The thing I was dreading since the moment they told me about it happened. I hadn't felt a pain like that before. It felt like someone was holding and squeezing my organs from the inside and wouldn't stop for the next four days. The moment I got used to the pain, the bleeding started.

I was glad in the moment that I was prepared. Peter had purchased everything on Lydia's list. Including the big carton of Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream.

I curled up on the couch, a heating pad pressed against my stomach, trying to will the pain away. The ache was relentless, pulsing in waves that left me breathless. I hated this. Absolutely hated it.

Peter sat on the edge of the coffee table, watching me with an amused smirk. "You look miserable, Little Wolf."

I shot him a glare. "I am miserable."

He held up a spoonful of ice cream. "Chocolate makes everything better."

I narrowed my eyes but leaned forward anyway, letting him feed me a bite. The cold, rich sweetness melted on my tongue, and I let out a small, satisfied hum.

He grinned. "See? Not all parts of humanity are terrible."

I huffed, sinking back into the cushions. "I take back what I said. This is terrible."

Peter chuckled, stretching out beside me and pulling me into his arms. "You'll survive." He nuzzled into my hair, his warmth seeping into me.

"I'm not sure I will," I muttered, wincing as another wave of pain clenched deep in my abdomen.

Without a word, Peter slid his hand over my stomach, his palm pressing gently against my skin. A strange warmth spread through me, chasing away the pain like mist under the morning sun. My body relaxed as the ache faded, leaving only a dull, distant discomfort.

He let out a slow breath, his grip tightening slightly. "Better?" he murmured, his fingers combing through my hair.

I blinked up at him, my mind still trying to catch up with what had just happened. "How did you do that?"

"It's just part of being a wolf," he said, his voice softer now. "Taking pain away—it's one of the few things that make us less like monsters."

I reached up, tracing my fingers over his jaw. "You're not a monster."

His lips curved, but there was something unreadable in his expression. He only kissed my forehead and pulled me closer, letting the silence speak for him.

"How much longer is this supposed to last?" I grumbled, shifting against Peter's chest as another dull cramp twisted through my stomach.

"Not sure," he said, his fingers lazily tracing circles on my back. "Maybe another day or two."

"Fuck," I groaned, burying my face against him. I liked having him close like this, his warmth and steady presence easing the worst of it, but it still felt like something was missing. We couldn't connect the way I wanted to—not without things getting messy and even more uncomfortable.

Peter must've sensed my frustration because he pressed a kiss to my temple. "Don't worry, Little Wolf," he murmured. "You'll feel like yourself again soon."

I sighed, debating whether to voice what was really on my mind. "It's not just that—well, a little bit that," I admitted, tilting my head up to look at him. "It's just… this is the longest we've gone without having sex since we started."

He blinked, then let out a deep chuckle, his lips curving into that wicked smirk. "I didn't realize you were such a little minx."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop the heat creeping up my neck. "I just like being close to you," I mumbled.

Peter's grip tightened, his voice dropping into that smooth, teasing tone. "Oh, I know exactly what you like." He leaned in, his breath hot against my skin. "And don't worry, Little Wolf. When you're ready, I'll make up for lost time."

A shiver ran through me despite myself, and I knew he wasn't making an empty promise.

"Peter?" I looked up at him searching his face. I wanted to ask him so many things and I'd gotten distracted by my desire for him or some other things that pulled us away from each other.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I know it's hard for you to talk about the past," I started, he nodded, "I know that it may sound strange, but I felt instantly connected to you when you found me."

"That's just because I'm the first person you saw," he muttered.

"Do you really think that if Derek was the one who picked me up, I'd be cuddled up on his sofa with him, instead of you?"

"I see your point," he responded.

"Tell me, please," I said.

Peter let out a short, dry chuckle. "You really want to dig through my past, huh?" He leaned back against the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, his fingers lazily tracing circles against my shoulder.

"I just want to understand you," I admitted, watching his face carefully. "You keep so much of yourself locked away."

His jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes before he looked away. "It's not locked away," he muttered. "It's buried. For a reason."

I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his. "You don't have to tell me everything. Just… let me in a little."

Peter exhaled through his nose, his grip tightening slightly before he finally spoke. "There was a time when I thought I had everything figured out. I was strong, I was smart. I knew what I wanted, and I took it. Then the fire happened, and suddenly, none of that mattered."

I stayed quiet, sensing this was something he rarely spoke about.

"I lost everything that night," he continued, his voice quiet but firm. "My family, my future. I spent six years in a coma, trapped inside my own head. And when I woke up… I wasn't the same. I was angry. Hungry for revenge."

His eyes met mine then, dark and unreadable. "I did things, Little Wolf. Things I can't undo."

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around his. "But you're not that person anymore."

Peter huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You're so sure of that?"

I nodded. "You protect me. You care. You don't want to be that person anymore, do you?"

He was quiet for a long moment before he finally answered, his voice barely above a whisper. "No. I don't."

I knew what Peter had done after waking from his coma—both from his own lips and the wary warnings of the pack. Maybe they were trying to scare me, to make me see him the way they did. Maybe, in their own way, they thought they were protecting me.

But I didn't need protection from Peter.

From the moment he found me, I knew he was the one who would keep me safe. I wasn't sure how I knew—only that I did. And I wanted to understand why.

"Tell me about before the fire?" I asked. "About you and your sister and your pack."

I heard Peter's breath shake, something I never heard from him before.

"You don't have to tell me," I said, "If it's too much. I can find another way to figure it out."

"It's not that," he muttered, "before the fire, Talia took some memories from me. Memories that I'm still trying to uncover."

"What kind of memories?" I asked, lacing my fingers with his. I heard the pain in his voice, but it wasn't the kind of pain I could take away from him. It was a pain he would have to suffer through.

"I've had flashes of it since Derek used her claws on me," he said, "but nothing concrete. I must have had a relationship with the Desert Wolf because we had a child together."

I squeezed his hand, grounding him as he spoke. His voice was rough, edged with something I couldn't quite name—grief, frustration, maybe even fear.

"You don't remember her?" I asked softly.

Peter shook his head. "Not fully. There are pieces—fragments of a life I can't put back together. A face I can almost see, a voice I can almost hear." His jaw tightened. "But it's just out of reach. Talia did that. She took something from me, something important, and I don't know why."

I traced my fingers over his knuckles, feeling the tension locked in his grip. "Do you think she did it to protect you?"

He let out a low, humorless chuckle. "That was always Talia's excuse. 'For the good of the pack.' But I was her brother, and she still didn't trust me." His eyes darkened, distant. "I don't even know what kind of man I was before she decided I needed to forget."

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around his as I searched his face. "Do you want to find her?" My voice was quiet, uncertain. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer.

Peter exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. "I don't need to," he said, his voice steadier than I expected. "I already know her—my daughter. Or at least, I'm trying to."

Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist. "And the Desert Wolf?"

His jaw clenched. "She came for my daughter. Tried to take her power, to take everything from her." His grip on my hand tightened, as if grounding himself in the moment. He let out a slow, measured breath before continuing. "So I killed her too."

A heavy silence settled between us. I could feel the weight of his words, the finality in them. There was no regret in his voice, no hesitation—only the cold certainty of what had to be done.

I reached up, tracing my fingers over his jaw, feeling the tension locked there. "Do you think about her?"

"The Desert Wolf?" He shook his head. "No." Then, after a pause, "But I think about my daughter. What she sees when she looks at me. If she sees me as her father or just another monster."

I swallowed, my chest tightening. "And what do you see when you look at her?"

His lips pressed into a thin line. "A chance," he admitted. "A chance to be more than what I've been."

I ran my thumb over the back of his hand, offering him the same comfort he had given me. "Then take it."

"Malia doesn't want to get close to me," he stated.

I blinked at him, letting the name sink in. "Malia?" I echoed.

Peter nodded, his gaze distant. "She's my daughter." The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, yet laced with something deeper, something he didn't quite know how to express—made my chest tighten.

"I've only known who she was for a little while," he admitted, his fingers absently tracing patterns against my skin. "She doesn't want to get close to me. She doesn't trust herself to not be me."

I frowned. "What does that mean?"

He let out a breath, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips, but there was no real amusement behind it. "She's afraid that if she lets herself, she'll turn out just like me. That the things I've done, the darkness in me… are in her too."

I studied him for a long moment. "And do you think she's like you?"

His eyes flicked to mine, something unreadable flickering in them before he finally answered. "I think she's better than me."

I squeezed his hand. "Then she won't become you."

He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "It's not that simple, Little Wolf."

"Maybe not," I agreed, "but neither are you."

"You hungry?" he asked, clearly trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. I could have pressed him, asked more questions, but he'd already given me so much. If I pushed too hard, he'd shut down again, and I wasn't willing to risk that.

There was more to uncover—more beneath the surface of the man I'd grown so close to—but I could be patient. Whatever connected us, whatever bond had formed between us, I didn't believe for a second that it was random.

"Starving," I said instead, letting him have this moment.

He smirked. "I'll order a pizza, and we can watch chick flicks if you want."

I narrowed my eyes. "What exactly is a chick flick?"

—-

Peter was still sleeping when I slipped out of bed. I always seemed to wake before he did. Maybe it was so I could remind myself that he was still there, that I was not alone.

I watched him for a moment, his face relaxed in sleep, his breathing deep and steady. He looked so different like this—unguarded, almost peaceful. It was a rare sight.

Maybe that was why I always woke first. Not just to remind myself he was still here, that I wasn't alone, but to steal these quiet moments before the world crept in and pulled him back behind his walls.

I slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to disturb him, and padded toward the window. The sky was still tinged with the last traces of night, the world caught between dark and dawn. A perfect in-between. Like us.

My body had decided that it was done trying to kill me slowly. But I wanted to wash all of that away before he woke up. I looked back at the bed, his chest slowly rising and falling as he slept. Then headed for the bathroom.

I turned the bathtub water on and let it fill as I stripped down. I was glad to not have to be confined in clothes anymore, at least not while I was here. Peter let me be free here. Though I knew now my freedom from clothes was as much for his benefit as it was for my comfort.

I poured some of the soaks that Lydia had put on the list into the water. The heat of the water enveloped me, easing the tension in my muscles, and for the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe again. It was a relief, this quiet moment to myself, away from the storm of emotions I'd been wading through.

I closed my eyes, letting the scent of lavender fill my senses, the softness of the water soothing every inch of me. The weight of the past few days, the pain, the uncertainty, it all seemed to melt away with each breath I took. For the first time in what felt like forever, I could just be.

I sank lower into the tub, the water lapping around my shoulders, letting it cradle me, and I let the silence wrap around me like a cocoon. Time didn't matter here. Not when everything felt so still.

My hands moved first, almost of their own accord, smoothing over my body. It was as if electricity was vibrating just beneath my skin, a low, thrumming pulse that started at my fingertips and spread outward. I exhaled sharply, my breath hitching as I brushed my thumb over my nipple. The sensation was immediate—sharp, sweet, and insistent. My eyelids fluttered shut, and I let myself lean into the feeling, my other hand trailing lower, exploring the curves of my body.

When my fingers slipped between my thighs, I felt it like a shockwave. I leaned my head back, my lips parting as a soft moan escaped. The room seemed to shrink, the air thickening with every breath I took. My fingers trembled slightly as I explored, the warmth of my own touch sending ripples of pleasure through me. I could feel the tension building, coiled tight like a spring.

The heat between my thighs was almost unbearable, a throbbing ache that demanded attention. My fingers worked faster, my breath coming in shallow gasps as I teetered on the edge of release. My other hand gripped the edge of the bathtub, my knuckles white with the effort of holding on. The water around me was warm, but it only heightened the sensations coursing through me. I was so close. So, so close.

I felt Peter's presence before my eyes fluttered open. He was leaning against the bathroom door frame, his eyes dark as he watched me. The way his gaze lingered on my body, on the way my fingers moved, sent a shiver down my spine. His voice was low, rough, and it made my breath hitch. "Don't stop, Little Wolf."

My heart pounded in my chest, I didn't stop. I couldn't. Not when he was watching me like that, not when his voice carried that edge of command that always made me weak in the knees. My eyes locked onto his, and I felt myself sinking deeper into the moment, into the raw, unfiltered pleasure that was consuming me. It was intoxicating, the way he watched me, the way he made me feel so connected to my own body.

And then it hit me—a wave of pleasure so intense it stole my breath. My body tensed, every muscle tightening as the wave crashed over me, leaving me shaking and breathless. I moaned, the sound escaping my lips before I could stop it, and I felt the water lap against my skin as the waves of pleasure radiated through me. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath, my eyes still locked on Peter's.

He hadn't moved from the doorway, but his eyes were even darker now, his chest rising and falling slightly faster than before. I let my eyes scan his body, taking in every detail. His bare chest, the way his muscles tensed as he shifted his weight, the sleep pants that barely concealed the erection he had. My mouth watered just looking at him, and I could feel the heat building between my thighs again.

Peter pushed off the door frame and took a step toward me, his movements slow and deliberate. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and filled with desire. "The way you come undone, the way you let go… it's fucking mesmerizing."

I felt a blush creep up my cheeks, but I didn't look away. I couldn't. Not when he was looking at me like that, not when his voice sent sparks of arousal through my body. He knelt beside the bathtub, his eyes never leaving mine, and reached out to brush a strand of hair away from my face. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and it made my heart skip a beat.

"Peter…" I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. I didn't know what I was asking for, but I knew I wanted more. I needed more.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against my ear as he spoke. "What do you need, Little Wolf?" His breath was warm against my skin, and I shivered, my body responding to his nearness, to the way his voice seemed to wrap around me.

"I need you," I whispered, my voice trembling with desire. "I need you to touch me."

Peter pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine, and I could see the desire burning in them. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "I don't want to push you too far, not if you're not ready."

I reached up and cupped his cheek, my thumb brushing against his stubble. "I'm ready," I said, my voice stronger now, filled with certainty. "I want you."

He didn't say anything, but the way his eyes darkened told me everything I needed to know. He stood up and began to strip off his sleep pants, his movements slow and deliberate. I watched him, my heart pounding in my chest. He was hard, his arousal obvious, and I felt a thrill of anticipation run through me.

Peter stepped into the bathtub, the water sloshing around us as he settled between my legs. His hands found my hips, his grip firm but gentle, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine in a soft, lingering kiss. I sighed into the kiss, my hands coming up to tangle in his hair as I pulled him closer, needing more.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine, and I could see the question in them. I nodded, unable to find the words, and he kissed me again, this time deeper, more urgent. His hands moved from my hips to my thighs, spreading them wider as he settled himself between them. I could feel him pressing against me, and I moaned, my body arching toward him.

"Peter…" I whispered, my voice filled with need. "Please…"

He didn't need to be told twice. He thrust into me slowly, filling me completely, and I gasped, my body stretching to accommodate him. He paused, giving me a moment to adjust, and then he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one sending waves of pleasure through me.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel him deeper inside me. My hands moved to his back, my nails digging into his skin as I held on, my body moving with his in a rhythm that was both familiar and new. The water around us sloshed with each thrust, the sound mixing with our moans, and the sound of our bodies moving together.

Peter's hands moved to my hips, his grip firm as he guided my movements, pulling me closer with each thrust. I could feel the tension building inside me, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter with each movement. I was so close, and I knew he was too.

"Peter…" I moaned, my voice filled with need.

He didn't say anything, but the way his thrusts became harder, faster. I could feel the pleasure building inside me, and then it hit me, a wave of pleasure so intense it stole my breath. My body tensed, every muscle tightening as the wave crashed over me, leaving me shaking and breathless.

Peter followed me over the edge, his body tensing as he spilled himself inside me, his moans mixing with mine as we came together. He collapsed on top of me, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, and I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close.

We stayed like that for a long moment, our bodies still connected, our breaths coming in sync. Finally, Peter pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft, filled with concern.

I nodded, a smile tugging at my lips. "I'm more than okay," I whispered, my voice filled with satisfaction. "That was… incredible."

Peter smiled back at me, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "You're incredible, Little Wolf," he murmured, leaning in to kiss me softly.

Peter drained the tub and climbed out. I stood my legs wobbly as I caught the side of the tub. "Stay there," he said as he started to fill the tub again with fresh new water, "I didn't mean to intrude on your bath."

"I want you here," I told him. Then he climbed back in the tub behind me, resting my back against his chest.

It was quiet for a while, the only sound the soft rhythm of his fingers trailing along my arm. I felt safe here, but it wasn't just safety I felt when Peter was near me. There was something deeper, a connection I couldn't quite name, and the words to express it seemed to catch in my throat.

Peter's lips brushed against my ear, his voice low and teasing. "Everything okay, Little Wolf?"

I nodded, the weight of my thoughts heavy but not something I wanted to share just yet. "I'm just thinking."

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against my skin. "Thinking is dangerous."

I smiled faintly, letting the silence stretch out as I allowed myself to simply be with him. "I didn't know I could feel like this."

Peter shifted slightly behind me, his presence both grounding and unsettling. "There's a lot of new things happening for you," he murmured. "I might be a dick for saying it, but I like the idea of being the only one who's touched you."

The words hung in the air between us, possessive yet tender. I didn't know how to respond, but the intensity of his gaze, the rawness in his voice—it made me feel more exposed, more vulnerable than I had ever let myself be. And despite the fear it stirred, there was a warmth that spread through me, something I hadn't expected to feel at all.

"I know I'm not supposed to like it," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper, "but I like you being possessive over me."

Peter's fingers brushed my chin, lifting my face to meet his gaze. His expression softened, though there was a flicker of something darker behind his eyes. "The pack," he began, his voice steady but laced with a hint of frustration, "are mostly bitten wolves and humans, so they don't really understand how bonding works. It's different for humans. They see it as me controlling you."

I watched him carefully, my heart racing in the silence that followed. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, and I felt his every movement, every breath, as if we were the only two people in the world.

Peter leaned in, his voice lowering, soft yet fierce. "I don't want to control you, Little Wolf." His words wrapped around me, full of sincerity. "I want to empower you. I want to see you strong and whole—so you can be complete, in every way. Not just with me, but with yourself."

There was something raw in his tone, something I wasn't used to hearing from him. It wasn't just possessiveness—it was a promise. A promise to stand beside me, not in front of me, as if we were equals, bound by more than just the physical.

I swallowed, feeling the weight of his words sink into me, and realized in that moment that maybe it wasn't just him who was being changed by this bond. Maybe I was, too.

"When I'm with you," I said, watching his face closely, searching for any sign of doubt or hesitation, "I don't miss being just a wolf. I can be this," I motioned to myself, feeling the weight of every word, "and I can be happy. I wish I knew all the words that could explain how you make me feel. Not just the way you touch me, but the way you've stirred something inside me I didn't know I could feel."

The silence stretched between us, the air thick with everything left unsaid. His gaze softened, and I could feel the tension in him ebb away, replaced by something quieter—more raw.

Peter reached out, his hand brushing a lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers warm against my skin. "You don't have to know all the words, Little Wolf," he replied, his voice low and steady. "I know that. Because when I'm with you, I don't feel like I'm a monster anymore."

The words hit me harder than I expected. I'd always seen Peter as a force—strong, protective, and unflinching in the face of danger. But hearing him admit his own fears, his own insecurities, made something shift in me. He wasn't just the man I'd come to rely on; he was someone who needed me, too, in ways I never imagined. And in that moment, I realized that our bond wasn't just about me needing him—it was about us finding something within each other that we couldn't find alone.

—-

"You sure you want to go to this?" Peter asked, pulling a shirt over his head, his brow furrowed with skepticism.

"Lydia said it would be fun," I replied, smoothing my hands over the dress I'd chosen for the evening. "Even Scott said she throws the best parties."

Peter gave a low grunt, clearly unconvinced. "Still, it's hanging around with teenagers. Not exactly my style."

I raised an eyebrow, glancing over my shoulder at him. "Do you know anyone who's not a teenager?" I asked, teasing. "Besides Derek, I mean. And me... but, I'm not exactly sure how old I am. Never had to keep track."

There was a quiet beat before he chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess we're all just out here winging it, then."

"Winging what?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Peter shot me a sidelong glance, then waved it off. "Never mind." His eyes lingered on me, an approving smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Guess it's too late to check your ID."

I couldn't help but smirk. "I don't have one of those either," I teased. "Should I get one?"

He chuckled softly. "Eventually. Though wolf bars don't card."

"Card?" I raised an eyebrow, confused.

He leaned back, crossing his arms with a knowing grin. "A human concept. They need to make sure you're old enough to drink alcohol."

I scrunched my nose in distaste. "Why? I think it tastes gross anyway."

Peter laughed at that, a rich, low sound that made something warm stir in me. "Good thing, then. Alcohol's overrated."

"Scott also said I should come meet his boss tomorrow," I said, glancing at Peter. "Will you take me?"

Peter chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Ah, Deaton." He met my eyes, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Sure, I'll take you. He might actually be helpful. He used to be an emissary to our pack when my sister was alive."

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything I still didn't know pressing down on me. "I wish I didn't need you to explain so much to me," I muttered, frustration seeping into my voice.

Peter's expression softened, his gaze turning understanding. "It's okay, Little Wolf," he said gently, his tone reassuring. "You're learning. It takes time, and I'm here to help you through it."

"I do want to learn how to do some things on my own," I said, my voice quieter but determined. "I know you're there for me. But I don't want to always depend on you to take care of everything for me."

Peter's gaze softened, and he took a step closer, his presence calming. "You'll get some of your independence back, Little Wolf," he said with a reassuring smile. "I should've taken you a while ago, but since you've been with me or Derek most of the time, I just hadn't gotten around to it. But we'll go get you a phone tomorrow, and we can start teaching you to drive."

I raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. "Your car?"

Peter chuckled, the sound rich and low. "My car is off-limits until you've taken the training wheels off," he teased. "But I'll make Stiles lend us his. It's such a piece of shit that you couldn't damage it anymore than it already is."

I laughed, imagining the car in question, and felt the weight of his words settle more comfortably in my chest. He wasn't just offering to help me—he was letting me take the reins, even if it meant starting small. That meant more than he probably realized.

I took one last long look at myself in the mirror. I looked like a normal human woman, but it felt different now. I'd done my makeup the way Lydia and Kira had shown me, and my hair hung in soft curls around my shoulders. The dress I'd picked was simple, but it hugged me in ways that felt... right.

"How do I look?" I asked, turning slightly to meet Peter's eyes.

He gave me a slow, appreciative once-over, a smirk tugging at his lips as his gaze lingered on me. "Too covered up," he teased.

I arched an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "I thought you said I wasn't supposed to go out with the others without clothes?"

Peter's lips curled into a grin, and he stepped closer, his voice low. "You're not," he replied, his eyes dark with something unreadable. "But since we're going to be around other people, you look perfect, Little Wolf."

His words sent a shiver down my spine. It was a compliment, but there was an undercurrent to it—something unspoken. Something that made me feel like I was his, even as we stood in front of the mirror, getting ready for the night ahead.

Peter held the door open for me as I slid into the car. I watched him as he rounded the hood and settled into the driver's seat, his movements effortless, controlled.

"Thank you for taking me," I said softly, studying his profile as he started the engine. "I know you didn't really want to go."

Peter glanced at me, his smirk barely visible in the dim glow of the dashboard. "I'll go anywhere you want, Little Wolf." His voice was smooth, certain—like it was the easiest promise he'd ever made.

Something in my chest tightened, warm and unfamiliar. Without thinking, I reached over, my fingers finding his, lacing them together. I just needed to feel him, to ground myself in the quiet certainty he always carried.

Peter squeezed my hand once before resting our entwined fingers against his thigh, a silent reassurance as the car rumbled down the road toward Lydia's house.

The music pulsed through the house, a steady rhythm vibrating under my feet as we stepped inside. The lower level was packed with people I didn't know, their voices blending into the bass-heavy beat.

"Nova!" Kira's bright voice cut through the noise as she weaved through the crowd, dragging Scott behind her. "I'm so glad you made it!"

"We were starting to think Peter had you locked away in some dungeon or something," Scott added, giving Peter a pointed look.

I tilted my head, considering. "No dungeon. Just a cabin. I didn't check if the doors were locked, though." I shrugged. "I like it there. Peter doesn't make me wear clothes since no one else comes around."

Kira's eyes widened slightly, and Scott choked on absolutely nothing.

Peter, beside me, smirked. "She means she's comfortable," he said smoothly, clearly amused.

"Right," Scott muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Comfortable. Got it."

Kira recovered first, laughing as she looped an arm through mine. "Come on, let's get you something to drink before Scott implodes."

Kira tugged me toward a table stacked with drinks, rummaging through an ice bucket. "Regular or diet?" she asked, holding up two cans.

I shrugged. "Whatever you're having, I guess."

She handed me a silvery can labeled diet, then popped open her own. I watched her movement and mirrored it, cracking open my drink before taking a tentative sip. The bubbles fizzed over my tongue, tickling my throat. "That's… good. I think."

Kira grinned. "It's good." She tilted her head toward the dance floor. "Wanna dance?"

"Okay."

She grabbed my hand, pulling me into the center of the pulsing crowd. The music thumped through the floor, through my chest, a different kind of rhythm than I was used to. When I'd danced with Peter, it had been slower, deliberate—more touching, less motion. This was all hips and movement, a rhythm dictated by the beat rather than a partner.

I let myself sink into it, moving with Kira, letting the unfamiliar but exciting energy of the crowd carry me.

I glanced over and saw Peter and Scott talking. I gave him a soft smile as he glanced in my direction. He gave me an approving nod. I lost myself in the rhythm of the music.

"I think I like dancing," I told Kira, swaying to the beat.

"I'm glad you're having fun," she said, smiling. "I need to run to the little girls' room. You okay here, or want to come with?"

"I don't have to go," I said, still moving to the music. "I can stay."

"Alright, I'll be back in a minute." She gave my arm a quick squeeze before weaving through the crowd toward the restroom.

I kept moving, losing myself in the rhythm, until I felt it—hands settling on my hips, an unfamiliar body pressing against mine from behind. My entire body went rigid.

I turned my head slightly, catching sight of a stranger—too close, his breath hot against my ear, thick with beer and bad decisions.

"Don't touch me," I said, my voice calm but firm.

"It's just dancing, sweetheart," he muttered, his grip tightening.

Wrong move.

"I said don't touch me." My fingers wrapped around his wrist in an iron grip.

He chuckled—until I squeezed.

"Shit—ow! Fuck, lady—" His voice pitched as I kept tightening, his knees buckling as he tried and failed to pry himself free.

I didn't realize Peter was there until I finally let go.

The boy cradled his arm, groaning, but my focus had already shifted. Peter stood just behind him, jaw tight, blue eyes burning as they flicked from me to the whimpering drunk at my feet.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice deceptively even.

I nodded, exhaling slowly. "Yeah."

Peter didn't look convinced.

I reached up, cupping his face gently, my thumb brushing along his jaw. "I promise, I'm okay."

Peter's tense posture eased slightly under my touch, his jaw loosening as he exhaled. "I guess you are," he murmured, his gaze searching mine.

Still, his eyes flicked toward the retreating figure slinking back into the crowd, dark with something dangerous. "He's lucky I didn't get here first," Peter muttered, voice low and edged with something sharp. "Might've left with one less arm."

I let my fingers trail down his cheek, grounding him the way he so often did for me. "I handled it," I reminded him softly.

His lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes were still shadowed. "I know. That's what worries me."

I opened my mouth to ask why he looked so worried, but Lydia appeared at my side, arms crossed and eyes sharp.

"Nova," she said, exasperated, "why is Tom Wilkins threatening to sue me because I 'let a wild woman' nearly break his arm?"

I blinked. "Huh. I could've sworn I heard a bone snap."

"That's not exactly helpful," she huffed.

Peter let out a sharp, unimpressed snort. "Tell Tom Wilkins to keep his fucking hands to himself," he said, voice edged with steel. "And off her ass."

Lydia sighed but nodded in understanding. "Just… maybe use a little less force next time? Humans don't heal as fast as you do."

I shrugged. "I gave him a warning." My eyes flicked to Peter. "And I stopped him from ripping it off. Honestly, I'd say Tom came out ahead."

Peter smirked. "Debatable."

Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose. "Remind me why I invite you to these things?"

"I think it's my charming personality and good nature," Peter said with a smirk.

Lydia gave him a deadpan look. "Yeah… I don't think that's it."

Kira squeezed back in beside us, Scott trailing close behind. "What did I miss?" she asked, glancing between Lydia's unimpressed expression and Peter's smug smirk.

"Not much," I said, brushing it off. Then, turning back to Peter, I reached for his hand. "You wanna dance with me?"

His eyes flicked toward the crowded dance floor, then back to me, amusement and something else lurking beneath the surface. "One dance," he agreed, lacing his fingers with mine. "Then I'm taking you home."

His tone left little room for argument—not that I was planning to.

My arms slid around Peter's neck, his hands settling firmly on my hips—possessive, certain, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind who I belonged to. I didn't mind. I liked the way his touch anchored me, the quiet claim in the way he held me.

And as promised, when the song ended, Peter laced his fingers through mine, his grip steady and sure, and wordlessly led me toward the door.