tombstone and her realclaws. They made it two steps before Walker turned back to Joe. "For what it's worth, and I am aware that might not be much, I am sorry."
It was probably not a good sign that she smelled smoke when arriving at the loft. It hit her just as she stepped out of the car after confirming to her dad she'd be fine to go up on her own. No immediate signs of a fire anywhere, but there werea couple of workers replacing the broken windows at the entrance of the building. Joe hovered near the doorway, ready to bolt, when one of the workers waved her in and let her know the elevator was working fine if she was going up. They didn't seem bothered or confused about her presence, and she wondered if this was her dad pulling more strings somehow.
The smell of smoke lingered even in the elevator and her heart raced with every second, steeling herself for what she would face on the top floor. A burnt pizza in the oven or a burning loft, abandoned in all haste and set on fire to cover any tracks to avoid prosecution for squatting. She checked her phone, in working order again thanks to Jimmy, but had no new messages except the one from Aunt Mel wishing her luck with the funeral.
Instead of a burning loft, Joe found Cora and Erica up in each other's faces in the middle of the floor. Boyd sat at the dining table, at least pretending to be doing homework but keeping one eye on the squabbling girls whose argument switched languages from English to Spanish to body in a heartbeat.
"—if you even think of wearing that to school, I will skewer out my own eyeballs."
"Sounds like a win-win situation to me."
"I know you think you're all hardcore, being from the jungle and all, but I promise, it is nothing compared to the brutality of high school."
"Oh, no, what are they gonna do? Bully me? We were tortured and starved for months, Blanquita."
"And I am still saying that high school is worse, GI Barbie! Joe!"
Joe froze on the spot as Erica suddenly tore around to face her. "Hi?"
"Can you please tell Baby Hale that her current outfit is not fit to be seen in public?"
Cora, now also facing Joe, rolled her eyes so far back that her head went along with it and folded her arms over her chest. Having made a full recovery, Cora looked better than she had for the entire time Joe had known her. They had first met in the vault, after all. Now she had a healthy glow to her complexion and her hair seemed both fuller and shinier, a teenage werewolf in her prime. As for clothes, Joe could not see anything amiss. Cora had dressed in a faded henley shirt and a pair of baggy jeans that looked a few sizes too big.
"It looks fine to me?" Joe tried, immediately having Erica roll her eyes now.
"Of course, you would think so," Erica snapped and turned to smirk triumphantly at Cora. "And if that doesn't put it in a bit of perspective for you, I don't know what will."
Joe had no idea what she meant, but still felt insulted somehow. She left the two to their argument and walked over to Boyd, who gave her a nod.
"Derek's on the roof," he said as a way of greeting before she could open her mouth. He smiled a half-smile, much like Derek sometimes did. "But if you get time later, I could use some help with this assignment. The History sub hates technology, so we're not allowed to use online sources."
"And the Wi-Fi here sucks anyway," Joe commented and made a mental note to take this up with Derek. "What's your topic?"
"Colonization of the Americas."
"Ooh, I got you covered. I can smack-talk the Spanish conquistadors in my sleep. I'm sure Cora's got some insight, too, since she's lived most of her life in Venezuela and all."
"Yeah, I was gonna ask, but…" Boyd leaned over to look at the ongoing verbal battle behind Joe, which was indeed taking place in Spanish right now. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on them so it doesn't get bloody."
"Thanks, man," Joe said gratefully and continued to the staircase to find Derek. Boyd was wise beyond his years, a welcome contrast to his more juvenile pack mates. She was under no illusion that things were fixed between them, but it had to be a good sign that he asked her for help, even with just a school assignment. Erica's full return to the pack had made everything so much easier, changed the dynamics for the better. Joe tried not to dwell on how it would have been if she had been honest about Erica from the moment they knew she lived, how much easier everything could have been.
No what ifs, Joe chastised herself and followed the growing scent of smoke to the roof. This was the first time Joe had ventured up on the rooftop of the high-rise building where Derek stayed. Much like the rooftop where she had sparred with Kali, it was all concrete and stone, with various bits sticking up that she guessed were connected to air vents or something. At least it had a glorious view of Beacon Hills, its warehouse district anyway, but if you squinted, you could see the preserve in the distance.
And if she squinted the other way, she could see three silhouettes illuminated by a large bonfire in the middle of the roof. At least that explained why she smelled smoke, even if she had no idea what they had set on fire for the occasion. Debris after the fight, maybe? Hopefully not a body or something equally sinister.
The smoke coiled up in dark plumes like tentacles from the deep, stretching desperately for the sky, where it disappeared into the air. All three silhouettes — now identified to be Peter, Derek, and Jimmy — stood side by side, watching the fire with their backs to her. All broad-shouldered and straight-backed, Jimmy and Derek equal in height, with Peter's slightly stockier figure as the obvious outlier.
"Is this like a guy-thing? Setting stuff on fire and watching it burn?" The heat of the flames reached her even several feet behind them; she wondered how they could stand being so close. "I'm happy you're bonding and all, but this definitely feels like a guy thing. I'll come back later."
"No," Derek said, twisting his neck to glance at her over his shoulder, at the same time pulling down a bandana that covered half his face. His next look went to Jimmy. "I think we're about done?"
Jimmy shrugged, also glancing back at Joe and also with half his face hidden by some cloth that muffled his speech. "By my calculations, it should burn out in roughly four or five minutes."
"Well, I'm done. Maybe I can still salvage this jacket that now reeks of smoke." Peter, no bandana in sight, turned around and smiled closed-lipped at Joe. The smile was nowhere near reaching his eyes. "Josefina, how lovely to see you out and about on your lonesome for a change. No hallucinations in the elevator this time?"
"Peter! And here I was hoping the smoke meant someone had set you on fire again."
His smile never faltered. "Fascinating. You must have already mastered masking your scent because I still cannot tell that you are bluffing."
"That's because I'm not," Joe said and flashed her eyes for good measure.
He shook his head, seeming more upset with himself than her. "I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear that it physically pains me how much I respect you."
"I will always be pleased to hear about how you're in pain."
"Play nice, you two," Derek said offhandedly over his shoulder, not sounding too concerned. With another sardonic smile, Peter slithered away, and Joe glared at his retreating back. Slimebag. Out of everyone Derek and Cora had left of their family, it had to be that guy?
Jimmy put his hands in his pockets and sighed at the rapid-burning fire. "Looks like my work here is done, so I'll take my leave as well. I'll be downstairs. Joe, I will refrain from asking if that's what you wore to your mother's funeral because while I already know the answer, it will physically pain me to hear it confirmed."
"I'm wearing jeans!" Joe protested, and Jimmy rolled his eyes extensively. No wonder he and Erica got on like a house on fire. "Clean ones."
"I know, considering I'm the one who washed them. You're welcome."
Before he could leave, Derek stopped him by putting a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Thank you," a moment of hesitation, "James."
For a split second, Joe wondered if Derek was thanking Jimmy — sorry, James — for her clean jeans, but they both had the same somber expression on their faces. If the sudden sentiment surprised Jimmy as much as it surprised Joe, he didn't let it show and just gave Derek a firm nod in acknowledgment. As Jimmy passed Joe, however, he nudged her shoulder with his, and she immediately bumped him back. Ride or die, asshole.
That left Derek alone in front of the fire, and Joe took a few steps forward, only for him to wrap his arm around her and pull her to his side. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he had done it a thousand times before and not just a handful. Like her heart wasn't supposed to beat out of her chest when he did it.
"Hi to you too. I was— Is that your bed?"
It was a bed, no doubt about it. This close to the fire, Joe could see what looked like some pitiful remnants of a bed frame under the flickering flames. Suspiciously similar to the one that used to be in Derek's room.
"Why is your bed on the roof and, more importantly, on fire?"
Derek kept watching the flames but didn't seem particularly bothered by either the heat, the smoke, or the fact that his bed was quickly burning into ashes. "Hi. Yes. Peter helped me carry it up here, and Jimmy set it on fire."
"Okay, you're answering my questions, but I don't really feel enlightened."
His arm tightened around her waist, and she leaned into him, staring up at the shadows coiling over his face in tandem with the flames. "We couldn't get the smell out."
Oh. Shit. Okay. Five seconds, Joe reminded herself. Just keep your mouth shut for five seconds instead of bombarding him with questions. Give him room to talk. Five frickin' seconds.
"This was Jim— James' alternative solution. He also mentioned it could be cathartic," Derek never looked away from the fire, "and I think he might have had a point."
Alternative solution. Derek must have asked Jimmy for help. Joe bit her lip in thought as she watched the fire reflected in Derek's eyes. The bed, or at least whatever remained, was burning into nothing at a rapid pace. Not really an expert in pyrotechnics, Joe had a feeling that Jimmy had used something involving chemistry and stuff to make it burn faster and more thoroughly than should be possible. The reasoning behind burning the bed in the first place twisted around her inner organs, but she tried to quench it in favor of Derek's catharsis. More than five seconds passed, and she leaned further into his strong frame.
"Where are you gonna sleep?"
She didn't realize the innuendo before Derek glanced down at her, probably realizing right away that she had not meant anything by it.
"Same place I've slept for the last weeks."
"Couch?"
"Floor."
"Derek!" Joe tried to lean back to glare at him but found herself locked in place by his arm and was left to glare at the fire instead. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"We weren't really on speaking terms. I haven't been in that bed since… Ennis died. It's fine, Joe. Floor's not that bad. Believe it or not, I've slept worse places."
"I believe it, but I don't like it. We've been on speaking terms for about a week now, why couldn't you just have stayed with us at the apartment or something?"
Why couldn't he just have stayed with her, like when she was recovering, so she could wake up every day to him next to her? Why couldn't her bedsheets always smell like him instead of losing the scent night by night as she struggled to fall asleep on her own?
"Because that would mean leaving Cora and Boyd alone here again. It really is fine. I made my bed—"
"And now you're burning it. On a rooftop in the middle of the day in the middle of Beacon Hills. Aren't you flying a little close to the sun here, Derek? There's workers downstairs, and you're risking someone calling the fire department. What if the owners of the building find out you're squatting here and kick you out?"
At last, Derek tore his gaze away from the fire to stare at her, almost incredulously. "I'm not squatting. I own the building."
That was the final straw, finally making Joe step back from his embrace to glare at him. "You what? You what?"
"I own the building," Derek repeated in the same even tone. "I thought you knew."
"You thought I knew you owned a building? This building? The whole building, not just the loft? This twenty-eight-floor apartment building in the middle of downtown Beacon Hills? Which is worth, what, a couple of millions?"
"Give or take."
She stared at him, trying to give him five full seconds, waiting for him to continue before she burst. "No, Derek, I did not know you owned a building worth a couple of millions, give or take! I thought you were unemployed and homeless! How—"
"Laura and I inherited a substantial amount after our parents," his words flowed quickly, eager to be shared, "she invested much of it, which was then left to me after she died. Technically, I'm chairman of a couple of LLCs, but they only require a signature once every few months, and they run themselves." He shrugged at her dumbfounded expression. "I'm sorry for not telling you. You're a pretty decent detective, Joe. I just figured you'd have found this out on your own."
"Well, I didn't," Joe mumbled, no plausible excuse as to why she hadn't. Maybe because she'd never investigated Derek all that much, having ruled him out as a suspect for his sister's death pretty early. Or, y'know, too weirded out by the whole connection thing before she even believed in werewolves. "But if you're actually some kind of millionaire, why the hell didn't you just buy yourself a new bed instead of sleeping on the floor?"
"You slept on the floor for three months."
Oh, Derek… Joe crushed the initial urge to berate him, to show her disappointment and concern, because they weren't helpful emotions right now. She blew air out of her mouth in lieu of admonishing him and took a step closer to him, the fire scorching the side of her body now.
"I didn't sleep on the floor for three months. One month was on the ground in the Mojave desert."
Joe had told him everything — everything — since waking up, and now, of course, she wished she hadn't. No, scratch that, she was glad she told him. He deserved to know, especially after sharing what he had been through. It was just so aggravating when he used all of this to justify stuff like this. But it was fine. They just needed to, y'know, communicate and move past this somehow.
"Well, in that case, I did have a few nights on the ground in the preserve."
"Oh, you mean the forest floor? Doesn't matter. You don't get to sleep on any kind of floor anymore, Derek."
"I thought we didn't order each other around anymore, Joe?"
"I'll be really sad if I find out you're sleeping on the floor again."
At that, Derek tightened his jaw, a silent acknowledgment of his defeat.
"And since your trust fund is apparently less imaginary than mine, you can afford to buy a new bed. Hell, you can afford to buy the store. You might already own stocks in a goddamn mattress store, for all I know. If it helps, I'll even go shopping with you."
His eyebrows raised along with the side of his mouth. "You want to help me pick out a new bed?"
A heat spread in Joe's chest, completely unrelated to the dwindling fire. Not thinking, she bit her lip to reign in her thoughts and knew she didn't imagine the way Derek's arms flexed as he crossed them over his chest. She kept forgetting he could feel it when she bit her lip.
"Uh, yeah," Joe managed to say, "but for, y'know, sleep. Your sleep. For you to sleep in. A bed for you to sleep— Goddamnit, Derek, stop pheromoning me!"
Stomping away from him and the fire, not even feeling most of his scent because of the smoke, Joe aired out her curls and tried to get her head back in the game.
"Sorry," he said, sounding anything but, and followed her toward the roof edge where she plopped down. "It's not something I can control."
"Are you trying to?"
"No," he admitted easily and took a seat next to her. He tore off the bandana that had been hanging around his neck and used it to wipe soot from his hands before giving her his full and careful attention. "Change of subject?"
"If you promise to buy a new bed today."
"Deal." Derek's smile grew a bit more somber. "How did it go with you today?"
"Fine," Joe shrugged, "you know, for a funeral anyway."
She gave him a full summary, careful to include all the details she could remember, from the empty box to her meeting with Marin and Walker. And the claws.
"It's so weird, right? Why are you not weirded out by this? Is it not weird?" Joe babbled as Derek held her arm up to inspect the claw bracelet she still wore for some inexplicable reason. "I'm not overreacting, am I? I feel like this is an appropriate amount of reaction to being gifted my dead mom's claws, but they didn't really cover this in the handbook I've never read. Am I overreacting?"
Derek gave her a look as if to indicate he didn't know which question to answer first but then said: "It's an old custom."
"So it's not weird?"
"It's— it's just a thing that's done. Laura was the one being prepped for becoming the next Alpha, not me. I'm not an expert here, but it's not as morbid as it may seem." He paused, accurately sensing the next question burning a hole in Joe's mind. "You want to know if I have my mother's claws lying around?"
Yes, but it was not a question she could bring herself to ask. Luckily, she didn't need to.
"I don't. Neither did Laura. As far as we know, there was nothing left after the fire."
Joe couldn't take her eyes away from where Derek was tracing her wrist, still inspecting the bracelet. Not for the first time, she was struck by how tactile he was and how he could be so gentle with her while talking about something so sad.
"As far as you know?"
"Cora's heard some rumors." Derek sounded dismissive. "That the claws ended up on the black market. From what I know, Alpha claws are useless for anyone but werewolves, but there's a lot of superstition surrounding them, making them valuable."
"Like stopping nosebleeds and curing impotence kind of superstition?" Joe asked, thinking of Rhino horns specifically.
"Or protection for hunters," Derek muttered but didn't elaborate. He tugged at her wrist. "Show me."
Like she had done at least a hundred times after her dad dropped her off at the apartment building, Joe flicked her wrists. The claws swooped onto her fingertips, with the thin chains going down the back of her hand to her arm like golden veins.
Derek let out a low laugh as if impressed despite himself. "Guess you won't need more bullets after all."
He twisted her hand closest to him around to look at it from different angles. With a similar flick of his wrist, his claws came out, and he placed his much larger palm against hers to compare. The similarities were as obvious as the differences. Derek's claws were an integrated part of him. Joe's were just accessories. Sharp accessories.
"You okay?" Derek let go of her hand, and she automatically flicked them to disengage the claws. "We'll get you bullets if you want them instead. You don't have to wear these."
"I know, I'm just confused as to why I kind of want to wear them. If it's because I want something to remember her by or because I have the werewolf equivalent of penis envy."
"I'll never be able to predict where our conversations end up, will I?"
"And at the same time," Joe ignored Derek in favor of getting her thoughts out in the open, "I don't want to wear them because I know where they've been and how she used them. And then there's the paradox of not wanting to wear them because I want to wear them. I thought I had come to terms with it, you know, being less-than and all, but then these came along and made me question everything again."
"Less-than?" Derek repeated with nostrils flaring in anger.
"Not fully werewolf, not fully human. You know what I mean."
"No, I don't because you're not less than anything."
"I guess I should probably work on more inclusive language. You said it yourself, remember? I have an obvious handicap when it comes to being a werewolf. And it's fine, okay? If three months of torture couldn't coax any fangs out of me after the whole prenatal mistletoe deal, I don't think they're ever gonna make an appearance, and I'll make do with what I have. Now, I also have these." She held out her arms to study the bracelets again, noticing the fire had burned down completely now. "I suppose I should be grateful they're bracelets and not anklets. Or dentures."
She glanced to the side at Derek, who watched her with a familiar expression. Furrowed brows, but soft eyes, coasting the line between angry and concerned. She'd seen it a lot since she woke up and they agreed on communicating. It wasn't always pretty, and they still had a lot to work on.
"I'll have to learn to fight all over again," Joe said to break the silence. "We skipped the whole claw portion of the curriculum."
"I'll teach you," Derek reassured her, even if he sighed while doing so. He leaned over to take her hand again. "But not because I think you need them to be a werewolf."
"Okay." Derek had left a space for her to fill, but Joe just nodded and tried to smile: "Change of subject?"
It had become a thing — their thing — during the last week of difficult conversations and confessions. They hadquickly realized neither of them were emotional superstars, and some things had to be talked about too hard lead to clamming up in Derek's case or spiralling into a frenzy for Joe. It worked kind of like a timeout or temporary get-out-of-jail-free card.
"Sure." Derek smiled back and tugged her up to stand. "I have something else to teach you first, anyway. Come on."
She let him lead her back down the stairs, where even Joe could hear the growls and snarls coming from the loft. This meant that Derek had probably heard it quite a bit longer, but he seemed unconcerned as he pushed through the doors.
"Oh, guys, not this again," Joe groaned, not even a little surprised that Erica and Cora's verbal battle had turned physical. It had happened way too often in the vault too, sometimes goaded on by the Alphas, other times their tempers just running away from them. "Guess you're gonna teach me to break this up?"
Derek blinked at her, then glanced briefly at the pair of scuffling teenage werewolves on the floor. "No?"
"No?"
"They're fine."
"They don't look fine," Joe countered in a loud voice to be heard over the snarls.
"Aww, you hear that?" Cora cooed from the floor where she had gained the upper hand and pinned Erica down by the wrists. "Mama Goat's worried I'm gonna mess up your pretty makeup, Blanquita."
"Maybe you should worry about keeping your guard up," Erica growled and headbutted Cora straight in the nose, "instead of my makeup, Baby Hale."
"Erica!"
"They're fine," Derek repeated in a calm voice, still holding Joe's hand that he now squeezed. "I know it looks bad, but it's a werewolf thing. They're just blowing off steam to settle an argument."
"Okay, I know you guys," Joe grimaced at the look he gave her and corrected herself, "we, uh, play rough and all. But I don't see why they can't settle this argument using their words instead of their fists." Joe glanced at the fight. "Or their feet. Cora!"
"I'd love to settle this using my words," Cora snapped back, having just front-kicked Erica to the floor again, "but it's kinda tricky when her Spanish is so horrid it makes Boyd sound like a native."
"Leave me out of this," Boyd said in a bored voice, still at the table with his homework. "And for the record, I'm happy with my B- in Spanish, thank you very much."
Erica backflipped her way back to standing. "At least I'm not pretending to be something I'm not."
"The only thing I'm pretending to be," Cora growled in a low voice, getting up into Erica's face in a flash, "is a stupid American high school student." Cora shot a dark glance at Derek. "I told you this was a bad idea."
Derek looked unimpressed, took another look at Joe's face, and seemed to resign himself to the fact that she still wanted to intervene. "What's this fight about?" He raised his voice. "One at a time. Cora."
"That is so unfair," Erica said.
Cora scoffed. "Why? Joe always picks you first."
"Yeah, why wouldn't she? She's only known you for like three months."
"And she's known you for what, four?"
"She knows I have her back."
"Like I don't?"
"Okay," Joe said now and dropped Derek's hand to hold up a T-sign. "Timeout. Cora," Joe ignored Erica's eye-roll, "you go first."
"Fine. Blanquita is worried I'm gonna embarrass her grand return to Beacon High by dressing like, and I quote, a Venezuelan hobo."
"That was not what I said."
"And then she got all pissy because I pointed out that this has nothing to do with Beacon High and everything to do with her stupid crush on that Stilinski kid."
"Oh my God, I don't have a crush on Stiles. How many times do I have to say it? I used to have a crush on him, yeah, in middle school!"
"Then why do you keep doing that idiotic hair-twirling whenever he's around?"
"What are you, jealous?" Erica shot back with another eye-roll, and it was only because of her experience with Derek that Joe caught Cora's brief flash of worry. "Okay, fine, I admit it, I'm doing it because it's fun, okay? Because for the first time in my life, I'm the one with the upper hand. I'm living every high school loser's wet dream of becoming a completely different and, above all, cool person overnight, and I'm not gonna let you ruin that by looking like every day is laundry day. Your personality is bad enough."
"Bite me," Cora said, and her eyes flashed yellow, a gesture Erica returned. "What makes you think I even want to hang out with you at school?"
"Mostly because of my amazing sense of humor and great boobs, but hey! If you want to hang out with the doomed love triangle of Isaac, Scott, and his hunter ex-girlfriend, or the forever-friend-zoned-but-trying-not-to-be Stiles and Lydia, be my guest. But don't say I didn't warn you."
"Yeah, we should have just let them fight," Joe whispered to Derek, "I got nothing here."
Derek shook his head. "Me neither." He cleared his throat. "Okay, keep your claws in, and don't break anything. Boyd?"
"I got it." Boyd had the same tone and posture as a lifeguard at the Olympic pool.
"Wait," Joe looked around, remembering the only other technically adult member of the pack, "where's Jimmy?"
"He's doing nerd stuff," Erica said, her hooded eyes seeming heavier with the dark makeup she had put on.
Cora let out a disgusted noise. "Why do you always try so hard to sound like an airhead?" She faced Joe and Derek. "He's trying to see if there's a way of incorporating mountain ash in the defense perimeter of the loft without jeopardizing quick access for any of the pack. Or, if that fails, set up a lined safe room."
"Like I said, nerd stuff."
"You're such a child."
"And you're such a tryhard."
Joe met Derek's eyes. He shrugged and repeated: "They're fine. Come on."
Without thinking, Joe accepted Derek's hand again and moved past Cora and Erica, who had just started another round of insults and name-calling. With an apologetic frown, Derek opened the door to his bedroom when Cora's voice rang out:
"Why do you guys always go into the bedroom to talk? It's weird."
"Because it's soundproof, Cora. And I hope, for both your sakes, you're taking advantage of that and doing more than talking, okay?"
"There's not even a bed in there anymore."
"We're werewolves. Why would we need a bed?"
"Because it's comfy? And I guess we should consider ourselves lucky if they're even talking in there. Not just sitting around looking at each other and holding hands."
Cora swung around to give Erica a smoldering look and dropped her voice to a bass. "Oh Joe," she waggled her eyebrows, "I'm so dark and werewolfy I can only talk to you through my eyebrows and hope you understand while not actually telling you anything."
"Oh, but how can I understand the most obvious signs in the history of courtship," Erica's voice turned shrill, grabbing Cora's hand in hers, "I'm just a human, after all, lacking any sense of perception so that I can't even tell when you're trying to hide a bo—"
The door slammed shut, blocking out the pair.
"I ever tell you I kind of miss hallucinating sometimes?" Joe asked Derek, who stood next to her in equally stunned silence with his free hand on the door. "Then I could just write that off as not real."
He raised his eyebrow in silent agreement, seemed to catch himself, and cleared his throat instead. "Yeah. I get what you mean."
Derek went past her, heading for the closet, while Joe hugged herself to study the room. It looked the same as the last time she was here, except for the mild scent of bleach that lingered and the vast empty expanse of the room that used to hold his bed. Not even a blanket on the floor as far as she could see, but who's to say it was this floor he slept on? Ignoring that growing feeling of discomfort, Joe focused on another one she had.
"Can I ask you something?" She pointed to the door. "Are they, yknow…"
"Attracted to each other?" Derek guessed where her question was going and confirmed it with an extensive eye-roll. "Yes. Very. I'm trying not to think about it, if you don't mind."
"They fought all the time in the vault, too, and I always thought they ran a little too hot when it came to the most innocuous remark. How come they haven't noticed?"
"My guess is that they're both so concerned with hiding their own feelings that they're not paying attention to the other."
"My little baby gays," Joe said wistfully, staring at the door as if she could see through it. "Uh, do we have to do something about it?"
"What do you suggest? Lock them in a storage closet to help them figure it out?"
"No, I mean," Joe shrugged and went to perch on the window sill, the only flat surface available except the goddamn floor, "what's the policy on in-pack relationships? Do we encourage, discourage, or just ignore?"
"Every pack is different." Derek had moved past her to the closet and was bringing out hangers. "And so are the dynamics. I think we're fine. Even if they get together, which might not ever happen when you consider the combined stubbornness of the two."
"And if they break up?"
"Don't see it leading to any shifted allegiances since Cora's my sister and Erica's your first beta. They're both pretty safe in their positions.
"Sounds like drama, though."
"You're more than welcome to intervene, considering how well that went just now. I think drama's a given since they're still teenagers, with or without relationships."
"Just wish we could keep away from the drama for a while. I'm not going to intervene," Joe held her hands up in surrender, "I have no idea how I'd even do that. Getting Erica to do something she doesn't want to is like trying to herd cats upriver."
"Know the type."
"Bite me." Despite her bravado, Joe had to fight to not grin like an idiot at the amused look Derek gave her. She settled in on the window sill, her hand landing on something that felt like a stack of cards, and she glanced down without thinking. Business cards.
"I haven't decided anything yet." Derek had his back to her, but something about her scent must have given her away. "Ji— James is helping me run some due diligence. Not making any promises."
Joe ran her fingers over the business cards for various mental health counselors from all over Northern California. The fact that he was even halfway considering therapy felt like a win, albeit a bittersweet one. Pride bloomed in her chest on his behalf, but based on his stiffer-than-usual body language, this wasn't something he wanted to broach upon right now.
"I meant what I said upstairs, you know. I'm happy you guys are bonding. You and Jimmy."
"You trust him." It wasn't a question. "That's good enough for me."
"Guy's seen me at my absolute lowest," Joe said with an apologetic shrug, "even lower than you've seen me, probably. And that's pretty low. And he's still here. Uh, by the way, we, uh, sort of kissed the day after… Ennis died."
"I know," Derek finally abandoned whatever he was doing in the closet and gave her his full attention. "He told me right before I tried to rearrange his rib cage with my claws."
Trying to match Derek's matter-of-fact tone, Joe said: "Tried to? You were pretty successful, as far as I can remember. And you're not even the jealous type."
"I wasn't," he said evenly, eyebrow raised to reveal a hint of amusement, thank God. "Until I met you. Guess I've never had anyone worth getting jealous over before. But I know it didn't mean anything. I knew it then, too, but I was so far gone I would have used any excuse to pick a fight."
Joe just nodded — Jimmy had already told her this, after all — and now she desperately tried to give Derek space to continue if he wanted to. Five seconds. Just five seconds.
"I tried anchoring in anger, but I wasn't even angry. After your howl, everything just went," Derek's nostrils flared, "to a dark place. And some part of me knew that hurting James was the key to making you hate me as much as I already hated myself."
The empty room grew larger around them, and Joe wasn't even fully aware of her own voice. "And so you slept on the floor."
"Thought we changed the subject from that." Derek raised his eyebrows, proving he did not mean to chastise her too much. "James has been surprisingly helpful considering what I did to him."
"Jimmy talks a big game, but he likes to be helpful. Likes to feel useful. I'm not expecting you guys to exchange friendship bracelets or anything, but when it comes to allies, you can do a whole lot worse than him."
"I know." Derek sighed, a sign that Joe had come to learn that he was mentally changing gears to another topic. Sure enough, he grabbed something from the closet. A white shirt and what looked like a pair of old-fashioned suspenders with black slacks. "Approved?"
"Uh, in general, yes. It's a bit much for a therapy session if that's what you're asking? Or are you going somewhere? "
"The wedding on Saturday."
"You're kidding."
"No. Erica already told me Morrell RSVP'd on our behalf. She also told me she got you a dress. I then gave her money to shop for a gift. We're going."
"Oh, I thought we didn't order each other around anymore, Derek?"
"I'll be really sad if we don't go to this wedding, Joe."
Joe stared incredulously at the first display of what could only be coined as puppy-dog eyes from none other than Derek Hale. "Damn, was it this effective when I did it?"
"Probably more," Derek admitted with a smile and hung the shirt up on the outside of his closet door. "I know I sound like a broken record, but I think we deserve to get out of Beacon Hills and have a night of normal."
"Our normal nights haven't exactly been a raging success."
"Third time's the charm? What—"
"If you say 'what's the worst thing that can happen', I will stub my toe in the door frame and give you all the pain," Joe threatened, and then blushed from the knowing smile on Derek's face revealing he called her bluff and attempt to distract. "Look, I know I have to return to my actual life and see people again, I just thought I could postpone it a little bit longer? And it's an hour out of town. What about the others?"
"James and Scott are already cleared as babysitters."
"Okay, first of all, Scott is a baby." Although Joe had to admit it made her feel a little bit better knowing the others were protected by both a True and a Demi Alpha. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?"
"No running away," Derek reminded her, which Joe felt was a bit unfair considering it wasn't him she wanted to run away from. "I think we need to go to this wedding. I think the pack needs us to go to his wedding."
"Low blow."
"Still true."
Joe dropped her head back with a groan. "Fine."
"Good. Now, welcome to the first lesson of Werewolf 101. Smile!"
Without thinking, Joe followed his command, and Derek turned around with his arm raised high, almost too fast for her to follow. A hard beam of pure light blinded her completely, and for a split second, she thought he had ambushed her with one of the Argent's flash bombs. Only for a split second, though, until her vision cleared enough to see that he was, in fact, holding an old-fashioned camera that was spitting out a small rectangular photo.
"Dude!" Joe moaned and rubbed her eyes, which were still seeing dancing spots. "A little heads-up would be nice."
"That would defeat the purpose of the lesson." Derek smiled and handed her the still-developing Polaroid. "I'm sure you can guess what this is about?"
Joe squinted at the photo, making a show of blinking her eyes. It was actually fully developed already, showing a grinning Derek closest to the lens with a smiling Joe in the background. It only looked undeveloped because of the massive strobe lights glaring out of both her and Derek's eyes.
"I'm assuming there's going to be photos taken at the wedding?" Derek asked from where he stood with his arms crossed a few feet in front of her, camera hanging from one hand. "So I thought we might work on making sure that," he nodded towards the Polaroid, "doesn't happen."
A bit distracted by the large grin Derek had in the photo, Joe put it in her jeans pocket and tried to give the real Derek her full attention. "Sunglasses?"
"Control," he corrected. "I know you can activate your eyes at will, but this is more the case of deactivating them. And no, right now, they're not deactivated, as proved by the photo."
He had correctly assessed every time Joe wanted to ask something, and she slunk back against the window.
"As you know, our werewolf eyes can be triggered either by will or when we're in a stressful situation. When not triggered, they're in what I guess can be called a fugue state. Neither human nor werewolf eyes, ready to go either way depending on the surrounding environment. Like when you put your car in neutral, it'll go either way depending on the terrain. Your eyes will look human to the naked eye, but flash photography," he held up the camera, "or other unnatural sources, like infrared light, will give it away."
Derek stopped talking and tilted his head slightly at her, like a dog who had heard someone whistle a few miles away.
"Pheromones?" Joe guessed, and he gave a slow nod. "Yeah, I like hearing you talk too. I'm able to pheromone and listen to you at the same time, though, so go on."
"Right. There's really not a big trick to this. You just have to consciously deactivate your eyes, just like when you consciously activate them. Only problem is that it's harder to go back than forward. It's just the way our bodies are designed because you'd be going against your instincts. After all, activating your eyes will give you several advantages, deactivating less so. Ready to give it a go?"
After roughly twenty photos — Derek had to get several new boxes of film for the camera — Joe had learned two things. One, Derek was an amazing and patient teacher if he put his mind to it. Two, he really hadn't been joking about it being harder to deactivate than activate. Joe strained every muscle in her face trying to figure out the correct one, giving her a lovely grimace in many of the photos, without any success.
The problem was, according to Derek, that the change was so subtle it was hard to tell when you were doing it. While the werewolf eyes gave her basically infrared vision, her human eyes did not give her anything. And she could not blame Derek for his inability to explain because how did you explain how to close your eyes to a blind person?
"Okay, I'm still thinking sunglasses might be the most viable option." Joe grunted and slid down the wall she had been leaning against. "Sorry, Derek, looks like my capacity for learning is really diminished without the torture part."
Derek didn't look up from where he was putting in another set of films in the camera. The floor was covered in Polaroids with Joe and her laser beam eyes. "I think you're focusing on the wrong thing. Like you're flexing your muscles when you should relax them. Maybe you can think of it as training yourself not to flinch when pulling the trigger?"
"If it was just down to breathing exercises, why isn't Jimmy able to turn his eyes off yet?"
"Same reason I couldn't withdraw my claws for months after the house fire. Don't lose focus, Joe, I'm just trying to explain it in a way that makes sense." He held his hand up as if that could ward off the rising wave of sadness in Joe's chest. "You want to try again?"
"You've heard about the definition of insanity, right?"
When she didn't get up, Derek sat down cross-legged in front of her with amazing flexibility for a guy his size. All out of tricks to try, Joe just raised her eyebrow at him and waited for the camera to flash again.
"Try to relax your face this time. Let your mind go somewhere calm. Don't close your eyes. Let your thoughts drift."
Joe tried to follow his instructions, shooting her eyes back open at his command, and focused on his voice. This close, his scent became a definite factor as well, one she filled her lungs and mind with. It helped. Her heart rate slowed down; her breathing evened out. Her thoughts drifted.
"Where are you, Joe?"
"The ocean," she mumbled, thinking of the sea crashing against the sand. The same sand that covered her bare feet, washed away with every wave rolling up over her ankles. The light breeze in her hair, the smell of the palm trees, the feeling of her claws raking against wooden boards as she trained. The strain in her muscles just a fleeting sensation before her healing kicked in.
"Now look at me."
Still somewhere on a tropical island, Joe turned to face Derek and did not even blink when the camera flashed. Then she blinked a few times to get back to reality and saw the satisfied smile on Derek's face.
"You got it," he said and handed her the photo, where her eyes were their usual human brown.
"Wow, talk about a resting bitch face," Joe commented as she gave herself a critical glance. "What?" Derek held out his hand for the photo, and Joe frowned. "No way."
"You took the other one," he pointed out. "I want that one."
Okay, so the fact that he wanted a picture of her made her heart grow about three sizes too big. The fact that he wanted this picture made her lip curl in disgust.
"Can't we do another one where I'm smiling? I look so pissed off here."
"That's the way you usually look.
"That's not a compliment."
Derek put the camera to the side and leaned over on one knee to look her straight in the eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you I like the way you look?"
"Uh," Joe's mind fired complete blanks at this close proximity, "one more time?"
"Joe Delgado, I like the way—"
That was as far as he got before Joe crashed forward to kiss him. Like she had wanted to do ever since exiting the elevator. To her side, the camera flashed again, and Joe realized she'd been set up. Like she cared. Like she cared about anything else than the way Derek smiled against her mouth, the way his beard scratched against her cheeks, the way his hair felt under her fingers, and the way his growl sounded in his throat when she slipped her tongue into his mouth.
Like she cared about anything else than him right now.
The camera clattered to the side as Derek shifted his weight to get closer. His movement pushed her against the wall. Her head would have scraped against the soundproofing if his hand hadn't come between, cupping the mass of curls and pulling her into him again.
Consumed with the familiar desire for more, Joe arched her back to get closer but ended up sliding down the wall instead. Not that it mattered. Her laugh disappeared into Derek's mouth as he followed her descent, his lips never leaving hers, even while smiling. Neither did his tongue that coasted along hers and created entirely new receptors for pleasure in its wake. They ended up on the floor, and he hovered slightly above her, one hand behind her head, cushioning her where she now lay flat on the cold concrete.
Joe ran her fingers through the soft spikes of his hair, going from the short strands at his neck and up to where they gradually grew longer and slid between her fingers like sand. Her hands shook for the first time in a while from the effort of not grabbing him too hard. Except that they played rough, right? He'd let her know if she went too far, right? She could just go all in. Right?
With that flimsy logic, she succumbed to her instincts and dug her fingertips into his skull. It elicited a delicious growl from Derek that went all the way from his mouth to her legs — and between them. Her other hand ran over the side of his face, holding him in place right where he was supposed to be, locked against her and kissing her like he needed her more than air. No, wait, that was her. She was the one who needed him more than air. He was her air.
Somehow Derek sprawled more on top of her than next to her now, one hand beneath her head, the other one tight on her waist. Her closest leg lay trapped between his, and her mind overflowed with his scent with every shake inhale from her nose that pressed against his skin. Making out on the floor like stupid teenagers, lost in each other's mouths. The chill of the floor on her back the very opposite of the heat of him weighing her down so she would not float away on her own bliss.
Still holding onto his head like a lifeline, her other hand wandered everywhere it could reach. His arm, his neck, hisshoulder, and as far down his muscular back as she could go, raking her fingertips into the thin fabric of his t-shirt.
Her mouth burned with the fervent heat he produced, along with the scratches from his stubble. His tongue, even hotter than the rest of him, swiped over her bottom lip as if to soothe it before his teeth followed. They sank down with a pressure that told her he wasn't holding back either, and Joe didn't dare open her eyes, knowing they would shine red. Hot, eager, mindblowing red. As red as the blood boiling beneath his skin everywhere they touched. As red as the sound of his new growl coursing through his chest when she returned the gesture and tore at his lip with her blunt human teeth.
"Joe."
Derek whispered straight into her mouth, and her name sounded somewhere between a plea and a warning, his voice so guttural she was surprised his face was still human. He tightened his hand on the back of her head while the other one swept down from her waist to her hip to grip the outside of her thigh. His touch might leave bruises, but her mind blanked with sparks as he somehow hit nerve endings she didn't even know about.
She wasn't even aware of tearing her lips from his to throw her head back, exposing her whole throat to him until his mouth and lips and tongue crashed onto the sensitive skin. The stubble on his face could rub her raw for all she cared, especially when his fingers tightened in her hair to keep her head back like that, holding her firmly in place. "Oh my God, Derek."
That was as far as she got before Derek leaned down to her throat again and included his teeth in the equation. A tidal wave burst through her as he nipped at the most delicate spot where her neck met her shoulder. Just hard enough that it might leave a mark on her skin, which could not even begin to compare with the mark he left on her entire existence.
The rush of hotness pouring from her core harmonized with Derek letting out a strained grunt. A bubble burst somewhere and he let go of her neck, burying his face down by her shoulder instead.
The room filled with their panting and shivering breaths, where Derek's fluttered over the wet skin of where his lips had been moments before. Neither moved, Joe not even sure she could move if she tried, both having more than enough with just breathing for now. Though somehow, his body stilled even further.
Joe opened her mouth to ask if he was okay before she felt the reasoning behind his stillness pressing into her leg where it still lay clamped between his.
Erica's taunting words from earlier came back with vengeance, not doing a lot to help Joe figure out what the hell she was supposed to do. Make a joke about it? Play dead until it went away? Her instincts were screaming at her to just move and go along with it, but her mind was in a downfalling disarray, and he had been the one to pull away, so she would follow that lead if it was the last thing she did.
"Timeout?" Her voice sounded too thin even to her, especially compared with the heavy bass of her pulse throbbing in her ears. He still didn't move and Joe cleared her throat. "Derek?"
"Yeah." His muffled voice came from somewhere around her shoulder before he slowly pushed himself up. A film of sweat laid over his forehead where his eyebrows sat up close to his hairline. He seemed to focus on her mouth first, slowly zig-zagging up her face before finally landing on her eyes, albeit a bit wavering. "Sorry."
A million terrible replies flipped through her thoughts, each one somehow worse than the last. 'For what?', 'Don't be!', 'I'm not.', and 'That is nothing to apologize for, big boy.'
All that actually came out her mouth was: "Uhm…" which could be argued to be the worst of them all. What had they agreed on again? Openness. Communication. How did that apply here? How open did she need to be? Uh, not that kind of open, and now that was all she could think about, and those were not good thoughts to have around a werewolf who could read her like an open book.
"I don't," she started, struggling to keep eye contact so much that she stopped blinking completely, "mind. It's just, uh,new and maybe not the time or place or anything."
"Really, the bare concrete floor doesn't do it for you?"
At least the familiar anger in his voice worked as an effective cold shower. Derek pushed off her and sat down next to her instead, one knee drawn up to rest his elbow on, and Joe tried to ignore the careful angling of his body away from her, the reason behind it obvious.
Muscles aching from lying prone on the hard floor, Joe got up to sit as well. "Are you anchoring in anger right now?"
"What do you think?" Derek snapped, and Joe did her best to avoid letting his anger wash over her, too. "Just… give me a second, Joe."
"Dude, don't pretend you can't smell it," Joe got up from the floor and waved her hand around vaguely, even if he couldn't see it, "all over me too."
"I can, and it's not helping."
"Wasn't trying to." Not waiting for him to answer, Joe knelt down behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggling her cheek against his. "Words."
She could feel his eye-roll even if she couldn't see it.
"You're really not helping," Derek pointed out, a bit more exasperated than angry now, and he put his hand on top of hers to keep her in place.
"Really not trying to."
She let her body go limp, effectively putting her whole body weight on him. Derek let out a short swear as this almost toppled both of them over before he regained his balance with her added weight hanging on his shoulders.
"I love you," she reminded him, her mouth almost on top of his ear while her legs hung awkwardly behind her. The heat from his back radiated into her chest. "And I'd be offended if that didn't happen sooner or later."
Derek kept quiet for longer than she liked, but he didn't push her off him either, so she stayed put. Eventually, he squeezed her hands. "I'm pretty good at being in control, Joe. Of everything. At least I used to be," and he twisted his head to face her, "until I met you."
"I'm taking that as a compliment. And you don't need to be in control around me, you know. In any kind of way."
At least he didn't correct her, just raised his eyebrows again and said: "It was just a bit more reaction than I expected."
"You and me both, buddy." All those times she had been threatening him not to bite her, she'd never realized it was because she'd like it too much. Joe shook her head to shake away the memory of exactly how good the sting of his teeth had felt.
"Buddy?"
"Honey? Baby? Papi? What do you want me to call you?"
He looked at her with the familiar unimpressed expression. "Derek."
"Derek," Joe repeated and smiled. "Yeah, okay. I'm kinda into it."
"My name?"
"Kinda into all of you, to be honest. I have the biggest crush on you, Derek, in case you haven't noticed."
"You're being really unhelpful right now."
"Sorry. Not used to having the upper hand for once. Speaking of, can we move on to the next lesson about masking scent? Because the bed stores are gonna close soon and we can't go out there smelling like this, they'll never let us live it down."
"Change of subject?" He squeezed her hands again when she nodded, rubbing her face against his. "Thanks."
"Pleasure's all mine." Except for the bit that he got, of course, that set all of this in motion. Which was something she could file away for later to deal with it. For now, Joe placed a small kiss on his cheek. "Next lesson?"
"Next lesson," he agreed and pulled her back when she tried to get up from his back. He turned his head as far as he could to get full eye contact. "And I love you too, Joe Delgado."
"We're doing full names now, Derek Hale?"
"Te amo, Josefina Maria Garcia Delgado."
For a second she just stared, the sensual Spanish from his mouth a bit much this close to feeling his teeth for the first time, and she took a shaking breath. "I just lost my upper hand, didn't I?"
Derek smiled, and the next lesson had to wait a little bit longer when she leaned forward to kiss him again.