A Promise Everlasting

by FallenAngelEm

Lucy McCall was as broken as they come, lost and trying her hardest to regain control over her life. She didn't expect her return to Beacon Hills to be fighting to keep her and her younger brother alive. Enter Derek Hale. Alone and lost himself, he didn't expect to become so enamored with Scott's sister. For it to be on him to to keep her alive. But will he succeed? TW:DV

14. Chapter 14

Stiles slowly blinked awake, his vision coming into focus under the eerie glow of streetlights and the acrid stench of dumpster odor. His head pounded with the dull throb of bruises, and as he groaned, memories of the previous night flooded back—of Erica's reckless swing that had knocked him out and hurled him into this makeshift prison of metal and trash. His inner monologue was immediate and raw: Of all the places to wake up—damn that bitch.

Cursing under his breath, he forced himself upright, grimacing as he took in his disheveled state. With a furious huff, he clambered out of the battered dumpster, his damp clothes clinging to his skin. The cold night air bit at his cheeks as he glared at the dark pavement, cursing Erica's name under his breath with every step.

Stumbling toward his jeep parked a few yards away, Stiles' anger mounted. His mind churned with a mix of pain and bitter humor—typical Beacon Hills madness. As he reached the car, he fumbled with the keys, his shaking fingers finally unlocking the door. He flung it open and hopped into the driver's seat, only to be met with an immediate sense of dread.

A quick glance around confirmed his worst fears: the dashboard was dark, and the car wouldn't start. His pulse raced as he pounded the ignition repeatedly, each turn of the key met with nothing but silence. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, swearing under his breath. The realization struck him hard—Erica hadn't just knocked him out, she had tampered with his ride. His Jeep was effectively disabled, a prison of metal on this cold, unforgiving night.

Cursing again, Stiles slumped back in the seat, the anger and frustration boiling over. "That bitch really outdid herself this time," he grumbled, running a hand through his messy hair as he stared at the inert dashboard. With no escape in sight, Stiles was forced to accept that he was stuck here for the moment—a predicament that was all too typical in Beacon Hills.

Stiles's anger was still simmering as he sat in his disabled Jeep under the cold, indifferent glow of the streetlights. His head throbbed, and every bruise on his face reminded him of the chaos Erica had left in her wake. With a frustrated growl, he reached for his phone, scouring his small pool of contacts for someone who wouldn't completely berate him for this mess. His eyes landed on one name, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips despite everything: Lucy.
Meanwhile, at home, Lucy was finishing up her dinner, making sure to clean up her mess to not be a burden to her mother who was working, as always. Just as she was finished washing her plate, her phone rang sharply, snapping her attention to the present. She glanced at the caller ID and recognized it immediately.

"Lucy," she answered cautiously, "what's up, Stiles?"

There was a pause on the other end, followed by his exasperated, breathless tone. "I need money. And a ride. And a tow."

Lucy's eyes widened in concern as she set down her fork. "Whoa, okay. What happened to you?"

Stiles's voice crackled through the line, thick with frustration and a hint of embarrassment. "Uhhhh, Erica knocked me out with a piece she took out of my car. And—unless you want my dad to kill me—I need to get to a mechanic right now… and get it fixed."

"Oh my god—okay. Where are you?"

Lucy didn't hesitate. She changed out of her worn pajamas in a flurry, her movements quick and determined. Despite the late hour and the chill that clung to the night air, she could already feel the weight of responsibility pressing on her shoulders. Every time Stiles ended up in a mess like this, Lucy knew it wasn't just his problem—it somehow always ended up falling back on her. And tonight, with the threat of a mechanic's tow looming over Stiles's car, she wasn't about to let him fend for himself.

She grabbed her keys and stepped outside, the cool night air hitting her face as she hurried to her car. The sleek white Charger was parked under a weak streetlamp, its light silhouette a stark contrast against the quiet of the suburban street. Lucy drove with an edge of urgency, her mind a jumble of thoughts: the weight of her own countdown, the never-ending demands at Beacon Hills, and the nagging feeling that if she didn't help Stiles now, things would spiral further out of control.

Moments later, she arrived at the location Stiles had given her. Pulling up beside the inactive Jeep, Lucy saw him—sheepishly standing by his dead car, phone pressed to his ear as if he were negotiating his fate with a tow truck driver. The sight of him there, his expression a mixture of annoyance and resignation, only confirmed what she had suspected: tonight was going to be an eventful night.

Rolling down her window, Lucy called out softly, "Stiles, I'm here." Her tone was firm yet caring, a silent promise that he wasn't alone in this mess.

Rolling down her window, Lucy called out softly, "Stiles, I'm here." Her tone was firm yet caring—a quiet promise that he wasn't alone in this mess.

Stiles let out a long sigh as he pulled his thin jacket tighter around him and climbed into the warm car. "I found a place," he said, glancing around sheepishly. "They're coming to tow it now."

Lucy checked her phone quickly. "Okay, great—how far is it?"

He hesitated, fiddling with the hem of his jacket. "Uh, yeah…I forgot to ask about that."

Lucy's eyes narrowed playfully in the rearview mirror. "Well, I hope it's fast. We both have to be at the high school tomorrow morning."

"Oh god, don't remind me," Stiles groaned as he sank back into the passenger seat, his tone a mix of exasperation and resignation. After a beat, he added, "So, what you been up to?"

Lucy arched an eyebrow, her voice laced with disbelief. "Umm… the same stuff as you—except I was peacefully at home before you called me for a ride." Internally, she mused how odd it was that her day had been so uneventful compared to his usual chaos.

Stiles grinned. "Yeah, appreciate you, big sis."

Lucy rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips as she reached to turn up the radio a bit. The soft hum of music filled the car, mingling with the quiet hum of the engine. As the familiar notes wrapped around them, Lucy's thoughts drifted—she knew it wouldn't be long before Stiles started yapping about some random detail of his day. For now, though, the moment was theirs—a brief pause before the inevitable storm of tomorrow's challenges.

You know what," Stiles started, almost as if he had read Lucy's mind, "if they ever make a commercial for car breakdowns in Beacon Hills, they should totally use your face—Nurse McCall: saving lives and towing rides, sometimes simultaneously."

Lucy gave him a deadpan look, trying not to fall into his nonsense. "You're terrible."

"I'm just saying," he continued, shrugging dramatically, "imagine if I was stuck out here in the freezing cold, all alone, with a killer on the loose."

"True," Lucy conceded, eyes flicking to the darkened road ahead. "But now we're both stuck out here with a killer on the loose. A crazy, deformed, supernatural killer, by the way."

Stiles shuddered. "Yeah, okay, when you put it like that, it sounds worse. But, on the bright side, I've got my very responsible and highly trained… nurse… here to protect me." He flashed her an exaggerated grin, leaning back in his seat like he had nothing to worry about. "I mean, let's be honest, Lucy, between your killer looks and my impeccable ability to annoy the hell out of any potential murderer, we're practically untouchable."

Lucy snorted, shaking her head. "If that were true, I wouldn't be waiting for a tow truck in the middle of the night with my idiot little brother's idiot friend."

"First of all, rude," Stiles shot back, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Second of all, let's all just take a moment to appreciate that this entire night could've been avoided if Erica hadn't gone full-on psychotic and ripped my starter out just to knock me out. And put me in a dumpster, by the way."
"Oh is that what that smell is. Just thought it was a teenage boy thing," Lucy saiad, crinking her nose as she was reminded of the fresh smell of B.O Stiles was filling her car with.

Stiles perked up, smelling his armpits and turning his face over in a grimace, "is it that bad?"
"Yes- it's terrible." Lucy moved further away from Stiles and rolled her window down a bit, "But hey, at least you're alive and.. Smelly."
"True, I mean who's to say her knocking me out with a literal piece of car part wouldn't have killed me?"
"I think you're being a bit dramatic- but i dont know."
"Excuse me, I just survived a homicide attempt via Jeep sabotage," Stiles shot back. "I think I've earned the right to be a little dramatic."
Lucy smirked, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. "At least you're alive to complain about it."

Stiles slumped further into his seat, muttering under his breath, "Barely."

For a moment, the car fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the distant hum of the tow truck still en route and the rhythmic tapping of Lucy's fingers against the steering wheel.

Then, Stiles suddenly perked up. "Wait—does this count as a workplace injury? Because technically, I was doing werewolf-related work when I got jumped. Do you think I can get, like, supernatural worker's comp or something?"

Lucy groaned. "Oh my god, Stiles. You don't even have a job!"
"Hey- my job - is being Scott's sidekick. I should at least get some kind of employee benefits package for all the near-death experiences I'm racking up."

Lucy sighed dramatically. "I should've just left you in the dumpster."

Stiles gasped, clutching his chest. "Betrayal! And here I thought Nurse McCall was supposed to be all about saving lives."

Lucy smirked. "Yeah, well, I have my limits."

Stiles huffed, shaking his head. "Remind me to file an official complaint after this."

Just in time, the flashing lights and beeping of the tow truck pulling up behind Lucy's car snapped both of them out of their conversation. Stiles perked up immediately, hopping out of the car and rushing over to greet the driver. Lucy, however, stayed in her seat, watching from the rearview mirror as the mechanic stepped out of the truck.

Her eyes lingered for a second too long.

Tall, broad shoulders, grease-smudged arms—he looked like a young James Dean if James Dean had spent more time under the hood of a car instead of brooding in black-and-white films. Lucy had a weakness for guys with strong forearms, and unfortunately, this guy had them in spades.

Damn.

Before she could fully appreciate the view, Stiles suddenly yanked open the passenger door, sticking his head back into the car like an excited puppy. "So, you got me for the tow, right?"

Lucy sucked her teeth, tearing her gaze away from the mechanic and narrowing her eyes at Stiles. "How much is it?"

Stiles hesitated. That was never a good sign. His face dropped slightly before he gave a quick nod and backed out. "Be right back."

Lucy leaned against the steering wheel, exhaling through her nose as she watched Stiles flail through yet another dramatic negotiation. He was practically using his whole body to gesture, his arms waving wildly as he tried to—what? Bargain with a tow truck driver like this was a flea market?

The mechanic just stared at him, unimpressed.

A moment later, Stiles trudged back to the car, his expression a mix of exasperation and reluctant acceptance. He pulled the door open again, this time slipping back into the seat with a resigned sigh.

"So, it's only $120," he announced, like it was a totally reasonable amount.

Lucy's jaw nearly dropped. "Only $120?" she repeated in disbelief. "If you don't even have that, how the hell are you gonna pay for the actual repairs?"

Stiles waved a hand, brushing off her concerns like an overconfident conman. "It's about budgeting and financing and—uh, prioritizing expenses. You know, saving my money for the fix and borrowing your money for the tow."

Lucy let out a slow, drawn-out sigh, pressing her fingers against her temples. "I knew I shouldn't have answered your call."

"But you did, because deep down you love me," Stiles grinned, batting his lashes dramatically.

Lucy rolled her eyes, already reaching into her wallet. She had started keeping more cash on hand since Tyler had found ways to mess with her bank accounts, but that didn't mean she was thrilled about spending it on Stiles's latest disaster. "You're lucky I got paid this week," she muttered, yanking out the bills and shoving them into his waiting hands.

Stiles grinned from ear to ear, snatching the money before she could change her mind. "You're the best, Luce, I swear, I'll pay you back."

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, pulling her hand back before he could try anything else. "Go pay before I change my mind."

He saluted her before jumping out of the car, handing over the cash like he had just saved the world. Lucy shook her head, watching as he chatted with the mechanic—probably giving him way too much information about how his night had gone.

The mechanic went to work hooking up the jeep, and Stiles got back in the car, extremely perky and a bit too happy.

"You're acting way too happy for someone who just drained my wallet," Lucy muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she tapped her fingers impatiently against the steering wheel.

Stiles turned, flashing her a thumbs-up. "You're a saint, Lucy! Truly, the Mother Teresa of Beacon Hills—but with way better hair and significantly less patience."

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, Saint Lucy is about to revoke your miracle privileges."

"Alright, all set," he announced, stretching out in her passenger seat like he had accomplished some great feat. "Now, onward, my noble steed!"

Lucy didn't even look at him as she threw the car in drive. "You're walking home."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—what happened to all that brotherly love we had going on ten minutes ago?" Stiles put a hand to his chest, mock-offended.

"That was before you scammed me out of $120 and called me a steed."

"Okay, fair," he admitted with a shrug. "But technically, I only scammed you out of $100 because I had a twenty—so, really, I was doing you a favor. Think of it as a bonding experience."

Lucy turned to him, deadpan. "I swear, Stiles, one day I'm gonna let you suffer just to teach you a lesson."

Stiles gasped, feigning betrayal. "You'd let me rot on the side of the road? Bleeding, bruised, left for dead?"

"I'd leave you on the curb outside the hospital," she corrected. "At least then I wouldn't feel guilty."

Stiles pouted, but the effect was ruined by the way he sank deeper into the seat, clearly content now that his crisis had been averted. "Cold. Absolutely cold."

Lucy just snorted, shaking her head as she turned onto the main road. "Just shut up and tell me where we're taking this thing before I actually kick you out."

"See? This is why I always call you first when I'm in trouble," Stiles said with a smirk. "You complain, but you always come through."

Lucy sighed, knowing he was right but refusing to admit it. Instead, she flicked on the radio, drowning out any further conversation.

It wasn't long before Stiles started talking again anyway.

Inside the mechanic shop, the scent of oil and metal filled the air, mixing with the low hum of classic rock playing over an old speaker in the corner. The space was cluttered with toolboxes, spare parts, and the occasional grease-streaked rag draped over a workbench. Stiles paced back and forth like an over-caffeinated watchdog, his eyes locked onto the mechanic as if expecting him to sabotage the Jeep further.

Lucy, on the other hand, had her gaze locked onto something far more distracting. This fine man was working fervently on the car, his arms outstretched and bare, ripped muscles exposed through the wife beater he had on.

Good God.

Her brain practically short-circuited as she took in the sight of the mechanic's biceps flexing under the strain of lifting the hood. The thin fabric of his shirt clung to his frame, emphasizing every sculpted muscle as he worked, making even the simplest movements look like something straight out of a damn cologne commercial.

Now that was a man.

Meanwhile, Stiles, completely oblivious to Lucy's very obvious distraction, muttered under his breath as he trailed the mechanic's every move. "I swear, if he so much as touches something that isn't broken, I'm suing."

Lucy didn't even glance at him. "You don't have the money to sue anyone."

Stiles scoffed. "That's not the point, Lucy." He threw up his hands, exasperated. "The point is—ow! Hey!"

Lucy had flicked him on the ear without looking, her eyes still glued to the mechanic's arms as he reached down for a wrench, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the motion.

Stiles rubbed his ear, frowning. "What the hell was that for?"

Lucy finally turned to him, her face the perfect mask of innocence. "For being annoying."

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "You weren't even paying attention to what I was saying."

"You're always saying something annoying, so I had good odds."

Stiles gaped at her before following her line of sight. He squinted at the mechanic, then back at Lucy. Then back at the mechanic.

"Oh my God." His mouth fell open in exaggerated horror. "Are you ogling?"

Lucy tore her gaze away, fixing Stiles with an unimpressed look. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I do," Stiles shot back, eyes wide with mock betrayal. "You're over here practically mentally peeling his shirt off while my poor Jeep is fighting for its life!"

Lucy folded her arms. "First of all, I was not mentally doing anything."

"You so were."Stiles insisted, nodding toward the mechanic, who was currently tightening a bolt with the kind of arm strength Lucy was definitely not admiring.

She scoffed, pushing at Stiles' shoulder. "Just go figure out how much longer this is going to take!" she huffed, shooing him away before he could dig any deeper into her embarrassment.

Her cheeks were warm as she made a quick escape toward the bathroom, though she made sure to glance over her shoulder, just in time to see Stiles marching toward the mechanic like an attorney about to cross-examine a hostile witness. She rolled her eyes, knowing he was about to start an argument over pricing that he definitely wasn't going to win.

After quickly relieving herself, Lucy stepped back into the waiting room—only to find Stiles standing in the middle of it, glaring down at his hand like it had personally offended him.

She grimaced, instantly noticing the thick, slimy substance dripping from his fingers in slow, gooey globs.

"What the hell is that?" she asked, stepping closer but staying on high alert in case whatever that was had the potential to spread.

Stiles sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Just proof that I shouldn't be paying half of what this guy is trying to charge me," he grumbled before flicking his wrist in frustration.

The motion sent a splatter of the mystery goo flying—directly onto Lucy's face.

Her entire body froze.

There was a long, weighted silence before she slowly turned to face him, her expression one of pure, simmering rage.

"EW!" she screeched, stumbling back as she aggressively scrubbed at her cheek. "What the hell, Stiles?!"

Stiles, entirely unfazed, simply shook his hand again, trying to get rid of the last of the goo. "Look, I didn't mean to get you in the splash zone," he defended, before his expression soured as he eyed his own fingers again. "But I am saying that no respectable mechanic should have whatever the hell this is anywhere near an engine." He sniffed tentatively, then gagged. "Oh God. That is not motor oil."
Lucy glared at her reflection in the cracked mirror of the waiting room as she finished wiping off the last remnants of the slimy substance that had clung to her face and hands. "You are so gross!" she practically gagged, her tone a mix of disgust and incredulity.

Stiles, still reeling from his own misadventure, grinned mischievously. "Look, your little crush was a lacrosse player," he teased, nodding toward the framed picture the mechanic had casually propped on the wall. In it, a younger version of the mechanic beamed proudly, his high school glory captured in a snapshot.

Lucy stepped forward to get a better look at the photo. "He was even fine back then…" she murmured, trailing off as her gaze softened with reluctant admiration. But as she moved to return to one of the waiting room chairs, an odd sensation seized her foot—an unwelcome heaviness as if it were about to give way beneath her.

With a determined grimace, she forced herself to take a step. However, she soon realized that her other foot was dragging behind her, as though it had its own agenda. Confusion and worry flashed in her eyes. She wanted to demand an explanation from Stiles—ask him what the hell was going on—but as she turned to him, she noticed her face felt unnervingly tingly. Her muscles, usually so responsive, now betrayed her; it was almost impossible to move her face properly.

Lucy let out a long, frustrated groan and, in a swift, clumsy motion, turned fully toward Stiles. He stood there, hands raised in shock, his own movements jerky as if he too was struggling to coordinate his limbs. In that surreal, shared moment of disarray, the chaotic night they'd endured seemed to reach a new, bizarre peak.

Stiles' eyes widened in panic as he struggled to keep his balance, his arms jerking awkwardly like a malfunctioning puppet. "Uh—uh, Lucy?" His voice cracked, and he tilted his head stiffly, eyes darting between his own uncooperative limbs and her rigid expression. "I think—I think we have a problem."

Lucy let out another frustrated groan, trying to will her limbs into proper function. Her legs felt wrong, like they were encased in cement, and her face—God, it was like she'd just gotten a full round of botched Botox. She reached up to touch her cheek but barely managed a twitch of her fingers. Because she could barely move her face, no words were able to come out as she tried to get to a chair before she all but fell over.
Alarmed, Stiles's eyes darted to the door handle—the very spot where he'd brushed against that mysterious, slick substance—and then his gaze shifted through the glass window. There, amid the clutter of the workshop, he saw the mechanic bent over a tool chest, his movements focused as he rummaged for a lost wrench. But something was off: high above the tool chest, inside his own disabled Jeep, a subtle movement caught Stiles's attention.

Perched in the darkened interior, a shadowy figure emerged. Its form was unmistakable—a muscular, ink-black-skinned arm extended slowly, deliberately, through the open window of the Jeep. Stiles's heart lurched as he bolted upright, his voice a harsh, panicked shout, "Hey—HEY!"

The mechanic, startled by the sudden call, lifted his head just in time to see the creature dart out of the Jeep's window. In a blur of predatory motion, a tail whipped through the air, and a clawed hand lashed out. It slashed across the back of the mechanic's neck, the sound of tearing flesh mingling with his startled cry.

Lucy stumbled back into one of the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room, her limbs betraying her as if they'd suddenly turned to lead. Her whole body felt heavy, unresponsive—useless in the face of the chaos unfolding outside. She stared at Stiles, looks of horror plastered on both of their faces. His face was contorted with fear and disbelief, his eyes locked on the tail end of a creature disappearing into the darkness. Lucy's own eyes widened in terror; the reality of what she was witnessing was too surreal, too impossible to be happening now.

In the shadowy pit below the Jeep, the creature had struck. The mechanic was knocked off his feet by the sudden impact, falling to the cold ground, his body slumping with the weight of paralysis that had crept over him. Almost simultaneously, in the waiting room, Stiles's strength failed him—he sank to his knees and collapsed, his face striking the floor in a heap.

Lucy couldn't even hold herself up anymore, finally slumping over as her body slid down the chair, all sensation leaving her body as she was forced along with Stiles to stare straight ahead at the scene unfolding in front of her.

All three habitants of the shop were frozen in place, they could only watch in horror as the creature slid stealthily underneath the Jeep. With deliberate precision, a single claw extended from its shadowy form and severed the cord attached to the hydraulic lift. In an instant, thick black hydraulic fluid began to cascade over everything, and the Jeep—its three thousand pounds of metal and memories—started to lower slowly toward the motionless body of the mechanic.

Straining to speak through his terror, the mechanic managed a broken plea, "Help… Help me…" His voice was little more than a choking whisper in the vast, echoing darkness of the garage.

Back in the waiting room, Stiles, still on the floor and fighting against the paralyzing dread that had overtaken him, mustered every last ounce of strength to reach for his phone. His fingers, trembling uncontrollably, fumbled with the screen until he managed to unlock it. He desperately pressed the number keys—first a 9, then a 1—but before he could complete the call, the mechanic's feeble cry of "Help me…" drifted faintly through the crack beneath the door. Stiles' eyes snapped open, but his strength waned; he was too paralyzed to hit the final digit.

Helpless, Stiles watched through the narrow gap beneath the door as his Jeep, now a hulking, inert mass, began its slow, inexorable descent. The metallic groan of the lift and the splattering of hydraulic fluid filled the space, intermingling with the mechanized drone of the failing equipment. The mechanic's screams—raw, agonizing, and then gradually reduced to choking gasps—echoed through the garage until they finally dissolved into a suffocating silence.

Lucy, still sitting in the waiting room and now acutely aware of her own failing body, could only stand in stunned horror as the scene unfolded before her eyes. The weight of the night pressed in on everyone, leaving them trapped between helplessness and a desperate need to escape the encroaching darkness of Beacon Hills.

It felt like hours before both Stiles and Lucy finally began to feel their bodies again. Stiles was the first to stir—a slow, painful reawakening that allowed him to fumble and eventually finish dialing 911. The memory of the paralyzing shock still lingered, leaving them both in a dreadful silence. When Lucy's face finally unfroze, she forced out, "What... the fuck... just happened?" Her voice trembled, raw with confusion and lingering fear.

Stiles exhaled shakily, his hand still hovering over the phone. "I don't know," he murmured, his tone heavy with disbelief, "but we can't just say we were paralyzed out of nowhere." He flexed his fingers, each movement tentative as if relearning the basics of his own body.

Lucy slowly stretched, her limbs twitching as she tried to remember the simple pleasure of moving freely. "I'm just gonna say I drove up to this scene, that I was picking you up," she said, attempting to inject some normality into the situation.

Stiles gave a half-smile, wry even in his disorientation. "I'll just say I walked into the Jeep on top of him, then," he offered, shrugging as if that could somehow explain the unexplainable.

"This is so fucking horrible," Lucy whispered, struggling to rise fully to a standing position. Her legs felt uncooperative, and she nearly toppled over, colliding with the still-unsteady Stiles, who barely managed to keep himself upright.

Glancing around at the nightmarish scene—the disabled Jeep resting ominously atop the motionless mechanic, the residual haze of slime in the air—Stiles winced. His eyes flicked to Lucy's face, noting with dismay that she still hadn't quite regained complete control of her features. "Your face... it's like it's not moving at all," he observed quietly, half-amused, half-concerned.

Lucy brought a trembling hand up to her cheek, massaging where the mysterious substance had splattered. As she did, a realization began to take shape in her mind. "What was that?" she asked in a low, strained whisper, more to herself than to Stiles.

Stiles grimaced as he slowly extricated himself from the mechanic shop, his mind still reeling from the night's surreal events. "I think that was the thing Scott saw on the full moon," he muttered bitterly, shaking his head as he hurried toward the door. Lucy followed close behind, still massaging her face in an effort to smooth away the lingering sting of the mysterious slime. Once outside, she paused, scanning the dim surroundings to ensure that whatever it was had finally vanished.

"Why didn't it kill us, too?" Lucy questioned, more to herself than to anyone else, her tone thick with confusion as she unlocked her car door and climbed inside. Stiles slid into the passenger seat beside her, the echoes of their earlier misadventures slowly receding as the reality of the night's dangers began to set in.

"I don't know—maybe we have to tell Scott," Stiles said, his voice low and troubled.

"Derek, too, probably," Lucy added, her eyes narrowing as she recalled the events that had forced Scott's hand and had left Derek struggling with his own demons.

Stiles scoffed. "Yeah, the guy who just had your little brother fighting his betas," he replied with a bitter chuckle.

"I mean, yeah, he's kind of fucked for that—but he probably would know what the hell that thing was," Lucy said, her voice trailing off uncertainly.

Before they could continue, the wail of police sirens grew louder, accompanied by the flashing lights of an approaching cop car and ambulance. The tension in the car thickened as both siblings fell silent, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. Stiles took a deep, steadying breath and looked over at Lucy. "You ready?" he asked quietly, the words heavy with resignation.

Lucy sighed, glancing briefly at her reflection in the rearview mirror as she attempted to use her long hair to obscure her still-recovering, slightly paralyzed features. With a shake of her head and a tight-lipped smile that belied her inner dread, she murmured, "Never. But let's go."

At the end of the dark corridor, Isaac stood with his hands at his sides, his head hanging low as if weighed down by the night's horrors. He took a deep, shuddering breath and clenched his teeth before bending low. Then, without warning, he launched himself forward in a powerful, determined lunge. His feet pushed off the pavement with surprising grace as he sprang into motion—directly toward Derek.

There, in the dim light at the corridor's end, Derek stood like a silent sentinel, every muscle tensed in anticipation. In a fraction of a second, as Isaac came crashing at him with ferocious force, Derek moved with lightning precision. He grabbed Isaac mid-air, twisting the boy's body and slamming him back onto the hard cement with a resounding thud that echoed down the hallway.

Before anyone could recover from that brutal exchange, a figure emerged from the shadows. Erica, eyes burning with wild determination, bounded forward and swung a clawed hand at Derek. But he was ready; with a quick, almost surgical motion, he caught her ankle, twisting it as he sent her sprawling across the floor in a forceful, graceful arc.

From behind a steel column, Boyd peered out shyly, his eyes briefly meeting Erica's. A small, tentative smile flickered on her lips before she pushed herself upright, as if bolstered by the silent encouragement in his gaze.

Derek broke the heavy silence with a low, sardonic challenge, his voice cutting through the chaos: "Anyone want to try not being completely predictable?" His words were both a taunt and a warning, echoing off the cold walls.

Without missing a beat, Erica attacked again, launching herself with renewed ferocity. She landed squarely on Derek's torso, her legs wrapping around him in an almost desperate attempt to hold on. In that chaotic, fleeting moment, their struggle slowed—as if time itself hesitated—until, unexpectedly, she pressed her lips against his. For one heart-stopping second, their kiss mingled passion with the tension of battle. But Derek's hardened resolve returned just as quickly. He broke her grip and, with a forceful shove, sent her crashing back to the floor onto her backside.

"That's the last time you do that," Derek growled, his tone icy and final as he glared down at Erica.

"Why, because I'm a beta?" Erica scoffed, rolling her eyes as she lay sprawled on the cold floor. Her tone dripped with sarcasm, a challenge thrown at Derek from her disadvantaged position.

Derek, still wiping a smear of spit from his mouth—a residue from that unexpected kiss—stared at her, bewildered. He had no idea what it was about Erica that made her think he'd be the one for her. Perhaps it was the fact that she was the only female in their ragtag pack, or maybe it was just her desperate bid for attention. But one thing was clear: Derek wasn't interested.

"I'm not interested," he replied firmly, his voice steady as he pushed her away with a dismissive gesture. As Erica turned and stalked off, her disappointment palpable, Derek's mind involuntarily shifted to his true fixation—Lucy. The mere thought of Erica's kiss sent a surge of anger through his veins, a raw, burning reminder of his growing, conflicted desire for her instead.

Derek hated being consumed by her—the way every thought of Lucy ignited a fierce, uncontrollable desire that he could no longer hide. He knew he wanted her so badly, and the constant barrage of annoyances—dealing with the ceaseless teenage chaos, Scott's relentless drama, and the new creature wreaking havoc through Beacon Hills—only made that longing burn hotter. Amid the chaos, the perfect blow off steam, the one moment where everything else could be forgotten, was the idea of spending time with Lucy. He yearned to see her away from the sterile routine of the nurse's office, to have her laugh, to share quiet moments that weren't interrupted by the constant threat of supernatural mayhem.

Every time Lucy's name flickered through his thoughts, Derek's anger would surge—anger at Erica for daring to steal a kiss, and anger at himself for trying so hard to suppress his feelings. But beneath that tumult, a small, desperate hope took root. What if, for just one night, Lucy could let her guard down? What if she could spend time with him, doing simple things together—maybe grabbing a late dinner or just driving around Beacon Hills in silence, lost in conversation instead of chaos?

It was a notion that both terrified and thrilled him, a forbidden spark in a world where danger was a constant companion. And in that forbidden spark, Derek found a promise of something more real than the transient adrenaline of battles and the hollow victories over the monsters of Beacon Hills. He wanted her—every part of him ached for the chance to be seen by her.

"I'm done, you know," Isaac muttered, his voice edged with pain as he flexed his arm. "We done? There's about a hundred bones in my body that could use a few hours to heal." With that, he grabbed his arm and clenched down hard. The sharp crack of bone echoed in the confined space, and immediately, Isaac's terrified scream filled the air—a piercing sound that made everyone wince.

"Hundred and one," Derek said flatly, almost with a twisted sense of humor as he surveyed the damage. Isaac cradled his injured arm, his eyes wide with pain and disbelief. It was a brutal lesson, but one that Derek made sure the others wouldn't forget.

"You think I'm teaching you to fight?" Derek continued, his tone rising in intensity as he addressed the gathered group. "I'm teaching you to survive."

Isaac's voice trembled as he asked, "If they want us dead, how come they're not coming after us now? What are they waiting for?"

Derek's gaze swept over the room, his expression grim. "I don't know. But they're planning something. And you especially know that's not the only problem…" He paused, letting the weight of his words settle on them all. Then, lowering his voice slightly as if to emphasize the gravity of the situation, he added, "Whatever killed Isaac's father? I think it killed someone else last night. Until I figure out what it is, all of you need to learn everything I know—as fast as I can teach you."

Derek's harsh outburst had, in part, been fueled by a burning sexual frustration that he could barely admit even to himself. As he strode out of the room, the adrenaline and anger slowly gave way to a more private, simmering thought—Lucy. Every step he took away from the tense training session felt weighted by the memory of her gentle yet determined eyes, the subtle warmth in her smile, and the way her presence softened even his most hardened resolve. In the dim corridor, as the echoes of his earlier demonstration faded, Derek allowed his mind to wander for just a moment.
He pictured her not as dressed up as she always was, what she would look like with just a bit less clothing. How the sun would highlight her glowy brown skin, how her underwear would cling to her curves in a way that had his mind spiraling into dangerous territory.

He pictured her not as dressed up as she always was, but with just a bit less clothing—how the sun would highlight her glowy brown skin, how her underwear would cling to her curves in a way that had his mind spiraling into dangerous territory. In that vivid, illicit vision, Derek's resolve wavered against the relentless pull of his desire. He fought the thought for a long, agonizing moment; every instinct screamed that he should keep his distance, that his weakness for Lucy was a fatal liability. But the more he resisted, the more the image of her—untamed and vulnerable—haunted him like a promise he couldn't break.

The internal battle raged silently within him. He recalled every time he had caught himself watching Lucy from afar: the way her eyes would flash with determination during a crisis, the gentle curve of her lips as she reassured a frightened student, the subtle moments when her laughter broke through her guarded exterior. Each memory was a small, irresistible spark that lit a wildfire of longing within him. And now, with every tick of the clock, the temptation to see her in person grew more intense.

With a slow exhale, Derek made his decision. He would go to the McCall house. Not to intrude or cause harm, but just to catch a glimpse of Lucy—her real, unguarded self—in a moment of quiet normalcy that might ease the fierce, dangerous ache inside him. He knew it was an awful idea, but he did hope somehow he could manufacture a run in between the two, and get more out of her.

The streets of Beacon Hills were eerily quiet as he made his way toward the McCall house—a modest, well-kept home that now represented both sanctuary and torment for Lucy. The cold air bit at his exposed skin as he navigated through dimly lit sidewalks and overgrown hedges. His heart pounded not just with the thrill of the risk, but with the hope that, in that brief encounter, he might catch a glimpse of her warmth—something real to anchor his tumultuous emotions.

Derek paused at the edge of the McCall property, hidden by a cluster of trees that offered him a temporary haven. He studied the house's quiet facade, the soft glow of light spilling from the windows suggesting life and routine inside. His mind conjured images of Lucy moving gracefully through her evening tasks, perhaps laughing softly at a private joke or pausing to check on her little brother. The thought both comforted and tormented him—if only he could be a part of that world, if only he could bridge the gap between his hardened existence and the fragile normalcy she embodied.

After a long, trembling moment, Derek made his move. He pressed himself against the cool exterior wall, every sense on high alert. He knew the risks of trespassing, of exposing himself to a woman who, despite her hardships, had every right to feel safe in her own home. Yet the need to ease his relentless desire, to see Lucy's eyes one more time, overpowered his caution.

He finally noticed her—Lucy, standing in front of a window, her attention half-absorbed by her reflection as she adjusted a piece of activewear. In that moment, her focus was solely on herself, and for a split second, time seemed to slow. Derek's heart pounded in his chest, and he felt a surge of raw, conflicted desire. He knew he was being a creep, that his gaze was intrusive and desperate, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away. Even Erica's earlier attempts to unsettle him had only fanned the flames of his infatuation. Every memory of Erica's scent, every echo of her voice, now paled in comparison to the delicate, mesmerizing presence of Lucy.

Derek's mind wrestled with itself as he watched her slowly lift her shirt, revealing her flat, unadorned stomach. The simple, unguarded act set off a dangerous cocktail of emotions inside him—yearning, guilt, and a crushing awareness of how far he had strayed from the disciplined, cold exterior he usually maintained. He knew this was a terrible look of desperation, that he was teetering on the edge of obsession. The thought made him cringe internally, a silent protest against his own weakness.

For a long, breathless moment, he wanted to capture every detail—the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the soft way her hair brushed against her shoulders—but even as the image seared itself into his memory, a rational part of him screamed that he must look away. He shifted his eyes, blinking rapidly, forcing himself to avert his gaze from her exposed skin. Yet every time he tried, the memory of her scent, the delicate warmth of her presence, clung stubbornly to his senses.

Derek's thoughts churned, and he pressed a hand to his chest as if to quiet the tumult within him. He glanced down at his crotch, where a pulsing erection was growing. This was not the time nor place- nor reaction he should be wanting. This beautiful distraction that Lucy McCall provided was just that- a distraction. But it was also lust- no this was more than mere lust— it was an overwhelming need, an infatuation that threatened to consume him whole. He chastised himself silently for being so drawn in, for letting his guard drop in the presence of Lucy's unassuming vulnerability. And yet, in that quiet, unguarded moment, her effortless beauty made him ache with longing.

He knew his responsibilities as an alpha were manifold—he had to train his betas, decipher the nature of the new creature wreaking havoc in Beacon Hills, and fend off the relentless machinations of the Argents. Each of these tasks demanded the cold precision and iron will that had always defined him. Yet, as his mind churned over these obligations, one thought refused to be pushed aside: Lucy.
As he made his way off the McCall property, he was once again faced with this unnerving sensation that uprooted his every being when it came to Lucy McCall. Around her, he would put up a front, merely watching the energy she gave him- but every other instance where the deep sexual frustration clouded his mind- he couldn't remain normal.

For all his ability to command, to instill fear and respect in his pack, there was one part of his alpha nature that remained incomplete: the capacity to share his world with a true companion. In every other facet, he was the picture of ruthless efficiency and controlled power, but when it came to the intimate, consuming desire for connection, his defenses crumbled.

He fought the impulse as he remembered the image of Lucy standing by that window, the soft light caressing her skin, her every move stirring something dangerous inside him. The thought of offering her the bite—of drawing her fully into his pack—crossed his mind like a wicked temptation. Under different circumstances, he would never have allowed his emotions to betray him so blatantly. But tonight, with adrenaline surging and the weight of his alpha responsibilities pressing down on him, he found himself at a crossroads.

Why was it that he could master every aspect of being an alpha—the training, the strategies, the raw power—but he remained utterly disarmed by the yearning to have her as his equal, as his companion?Derek exhaled slowly, his jaw clenching as he tried to regain control over his spiraling emotions. The thought of integrating Lucy into his world—making her a part of the pack, not as a subordinate, but as a partner—filled him with both hope and terror. He knew that to truly share his world with her, he'd have to reveal parts of himself he had long kept locked away. He'd have to risk exposing his vulnerabilities, his desperate need for connection, even as he maintained his ironclad authority over his pack.

For a long, agonizing moment, he stood there, torn between duty and desire. The responsibilities of his position demanded he remain unyielding, calculating every move with precision. And yet, every time he closed his eyes, Lucy's image—the gentle curve of her smile, the quiet strength in her eyes, the way she seemed to defy the chaos around her—overwhelmed him. He could almost hear her soft laugh, feel the warmth of her presence, and it was enough to make him want to offer her everything.

On the other side of their one sided relationship, Lucy shuffled quietly through the dim corridors of her house, the familiar sound of her own footsteps echoing in the stillness of a late evening. She had just finished getting ready for bed, having set aside the gym clothes she'd chosen earlier—a remnant of a former life that she now viewed with detached nostalgia. Tonight, she wasn't going out to work up a sweat or chase some fleeting adrenaline rush. Instead, she craved the quiet solitude of her home, a fragile sanctuary where, despite everything, she could feel momentarily safe.

In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, Lucy sat on the edge of her unmade bed and took a deep, steadying breath. The night was heavy with the weight of unresolved chaos: Scott was, as usual, sneaking off to meet Allison in his own secretive way, and the weekend's misadventures at the mechanic shop still clung to her memory like an unwanted shadow. But tonight, she resolved, she would try to feel comfortable in her own skin once again. Not in the midst of supernatural threats or haunting phantasms, but with the raw, human burden of her personal life—the constant reminders of Tyler's manipulations and the toll of living on borrowed time.

Just as she had settled into bed and was about to choose a movie for the night, the blaring sound of her car alarm shattered the silence, startling her. Just when she thought she might finally have a peaceful evening, the ominous noise echoed through the darkness. Peering out her window and finding no one in sight, her heart sank. She couldn't deal with any more of the strange circumstances tonight—she desperately needed nothing but rest and relaxation.

Lucy snatched her keys from the nightstand and silenced the persistent alarm, her eyes narrowing as she peered out the window at her car, which sat motionless in the driveway. There was no sign of anyone—just the eerie calm of a silent street. She wondered, for a fleeting moment, if she could come up with any rational explanation for the noise. But the answer was clear: nothing made sense tonight, and she wasn't about to turn detective.

Shivering, she reluctantly tried to settle back into bed, hoping to reclaim a few precious moments of sleep. But as soon as she closed her eyes, the alarm erupted again, its shrill cry slicing through the silence. With a frustrated groan, Lucy bolted from her bed and rushed to the window once more. There, under the indifferent glow of the streetlights, her car looked like the centerpiece of a sinister setup—an ominous trap straight out of a horror movie.

With a long, drawn-out sigh, Lucy decided she had had enough of the incessant alarm—she was done cowering in bed. If tonight were to be her last, then so be it; she wouldn't allow the relentless clamor of her car alarm to dictate her fate. She pulled on a small sweater and slipped into her house slippers, fully aware that the cold would bite at her bare legs once she stepped outside, yet too weary to dress up properly for the occasion.

Making her way downstairs, Lucy paused at the front-facing window, straining her eyes to catch any glimpse of a would-be attacker lurking in the shadows. The scene felt straight out of a horror movie—a cold open kill waiting to happen. Still, she steeled herself and opened the door. In that moment, she was startled by the sight of a lone figure: the unmistakable, statuesque form of Derek Hale standing in the doorway.

Lucy's eyes narrowed as the initial shock faded, and she glared up at Derek. "So, was that you the whole time?" she demanded, motioning toward her car as she finally silenced the alarm with her keys.

Derek met her steady gaze with a shrug. "I wanted to know more about the guy who got killed," he replied coolly.

Lucy shook her head in exasperation. "So, that's what got my attention?" she said with a wry smile.

Derek raised his shoulders nonchalantly. "Not like I had your number," he added.

Lucy snorted and arched an eyebrow. "Oh really? Do you want it?"

Derek had to hold himself back, the surge of desire threatening to overwhelm him. There was far more than just her phone number that he craved—he yearned to hear her perspective, to glean every detail of that fateful night. Despite his inner turmoil, he shifted his focus, determined to turn his late-night prowl into a quest for the truth. He knew Lucy had been there when the mechanic died, and deep down, he was certain she held pieces of the puzzle that he'd rather hear straight from her than through Stiles or Scott.

"Listen," Derek said quietly, his tone laced with a careful intensity as he leaned casually against the doorframe, "I need to know everything you remember from that night. Every detail might help us figure out what really happened."

ucy sighed at Derek's request—this was her life now, she guessed—and she wasn't entirely angry about the chance to see him. They weren't exactly friends; if anything, they were barely cordial. Yet, the tension between them was palpable. He had sought her out specifically for help, and she had nothing better to do.

Stepping back, Lucy created enough space for Derek to enter the house. "Alright, come in," she said, her voice soft but steady.

Derek's breath hitched as he crossed the threshold. His heart pounded at the thought of being alone with her in her own space again—a space where, despite everything, he now knew her better. Tonight, she was wearing a thin jacket over short shorts, and she looked freshly out of the shower. It took every ounce of his self-control not to grab her right then and there. He forced himself to play it cool, masking the surge of desire with practiced nonchalance.

Lucy closed the door behind Derek and gestured for him to follow her up the stairs to her room. Despite the fact that she still barely knew him, she felt strangely safe with his presence—one that had become more common lately, and, to her surprise, increasingly comforting.

Derek obliged, though he couldn't help stealing glances at her exposed legs as they climbed. When they reached her room, he paused at the threshold, taking in the space. It wasn't as bare as before, yet it still lacked the personal touches that came with long-term living. As Lucy shut the door, he raised an amused brow, a silent tease that hinted at something unspoken.

"Scott's not here, but I don't need my mom finding you—well, not that I'd get in trouble or anything, but you know..." Lucy said, weaving around him as she settled casually on the edge of her bed.

Derek shifted awkwardly in the middle of the room, his eyes lingering a moment too long. "Why don't you sit?" Lucy offered, motioning for him to join her on the bed.

He hesitated, fully aware that sitting so close to her—especially as she wore so little—would test his self-control even further. Despite the awkwardness, he complied, each silent moment charged with the unspoken tension between them.

Lucy leaned back on the plush comfort of the bed, her movements slow and deliberate as she unzipped her sweater. With a casual flick, she discarded it to the side, revealing her bare arms and chest. Derek's pulse raced as he traced every line of her exposed skin with his eyes, feeling a private thrill at the sight. As she caught his steady gaze, a deep blush colored Lucy's cheeks like a vibrant rose, her heart beating faster in response. The air around them seemed to crackle with electricity as their intense gazes met, building an undeniable tension between them.

"You were saying?As Derek's husky and low voice washed over her, Lucy's body responded with a surge of heat. She could feel his presence beside her, his body radiating a raw power that made her heart race and her skin tingle. With effort, she forced herself to focus on their conversation, but the image of Derek's intense gaze and the sensation of his closeness made it difficult to concentrate. She shifted in her seat, trying to ignore the pulse of desire building between her legs

"I was saying that Stiles really only mentioned... it looked like some kind of lizard—more snake-like, actually—and that it recognized him," she explained, her voice faltering as she tried to regain control over the sudden flush that had crept across her cheeks.

"Recognized him?" Derek repeated, his tone careful yet laden with unspoken intensity. He leaned back slightly, and as if testing the boundaries of their proximity, his finger brushed lightly against Lucy's exposed thigh. The touch was brief but electric, sending a shiver along her skin.

Lucy's eyes widened as she pulled her leg slightly closer, a flush rising on her cheeks. "Yeah," she murmured, her voice low and a bit hesitant. "Stiles said it... it recognized him. He mentioned something about it reacting to his presence, almost like it knew who he was."

Derek really tried to focus on the critical details Lucy was sharing, the clues about the creature and the events that had unfolded. But as he looked into her eyes, all rational thought was quickly overtaken by a single, consuming impulse. Every time Lucy's gaze faltered and she looked away shyly, his desire to coax her to meet his eyes again grew stronger—an unspoken pressure he longed to apply.

She had invited him into her space without a word, removed her jacket, and even made room for him to sit beside her on the bed. In that silent invitation, there was no doubt in his mind: Lucy felt the same way he did. The vulnerability in her eyes, the subtle tilt of her head when she tried to hide her discomfort, only confirmed for Derek that they shared a dangerous, magnetic connection.

The intensity of their unwavering stare was momentarily broken by the incessant buzzing of Lucy's phone. At first, it was just a few sporadic rings, but soon the tone escalated into a relentless, droning clamor that dragged her attention away from Derek's piercing gaze. Reluctantly, she leaned forward to grab her phone - her movements causing her to shift in such a way that exposed a hint more of her lower body. Derek's eyes remained fixed on her until she turned away, now fixated on the device with an expression that had transformed into one of sheer terror. In that split second, he could hear the rapid pounding of her heart, echoing in the quiet space as it beat relentlessly against her chest. The sound seemed to grow louder and faster with each passing moment, matching the panicked rhythm of Lucy's breathing as she struggled to compose herself in front of him.

"Everything okay?" Derek asked, his voice a low murmur that mingled worry with an undeniable, almost lustful edge.

"Ummm…" Lucy struggled to form the words as she glanced at her buzzing phone. On the screen, a barrage of messages from Tyler scrolled by—angry, berating texts demanding she answer immediately. Her face flushed, and her eyes darted from the phone to Derek, the intensity of his gaze making her feel simultaneously exposed and strangely safe. For a moment, she was so captivated by the way Derek looked at her—so willing, so commanding—that a part of her almost wanted to obey him, even as Tyler's furious messages rippled through her thoughts.

The chaotic tone of Tyler's texts, laced with drunken typos and seething threats, only heightened Lucy's inner turmoil. Every buzz of her phone pulled her further from the moment, the sound a constant reminder of the danger Tyler still posed. The mixture of fear and a grudging thrill made her heart pound in her chest, echoing the rhythm of her rapid breathing.

Derek leaned in slightly, his concern and desire intermingling in his eyes. "Lucy?" he prompted softly, his tone filled with both genuine care and a hint of temptation. In that charged silence, as Lucy hesitated between answering the phone and meeting his gaze, the moment teetered on a knife's edge—one wrong move, and everything might come crashing down.

Suddenly, all her defenses crumbled, and Lucy began rambling, her words stumbling as she became overwhelmed by the chaos. "I'm sorry, this is so embarrassing—it's my ex. He just... I don't know, I should probably handle this before he keeps freaking out," she blurted, her voice trembling with distress.

In that moment, anger surged in Derek as fiercely as his earlier desire. Another man—even if only an ex—completed the picture in his mind: the abuse, the controlling cruelty. It all made sense now. He wanted nothing more than to seize the phone from her, to answer it himself and ensure her ex could never harass Lucy again. But he knew that wasn't his place.

"Just turn your phone off," Derek offered quietly, his tone a mix of command and concern, trying to calm her frayed nerves.

"No, that'll make it worse—please, Derek, just go so I can answer and get him to leave me alone for the night," she pleaded, rising and reaching out to grab him. Her grip on his arm was insistent, pulling him upright.

He allowed himself to be forced to stand, and as they moved together, he drew dangerously close. Their faces were mere inches apart, their bodies touching in an unfamiliar, electric way. Lucy swallowed hard, maintaining steady eye contact as her hand slowly fell away, the sound of her phone ringing fading under the weight of his presence. In that fragile silence, Derek gently took her other hand—still clutching the phone—and carefully released her grip, breaking eye contact only long enough to switch the device off.

Derek's voice dropped to a low, almost menacing tone as he asked, "Are you scared?"

Lucy's heart hammered in her chest at the question. She managed to whisper back, her voice barely audible, "Of you?"

He shook his head and clarified, "Of him."

Her silence spoke volumes - a mixture of shame and reluctant truth. Unable to meet his piercing gaze, Lucy's eyes dropped to the floor in embarrassed submission.

But Derek had reached his breaking point. No more half-measures, no more dancing around the truth. With deliberate care, he reached out and gripped her chin tightly, forcing her to look into his intense eyes. In that charged moment, Lucy's body tensed in anticipation, her lip trembling with uncertainty as she braced herself for whatever the night might bring.

"Lucy McCall," he breathed, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that stripped away all pretense. "I could give you something that would make you never have to be afraid. Ever again."

The sound of her name on his lips sent a jolt of electricity through Lucy's body, her eyes locking onto his with a fierce intensity that stripped away all doubt and hesitation. "I can give you something," he breathed, his hand caressing her cheek with a possessive touch. "Something that will make you fearless. Unstoppable."

"The bite?" she gasped, feeling both excitement and fear churn in her stomach.

Derek's fingers trailed down her neck, tracing the quick pulse beneath her skin as he slowly made his way to her collarbone. "You'll be faster, stronger than you ever thought possible," he murmured, his voice dripping with seduction. His touch continued to roam over her body, igniting a fire within her that threatened to consume everything in its path.

Lucy quivered under his touch, unable to resist the pull she felt towards him. With a fierce determination, she pressed herself into him, surrendering her body and soul to the euphoria he offered.

Derek was careful with his wording and tone of voice, giving both an invitation and a challenge, "only if you say yes, of course."