My Mother Told Me

by Renmackree

Summary:

Stiles joined the Emissary program to help Alpha wolves settle into their new roles and to follow in his mother’s footsteps. She had always told him he was destined to run with the wolves, but he thought she meant Scott and his pack.

Instead, Stiles finds himself sent to Thingvallavatn, Iceland, with Alpha Derek Hale. It's clear the Alpha is hiding a part of him that Stiles can’t reach, but when a monster comes to threaten the pack, it’s always great to have someone in your corner with a little mischief up their sleeve

Notes:

• For Lalaith_Quetzalli.

This was written for the Sterek Reverse Bang 2023 based on the art by Lalaith_Quetzalli . All art belongs to them.

Thank you to my Betas Pem and Leo.

Chapter 1: Prologue

“When did you start having magic?” 8-year-old Stiles asked from the kitchen counter as he swung his legs independently of one another. He dipped his finger into the silver bowl again to scoop a healthy amount of chocolate frosting between his fingers and licked them clean.

Claudia raised a brow at the frosting thief but didn’t say anything as she dusted the top of the frosted cake with powdered sugar. Stiles watched her lithe fingers grab small slices of oranges and garnish the chocolate cake before putting it to the side and pulling the next cake waiting to be frosted.

“I was twelve. I just woke up one day, and my entire bedroom was floating. Gave your Dziadek the biggest heart attack.” She laughed like she was remembering it fondly. “But I didn’t Manifest the branch of Industria until I was 20.”

Stiles made a face at that. “What’s manyfest?"

“Manifest means the magic I’m best at,” answered Claudia. She lifted a copper necklace from under her shirt and showed a tree with three main branches that split into several smaller ones. The roots and branches knotted into a Celtic pattern around the edges; a sun was in the background of the pendant. One of the branches differed from the others: silver metal entwined with copper to signify the branch of magic she had manifested.

“It’s what I studied the most at school.”

“Hogwarts?”

She gave him a look, grabbing the spatula and gently slapping Stiles’ wandering hand away from her bowl of frosting. Stiles grumbled but relented when she handed him a spoon of the sweet sugar.

“Jagiellonian University. They didn’t have special schools for Wolves and Emissaries when I was young. Not like you will.” Her hand combed through Stiles’ closely shaved hair and gently kissed his forehead. “I spent four years learning to be an Emissary before being assigned my Pack. And then I had three wonderful years until you were born.”

Stiles made a face at the kiss but didn’t argue. “So I’ll go to Emissary School?”

“Yes, if you still want to,” she mused and moved to start filling the sink with soapy water. “Why do you ask, myszko? Do you think your powers have started?”

“I just want to know,” he said too quickly.

She nodded, knowing there was more to Stiles’ questions than curiosity. He could never pull one over on his mother, so he stopped beating around the bush.

“I keep having weird dreams. I don’t know if it’s my power or just… a dream. But it’s always the same one.”

Claudia turned the water off and walked from the sink to put her forefinger and thumb under his chin. She lifted his head so they were eye to eye, her brown eyes seeking something in his gaze. Stiles was unsure exactly what his mother was looking for, but he tried not to blink. After a moment, she dropped her hand and began to frost the cake.

“Tell me about the dream.”

Stiles shoved the frosting spoon into his mouth and licked it clean before he started talking. “I’m always flying. Not like with a cape, but like with wings. Like I’m a big black bird.”

She nodded, making a ‘continue’ motion with her spatula.

“I see a wolf with black fur and red eyes running beneath me; sometimes they’re alone, other times there’s a pack behind them. We just… run. They don’t say or do anything, but every time I try to get closer, they run faster, so I can’t catch up with them. I just keep flying until I wake up.”

“Where is the wolf running?” Claudia asks after he finishes, glancing up from the cake. “Is it a place you know?”

Stiles shook his head again, sighing. “It’s never the same. Sometimes it’s the park, other times the city streets… but they never seem to stay in the same place.”

“Maybe he’s leading you somewhere,” Claudia suggested. She finished frosting the cake and once more sprinkled powdered sugar over the surface of the cake. She decorated it with strawberries and raspberries this time, smiling to herself. “Maybe you’re meant to follow him.”

“And do what?” He grumbled softly. “Shouldn’t the power of future telling be better?”

Claudia shrugged a little, offering him a smile. “Prophecy isn’t always straightforward, Mischief. It might not be your manifestation, either. You don’t have to push yourself or your powers yet; they will come to you when the time is right.”

“I’m never going to have powers, and then I won’t be a Spark, and I’ll never be an Emissary, and I’ll never know what this stupid dream means!” Stiles tossed the cleaned spoon into the sink, wincing as it rattled louder than he had intended. He may have been slightly irritated that his powers hadn’t started yet, and all he had to show for it was a crazy dream about being a bird.

“You will always be a Spark. It’s not something that can be learned, like a Druid; It’s who you are.” Claudia wiped her hands clean and sighed softly. “The Spark travels to the firstborn of every member of my line, which is you. If you choose to be an Emissary, you will be the best of them all.”

Claudia reached up again and ran a hand over Stiles’ cheek before giving it a healthy tap. “You were destined to run with the wolves on black wings of mischief, my little Mieczysław. Remember that.”

“Black wings?” asked Stiles as he kicked his feet against the cabinets. “Because of the bird dream?”

His mother paused, looking down at the cake before nodding. “I cannot tell you what it means, Stiles. Just know that you are destined to be something great.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Stiles argued.

“And what if you’re wrong?” She countered, grabbing the spatula, brushing it over his nose, and painting the tip with the chocolate sugar.

He groaned with a smile, grabbed the hand towel hanging from the cabinet handle, and threw it at her. She caught it in her hand and quickly slapped more frosting over his cheeks before tossing the towel at him.

“Let’s go see the McCalls,” Claudia grabbed a cake in one hand and the house keys in her other. “I have a good feeling about our new neighbors.”

Chapter 2: Icelandic Króna

Summary:

.o0 Fourteen Years Later 0o.

Stiles took another deep breath as he bounced from foot to foot outside the large oak door of the Archdruid’s office. He wouldn’t say he was nervous exactly, just that every inch of his body felt like it was on fire and he was going to throw up.

But not nervous.

He kept glancing from the door to his cell phone and back to the door. Somewhere down the hall, a class let out, and Stiles could hear the chatter of students echoing down the linoleum floors. Their voices faded as they continued down the hall towards the front doors, more than likely finished for the year and going home for the summer. He missed being that carefree; the end of the school year and summer vacation used to be his favorite part of the year. Spending time with Scott and the rest of the wolf Pack was every person’s dream. But now he was in a nightmare.

The halls returned to the eerie silence they had been before, Stiles anxiously glancing up for anything to distract him. He tried counting the tiles in the ceiling first but gave up about halfway when he realized he had missed an entire section and lost track. Then he tried finding patterns in the wood flooring, but that only made him dizzy and reminded him of the whole feeling like he was going to throw up thing, so he looked up to the expansive bay windows near Deaton’s office.

Between the stylized panels of glass and mosaic colors, Stiles saw a black bird staring at him from the window by the door. Its eyes seemed to be looking into his very soul as it clung to one of the branches of the overhanging Buckeye. He frowned and stepped forward to get a better look at the creature. It was a massive bird with a thick neck and shaggy throat feathers; its beak had a distinct notch in the beak that looked like it had been carved out by something.

Stiles had never seen anything like it before and took a few more steps closer to the window. Something about the bird called to him – it almost reminded him of the raven he still sometimes dreamed about. Now face-to-face with the creature with only the glass between them, he reached over to the latch to try and open the window.

“Anything yet?” A soft voice called from the hall, interrupting Stiles’ birdwatching. He whirled around to see Scott’s welcoming face peeking out from around the corner. He had gotten a haircut since Stiles had seen him last night, the man looking more like a respectable gentleman than a lost college kid. Stiles couldn’t help but miss the floppy hair, though.

He glanced back to the window only to see the bird gone.

“No, Deaton is still finishing up with Holly,” Stiles turned back to Scott, feeling the familiar sense of anxiety spiking through him. What if Holly got a Pack? What if Holly Hunterson got a position as Pack Emissary, and he didn’t?

Stiles felt like he was going to be sick again.

Scott walked forward and put a hand on Stiles’ shoulders. “Look, I’m sure you’re going to get it! Alpha Denison would be an asshole not to pick you! You’re smart, top of your class, know your way around a spell book –”

“– Grew up in the area and is best friends with his second in command? Yeah, all good traits, but I don’t exactly get to make the choice. If Deaton decides I’m not ready to be an Emissary…” Stiles trailed off as the door opened, and Holly walked out with a smug look.

Her brown hair bounced as she stood in front of the two of them, nodding to Scott and giving an almost predatory grin to Stiles. He could see the same tree necklace his mother had shown him all those years ago, but the branch on Holly’s necklace was different. Still, her magic had Manifested, and for that, Stiles hated her.

“Deaton says you can go in, Stilinski,” she pushed between Scott and Stiles as she walked back down the hall. Stiles could see a light brownish-yellow scroll in her grubby little hands, knowing exactly what that meant: Holly was assigned a Pack. Stiles’ heart dropped as he counted back the number of other Emissary candidates he had seen today leave Deaton’s office. He realized that five Packs were already assigned today, and Deaton said that only six Alphas had requested an emissary this year.

“I’m going to be sick,” Stiles moaned. “Like, actually legitimately sick. Right here on the floor, all over my new shoes.”

Scott grabbed Stiles in a hug, squeezing him tightly. “You got this, ok? Deaton knows how much Denison’s Pack means to you. To us. He’s got your back.”

Stiles couldn’t help but smile at Scott’s optimism. He wrapped his arms around Scott and gave him a tight hug. “Remember me fondly. If I don’t get it, I’m throwing myself in the lake.”

“Go,” Scott said. He broke their hug and pushed Stiles towards the door. “I’ll be right here waiting!”

With a deep breath, Stiles turned on his heel and walked into the Archdruid’s office. He closed the door behind him and glanced around the small office. Stiles could count on one hand how many times he had been in Deaton’s office, but it still always managed to catch him off guard.

Deaton was a very practical-looking man as far as Archdruids went, but his office was something out of a medieval fantasy novel. Plants of every genus, from Abeliophyllum to Zygopetalum, were spread over the hardwood surfaces and floors of the circular room. A large palm tree shaded a tall oak bookshelf filled with leather-bound tomes and scrolls, and an apothecary shelf sat next to it filled with wolfsbane, mountain ash, and white oak – just to name a few of the potent items. A stately desk sat in the middle, star charts and vials littering the surface; the only thing out of place was the Macbook.

“Stiles, please take a seat.” From behind the computer, Deaton motioned to a tall green chair across from the desk. “I’m just finishing up Holly’s assignment.”

Stiles’ heart sank even further; Holly had gotten assigned an Alpha. He felt his feet move on their own to the chair so he could take a seat and hear the horrible news. The eight years Stiles had been working for this suddenly felt pointless if he couldn’t be with Scott. Sure, he hadn’t been the only reason he had decided to become an Emissary, but it was one of the major ones!

“How were your tests this afternoon? Harris tells me you did extremely well, but I like to hear how you feel.” Deaton’s voice was evenly paced and without malice, but Stiles still felt like the words cut deep.

“I feel like I did great. Some might say the best, better than anyone who might have gotten assigned something before I could finish my final assessments.” Stiles babbled, urging his mouth to just shut up with no success.

“And your magic hasn’t officially Manifested, correct?” Deaton asked, still writing a few notes on the computer. Stiles could see the same tree emblem around Deaton’s neck that every Emissary wore, the branch of the Archdruid’s Manifestation a bright gold rather than silver to indicate his importance with the Council. “You seemed keen on the Industria magic this year, like your Mother. Harris didn’t tell me if I should have your Focus made, so I thought I’d ask.”

Stiles felt his heart sink a little, knowing this question would come up but still not ready to face it. He could do the spells and enchantments that he needed to without question, but his Manifestation was still a mystery. He had been waiting – impatiently – for his magic to finally Manifest into one of the branches of magic, but even after everything, it still hadn’t shown.

“I think I’m close,” Stiles lied. “Just… you know, still baking a little longer. But remember that whole doing better than anyone in the class for the final tests? Yeah, that seems like something we should circle back to.”

Deaton let a rare chuckle fall from his lips as he nodded and closed the laptop so he could be eye-to-eye with Stiles.

Stiles preferred it when the Archdruid wasn’t staring him down.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Deaton said as he opened a heavy drawer and pulled out a scroll. Unlike Holly’s, the paper was the color of wolfsbane and wrapped in a silver and black cord with some sort of wax seal. Stiles’ heart leaped in his throat as he realized this was it. He had been assigned to a Pack.

Deaton handed it to Stiles and nodded again before offering a smile. “That is why you will be going to a very special Pack. We believe you are just the person for the job.”

“Archdruid– Dr. Deaton – oh my god!” Stiles was giddy, and he took the scroll with gusto. He glanced down to see the seal – three interlocking spirals – before breaking it and unscrolling the message.

Mieczysław Stilinski,

The Hale Pack is delighted to offer you the full-time position of Emissary for a trial year with an anticipated start date of June 1st, contingent upon available flights.

You will report directly to Alpha Derek Hale in Thingvallavatn, Iceland.

The starting salary for this position is 13613747 Icelandic Króna per year. Payment is biweekly by direct deposit, beginning on June 16th. In addition, you will receive room, board, and all expenses covered while maintaining residence at the Hale Home. Any additional expenses accrued will be reviewed on a case-by-case basis.

Your services with The Hale Pack will be reviewed on an at-will basis after the year, which means you, the Pack, and the High Council are free to terminate employment at that time, with or without cause or advance notice.

We look forward to seeing your work in action.

Sincerely,

The High Council of Emissaries

Archdruid Alan Deaton

Alpha Derek Hale

Second in Command Peter Hale

Stiles read through the letter over and over, his heart sinking just a little more each time. On the one hand, he had been accepted for a whole year. Most Alpha and Emissary contracts were two to three months, meaning he must have done something right. On the other hand, he detected a lack of the words California, Alpha Laurence Denison, and Second in Command Scott McCall. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be!

“Uh, Archdruid – one, thank you for this opportunity in… Iceland –”

“Yes, it’s quite beautiful this time of year. I haven’t been able to travel there myself, but I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things,” Deaton interrupted as if he knew what Stiles would say next. “Isn’t it wonderful that the High Council selected you personally for this assignment?”

Stiles’ heart flipped. The High Council picked this?

“I was just… expecting something more… Local! I think I put in my file that I wanted to stay in California or another West Coast State, right? And I know there are plenty of Packs around here. Like, I don’t know, just throwing Alpha names off the top of my head, Alpha Denison?” Stiles winced, realizing he was probably sounding like a petulant child at this point, but he had been requested by Denison, according to Scott. There had to be a reason.

Deaton’s face showed a rare emotion – pity. The Archdruid cleared his throat as he shook his head. “I know I’m not supposed to say this, but Denison requested that you not be assigned to his Pack. He said your relationship with his Second might prevent you from being… impartial. As all Emissaries must.”

“Because… because I know Scott?” Stiles asked slowly, feeling himself shrink in the chair. He hadn’t even thought about that. If Denison disagreed with Scott, would Stiles have taken the Alpha’s side? Well, now he’d never know. Now, Stiles was going to Iceland to be paid whatever an Icelandic Króna was. “But– I still told them I wanted to stay–”

“The Council sometimes makes choices we don’t understand,” Deaton interrupted. “If they think you’re the right Emissary for this Alpha, they will do what they think is best.”

It still didn’t sit right with him. He had said he wanted to stay in the States, and even if it were the East Coast, it wouldn’t be as bad. What was the point of the box that said ‘will travel internationally’ if the Council was just going to ignore it? He looked down at the summons again, knowing he could say no. But if he did, that was it. He would never be able to be an Emissary again. To say no to a Pack without a good reason – especially one picked from the High Council – was a mark on your record. And with new Emissaries being trained every day, there was no coming back from that.

The Council had played their hand, and Stiles was helpless.

“June first is in two days,” Stiles said softly. “When is my flight?”

Deaton’s face returned to the neutral half smile as he pulled out a manilla folder and placed it on the desk in front of Stiles. “Your travel documents, visas, and tickets are all in there. You’ll be leaving tomorrow morning. I’ve already made your father aware.”

Great, Stiles thought. He was sure his father was pacing the living room in worry since Stiles had assured him he would be staying in California. He was convinced that had been one of the only reasons he had let Stiles entertain the idea of becoming an Emissary like his Mom.

“Great,” Stiles said with forced enthusiasm. “I’ve always wanted to travel.”

“That’s the spirit,” Deaton said softly. “And it’s only for a year. If you don’t feel the connection or the pull, the Alpha won’t either, and you’ll be able to return home. Just… think of it as a nice long work trip.”

Stiles rolled the scroll up again and shook it with a half smile. He stood up and grabbed the other folder of information Deaton had placed on the desk, shoving it under his arm. Stiles had to take an additional breath before putting a hand out to Deaton. It wasn’t the Archdruid’s fault that Stiles had been assigned to a Pack across the world, and Stiles really was thankful for everything he had done for him.

Deaton stood and shook Stiles’ hand firmly, offering a soft nod. “May the path you tread be steady.”

“And the road rise to meet you,” Stiles responded. He turned back to leave when the Druid cleared his throat.

“You forgot this.”

Stiles turned around to see Deaton holding a black feather in his hand, a curious look on his face. Stiles recognized that it was a raven’s pinion but wasn’t sure why Deaton would assume it was his.

“It fell from your sleeve,” Deaton clarified as he handed the black pinion to Stiles. “Maybe it is a symbol of good fortune for your travels?”

Or a symbol of death, Stiles thought as he took the feather. He tucked it into the breast pocket of his Oxford and walked out of the office. Scott’s face greeted him on the other side, a hopeful puppy-like naivety painted over his lopsided jaw. Stiles sighed as he closed the door behind him.

.o00o.

“That’s bullshit, though,” Scott said for the tenth time that evening as Stiles continued pulling every piece of clothing he owned out of his closet. “I wouldn’t have disagreed with Denison at all! He’s wrong for not having you be his Emissary. I should march up to him and tell him he’s wrong.”

Stiles sighed exasperatedly, grabbing his bright green suitcase and tossing it onto the bed.

“Do you not hear yourself?” Stiles asked, packing plaid after plaid into the case.

“Well – I wouldn’t argue about other things, but Denison knew we were a packaged deal when I was bit!” Scott sighed, “You were in my Pack during High School.”

“As a human, Scott, not an Emissary. It’s different, and you know it,” Stiles hated himself for bringing logic into this argument. He was supposed to be outraged as well! Not only was he assigned to a different Pack, but he was assigned to a different country. Not even the 100,000 dollars a year salary could make up for being torn away from his dad. And yes, he looked it up. Whoever Alpha Hale was, he clearly didn’t have any monetary issues.

“It’s still bullshit,” Scott murmured.

“And you’ve been saying that for the last three hours, dude.” Stiles was tired, and his whole body was exhausted from today's rollercoaster. As much as he loved Scott, he just wanted to stop hearing how it was bullshit. “I just… I have to pack. We can talk again tomorrow before I leave. You’re coming to the airport with us, right?”

Scott looked sheepishly down at his hands and began to pick at the bedspread. “Um, my Pack has a brunch tomorrow with the new Emissary, and I have to –”

“You’re not going to come to see me off?” Stiles’ voice was almost a whisper as he realized this was the last time he would see Scott for a year. “Did you tell him that– No, no, it’s arguing with your Alpha. Don’t do that. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to feel left out,” Scott murmured. “Especially since it’s with Holly.”

Stiles whimpered slightly, realizing that was why she was so smug. He hadn’t been the kindest person to the other Emissaries when the topic of being picked came up. He might have been a jackass about how Denison would choose him no matter what. Now, he was eating his words.

“Right,” Stiles threw his boxers into the suitcase next, not even trying to hide his disappointment. “I hope you all have such a great time with her. Hopefully, she doesn’t set anything on fire like she did last year in our Runes class.”

“Stiles –”

“Scott, you know what. I’m exhausted and –” He paused, glancing out his window where a black bird was sitting on the tree branches in his yard. It was bigger than a common crow or grackle, and Stiles stepped forward to look closer. Sure enough, he saw the notch in the beak where the other had been and knew it was the same bird. “Do you see that?”

Scott stood up and walked to the window. He narrowed his eyes as if trying to see a great distance, the beta wolf shaking his head. “What am I looking for?”

“The raven in the tree, right there it– Here,” Stiles grabbed Scott by the shoulder and put him directly in front of the window, breaking his gaze on the bird. He glanced back up and saw the raven was gone and nothing more than black feathers in its place. “It… It was right here. The same bird I saw earlier–”

Scott glanced over his shoulder at Stiles, giving a half-sad look. “Maybe you’re seeing things.”

“Maybe…” Stiles sighed, dropping his hands from Scott’s shoulders.

“I’ll come visit you in Iceland, ok?” Scott promised, offering a smile that Stiles hadn’t seen in years. It was the same smile everyone had given him when his mother died – the sad, apologetic look of ‘poor thing.’ Pity. He hated that smile.

“Yeah, maybe. If our Alphas agree?” Stiles gave a smile back, just wanting to be alone. “Have fun with your new Emissary.”

Scott sighed but grabbed his stuff and gave one last wave before leaving Stiles alone to pack and think. And think and pack. And overthink and overpack. It was nearly dinner time when he heard the cruiser pull up outside and the sound of footsteps rushing up the stairs into his bedroom.

The door opened, and Stiles’ dad nearly tumbled in. He sighed, walking forward and pulling Stiles in a deep hug before squeezing him tightly.

“You said yes?” He asked after a while. “I thought you would have told Deaton to shove it up his–”

“The High Council picked me, not Deaton.” Stiles murmured, “You can’t say no to them.”

His dad sighed, nodding a little. “No, you really can’t. I remember your mother saying they’re all a bit tight-assed.” They broke their hug, the sheriff walking over to sit on the bed where Stiles’ suitcase was still half packed.

“It’s just a year, right?” Stiles said half-heartedly. “Then I’ll be back on US soil and running around with other Alphas. New Packs are being formed every day, right?”

Noah smiled at his son back, patting the suitcase softly with an almost sad look in his blue eyes. “Your Mother told me she always wanted to go to Iceland; something about the healing waters of the hot springs. We never got to go, though.”

Stiles licked his lip, realizing that his dad was coping by using the dead mom card. Which only worked all the time, so now Stiles felt guilty about being upset. He was going to go to Iceland for free! How many people could say that? No one in his inner circle, that’s for sure.

“I’ll be sure to go to one for her then.” Stiles moved to sit on the bed with his dad. “You never talk about her when she was an Emissary; just said she left her Pack when she found out she was pregnant.”

Noah’s face gained an almost tight expression, his eyes focusing on the floor. “There was a lot of secret stuff she couldn’t share because of the Council, but her Pack was very close. They were a powerful family I only met a few times, but I could tell Claudia loved them. I sort of loved them, too. You should have seen the little wolves running around with their Uncle chasing them…”

Stiles lifted a brow as his Dad cleared his throat and continued.

“I think the Alpha was pregnant about the same time your mother was, so it made sense for them to part ways at the time. I’m sure your mother talked about it with you more than me. Emissary to future Emissary and all that.”

Stiles remembered the conversation in the kitchen all those years ago when he had first asked about his powers. When he had first started dreaming about black wolves and birds. His mind returned to the black bird following him all day and the black feather Deaton had claimed ‘fell out’ of Stiles’ sleeve.

“Did she say anything about seeing birds?” Stiles joked.

“No, are you seeing birds, Mischief?”

Stiles groaned at his old nickname, burying his face in his hands. He felt his dad’s warm arm wrapping around his shoulder and pulling him into a hug. It wasn’t fair that this would be the last night he spent in his own bed.

“If you are,” Noah continued, not letting go of Stiles. “Maybe you should follow them. Maybe they’ll lead you to your destiny.”

“I doubt hallucinations are a sign of true destiny, Dad.” Stiles leaned against him, shaking his head. “But who knows.”

Noah squeezed his shoulder tightly, standing up finally as he nodded to the suitcase. “Let’s get you packed up so we can have a last-minute celebration dinner. I’m smelling burgers and curly fries?”

“Now you’re just bribing me,” Stiles teased as they finished packing his life in a lime green suitcase set. They took a break to eat burgers and curly fries, finishing up at around midnight – both so tired they could barely keep their eyes open. Stiles found himself passing out on his bed without even changing into his pajamas, exhaustion catching up with him finally.

That night, he dreamt he was flying above mountain peaks and ice fields he had never seen before. He could see the ocean coastline marked with fjords and deep inlets carved by glaciers. The clouds rolled over the land in a thick fog, his wings cutting through the denseness like a hot knife through butter. Stiles could see something running, or somethings running along the green and brown rift valley along a picture-perfect lake.

He flapped his wings faster, trying to get lower and keep pace with the running animals. As he got closer, he recognized them for what they were – wolves. The one in front was black and sleek, the fur glistening in the sunlight as the powerful muscles stretched from the run. The same black wolf he had been dreaming about since childhood.

‘Maybe you’re meant to follow him.’

Stiles could hear his Mother’s voice in the back of his head as he flew closer to the Pack, still unsure why. In every dream, the wolf continued to run, and Stiles couldn’t catch up with them. Why would this time be any different?

The wolves continued to run through the field under the bright light of the sun, Stiles’ black wings beating faster as he tried to keep up. He watched as the Pack of wolves turned down a dirt-paved road toward what looked like a house, the black wolf still in the lead. The roof of the house was slanted and covered in wild grass, blending in almost perfectly with the surrounding trees and hills.

The black wolf branched from the others, taking another path through a rocky crag and towards the mountains. Stiles flew after, trying to catch up when something different happened. The wolf looked back at Stiles, red eyes flashing like it was taunting him to fly faster. Curious, Stiles pushed himself more quickly and harder than he had ever flown, finally catching up to the wolf's tail and watching as it jumped across a small river and continued the run to the top of a high hill. The wolf stopped suddenly, the overlook showing the lake and house below – nothing else for miles.

Stiles landed next to the wolf, gazing over the beautiful view. He glanced over to see the wolf staring at him, red eyes burning into Stiles’ soul.

Welcome home, Mischief.

And Stiles woke up to his alarm.

Chapter 3: Midnight Sun

“It’s bright green, big name Stilinski on the side in yellow duct tape, the absolutely most ugly thing you’ve ever seen?” Stiles asked the fourth customer service agent, feeling a little desperate at this point. He had been in airports for almost 36 hours now and was just trying to get out, but his stupid bag hadn’t dropped down any of the carousels for the last three hours, and every agent kept sending him to another section of this duty-free hellscape of an exit terminal.

It was bad enough that his flight had been delayed not once but four times for his connection from London, leaving him stranded in Gatwick airport – which wasn’t even the cool London Airport – but it was already June third, meaning he was two whole days late for his first Emissary position.

He was having the most fantastic time.

“Stel-unski?” The Agent asked, a silver name tag read ‘Karitas’ was pinned to her navy blazer. Her accent was adorable and sweet but very, very frustrating to a tired Stiles.

“Yes. Stilinski, Mieczysław. I came in on the flight from London four hours ago. Flight– Flight number–” He grabbed his tickets and handed them to her so she could look up in the system whatever it was she needed to. He was beginning to see why people were frustrated when traveling and secretly hoped that he wasn’t being too much of a pest. He just wanted his things, he wanted to shower, and he wanted to sleep for a thousand years.

Karitas nodded and began clacking the keyboard loudly with the information; each keypress was like a tiny knife stabbing into Stiles’ temple. After a few moments, she grabbed the phone and dialed a number. At least, this was something new that the other agents hadn’t tried. He was going to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Thank you!” She said after a moment, hanging the phone up and smiling at Stiles. “Your bag has been located at Gatwick and sent to the address on the tag. It had fallen off the ramp in error.”

“Oh, thank god, how long until –” he paused, realizing she had said it was being sent to the bag tag address. “Wait, no, no, no, I need it to come to Thingamajig, Iceland! Not California, uh —” he grabbed the book he had been pouring over during his downtime. “Til… Lands… durah…hulda?”

She blinked in confusion, cocking her head to the side. “The policy is to send lost bags to the tag address. Is this the wrong address for someone to find it?”

Stiles sighed, realizing he probably looked like an absolute idiot. “No, that’s – At least my dad can get it. How long until it arrives?”

She pressed the keys again, looking up something in the system, and responded with another smile. “Between three and twenty-one days.”

“Oh. Is that all?” He asked, wanting to bury his head in a pile of hot coals and just melt into nothing. Twenty-one days. “I guess I’ll wear the same clothing until he can return it. Thank you.”

“Stel-unski?” Karitas said softly, pulling out a small what looked like a care package and handing it to him. “Welcome to the land of Fire and Ice.”

He offered her a smile, taking the bag and shoving it in his backpack. At least he had his phone charger and laptop; small favors. Stiles took a detour to the duty-free store to pick up a toothbrush, hair comb, and other toiletries he would probably need for the night he was inevitably spending at a hotel. He glanced at his watch and saw it was nearly midnight already – there was no way the Pack would have someone ready to pick him up. Still, per the plan, he sent a message to the WhatsApp group to let them know he had arrived safe and sound, and had lost his luggage.

Surprise colored his face as his phone lit up with several messages from the Pack.

Stiles Stilinski says: I have arrived! Lost my bag, but all in one piece. Let me know when someone is available or should I get a cab to a hotel?

Eoin Keene says: I am here, will meet you outside. look for the sign with your name.

Isaac Lahey says: Better late than never (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞

Erica Reyes says: Welcome to Iceland, M! 🇮🇸 ❤️

V. Boyd says: See you both soon. Drive safe Eoin

Jackson Whittemore says: Pack Run in 15, Derek says get your butts outside.

Cora Hale says: Did he or are you putting words in his mouth again?

Derek Hale says: Pack Run. Please.

Peter Hale says: See you when you get here, Stilinski!

Stiles wondered what everyone was doing up at this hour but wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Hoisting his backpack over his shoulder and the new toiletries he had bought, he made his way out of the baggage claim and out to the main entrance of the terminal. Sunlight blinded him, his heart stopping as he realized he might have had his time zones wrong.

He checked his phone and wristwatch against the large electronic clock in the middle of the airport and saw it read Midnight on June 3rd. Yet the sun was fully out and shining through the windows. Suddenly, he realized why the Pack might be awake.

“Takes some gettin’ used ta, but it's 'arder in te winter,” an Irish brogue spoke behind Stiles, almost as if he was talking to him. Stiles turned around and saw an older-looking gentleman with graying red hair and blue eyes. He had a prominent nose, thick eyebrows, and shoulder-length hair held back in a small rubber band. In his hand was a sign that read ‘Mieczysław Stilinski’.

“Are you Eoin?” Stiles asked, pointing to the sign. “That’s me.”

The man chuckled softly and nodded. “Yes, but it’s oh-ween not ee-an.”

Stiles flushed. He knew exactly what it was like to have your name mispronounced, and now he was doing it to his future Pack. Late and being a douche, what a great way to start.

“I don’t mind, though,” Eoin chirped as he folded the sign and placed it in his back pocket. “I bet ya don’t see a lot o’Irish names in Californ-ah. Jus’ like ya don’t see many Polish names.”

“Don’t I know it,” he murmured. “So, this whole sun at midnight thing is an everyday event?”

Eoin nodded as he began walking out to the parking lot. “Only in ta summer. Ta winter has days where the sun never rises at all.” He led them through rows of cars that looked pretty normal – sedans, hatchbacks, a few trucks here and there – but the vehicle Eoin stopped in front of was anything but normal. It had the brand Land Rover plastered over the front, but it was fitted with 31” tires, thick sealed windows, a roof rack, and a snorkel. A snorkel on a car!

“Hop in,” Eoin said as he clicked the button to unlock the door. He hadn’t offered to take Stiles’ singular bag, but there was so much room in the front seat that Stiles didn’t have to adjust himself to fit comfortably with the bags at his feet. “If ya need ta sleep, feel free ta. We got about an hour ta Thingvallavatn an’ I’m guessin’ ya didn’t sleep.”

Stiles nodded, glancing out of the window anxiously. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep. Kinda nervous.”

“First time from home?” Eoin asked as the truck roared to life. Stiles could smell the diesel as they drove down the smaller roads toward the exit. He watched shuttles filling up with passengers reading things like Car Rental, Tours, and Blue Lagoon painted over the sides.

“Yeah, first Pack too.”

Eoin whistled a little, shaking his head. “Well, ya can’t find a betta place ta start. Hale’s a real charmer. Like his mum.”

As they drove through the Icelandic countryside, the silence was almost palpable. Stiles felt anxious and did what he did best. Talked.

“So, how do you know the Hales?”

“I was a young child when I joined The Hale Pack with mum an’ da before Talia was Alpha. We grew up together an’ were close. Then Talia took over fer her mum, and when Derek an’ Laura left ta make their own Packs, I followed Derek. Laura moved ta London an’ I dun’t fancy meself goin’ back ta the land o’ Sasanaigh.”

Stiles could tell there was something negative behind that word, but he wouldn’t push it. He had already started off on the wrong foot by saying his name wrong; he wasn’t going to ask what an Irish man called the British.

“You’re human? Why choose to stay with a wolf Pack?” Stiles asked instead, figuring that was a safer question. He watched the rolling hills of volcanic rock and green grass passing by as Eoin continued driving them through the brightly lit countryside. Stiles was still baffled by the midnight sun hanging in the sky.

“I watched Derek grow, watched him take te power. He’s as much my son as Talia’s.” Eoin had a soft smile on his face, and Stiles could see just how much the Alpha meant to him. It was nice to see such a different Pack dynamic than the one he had been used to for so many years.

Denison’s Pack had functioned much more like an afterschool club than a family. They had a Pack House used for meetings and functions – like the brunch Scott had attended – but every Beta lived in their own house or apartment. Scott was the only one who lived in the same building as the Alpha but had his own floor. From what Stiles read about the Hales, they all lived in the same house.

Like a family.

“Oh, almost fergot.” Eoin grabbed a small item from his pocket and handed it to Stiles. “As ya are Pack, ya will need ta wear the symbol. Derek got that fer ya.”

Stiles remembered reading about older Packs who observed the traditional customs of burning or tattooing the sigils of the Pack into new members when they had accepted the Alpha. Since Stiles was only here temporarily, he assumed he would be wearing a necklace or something with it. Sure enough, he unwrapped a small copper and gold token beautifully carved into a Triskelion hanging from a three-string braided cord. He quickly wrapped it around his neck and tightened the cord to hang just slightly below his clavicle.

As he felt the metal press against his skin, the sound of someone calling his name echoed. The same strange voice that called him in his dream the night before he left. He glanced out the window and saw a large black bird flying in front of the car, wings spread as it soared through the air. Stiles’ heart skipped a beat as he saw the notch in its beak.

“Is that a raven?” Stiles asked as he glanced over to Eoin. Maybe Scott didn’t see it in the dim light that night, but the creature was flying directly in front of Eoin. There was no way the man wouldn’t see it.

Eoin blinked, looking around out the window. “Where?”

“Right– there,” Stiles watched as the sun glinted over the nose of the car, and the raven was engulfed in the light. Once he could see again, all that was left were black feathers gently falling and twisting through the wind – disappearing from sight as soon as they had appeared.

“Ya must be tired, Mieczysław,” Eoin smiled. “Seein’ thin’s an’ all.”

Stiles ran his hand over his face, taking a slow breath. “Yeah… yeah, I’ve been doing that a lot,” he murmured. Maybe he really was seeing things? Maybe his mind had finally snapped after so many late nights studying for his Emissary test.

They drove the rest of the way in silence, Eoin occasionally cursing in a language Stiles didn’t understand as sheep crossed the road or someone cut him off in the roundabouts that seemed to be on every street in Iceland. The drive was beautiful, but the closer they got, the more anxious Stiles was.

“We’re here!” Eoin said cheerfully, pulling the truck down a dirt-paved road through a grove of trees. Stiles’ eyes widened as he saw the house for the first time.

The timber walls were painted tar black, but most of the main floor was windows and sliding glass doors. Stiles could see directly into the kitchen, where several people were talking at a wooden table. The house looked like several wedged pieces fashioned together within the hills and profuse vegetation, blending into the natural surroundings. The roof was covered in grass and sod – just like his dream.

He scrambled out of the truck, leaving his bags in the passenger seat. Stiles walked a slight distance to see the same lake he had dreamed about; clear blue water was almost blinding under the sun's light. Stiles had to squint to see three different mountains encompassing his view, like three giants slumbering in the rolling fog from the lake's surface. For a moment, he was breathless. He had nearly forgotten what he was doing here in the first place, gazing over the vast beauty that was his home for the next year.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” A voice spoke, and Stiles turned around to see a man in his mid-forties with blond-brown hair and bright blue eyes holding a mug of something in his hand. “You must be Mieczysław? I’m Peter Hale, second to Derek.” Peter held his hand out that wasn’t cradling the mug, offering a smile.

“Stiles, you can just call me Stiles.” Stiles took his hand and shook it firmly. “Sorry for keeping you all up.”

“Oh, we had just finished a run. It is the full moon, after all.” Peter pointed up to the sky with his mug as he took his hand back. “If your plane had been on time, you could have joined us for the first change.”

Stiles sighed dejectedly. Suddenly, it made sense why they had asked him to start on the first of June. Full moons were important times for Alphas and their Emissary, and Stiles had missed it. Another strike against him already. He was doing great.

“A run… around the territory?” Stiles asked. His dream returned in flashes, remembering as the black wolf and the others broke off. “Did Alpha Hale keep running, or is he back at the house?”

Peter blinked at the question but motioned to the road. “He kept running. How did you–”

“It was nice to meet you, Second Hale!” Stiles turned on his heel and began running up the road slightly further. He tried to remember what he had seen in his dream, but the rocks and trees all looked identical. He had been about to give up hope when he saw the black raven with the notch in its beak perched on a rock ahead.

Oh, you’re really crazy, Stiles. He thought to himself as he began running after the bird. Stiles hopped from small rocks to grassy hills with awkward strides – like a gazelle learning to use its legs for the first time – the bird just a few feet in front of him the whole time. He had managed to bring himself up a hill to an overlook, eyes adjusting as he gazed over the same scene he had dreamt about three days before. Sitting on the grassy overlook, there was a black wolf staring over the scenery below like a century on the hill. The raven circled around the wolf before taking off into the valley, leaving the two of them.

‘Maybe you’re meant to follow him.’ His mother’s voice came to him, seeing the black wolf he had been dreaming about for years standing before him. Stiles had never taken stock in Oneiromancy – the prediction of the future with dreams – but since he had been dreaming about Alpha Hale since he was a child, since before he had more than likely become an Alpha, he was starting to wonder.

“Alpha Hale?” Stiles said after gathering his breath back from the climb. “I’m so sorry I was late. I’m Stiles Stilinski. Your Emissary.”

The wolf turned to look at him, red eyes meeting Stiles’ brown. As their eyes met, there was silence between them – even the sound of the bugs and birds had ceased. Stiles didn’t know if he was supposed to say anything specific or have a special handshake, but with the Alpha in his wolf form, it was probably harder to do anything traditional. After a long moment of Stiles wondering what he had done wrong now, the wolf bowed his head in acknowledgment. Alpha Hale then turned on his paws and began running off opposite the house, clearly telling Stiles that he wanted to be alone.

“At least he didn’t bite me,” Stiles grumbled and sat down on the hill to observe the scenery just a bit longer.

.o00o.

Stiles returned to the house a little slower than his initial climb up to the little overlook the Alpha had been on. He had slipped more times than he was willing to admit, but he made it back in one piece. He could see Eoin and Peter chatting by the Land Rover, the two turning to Stiles as his shoes crunched over the driveway. Eoin bowed lightly and turned to walk to a smaller house on the outer side of the trees. Stiles could see it had the same slated roof and, through the window, noticed a smaller kitchen and living area.

“Good run?” Peter asked, drawing Stiles’ attention away from Eoin and his retreat. “I was beginning to think we scared you away already.”

The Second in Command motioned to the window where the other five Betas stared at Stiles with bemused faces. Stiles slowly lifted a hand up to wave at them, unsure exactly what he should say. He knew they could hear him, even through the glass.

“Nope, still here.”

One of the male Betas with a square jaw, blond-brown hair, and blue eyes handed a red bill over to a female with long blonde hair and doe-like brown eyes. She smiled, waving the bill to Stiles and shoving it in her pocket with a wink. The Betas stepped back from the window and dispersed down a stairwell to the house's basement, leaving Stiles confused.

“What was that for?” Stiles asked as he glanced over to Peter.

The Second in command smirked slightly, shrugging his shoulders. “Jackson bet Erica 500 Króna you wouldn’t come back before Derek. Seems he was wrong.”

Stiles glanced at his watch to see it was nearly four a.m., and the light was just beginning to dim in the sky. Exhaustion hit him like a train, and he felt the weight of his whole trip crash down on him like a pile of bricks. He was ready to crawl into a bed and pass out for at least a week.

Peter seemed to be a mind reader.

“We can take your things inside if you’re tired. Unfortunately, we don’t have an Emissary house since Eoin is staying there until we have a permanent one, but Derek offered his room if you need–”

“No, oh god no. Please don’t make me take the Alpha’s room on top of being late.” Stiles interrupted Peter, sighing softly. “Just – Look, direct me to the couch or a pile of cushions or… something not the hard floor. I’ll be fine there.”

Peter smiled a little wider and motioned to the house with his mug. “I think we can find you a bed. Are you hungry or just want a shower?”

Stiles nodded at the suggestion, realizing a minute later that Peter had given him a choice. “Showering is fine. Is Alpha Hale going to come back? I have some things I have to–”

“You can talk to my Nephew tomorrow,” Peter interrupted this time. “He usually spends the full moon on his own.”

Peter paused a little, sighing. “He’s also not the most talkative person, so don’t feel bad if he ignores you. Because he will.”

Stiles felt sheepish for a moment before grabbing his things from the SUV’s front seat and walking up the stairs of the dark wood porch. Peter led Stiles into the house, the two taking their shoes off and leaving them outside with the rest of the pile before stepping into the minimalist layout. The Douglas fir floors were treated with a subtle, opaque finish that expanded over the multiple levels of the building. The partially slatted ceiling and walls were coupled with sliding doors that made the space look open but allowed privacy if needed.

He could see the kitchen to the right with stainless steel appliances and light birch cabinets. Rows of glasses and alcohol lined the wall along an inlay shelf illuminated from beneath. A long, wooden table with metal triangle-shaped legs had ten chairs – four on either side and one at each head – and took up the majority of the dining space.

To the left, a sunken lounge was lined with windows that framed the panoramic vista around the lake. Comfortable and overstuffed couches were arranged throughout the space, and a low coffee table covered in books and magazines was nestled between them. Stiles also noticed a seating island built connected to the floor across from the lounge with a padded cover that looked almost like a daybed.

Peter continued leading him up the stairs, past a floor with three doors, and into an open loft. There was a bed with a little nightstand and lamp. It was nestled over the kitchen, where the windows looked off into the mountains behind them rather than across the lake. It was modestly decorated with the same slatted ceiling and walls, but it looked comfortable.

“Shower is the room down the stairs and right away. My room’s on the left, Derek’s is on the right. If you need anything, let me know.” Peter grabbed the sliding door and closed it behind him, leaving Stiles alone in his room.

Stiles waited until he heard Peter’s door open and close before moving to the bed and unpacking his few things. From his backpack, he had one spare set of clothing, his computer, and his chargers and medications. The welcome package had another shirt with the words Iceland, Land of Fire and Ice in tourist font and some smaller toiletries. He grabbed the bag he purchased from the store and pulled his new toothbrush and toothpaste out before going to the bathroom.

His shower was quick, partly because he was not sure exactly when Derek would be coming home and if he’d need the bathroom, but mostly because Stiles was dead on his feet, and the bed sounded perfect. Clean and ready to pass out, Stiles climbed the stairs to the loft, sliding the door behind him and flopping onto the bed with a soft groan.

Stiles opened his phone and sent the messages to his contacts that he had arrived safely, his Dad and Scott responding immediately. He scrolled through his emails and paused to see one from the High Council. His stomach twisted as he opened it.

To: [email protected]; [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: [Highly Confidential] New Pack Survey

To all Emissaries assigned Packs in IS and UK,

Thank you for your hard work and dedication to your Pack and ensuring they are ready to take their next step in the world. Since the acceptance of Wolves and the Supernatural in 1882, the High Council has–

Stiles skipped through the flowery text that the Council seemed so fond of, glazing through the email until he got to the part that mattered.

We will require all Emissaries to complete a Pack Survey of all Wolf Betas and their Alphas [including Alpha mates]. Please fill out the following questions and report back to the Council before completing your first month.

Thank you as always; we know that your Alphas are in –

Stiles didn’t even have the chance to finish reading the message before he passed out. He once more found himself flying over the grass-covered lava fields that stretched toward a deep basalt cliff face. Beneath him was a winding river traversing through a field of purple flowers that spilled into a waterfall that loudly roared through the tectonic rifts.

‘Mischief’, a voice called. The same one that he had been hearing. He looked around for the black wolf, trying to see if this was another vision of the Alpha, but instead saw a woman with long blonde hair running. Her face was a mask of horror as she glanced back over her shoulder, a dolphin tattoo visible on her clavicle bone. He could see she was being chased by a creature that Stiles could only describe as a fox with a cat-like face the size of a medium dog. Its red fur was patchy in places, and Stiles could see their ribcage of gray bones void of any skin or fur. He heard her screaming for someone, anyone, to help her - the fear in her voice shaking him to his core.

‘Spread your wings, Mischief.’

Stiles tried to fly closer as the voice whispered louder in his ear. He watched the creature overtake her, pinning her down to the grass. She screamed again, flailing her arms and trying to free herself from the gnashing teeth and claws. Stiles tried to cry out, his voice raw and horse like the cawing of a bird. The creature noticed and turned to gaze at him with almost human eyes.

He jolted away, clutching his heart and feeling sweat drip from his face. Sunlight peeked through the house’s windows, the smell of cooking food wafting from the kitchen below him.

Yet Stiles couldn’t shake the feeling that those creatures' eyes were still on him.

Chapter 4: Wards and Sex Gods

“Morning, Stilinski.”

Stiles nodded to Peter as he walked down into the kitchen, still in the shirt he slept in and his jeans from yesterday. He felt a little underdressed compared to how he usually did, but there was nothing he could do.

“You sleep OK?” Peter asked as he sipped from his coffee at the table. The wolf glanced over from his morning paper, the blue eyes observing Stiles.

Stiles glanced around the kitchen to see only Peter and Eoin again. Eoin stood over the stove with a large cast iron pan filled with what smelled strongly like fish. He could see fresh bread on the counter that was darker than anything he had ever eaten before, and part of him wondered if it was burnt.

“Y-yeah,” Stiles said finally as he pulled himself away from the distracting bread. “Am I the first one up?”

Peter shrugged slightly. “They’re awake.”

Stiles could tell Peter wasn’t a morning person with the single-sentence responses. At least he wasn’t as bad as Scott. He was monosyllabic at best before his coffee; it was one of the traits Stiles had grown accustomed to when they were roommates.

“I, uh, don’t know if there are any plans today. But I have an Emissary Survey I need to fill out with the Pack members, apparently. Will there be time today, Second?”

Peter blinked at that and tilted his head slightly in confusion.

“Or… Sir? Commander? What title does your Alpha call you?”

“Bastard, usually,” Peter scoffed. “Peter is fine. We might be an old Pack, but we’re a little more modern than that.”

Stiles noted that, knowing the Betas probably would feel the same way.

“There’s nothing planned for today besides whatever Derek has planned for you. I think it involves a territory tour, so you can do that hocus pocus thing.” Peter turned back to his paper and coffee, letting Stiles flounder in the empty kitchen space once more.

“Morning,” a voice from the stairs leading downstairs said. Stiles turned to see one of the female Betas emerge. Her hair and eyes were dark brown, and thick eyebrows downturned perpetually like she was constantly upset at something. But, as she saw Stiles, a half smile pulled across her face. “Cora.”

“Oh, Stiles.” Stiles held his hand out for her, and she shook it before walking over to sit on the counter near the bread and where Eoin was cooking.

“Stiles is better than Mieczysław. We have been trying to figure out nicknames for you since the Council picked you.” Cora reached over to grab the loaf of bread and cut herself off a large piece before slathering it with butter and sprinkling salt over it. At least that meant it wasn’t burnt.

Stiles cleared his throat, unsure exactly how he should act around the Pack yet. He briefly remembered something in the etiquette portion of his training that he should remain proper and polite while still being himself, but Stiles honestly didn’t know how to do both at the same time.

“What was the worst one?” He asked, leaning against the kitchen island and giving Cora a half-smirk.

“Bitch-a-slav,” Cora said with a grin. “Jackson came up with that after Eoin taught us how to say it correctly.”

“Haven’t heard that one before. Kudos to Jackson, then.” Stiles snorted and watched Eoin scoop a piece of the cooked fish onto Cora’s bread. Stiles had to keep himself from visibly gagging as he wondered if fish was an everyday Iceland thing. No matter how often he tried it, fish had never sat with him. Sushi, fish sticks, and hell, even little shrimp-flavored chips made him want to hurl. He regretted not filling out his Emissary application as detailed as he should have.

Remember that saying of assuming, Stiles? He thought as he watched Cora hop off the counter and grab a cup of coffee herself. She reached the table and settled in the chair next to Peter. He handed her a piece of the newspaper, and she took it with her bread-laden hand.

“Ya like fish, Stiles?” Eoin asked, drawing Stiles’ attention back to the Irishman. He had pulled several different colored plates from the cabinet and began laying pieces of bread with butter down on them.

Stiles didn’t know why, but he nodded with enthusiasm. “Oh yeah, love the stuff.”

Cora and Peter looked up from their newspapers, both lifting their brows in unison. He realized as soon as he said it that it was a horrible, terrible, stupid habit he had picked up from being around Denison’s Pack. Stiles had spent years wanting to prove he would be a good Emissary, and he never set boundaries with the Alpha. Denison knew they were lies but respected that Stiles wasn’t rocking the boat.

But this wasn’t Denison’s Pack. This was his new Pack, and right now, they were looking at him like he had grown two heads. Mark that down as whatever strike he was at – and he hadn’t even officially talked to Alpha Hale.

Fantastic.

“I just mean, I’ll eat whatever is made. I don’t want to disrupt –”

Peter scoffed, shaking his head. “If you don’t like it, you don’t like it. Don’t lie just to make us happy.”

The emphasis on the word lie made Stiles feel like a worm, but it seemed that was the end of it, and the fish comment had been forgotten. Peter turned back to his paper and coffee. Cora still looked over him with steady eyes, but they were more curious than accusatory.

“Just give him some skyr and bilberries, Eoin. He can eat like Laura did,” Cora said finally, returning to her paper.

“Should I take that as an insult?” asked Stiles. Cora shrugged and bit into her bread with an almost knowing look. Yeah. It’s an insult.

He cleared his throat to salvage the morning. “The bread looks good; I’ve always liked bread. What’s it called?”

“Rúgbrauð,” Peter, Cora, and Eoin said in unison.

Stiles nodded, wondering what the hell that even meant. He had looked up a lot of Icelandic during his time in the airport, but apparently not enough to know what a type of bread was.

Cora took pity on him – the absolute angel of the Hale Family – and whispered the English translation. “Rye bread.”

Eoin chuckled as he placed the plates filled with bread and fish on the counter; he grabbed mugs next and began filling them with coffee before sliding a red one to Stiles. Each mug and plate seemed to be color-coded with one another, as if the Betas had a specific plate they ate off of.

Stiles took the red cup, lifting it up before sipping. It was strong but tasted better than the pots he would brew himself at the Station when spending time with his dad.

“Thank you,” he murmured against the rim of the mug.

“I’ll have ta have ya make a list o’ things ya dun’t eat.” Eoin grumbled, seeming a little more upset than Peter or Cora.

“I promise you, it’s just fish. I’ll eat anything and everything that crawls on land.” Stiles still felt guilty but sat at the table slightly away from Peter and Cora.

Eoin tsked softly as he grabbed yogurt and cream from the fridge, scooping a healthy amount into a red bowl to match Stiles’ mug. The man then added a splash of cream before sprinkling vibrantly colored berries that looked like blueberries but were smaller.

“I was makin’ Plokkfiskur fer tonight, but I guess not,” he handed the bowl and a spoon to Stiles, as well as a fresh piece of bread

“You can make Plokkfiskur; I’ll just… pick around the fish?” Stiles didn’t know what that was, but the word fiskur made him think it probably had fish.

“Dun’t even worry. It’s yar welcome dinner. It should be what ya like, right?” Eoin was still bustling around the kitchen to finish preparing breakfast, adding fish to the bread, pouring mugs of coffee, and taking another loaf of bread out of the oven. He finished cutting the bread, grabbed a green plate, and walked over to the table to put it next to Peter. Stiles saw Peter’s mug was the same dark green as the plate, now fully convinced that red was his assigned color. It seemed to Stiles that Eoin handled many day-to-day tasks like a Caretaker would.

Stiles remembered reading in most modern Packs, Emissaries took over the caretaker position as well since Packs normally only had the bare minimum these days. But as Peter had mentioned, the Hale Pack was old. Stiles had looked up their family tree and saw that they had roots all the way to Lycon – the first Werewolf. It made him even more curious to know why the Council picked him specifically for this task when an older, more experienced Emissary would be better.

Think about that later; eat your food so you can do your job. Stiles reprimanded himself as he bit into the dark rúgbrauð. It was delicious and sweet, with a hint of salt sprinkled over the butter. He could get used to eating this in the morning every day.

The morning was quiet as they ate, Peter and Cora reading their parts of the paper, Eoin sitting down with his plate, and Stiles quiet for once. It was almost serene.

“JACKSON!” A shrill cry echoed over the house, breaking the morning calm and jolting Stiles in his chair. “Get out of the bathroom NOW! I need to do my routine.”

“Maybe if you got up earlier, you’d be able to beat me!” A second voice joined the first, this one almost mocking the other Beta.

“I will break this door, Whittemore!”

“I dare you, Reyes!”

Peter sighed, putting his paper down and taking another bite of his bread. “Can’t have one day without them fighting…”

There was a crash of something from downstairs, Stiles now wondering if the other Beta – he assumed Erica – had been true to her word and broke the door down. There was the sound of a strangled cry and then silence again. After another moment, the square-jawed Beta from earlier came up and grabbed his own plate. Stiles remembered this was the Beta who had bet he wouldn’t return before Derek.

Jackson.

“Erica broke the bathroom door again, Eoin.”

“Ya both need ta learn ta take turns,” Eoin grumbled. “Time ya start usin’ the other bathroom, Jax.”

Stiles couldn’t help the smirk as Jackson sat down with his yellow plate of bread, fish, and coffee.

“Tell Erica to use the other bathroom. I’ve been here longer.” Jackson made a face before biting into his food.

“I don’t want either of you using my bathroom,” Cora pointed out. She folded the paper and tapped Jackson on the arm to get his attention. “Don’t be an asshole, say hi to Stiles.”

“What the hell’s a Stiles?” Jackson asked, making a face.

Stiles cleared his throat and waved his hand slightly. “That’s me.” He offered a hand to Jackson.

The Beta looked over it for a moment but took it. “Jackson. But you probably knew that. Have those creepy little files on the Betas.”

He winced at Jackson’s comment. Stiles had been sent the list of Beta names and general information – like if they were born or bitten wolves and when they joined the Alpha’s Pack – but they didn’t come with a picture or identifiable information. That was why Stiles had to do the Emissary Survey with each of them. He could guess with the WhatsApp pictures, but it was better to ask for the names.

“You guys were given my file, too, right?”

Jackson snorted, and Cora rolled her eyes.

“Derek didn’t share anything about you except your name. And that was after months of us badgering him.” Jackson drank from his mug. “He said it was in case the Council denied the request.”

Months? Stiles blinked. Deaton had only told him a day before he was supposed to leave that he had been assigned this Pack, but Derek had known for months the Council was going to assign him? Suddenly, Stiles wondered if Deaton had been keeping him in the dark for a reason or if the Archdruid was just as blindsided as Stiles had been.

“Morning!” A Beta called from the stairs. Dark blond curls bounced as he grabbed the purple plate and mug and sat beside Jackson. “Did you tell Eoin about–”

“I know,” Eoin called from the kitchen. “Yar all gonna put me in te grave, I swear.”

“If Jackson would just let me go first, this would never be an issue!” A blonde woman walked up from the basement with a mountain of a man behind her. Erica, the woman who had won the bet this morning. At least Stiles knew some names.

Jackson grumbled something so low Stiles couldn’t hear, but the blonde obviously could. She swatted her hand against Jackson’s shoulder and grabbed her pink plate and cup from the counter. Her silent shadow grabbed his orange plate and sat next to Stiles.

“I’m Boyd.” His voice was calm as he spoke over the bickering Jackson and Erica. “That’s Erica, and that’s Isaac.”

The curly-haired Beta – Isaac – smiled and gave Stiles a half-wave before returning to watch Jackson and Erica continue their fight over who had the right to be in the bathroom first.

“Stiles, good to meet you. Are they always–”

Boyd nodded, sighing softly. “Six years and still haven't changed. At this point, it’s almost a miracle they haven’t killed each other.”

“There have been attempts.”

The room got quiet as the new voice spoke over the din of the morning. Stiles turned to see a man who could only be described as a Sex God. Derek Hale stood before him in all the glory that a picture could never do justice. He was a tall, muscular man with raven black hair still damp from the morning shower; his t-shirt was clinging to the toned olive skin covered in fine black hairs. Even his chiseled jaw was covered with a black, scruffy beard that looked almost impossibly thick, making Stiles want to run his fingers through it. Beneath thick, black eyebrows were blue-green eyes with flecks of gold and brown. Derek’s human eyes seemed far more supernatural than the bright red Stiles had seen the night before.

“Alpha Hale,” Stiles fumbled and pushed himself from the table. Standing at his full height, he wasn’t that much shorter than Derek, but something in the glint of those kaleidoscopic eyes made him feel smaller. He bowed, then felt awkward about the bow, so did a sort of arm flail to offer his hand to shake. “Pleasure to meet me – You. It’s a pleasure to meet you, dude. Sir – Alpha – You there, wolfy man…thing.”

Stiles wanted the floor to swallow him right now and drag him down into the fiery lava pools under the surface of this island. Years and years and years of his sarcastic mouth being hammered into this Emissary mold and his first chance at showing that he was a capable Emissary, his mouth – once more – got in the way. All he could hear in the back of his mind were the instructors chastising him in Emissary school.

‘You better keep your mouth in check, Stilinski.’

‘Alphas are all traditional in values; if you don’t do it right, they’ll never trust you.’

‘No one’s going to want an Emissary who doesn’t know the codes.’

Derek opened his mouth slightly, Stiles seeing the flash of bunny teeth beneath the lips, and waited for the Alpha to berate him. But instead, Derek laughed. It was lighter than Stiles had imagined his laugh would be from this burly of an Alpha, but it suited him.

“Derek is fine, or Alpha Hale if you have to use titles for your –” Derek motioned to Stiles’ whole person as if to indicate Emissary. “– Magic man thing.”

Stiles felt the tips of his ears flush as Derek took his hand in a firm shake. The Alpha’s fingers gripped a little tighter than anyone else had, thumb sweeping over Stiles’ knuckles lightly before breaking the hold.

“Stiles, but you know that. I told you this morning when I chased you down like a crazy person.” Stiles felt the words spilling out of him like a leaking faucet, trying everything in his power to shut up. “No need to add the Emissary part. Just… Stiles.”

He sat back in his chair, feeling Boyd put a hand on his shoulder and clap it a few times before returning to his food. Luckily, his display of idiocy had helped Erica and Jackson to settle their differences, and the two were chatting pleasantly with one another. Derek still had a half-smirk as he walked to the counter and grabbed the black mug and plate before sitting at the end of the table next to Stiles.

The Pack finished their breakfast and broke into pairs or trios throughout the house and yard. Soon, it was just Stiles and Derek still sitting at the table. Derek was finishing up the last bits of his bread when Stiles spoke up

“Today, I was hoping we could start the Alpha and Emissary Questionnaire I need to fill out for the Council–”

“You lost your bag?” Derek interrupted, clearly intentionally, as there was no way he wouldn’t know Stiles was talking. “We’ll go to town on Friday after the moon to pick some stuff up, but for now, I’ll get you some spares.”

“Sounds like a plan. I really didn’t want to wear the same underwear for the next year,” Stiles joked. “But about the survey–”

Derek stood up from the table and grabbed his dishes and Stiles’ before walking them over to the sink with the rest of the flatware. The pile was almost overflowing in the sink, clearly a chore that no one really wanted to do. Stiles also hated the dishes, but as an Emissary, you did anything you could do to help your Alpha.

“I can do the dishes,” Stiles offered, not even attempting to repeat the survey again. It was clear that, for whatever reason, Derek didn’t want to answer his questionnaire. Which is fair? Stiles didn’t want to ask the questions, but the Council required them. “I don’t mind doing basic chores either. Just don’t ask me to do anything mechanical. My Jeep at home is held together with duct tape and fairy dust.”

“Thanks,” Derek murmured and turned to lean against the sink. Stiles had thought the fairy dust would at least elicit a little laugh, but apparently, Derek was a tough cookie.

The two of them were quiet again, neither one of them knowing how to break the silence between them. Stiles could tell Derek wasn’t used to new blood – the Pack had been together for six years without an Emissary – and Stiles still didn’t know what type of Alpha Derek was. He had been preparing his whole life to be Emissary to Denison and his Pack, knowing exactly how everything functioned and where his place was. Now, it was like he had to start over – find his place again.

“Did Peter show you the grounds?” Derek finally broke the silence, glancing up from his spot against the sink.

“Nope, so all you.” Stiles snapped his fingers and pointed to Derek. “How big is the territory?”

“About ten acres. Most of it is a joint partnership with the National Park.” Derek pushed off from the sink and motioned for Stiles to follow him out of the house and into the yard. The two made their way through the rock and grass-covered yard, pushing past trees and toward a smaller area where a few chickens, goats, and sheep grazed in a pasture. A small greenhouse and vegetable garden were further down the road where a few horses were out, but they looked wild rather than domesticated like the other animals. Stiles had never seen a horse this close before. Hell, he hadn’t seen a chicken this close.

“How does this whole… Ward thing work?” Derek asked, glancing back from his lead.

“Well, it’s a complicated thing just to say an alarm.” Stiles turned his attention from the farmstead and followed after Derek. “It’s this… invisible wall that alerts you and those you want to know that someone walked into the territory. Usually, the Council–”

Stiles watched Derek’s lip twitch in a half scowl at the mention of the Council before returning to his neutral expression.

“–Says only the Emissary and Alpha should know, but you seem close to your second. So if you want Peter to–”

“No,” Derek grumbled as he walked up a small incline around the territory. They continued their little climb until Stiles and Derek were now looking over the house and the lake. A cool summer breeze floated over them as Stiles gazed at the beautiful scene. It really was stunning.

“So just you and me,” Stiles repeated as he stepped closer to the cliff's ledge. “We can always change it. Just let me know.” He then pulled a bit of grass from the ground and rolled it between his fingers to give himself something to concentrate on. Something to ground him.

“What’s that for?” Derek asked, his voice a little closer than Stiles expected.

“Uh, so each Emissary is different. Most use their Emissary Focus, but before that’s granted to you, some use focal points like a crystal or tattoos to anchor themselves. I just… use what’s around me. Which is good because otherwise, it would have been in the bag currently heading back to California.” Stiles chuckled and glanced over his shoulder where Derek was standing. He also didn’t want to explain that his Anchor was a black wolf from his dreams who may – or may not, the jury was still out – be Derek.

The wolf nodded as he stepped away from Stiles and leaned against a rock. “And this is druid magic?”

“We don't really have time to talk about how wrong you are.” Stiles paused, dropping the grass and turning around to face the wolf. “Actually, it's gonna bug me if I don't.”

Derek made a face at that, crossing his arms as he narrowed his eyes. He didn’t seem too excited about getting a lecture about magic, but at least he wasn’t stopping Stiles, which was unfortunate for Derek.

“A Druid is a type of magic user, not a type of magic. They pull from nature to keep the balance and usually focus on the school of Creation. But not always; sometimes they take on a different branch of magic altogether,” Stiles explained. He could see Derek’s brow cocking in confusion and that the Alpha was rapidly losing interest. “Ok, ok, the ‘too long didn’t read’ is there are four types of magic users: Druid, Sorcerers, Mages, and Theurgist. ”

“What are you?” Derek asked, motioning to the fallen grass on the ground.

“Spark,” Stiles responded automatically.

That raised Derek’s brow even higher, and his mouth opened in surprise. “That’s not one of the magic users you mentioned.”

“Because it’s not a magic user; it’s just what I am. Anyone can learn to be a Sorcerer or Mage with years of training, a Spark just has powers. They just need to figure out how to control and release them.” Stiles grabbed another handful of grass. “It’s like how you’re a born wolf. You have a Spark of the wolf inside you and have the Alpha Spark now. I was born with the Spark of magic, which manifests into powers. Supposedly.” The last word was muttered so quietly he was sure even the wolf couldn’t hear it.

Derek still looked confused but didn’t ask any additional questions.

Stiles rolled the grass in his hands again, swaying slightly as he felt the rhythm of the breeze and the pull of the Earth below him. It always started in the tip of his pinky toe – like the static of your leg waking up after being in one position for too long – and traced up his body. He let his magic flow through his fingers and up his arms, the silver spindles tracing the runes and patterns of the protection spell he was casting. He took another moment before throwing the grass into the air and watching as it cascaded around him.

Each blade began to twist and morph into gilded silver butterflies before they took off around the property – little whizzing lights of silver and black across the morning sky– and settled on each compass point. They began to dance in swirling spiral patterns, drawing each symbol reflecting on Stiles’ arms until they fizzled and left the gentle symbol of the Triskelion before disappearing completely. It was his most powerful spell yet.

“Holy shit,” Derek whispered in awe.

Stiles couldn’t help but feel proud he had made the Alpha curse. It seemed like the highest compliment from him for now. The Spark glanced over the Warded territory, frowning as he saw a black raven circling the property, the wings outstretched and gliding where the magic had been moments ago. Stiles rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was once more seeing something. When he opened them again, the bird was gone.

Derek stepped beside Stiles and looked over the now-faded spell. A look of childlike wonder was painted over the Alpha’s face, his mouth half open in surprise. The wolf placed a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, gently squeezing it before rubbing his thumb in a small circle.

“Did your Mom not have an Emissary?” Stiles asked, turning to the Alpha.

“She left the Pack when I was young; I don’t remember much about her except that she smelled like chocolate.” Derek glanced at Stiles before turning his eyes back over the territory. He dropped his hand to the side, stepping further from Stiles. “But my Mother told me she was an amazing Emissary.”

Stiles smiled at that. Of course, a wolf would remember how someone smelled. He wasn’t much better. He could still remember the smell of the kitchen after his mom had made one of her cakes or a fresh batch of pancakes. Sometimes, he swore he could smell her in his clothing.

“Some big shoes to fill then,” Stiles teased. “Hopefully, I’ll be able to help you as much as she helped your Mother.”

Derek didn’t say anything, but the comfortable silence was enough to know that Stiles might not have gotten off on the wrong foot after all.

.o00o.

It had been a few days since his arrival to Iceland, and he had spent most of it getting settled as best he could. Derek had managed to scrounge up some clothing – a combination of the Pack’s spares and some older work items that no one was using – and given Stiles a list of tasks he would be helping out with until the week of the full moon was over.

Stiles had thought after their little moment on the hill, Derek would be willing to have a little one-on-one time with him, but it seemed like Derek was busy with his own things. The Alpha had spent most of the week in his own room during the day and running with the Pack at night when the moon was up. Peter had said he spent the full moon alone; maybe this was normal.

Unable to talk with the Alpha, he asked the rest of the pack the questions from the Council.

The Betas had all been a little wary about the questions from the Council, but they eventually opened up one by one. Stiles learned he had way more in common with them than the original files might have suggested.

Cora might have looked like she was always angry with the world, but Stiles found out she was much more open in a one-on-one setting. She was just as sarcastic as Stiles and had let him know that she had been stealing Peter’s left socks every time she did laundry. In six years, he hadn’t noticed.

Erica and Stiles became fast friends after she let him know her favorite comics were the Batman ones. She had dressed up as Selina Kyle – Catwoman – for Halloween, every year since she was 14 and was excited to find out Stiles would be willing to be her Batman this year since Boyd refused.

Boyd was a strong and silent type, but he gave Stiles the feeling of a protective older brother. He offered to help Stiles settle in, even offering his own room if Stiles didn’t want to stay in the lofted area of the house. They both enjoyed Star Wars and planned to see the next one together in Reykjavík even if the rest of the pack wouldn’t come.

Stiles had thought Jackson would be the toughest nut to crack, but it seemed Isaac was. He was pretty closed off and, at first, didn’t want to talk to Stiles at all – that was until Stiles mentioned his collection of Magic the Gathering cards. Isaac had been playing the card game for years and was excited to actually have someone to play with who would know the rules. He said the only other person who even tried to play with him was Jackson, and he ‘sucked.’

At first, Jackson was unwilling to answer the questions and made Stiles work for every answer. It was all over though when Stiles told him he had played Lacrosse in High School. Apparently, it had only just become re-established in Ireland during the early 2000s, and Jackson had been obsessed. He had played since he was old enough to hold a stick and played mainly in the Wolf leagues. There wasn’t an open league in Iceland, but Stiles promised he’d have his dad send his Lacrosse Sticks, and he and Jackson could play together.

Eoin had refused to fill out the questions, and since the Council wasn’t concerned with Human members of the Pack, he let it go. Peter, on the other hand, was elusive. Stiles had finally convinced the Second in Command to actually answer his questions, though with each answer, Stiles could see why Derek might call him Bastard.

“I'm a Scorpio, I enjoy sunrises, long walks in the woods, and frisky partners.” Peter grinned as he swung his axe down. The wood split beneath him, falling from the stump onto the ground. The wolf grabbed another log, lining it up and preparing his axe again. “What was the question again?”

“‘Is there anything else you would like the Council to know.’” Stiles sighed, scribbling the answer down in his notebook.

“Right. Let them know Archtheurgist Giddeon owes me 40 quid from a bar tab in 1999.” Peter swung the axe again and slit the next log in half perfectly. “Since when do they make you fill out these ‘get to know you’ things?”

“Since a few days ago,” Stiles murmured as he wrote the last bit under Peter’s name. “Apparently, it’s something for the UK and Iceland.”

Peter tsked softly as he put the cover on his axe and swung it over his shoulder. “Good luck getting Derek to take it then. I’ve known him his whole life, and I only just found out he hates broccoli. He doesn’t share anything with anyone.”

Stiles quickly flipped through his little notebook and scribbled ‘hates broccoli’ in the Derek section.

“He seems pretty against the Council,” Stiles noted as he followed Peter to the small shed where the tools were hung. “I had been told the Council asked for me specifically, so I thought Derek was… buddy, buddy with them.”

Peter laughed, rolling his eyes. “Absolutely not. He’s on their shit list somewhere, I’m sure.”

Stiles frowned and wanted to press for more information, but his phone rang. He stepped away from Peter and answered quickly, not even checking who it was.

“Hey there, Mischief. You lose something?” The playful sound of his father came over the speaker, Stiles feeling an instant smile sprouting over his face.

“Oh my god, did it come?” Stiles asked, sitting down on one of the metal lawn chairs. “They said 21 days, and I just–”

Noah chuckled, and a small blip of the call requested to change from audio to video played over the speaker. Stiles pulled the phone from his face and smiled as his dad appeared on the screen. The phone moved from his dad’s face to the now beat up and dirty bright green suitcase strapped with even more duct tape than before.

“I haven’t checked to see if you’re missing anything, but I’ll send a few packages this weekend. Just give me the address.” Noah pulled the camera back to him and gave a half smile. “How you doing, kiddo?”

“Good. It’s bright out, and I think I’m going to hate fruit by the time this is over, but good.” Stiles wasn’t even lying. While he missed home and his bed and darkness when he slept, Iceland was beautiful, and the Pack was friendly – even if they were all still getting to know one another.

“How’s your Alpha? Is that him? Pretty good lookin’. Kinda reminds me of someone…”

Stiles turned to see Peter walking behind him with his shirt off and the freshly cut logs slung over his shoulder. The wolf must have heard the conversation because he winked in Stiles’ direction before walking back into the house. Stiles sighed, turning back to his dad.

“That’s the Alpha’s uncle. And since when is someone ‘good looking’? What happened to being married to the job?” Stiles teased. He knew his dad dated; he just didn’t want to know his dad dated.

“Someone very important to me told me to take time for myself while he’s gone and not work myself to death.” Noah laughed as he sat on the couch with coffee in hand. Stiles glanced up at the time and realized it was only seven in the morning for his dad. Meanwhile, it was just past three in the afternoon for them. Time zones.

“That person sounds like he just meant ‘go to a movie’ or ‘go for a hike,’ not ogle shirtless werewolves through his son’s phone.”

“I just made an observation,” Noah argued. “Not ogling. I gotta get to work, though. Text me. And call Scott. He said you haven’t been answering.”

Stiles sighed, nodding to his dad. “Alright, alright, Trzymaj się.”

“Nie szalej!” And Noah hung up, leaving the black screen of the end call.

He watched the screen for a minute longer before finally dialing Scott’s number and putting the phone to his ear. It rang a few times before Scott finally picked up.

“Stiles? Do you know what time it is?”

“It’s seven a.m., dude. You’ve gotten up earlier to stand in line for movie tickets,” Stiles teased.

There was the sound of rustling sheets and a groan as Scott sat up from the bed. Stiles knew Scott had been up all night – full moons at the Denison Pack were wild parties – and felt a little bad. But Scott’s unanswered calls, as his dad called them, were at two in the morning. Scott deserved a little retribution.

“‘M’up. How has Greenland been?”

“Iceland, and good. How’s Holly been?”

Scott’s voice cracked a little as he cleared his throat. “Good, she’s really fitting in. Did this whole… Pack bonding thing at the party last night. How’s your Alpha?”

Stiles glanced around this time to make sure no wolf was near him. “He’s quiet, a little reserved. So you know, opposite of me. But the Pack’s pretty cool. They invited me to go to a hot spring for the solstice.”

“I thought hot springs were in Japan?”

“Yes, hot springs are exclusively in Japan. That’s why Iceland is renowned for them.” Stiles spoke with a deadpan voice, so glad Scott couldn’t see how heavily he rolled his eyes. “We went to the same school, Scott. How are you this bad with geography?”

“It’s early! You called me, remember?” Scott’s voice cracked again as Stiles heard him flopping on the bed. “OK, so you’re having a good time and going to a hot spring. Your Alpha’s not bad – did your magic finally manifest?”

Scott couldn’t remember he was in Iceland, but he could remember that Stiles’ magical identity hadn’t cemented itself. At least he cared.

“No. But get this: I’ve been dreaming about my Alpha since I was a kid. The black wolf I told you about? That’s him. Crazy right? I’ve also been having strange dreams every night since I got here. The first night was a girl running from a creature, and then every night after that, I’m just flying in circles around –and you’re asleep.”

Stiles could hear Scott snoring directly in his ear, knowing there would be no way to get his friend up now that he had returned to bed. He hung up, getting up from the chair and stretching. He yawned, looking to his left, and saw a raven sitting over Eoin's roof. Like it always did, the raven had a notch in its beak, and its black eyes gazed into Stiles’ soul as he took a step forward.

“Stiles, are you coming to lunch?” Erica asked as she walked out of the house and onto the porch. “Eoin pulled out some lamb from the freezer for you even.”

“Yeah, I just –” he turned to look at her. “You didn’t happen to see a raven sitting on Eoin’s house, right?”

Erica looked over, shaking her head. “Nope… Are you feeling alright? Seeing things maybe?” Her voice was teasing but laced with a small amount of concern.

Stiles sighed, realizing that no matter how many times he brought it up, no one believed him. Maybe it was best to just take it as a sign that he really, really needed some sleep. Deciding to worry about that later, he followed Erica into the house and just barely caught Derek grabbing his plate.

“Ah, Derek. Are you–” Stiles started, but the Alpha was already walking up the stairs to his room. Stiles didn’t know why, but he felt like maybe Derek was avoiding him.

“Don’t worry about him.” Erica interrupted Stiles’ thoughts, handing him his red plate filled with lamb and fresh bread. “He’s always like this around new people. He’ll get used to you soon enough.”

The rest of the Pack was already sitting at the table, chatting about their plans for the rest of the day. Stiles turned to glance back where Derek had been and thought about following him but instead turned back to join the rest of the wolves. There would be plenty of time to talk to Derek.

Notes:

Translations of Polish:
Trzymaj się - Take care
Nie szalej - Don't be crazy (affectionate)

Chapter 5: Pylsur

Friday finally came, and Stiles was more than a little excited about the big trip to the city. The Pack had talked about Reykjavík for the last few nights, making their list of things for Derek and Stiles to bring back for them. Groceries, clothing, treats, and even new books were on the list.

“The Pack isn’t coming with?” Stiles asked as Derek began loading up the big truck with reusable bags and empty gas canisters.

“I asked, and no one else wanted to come,” Derek grunted as he slammed the back door. The Alpha was wearing a green sweater with a riddari pattern that Stiles had learned was a staple for Icelandic fashion. Every single one of the Betas had one and wore it almost daily despite it being summer, and Stiles was going to make damn sure he got one for himself.

“Are you just difficult to shop with?” Stiles teased but instantly wanted to take it back as Derek shot him a look.

Derek sighed and got into the Land Rover, starting the engine up with a sputter. “No.”

Stiles had to keep telling himself Derek was just shy. That he just didn’t know how to handle new people and wasn’t talkative, like Erica and Peter said. But god, did it sting that Derek didn’t even really want to be around Stiles. He had traveled all the way to Iceland, left his only family and friends behind, and the Alpha didn’t even want to spend time with him. It was shot after shot on his ego, and Stiles didn’t know how to handle it.

So he did what he always did. He talked.

“I wanted to make dinner tonight if that’s alright?” Stiles jumped into the passenger seat and buckled as they took off down the dirt road toward the city. The view was spectacular this morning, as always. The light rain sprinkling over the Land Rover didn’t dampen the beautiful sun still hanging lowly in their

Derek lifted a brow, eyes still on the road. “You cook?”

“I mean, basic things. Pastas and tacos and pizzas. Oh, and I make a mean pieróg. My old Pack loved my pierogi Thursdays.”

The Alpha turned over to Stiles with an almost curious gaze. “You were in a Pack before you were an Emissary?”

It seemed Derek was really good at asking Stiles questions. At this point, 80% of their interactions had been Derek asking Stiles questions while refusing to answer any of Stiles’ for the Council. He could see the irony – but if he kept answering and giving Derek reasons to trust him, maybe the wolf would trust him. He had to try.

“Yes – yep. My best friend Scott got in a serious car crash when he was 13, so the Alpha of our town offered to give him the bite to save him. And I kinda just came along for the ride.” Stiles felt a little strange talking about another Pack with an Alpha. It felt a bit like talking about his Ex to a current lover. Not that Stiles would say Derek was like a lover (as much as his wet dreams already wanted him to believe), but the vibe was there.

“They didn’t say you were in a Pack in your file.” Derek continued to drive them down a winding road, breaking for the occasional sheep crossing.

“Yeah, Scott became Alpha Denison’s second when we graduated High School, and I officially left the Pack when I started Emissary School. ” Stiles felt like he was treading some dangerous waters, unsure what Derek was looking for.

“–To become his Emissary?” Derek asked, something flashing over his eyes before his face returned to his neutral expression. “Did the Council deny his request?”

“He didn’t request me. Only you did.”

Derek’s eyebrow rose at that, his head tilting to the side. Stiles couldn’t help but compare it to a dog. Not out loud, god no, but in the back of his mind, he imagined Wolfie Derek with the same confused expression.

“Your Alpha didn’t offer you a position after you were in his Pack?”

Questions. Always questions.

“Alpha Denison didn’t think I’d be able to be… neutral if the Alpha and Second disagreed. So he didn’t put in a request for me.” Stiles slapped his thighs lightly, glancing down to his feet. “Honestly, I don’t think he ever wanted me in his Pack in the first place. It’s just Scott wouldn’t join without me, so he had to.”

Silence fell in the car, Stiles realizing that was probably heavier than he needed to be. But it was true. He knew that in his heart of hearts, Alpha Denison had only entertained him because of Scott. Scott was the first bit, the Second in Command. He was the one the Alpha really wanted. Stiles was like that side of coleslaw no one ate that came with your meal.

“Better to be in a Pack that wants you,” Derek said finally, glancing at Stiles before returning his gaze to the road. Stiles couldn’t help the small grin on his face. Did that mean that Derek did want him? The tips of his ears grew hot as he wondered if he was reading into it too much.

“How many Emissaries did you invite before I said yes?” It was Stiles’ time to ask a question, though it really wasn’t something you should ask. Alphas were entitled to ask as many Emissaries as they wanted, but the Council was the one who ultimately picked which one would be given the summons.

Derek continued the drive without answering at first, Stiles figuring this was probably one of those questions he’d never know the answer to.

“Just you,” Derek spoke finally, the road turning from packed gravel to paved roads. “You’re different than I thought you would be.”

“Thanks? I guess?” Stiles didn’t know if that was supposed to be a compliment, but he’d take the crumbs he could get. “What did you think I would be like?”

“A Council worshiping Druid,” Derek said without hesitation. “Your file was a little pretentious, and everything the Council wrote about you was know-it-all show-off.”

Stiles winced a little at that, wanting very much to just sink into the seat of the car and disappear. He had filled out his file with the intention that Denison was the one reading it, so his answers for things like ‘What do you do in your spare time’ were things like ‘beat you in your favorite games’ and ‘know more than you about everything’.

“Glad you took a chance on me then,” Stiles murmured.

“Me too.”

It seemed that Derek was done with the talking portion of the drive, and they settled into silence while the radio played; some of the songs Stiles knew and others were in what he assumed was Icelandic. It wasn’t a terrible silence, Stiles watching the roads rise between mountains and hills. He could see why his mother had wanted to go to Iceland.

An hour went by, and soon, the city of Reykjavík was visible. Stiles could see stonework buildings between shiplap houses and newer buildings – the road changing from paved to stone paths. Derek parked them outside a street of shops, the sidewalk already bustling with people in similar outfits to the wolf.

“You can do clothing shopping first, I have to go handle some paperwork at City Hall and pick up your permits. I can meet you when you’re done. Then we can go to the bookstore and the Hagkaup.” Derek grabbed a folder of paperwork from the backseat, looking through everything and snapping it shut when he had confirmed it was all there.

“Shouldn’t I go with you for that?” Stiles asked. “In California, they make you do a whole rigamarole for even registering for Emissary Academy.”

Derek thought for a moment and then nodded as he got out of the car. Stiles quickly unbuckled and scrambled out of the Land Rover to follow Derek down the road a little ways towards a concrete and glass building. The whole building looked like it was floating on the small pond, ducks swimming alongside them as they walked as if expecting bread from Stiles or Derek. It was so beautiful how seamlessly nature and city seemed to meld here, Stiles could see why people would want to come and visit.

As they made their way through the street towards the entrance of City Hall, people would pass by and offer smiles or greetings; some even bowed to Derek. Stiles had to keep himself from laughing when he noticed Derek’s ears were a bright red.

“Hej Hej Alfa!” A woman with a cheery smile called as they reached the front door of City Hall. She opened the door for them, ushering them both in. Derek responded in the same language, Stiles feeling awkward as the two had a little conversation while they walked through the threshold.

“Hej Hej Sendiherra. Velkomin til Íslands!” She smiled at Stiles as he passed, closing the door behind them.

The City Hall looked like your typical official building – main offices on both floors, a large gathering room for city meetings, a huge 3D map of the island just on display – and Derek seemed to know exactly where they were going.

Stiles could hear more people greeting them as they passed, some pausing to talk with Derek a little before returning to their offices. Derek responded back with polite conversation and a shake of the hands offered him, but Stiles could see he was a little stiff – robotic with his words. Stiles almost wanted to reach out and comfort the wolf, but he didn’t think that would go over well.

Derek led them to the permit desk and greeted the woman working behind it. She smiled at them both, taking the papers Derek had filled out, and began to type away on the computer. It wasn’t long before she passed them back and spoke Icelandic to Derek again.

“Stiles, she needs to see your Resident Permit the Council gave you.” Derek translated for him, motioning to the woman. She added another sentence, and Derek nodded. “And your work visa.”

Stiles pulled his documents out of the little carrier wallet he had, handing the pink and blue card and his passport with the work visa over. She thanked him and began typing the information in, glancing up at him each time she wrote a piece of information down.

“School of Sendiherra?” She asked.

“Uh, Wyldin Academy, San Diego, California. United States of America?” He assumed that Sendiherra meant Emissary, and Derek’s half nod only confirmed it.

She typed away again, pulling out a sticker and placing it next to the Visa in the passport. “In three years, you will need to renew your Permit. Would you like to set a date for the exam at Sandvík Island with Galdraskóli’s Archmage Magnússon?”

Derek answered for Stiles in Icelandic, clearly telling the woman that he was only here for a year and wouldn’t need to set an appointment, which hurt but was fair. Most Alphas didn’t keep an Emissary after the initial connection, but there was always the little hope that Stiles maybe would get to stay with Derek a little longer.

Even if it was a million miles from home.

The woman finished the paperwork and handed it back, placing a small laminated card that said Leyfi til að framkvæma galdra and translated underneath as ‘Permit to perform Magic’. He shoved it with his cards in his wallet and watched Derek finish up the conversation before motioning for Stiles to follow him out of the building. Once more, people bowed or called to Derek as they passed – Stiles wondering if this was why the Betas didn’t come.

Stiles followed Derek back to the rows of shops, glancing behind them as people continued to wave as they passed. “Wow, you’re popular.”

“Unfortunately,” Derek grumbled as he opened the door to a little shop. “Is this not what it’s like in California?”

“Uh, no. Since there are about a million people in San Diego alone, most people don’t know an Alpha wolf on sight. Or even a wolf.” Stiles snorted as he walked into the shop. It was nicely laid out with simple clothing designs and lots of sweaters. Luckily plaid was in style in Iceland, too, so he would be able to get a few more of those shirts for his collection.

Stiles grabbed armfuls of pants and shirts, ready to just check out, but Derek all but forced him to try them on. Stiles didn’t argue; after all, it was best to make sure the European sizes worked for him. He only had to try one or two before he knew what fit worked for him, putting the ones he wanted over his arm and leaving the others on the little rack. When he stepped out of the changing room, he caught Derek staring at a green-blue sweater with the riddari design. The wolf picked it up from the table, turning it around like he was trying to see if it would fit someone.

“Think that would look good on me?” Stiles asked as he walked up behind the wolf. “Kinda looks like your eyes.”

Derek glanced over at him with a furrowed brow and put the sweater back on the display, walking away without a word. Stiles grabbed it (Derek had obviously liked it, and Stiles was desperate for approval at this point) and added it to the pile of clothing. They filled several bags with the staples of what Stiles would need while he was here. Even with his Dad sending his suitcase, he grabbed extra socks and underwear and a new pair of hiking shoes just in case he needed to trek through the territory again. He wasn’t sure how much longer his own shoes were going to last with how much rain Iceland got.

Derek paid for everything, Stiles noticing his eyebrows rising when the salesman rang up the sweater he had been eyeing and put it with the others. Clothing satisfied, they walked to the bookshop next and spent a little extra time exploring the tightly packed shelves of English, Icelandic, and every language in between. Stiles was surprised at the amount of Polish literature and smirked as he grabbed a copy of Szmidt’s Toy Land to flip through. He hadn’t read anything in Polish for so long that part of him wondered if he would still be able to.

“You find anything good?” Derek asked, coming up behind him with a pile of books in his arms. “Oh, you found the Polish section.”

Stiles nodded, finger still tracing over the cover of the book like it was an old friend. “I was actually supposed to go to Jagiellonian University in Poland for Emissary Training, but the Council basically told me I had to go to Wyldin. It was closer to my Dad, so I didn’t argue.”

“And your potential Pack,” Derek added before grabbing the book from Stiles’ hands and putting it in the pile. “Pick a few more if you want. It can get boring without TV.”

“Wait – you don’t have a TV?” Stiles asked, but Derek had already disappeared down another row. Stiles should have guessed there was no TV in the middle of a forest, but he had hoped there was at least something. Especially since the internet out there was non-existent. He grabbed a few more Polish books and made his way to the English section to grab a few that looked interesting. He had never been a big reader for fun, mostly into the ‘hyperfixation of a topic and researching it until it’s dead' type of reading, but there was no time like the present.

He met up with Derek at the front and put his stack of books down on the counter; the wolf looked over the titles and either made a face or lifted his brows in approval as he handed them to the cashier. Stiles was starting to understand the secret eyebrow code of the Alpha. Each little twitch of his eyebrow meant something different – raised and furrowed meant ‘you’re really going to do that’ while lowered and furrowed meant ‘are you really going to do that’. They were two totally different tones, and Stiles would learn them all as if it were another language.

Books and clothing bought, they made their way to the SUV to drop their purchases off. This was probably the most Stiles had gone shopping since Lydia had left for Oxford. She used to take him everywhere when they were in High School and while he would argue and complain, he enjoyed the time spent with her.

“Do you want pylsur for lunch?” Derek asked as Stiles slammed the back door of the SUV. “Bæjarins isn’t too far from here.”

“What’s pylsur?”

Derek frowned, making a face and miming something with his hands that looked oblong. He opened his mouth and made a little jerking motion as if he was eating something, but to Stiles, it looked very suggestive. Suddenly, his mind went to the thought of Derek’s hand wrapped around something else, the wolf’s eyes burning his name onto Stiles’ skin with every little–

He felt the tips of his ears turn pink as he watched Derek struggle for another minute before putting his hand over Derek’s and pulling it down. Derek’s thumb swept over Stiles’ knuckles absently, Stiles swallowing softly.

This is unfair, I’m Emissary to an eyebrow-talking, muscle-sex God. Stiles thought to himself as he dropped Derek’s hand and cleared his throat. “Just–just stop, if it’s not fish, yes. I’ll eat it.”

The wolf huffed but motioned in the direction of the food. Stiles followed him down a narrow street and through a little gap between the buildings to a far more crowded street. A white and red food stall with the words Bæjarins Beztu Pylsur scrawled across the side was serving an already growing line of customers despite it only being 11 a.m. There, Stiles saw exactly what a pylsur was.

“Hot dogs, oh my god–” Stiles could have kissed the ground where the Alpha walked. While he hadn’t minded the food Eoin had been making, he had never been more excited to see questionable meat products in his life.

Derek ordered them four ‘eina með öllu’ each and sat them down on a little picnic table outside the stand. Stiles didn’t know what eina með öllu meant, but the hot dog was covered with ketchup, mustard, some other sauce, onions, and crispy little bits. The two devoured their food in silence, Stiles wondering if he would be able to get more of these for the house during the full moons when it was just Eoin and him. Then Eoin wouldn’t have to cook for him. Food finished, the two walked back to the car to hit the grocery store.

“We can split up there. You can grab what you need, and I’ll get what Eoin and the rest want. Just let me know if you need help identifying something.” Derek grabbed a cart and handed Stiles an orange basket. “Feel free to get any snacks you might want too.”

Stiles didn’t have to be told twice. He walked past the aisle of perfumes and cosmetics towards the produce section. He began filling the basket with everything he would need to make his not-so-famous but still very good spaghetti and meatballs. He was planning on making pierogi as well, but he knew wolves liked meat and potato and cheese wasn’t always enough. He filled the basket pretty quickly with everything he would need for the one meal and then stopped as he saw Kielbasa hanging from the meat section. Thoughts of his Mother floated through his mind, and he grabbed a few packages as well as some sauerkraut. His last stop was the bakery to see if he could pick up a loaf of French bread for garlic toast.

There Stiles found Derek looking over a box of cookies, the Alpha not acknowledging him right away. It gave Stiles time to observe the wolf in a non-work-related way. Derek Hale was everything Stiles would have dreamed of if you asked him his type back in high school: a little bit sarcastic, a little bit cautious, but all pure sex wrapped in a hand-knitted wool sweater.

God, he needed to think of something else.

“If you want, I can just bake a cake for tonight; then you don’t have to worry about the cookies.” Stiles motioned to the baked goods Derek was contemplating, avoiding the train of thought he had just been on. “Or I can make cookies. My Mom used to bake all the time.”

“Can you make a chocolate cake?” Derek asked, lifting his head.

“Yeah, oh! I can make one with this candy orange chocolate frosting if you want?”

The wolf nodded and put the cookies down, his face looking just as excited as it had been when Stiles had shown him his magic. He made a mental note to add ‘likes chocolate cake’ to his notes when he got home.

“Just need some baking things and an orange.”

The two of them gathered the rest of the things they would need, as well as snacks, before checking out and shoving their purchases in the SUV. Derek put a few of the ice bags they had bought around the bags and wrapped a tarp over them all to make sure everything would stay cool while they drove.

“I just need gas, and we can head home,” Derek said as they got back into the vehicle. “They’ll be disappointed I didn’t get a new chicken, but we can get one after the solstice.”

“New chicken?” asked Stiles curiously.

Derek nodded, frowning. “One of our chickens must have wandered off or was eaten by a fox over the full moon. It happens, but Isaac names them and gets attached.”

Stiles nodded, unsure exactly how one could get attached to a chicken, but if they didn’t have TV, maybe that was a reason. “So, besides the missing chicken, how was shopping with me today?”

“This was actually less painful than I thought it would be. Usually, Erica makes us stop everywhere when we come to town,” Derek confessed. “Maybe you’ll be the only one shopping with me from now on.”

“How often do you guys go?” Stiles asked and buckled himself up. He had brought the small bag of loose candy he had purchased with him in the front seat and bit down on one of the gummy sharks to hide the embarrassment.

“Once a month for groceries. But we grow and trade as much as possible in the closer cities.”

The Land Rover roared to life, and they made their way to the last stop on their adventure. Stiles could tell this had been good for the both of them – while Derek still hadn’t said more than a few sentences here or there, he had at least been pretty open with Stiles the whole time. Maybe, just maybe, this was going to go better than he expected.

Gas didn’t take too long, and they were back on the hour-long trip to Thingvallavatn. Everything was going great until Stiles saw the raven. The bird flew low next to them, the notch in his beak a telltale sign that this was the same hallucination Stiles had been having. He knew better now than to ask if someone saw it – he was just slowly going mad. As soon as he turned away, the bird would disappear like it always did. He closed his eyes, counting to three, and opened them.

But the Raven was still there.

“What do you want…” Stiles murmured, forgetting he was in the company of a werewolf.

“Do you see something?” Derek asked, glancing out the window.

“Just– there’s this raven that apparently followed me all the way from California that no one can see but me.” Stiles felt embarrassed telling the Alpha he had been seeing things. That usually wasn’t a good sign if your Emissary was hallucinating.

Derek’s eyebrows rose up, his mouth falling open as he pulled off to the side of the road. “Where’s it going?”

“You can see it?” Stiles blinked, sitting up in the seat and gazing at Derek.

“No.” The wolf shook his head, “But you can. Where’s it going?”

Something punched Stiles in the stomach. Derek believed him. Derek believed him. Scott, his best friend since they were young, told him he was seeing things. Every other person in Derek’s Pack had said he was seeing things. But Derek believed him? Trusted him enough to believe him?

“It– It's flying off there on that pa–oh my god!” The SUV revved and drove down the road Stiles had pointed to, Derek not even batting an eye as they rolled over bumpy terrain in the large vehicle. They continued down the path, Stiles pointing left or right occasionally when the raven twisted or turned down the path until it suddenly stopped.

In front of them was a gruesome sight that Stiles hadn’t recognized as human at first. She was standing, arms bound taught to two large posts that were intricately carved with runes that Stiles couldn’t read from this distance. The stark white of her shoulder blades was a contrast to the maroon lumps of flesh that were her insides on the outside for them to see. Her back was split open, her ribs severed from the backbone and splayed outwards against the back flesh that was laced to the post and tattered from the elements; two swollen and bloated organs – her lungs – hung over her shoulders like bloody wings against the bones.

Blood Eagle. Stiles had researched torture methods for a project (ok, for his own personal curiosity, sue him) but had never thought he would see one in person.

“Stay in the car,” Derek ordered, putting the SUV in park before stepping out. Stiles watched Derek walk cautiously to the body, his sweater over his nose. The wolf bent down to observe the body, trying not to touch any part of her that he could help.

Stiles tried to listen, he really did, but he scrambled out of the car and put his own shirt over his nose. He stepped a bit closer to one of the posts reading through the runes as best he could. It looked like the start of an incantation, though he didn’t understand what it actually meant.

“I told you to stay in the car.” The Alpha’s eyes were bright red as he moved from Stiles to the corpse, taking in the scene and trying to determine something more than what Stiles could see.

“I’m really bad at obeying authority figures. What does h-j-o-r-t-u mean?” Stiles asked as he looked over the runes on the posts. They were carved deep into the wood, painted a bright blue with white accents. Someone had taken their time to decorate these.

“Heart.” Derek stood up now, red eyes glancing over to Stiles. “She was attacked by animals, but it looks like she died from having her heart removed while they were… While they were setting this up. I’d say probably on the full moon based on her smell.”

Animal attack. Blonde Hair. Full moon. Stiles felt his heart skipping in his chest, knowing that Derek could hear it pounding like a drum. Stiles stepped a bit closer to the girl and walked around to look at her face. He could see teeth marks all up and down her bare arms and cheeks, eyes traveling down to the last piece of evidence: a dolphin tattoo on her clavicle bone. Stiles fell back, realizing he had seen her in his dream the first night he had stayed in Iceland. She had been the blonde running from the cat-fox creature.

“It was you…” Stiles whispered, reaching a hand up and pressing his fingers against the cold face. Her eyes were milky gray, and gazed back at him as if to say, ‘no one saved me.’ He felt a sinking feeling of guilt settling in his stomach, wondering if he had said something to someone, maybe she wouldn’t have died. Maybe he could have saved her.

“Stiles, do you know her?” Derek asked, coming closer and offering an arm to help the other up. Stiles took the hand and stood up, shaking his head. He felt a soft circle of Derek’s thumb against his inner arm before the wolf let him go.

“N-no, just…” Stiles paused, not sure if he should be telling Derek about his dreams. On the one hand, it would be building trust between Derek and Stiles; on the other hand, Stiles might then have to explain that he had been dreaming about Derek since he was a kid. And he didn’t know if the wolf would be exactly happy about that.

“I had a dream about her being chased by a creature on the full moon.” He decided trust was more important. If Derek had more questions, he’d be ready “I didn’t know it was happening in real time, though, I’ve never seen anything as it happened before.”

“It’s alright,” Derek mumbled as he looked over her body again. “I need to report this. Can you drive back with the GPS?”

Stiles nodded, wondering exactly who Derek was going to report it to. “Should I tell the–”

“Tell Peter. Only Peter.” Derek grabbed his sweater and pulled it off to hand it to Stiles. “Sorry, I won’t get to eat your food.” Derek then jumped from his spot on the ground forward and burst from his skin as the massive black wolf. Stiles’ heart skipped as he watched the wolf shake his fur out and glance back to Stiles with bright red eyes.

Beautiful.

Derek began running off towards the mountains, Stiles watched the black wolf as long as he could until the wolf’s form disappeared into the horizon like a black blur. He turned to the body and grabbed a handful of dirt from the ground, sprinkling it over her head as a small token of respect.

“May you find peace, Bezimienna.”

.o00o.

Peter poured himself another glass of brown liquid as Stiles stood at the edge of Derek’s desk. Peter had taken them into Derek’s room since the Alpha’s chambers were soundproof, and Derek had been very specific that only Peter was to know about the body. Stiles had hoped he would have been invited into Derek’s room under better circumstances, but he took his time looking over it.

There was a simple bed with black sheets on a wooden bed frame, three pillows neatly placed, and a black comforter folded at the end of the mattress. A large brown bookshelf took one wall over, and the desk took the other side near the window. A bathroom was connected with a simple shower, sink, and toilet arrangement. All-in-all, a very boring room, but Stiles still felt excited to be in it.

“What did the runes say?” Peter asked as he put the glassware down on a coaster.

“I’m going to bastardize it if I say it out loud, here –” Stiles quickly wrote down the translation from the runes on his phone, handing the paper to Peter so he could read.

“Make their hearts black as ash…” he whispered, crumpling the paper. “Do you know what this incantation might be?”

Stiles shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I could try and look up, but the internet is just what I get on my phone, and I don’t exactly trust Google for Emissary things. It would be easier to ask the Council to use their database, but Derek said just to tell you, and I don’t want to go against my Alpha.”

“Good.” Peter pointed a finger in Stiles’ face, his eyes flashing the ethereal blue of a born wolf. “If you go behind his back and tell the Council, you can kiss his trust goodbye forever. When he gets back from the Huldufólk, we’ll know what to do next.”

Stiles made a face at the word Huldufólk but didn’t push. Every Pack handled things differently because every country had different rules. If the Huldufólk made the final call, Stiles would respect that. Whoever they were.

“Didn’t plan on it,” Stiles agreed. “Is there a bestiary I can look through in the meantime to try and figure out what the creature is?”

Peter nodded and got up to pull a large book from the shelf. “This is Talia’s old one, though I’m not sure how detailed the creatures of Iceland will be. Daí, the Emissary, focused more on Ireland during her time with us.”

Stiles took the book from the wolf and put it on the desk. He didn’t know if Derek would want him to stay in his room, but it would be better to keep everything as secret as possible if the Alpha kept it from the Betas.

“Did you meet her? Talia’s Emissary?” Stiles asked as Peter moved to the door. “Derek said he didn’t remember her.”

“Daí was lovely. Powerful too. She could snap her fingers, and lightning would just appear.” Peter snapped his fingers in a demonstration, a grin covering his face. “I was 19 and in college when she left. Shame, really. But the Council does what the Council does.”

“She left because of the Council?” Stiles pushed, wondering who this Emissary was.

Peter shrugged, his smile dimming slightly. “I don’t actually know. Talia said it was the Council, but my sister didn’t always tell the full truth. I’m going to go to bed. Let me know if you need anything, Stiles.”

“Thank you,” Stiles called after the wolf. He settled into the desk now, opening the book and flipping through the pages and pages of detailed notes about Far darrig, Bánánach, Kelpie, and Púca. None of which sounded like the animal Stiles had seen in his dream that night.

He didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, but he knew he was dreaming as he found himself flying through the valley towards a mountain with striking slopes that pointed to an almost steeple-like tip. The sides were covered in lush green grass, and the midnight sun cast a perfect mirror reflection into the calm lake at the mountain's base. A waterfall flowed beneath an old bridge where a familiar black wolf raced towards the mountain.

Derek.

Stiles flew closer, trying to follow the wolf as he pushed faster and faster down the path. The wings of his dream flapped harder, and Stiles opened his mouth to call for the wolf. Nothing came out, though. He tried again to no avail, but then something else called out.

Mischief! The same voice called, this time almost more urgent as if trying to get someone else’s attention. Derek stopped momentarily, looking around behind and in front of him – like he could hear the voice too. Stiles tried to call again, but once more, it was a silent sound.

Mischief is here, the voice said again. The wolf lifted his head in Stiles’ direction, their eyes meeting finally, and Stiles woke up.

Notes:

Translation of Polish:
Bezimienna - One with No Name

Chapter 6: Hot, Hot Springs

Stiles had been unable to sleep again after his dream of Derek, wondering exactly where the wolf had found himself on the island. He decided to shower, change, and spend his time reading in his own room rather than Derek’s – it still felt like an invasion of privacy to Stiles despite Peter saying it would be alright. While a Second in Command was the Alpha while he was away, it was still Derek’s room, and Stiles still didn’t know him that well.

He spent another few hours pouring over the Bestiary in his room before the scent of freshly cooked sausages wafted through the lofted room. His stomach growled in need, and Stiles decided a quick break would benefit his soul. Scrambling down to the kitchen, instead of the broad back of Eoin, Stiles saw Derek, shirtless and cooking. There was a triskelion between Derek’s shoulder blades – the symbol of the Hale Pack that every Beta had – and Stiles watched the three spirals ripple as he moved his arms to roll the sausages in the pan.

“Did you sleep well?” Derek asked without looking back, knowing who had walked in. Stiles ran through the polite answers he could give. Instead, he decided to go a different route.

“Fine. Did you enjoy the mountain view?”

Derek’s shoulders stiffened for a moment, his eyes flicking from the pan to behind his shoulder to look at Stiles for the first time this morning.

Stiles waited for the questions, but they never came. Instead, Derek turned the stove off and pulled the pan over to scoop a healthy amount of sausage and peppers onto the black and red plates before putting the pan back.

“I like it better when I’m not reporting a sacrifice.” The wolf brought the plates over to the table, placing his black one on the end of the table and Stiles’ on his right side. Stiles felt his heart rise a little; the right side of the Alpha was usually reserved for Second in Command or their mate. Did that mean Stiles was being considered a higher rank than Peter already?

Or was Derek just putting a plate down so they could talk?

Stiles would take what he could get and poured them both a cup of coffee with splashes of cream and two sugars for Derek (per his observations these last few days when Eoin made it for him). He sat down at the spot where his plate was and handed the mug over to Derek. Derek took the mug from Stiles, his thumb gently grazing over Stiles’ knuckles before pulling the ceramic to his lips.

“Did the Hüsker Dü–”

“Huldufólk,” Derek corrected. He sipped from the coffee, eyebrows raising in surprise before swallowing again and putting it down to eat.

“Right, did the Huldufólk confirm it was a sacrifice? Peter said something about the runes meaning –”

“We can talk later, Stiles,” Derek spoke softly in perfect Polish, his green eyes settling on Stiles. “With Peter.”

Stiles didn’t know why, but the fact that the wolf could not only speak Polish but was using it to communicate with Stiles and only Stiles made his heart race. God, he was absolutely pathetic about getting attention from Derek. He was well aware the wolf was attractive – thank you very much – but he had other things to focus on. Like dead bodies.

“Understood,” Stiles responded. He stabbed his fork into the sausage, and they fell silent while eating. The Pack began to trickle into the kitchen, each person making their own breakfast and sitting down to talk about the solstice plans despite it being two weeks away.

“No one woke me?” Eoin teased as he walked into the kitchen, where everyone was already eating. “Ya should have told me ya were hungry.”

“You deserve a day off, too,” Derek said over the rim of his mug. “We can all cook for ourselves when it’s not a full moon. And with Stiles here, he can make dinner sometimes, too.”

“Stiles’ garlic bread was the best.” Cora leaned over from her spot to grab the butter for her bread. “I’m glad you weren’t here because I got to eat your serving.”

Stiles snorted at Cora’s comment, feeling proud that the Betas agreed that Stiles’ pasta yesterday was good. He knew it wasn’t traditional food like Eoin would make, but at least they had enjoyed it enough to eat every bite and ask him to make it again.

“I tried to save you leftovers, I swear.” Stiles teased as he cleaned up his plate and mug. “But your Pack is a bunch of wolves.”

Derek gave his sister a bemused look, cocking an eyebrow over to her. “Since Cora decided to eat my share, she can do the dishes today.”

Cora grumbled but didn’t argue with him.

“I can wash Alpha–” Eoin started, but Derek shook his head.

“Just let Cora do it.” Derek clapped the redhead on the shoulder and gave him a look. “You’ve taken care of us for so many years; let us take care of you for one day.”

Stiles watched Eoin’s face fall momentarily, an almost angry look covering the usually jolly face. Something sparked behind the man’s eyes as he grabbed his plate and began making his own breakfast. But, then, a smile plastered over his face, and Eoin looked his usual self. It was strange, but Stiles didn’t have enough time to unpack its meaning before Derek motioned for him to follow him up the stairs to the wolf’s room.

The two walked in to see Peter was already there with his mug and a plate of fruit and cheese. It looked like the wolf had been there for a while with how scattered the papers were. With the door closed and locked, Derek turned to Stiles.

“Can you place an additional silence Ward?” he asked in Polish.

Stiles nodded, taking a grape from Peter’s plate and using that as the focal point. Peter protested but stopped when he saw Stiles’ fingertips take on a purplish-silver tint of the magic. Symbols of the spell traced up Stiles’ arms as the grape slowly expanded from the palm of his hand. The small red sphere continued to grow until it became a silver translucent bubble that floated up into the room before growing to envelop the room. It popped with a slight fizzle and showered the room in soft light, the symbols disappearing from Stiles’ arms and a Triskelion appearing over the door to confirm the Ward had been set before disappearing.

Peter sat agape at the use of the magic, looking at Derek and speaking in Icelandic quickly. Derek gave his Uncle a look and responded before turning to Stiles.

“Thank you.”

“Literally my job,” Stiles responded and leaned against the wall to see Peter and Derek in his field of view. He mentally added ‘learn Icelandic’ to his list of things he would do while filling his downtime without TV and internet.

Peter moved to take some more of his breakfast and popped a grape in his mouth. “What did the Huldufólk say?”

“They said it was more than likely a sacrifice for the solstice. Some traditionalists still follow older practices with permissions around the Island, though usually, the sacrifice is willing,” Derek sighed and crossed his arms. “When I brought up that Stiles had seen this girl being chased in a dream by a creature, I was told just to go home.”

Peter frowned and leaned back in the desk chair. “To do–”

“–To do nothing. They’ll pass the information to the authorities and handle everything with the humans but keep what we know between us. No more investigations from our Pack and no outside sources.” Derek sat on the edge of his bed, folding his hands over his knees and looking down at his feet.

There was silence between the three of them; the only sound was Peter sipping his coffee or taking a bite of his food.

“We should tell the Pack,” Peter said, breaking the silence. “They should know something happened again.”

Again? Stiles frowned at Peter’s choice of words.

Derek’s eyes snapped up to Peter. “I’ll let them know there was a death; if the Huldufólk believe it’s nothing to do with our Pack, then that’s all they need to know.”

“Cora won’t let it go at that, and you know Jackson and Eoin will ask questions,” Peter continued, “I think it’s best to tell them everything before they find out from someone else.”

“Did you tell the Council?” Derek lifted his head to glare at Stiles, green eyes flashing a soft hint of red as he asked.

“I meant if the newspaper does a story, Derek. Don’t go shoving yourself down the poor boy’s throat,” Peter teased.

Stiles crossed his arms and looked at Derek with a frown. While he understood that the Alpha was concerned, he disliked that Derek automatically assumed he would run off to the Council. He knew he should – this is something the Council would want to know about – but there was a time and a place. What exactly had the Council done to make Derek so distrusting of them?

“And no, I didn’t. I just told Peter, like you asked. The Council isn't my Alpha; you are. I am here for you and your Pack. Not for the Council.”

Something passed over Derek’s face that Stiles couldn’t identify, but it almost seemed like respect. He felt his heart beat just a little faster at the thought that he had maybe removed another stone from Derek’s wall around himself. Perhaps he would trust him a little more.

“Then, as my Emissary, should I tell our Pack?” Derek asked, his eyes never leaving Stiles’ face.

Stiles felt his heart drop back into his stomach. He knew it was an Emissary’s job to advise, be a confidante, and connect the wolf to humanity – he just hadn’t expected it to come so soon or about a dead body. Stiles tried to remember the lessons for this and then realized nothing from school would have prepared him for this. So he went with his gut.

“I think you should tell them the basics; we found a body, the Huldufólk are taking over the investigation, we are not to interfere. If they ask more detailed questions, let them know we’ll know more after the solstice.”

Derek and Peter shared a look before Peter nodded in agreement.

“Well spoken. I conceded, your Emissary is right.” Peter leaned back in his chair and reached for his coffee cup to drain it of the last few drops. “The Huldufólk have a reason, even if I don’t agree with it.”

“What are the Huldufólk, exactly?” Stiles asked, taking the opportunity to get some answers while Peter and Derek seemed willing to share.

Peter opened his mouth to talk, but Derek spoke up first.

“If Werewolves are considered supernatural, they are considered ultranatural – something beyond our world. They’re the reason the crops grow, the rain falls, the fish swim, and the reason for earthquakes, avalanches, and volcanoes. They are the true masters of this land. If you want to lay a road, build a house, construct a dam –” Derek paused, looking at Peter before glancing back at Stiles. “– Move a body, you need to clear it with them. ”

“We even had to ask if we could add additional members to our Pack,” Peter mentioned as he put his mug down on the desk. “Derek can’t even turn someone already in our Pack without permission. If the Huldufólk would have said no to an Emissary, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Stiles raised a brow at the last piece of information but didn’t have a chance to follow up before Derek talked again.

“I think we should go tell them,” Derek murmured, standing up from the bed. “Then we can stop having them attempt to listen at my door like they're doing now.”

Busted.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the Betas pressed up against the door, trying to listen to what the three of them were discussing. He snapped his fingers, and the silence spell dropped almost as quickly as it had been raised. He nodded to Derek, indicating they could hear now, pushing off from the wall.

“Pack meeting downstairs,” Derek spoke in an almost whisper, followed closely by the sound of someone falling from being pressed against the door. A smirk crossed Derek’s face as he walked to his door. He paused for a moment, then put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and squeezed it. His thumb circled the shoulder softly as Derek turned to look him in the eye. “Thank you.”

“Literally my job,” Stiles repeated but offered Derek a smile. He felt the warmth of the Alpha’s hand leave his shoulder as Derek walked out, wondering why his shoulder felt so much colder now without it.

.o00o.

Time seemed to move faster and slower in Iceland – with the sun staying out longer and longer as the solstice approached, days seemed almost to bleed together. Soon, the solstice had arrived, and their Hot Spring trip with it.

Stiles had been concerned the Betas would want to postpone their trip due to the news that there had been a sacrifice, but they had accepted the explanation from their Alpha without hesitation. Peter had been right that Cora, Eoin, and Jackson were the ones who raised additional quotations, but as soon as Derek mentioned Huldufólk, the three seemed to accept the answers they were given.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Erica asked Eoin for the third time at their early dinner. “You’ll have an amazing time with us! I’ve even talked to the owner so we can have the pool to ourselves well past closing time.”

“No. I’ll stay here. Ya won’t be missin’ an ol’man like me. ‘Sides, means I get some time away from ya.” Eoin scoffed and ruffled Erica’s hair before placing another slice of lamb on her plate.

Erica shoved his hand away but had a smile plastered over her face. “Fine, but you’re coming with us next time.”

Eoin chuckled again as he began serving the food to the rest of the Pack as they trickled into the house from outside. Stiles watched them one by one file in with different items from their morning chores; Isaac had the goat milk, Boyd had the basket of vegetables from their little garden, Jackson had a basket of eggs from the chickens on his hip, and Derek last with his shirt hanging from his belt loop and six new logs for the fireplace.

Stiles had to turn away to hide his flush as Derek walked past him, burying his face in the glass of water he was drinking instead.

While Stiles was glad that Derek had begun to trust him more over the last few weeks, it had made things more difficult in the crush department. He had been like this since he was a kid: he would grow attracted to the person who gave him even an inch of attention or praise and cling to them like a little howler monkey for more.

He had done the same thing with Lydia Martin for nearly eight years. It only took one very awkward date in high school (that Scott may or may not have convinced Lydia to go on) to realize she wasn’t exactly his type, and they were much better as friends.

Derek, on the other hand, was his type. And now Stiles had to deal with his smallish massive crush on the Alpha he had been assigned. Unlike Lydia, he couldn’t just have a terrible date and get it out of his system. He had to endure it for the rest of the year while maintaining a professional relationship between them. It didn’t help that they had been spending time together outside of usual Alpha-Emissary things or that Stiles learned things about Derek without the wolf needing to say a word.

Like that, the Alpha had a sweet tooth like nobody’s business, specifically for licorice and gummy candies (which were also among Stiles’ favorites as well). The massive bag of loose candy Derek had gotten for himself from the grocery store was almost gone, and since Stiles knew they weren’t going to be going back for a while, he had found himself slipping some of his own back into Derek’s bag. The look of sheer happiness on the Alpha’s face when he discovered he hadn’t eaten the last licorice fish was worth Stiles’ empty snacking time.

Stiles had also found that Derek preferred to read with other people in the room, though they didn’t have to be reading, too. Stiles would catch Derek bringing a book to sit in the living room while Erica and Boyd played a card game or when Isaac set up his painting materials on the little window sill. Jackson would sometimes read with Derek, but more often than not, it was Cora or Peter. Stiles had begun bringing his books down to sit with Derek, the two of them munching on candy while silently reading together.

For some reason, those days they felt closer than the days they talked.

“You can borrow a swimsuit since we didn’t buy you one.” Derek’s voice brought Stiles to the situation, the shirtless Alpha’s hirsute and sweaty chest glistening in front of Stiles’ face. He fought every intrusive thought that ran rampant as he stared. Each one was more lewd than the last, and Stiles had to control his thoughts before the den of wolves noticed something more.

“Oh, for the hot spring!” Stiles cleared his throat and stood up from the kitchen island. “Yeah, sure. So it’s not a… naked party place, good to know.”

Derek let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “No. Usually, you wear a swimsuit in public. You should be able to fit in one of Jackson’s if he–”

“Pass, he can have yours,” Jackson called from the table, not looking up at them. He was engrossed in his book but clearly aware of the conversation around him.

“I guess you’ll borrow mine.”

“Can’t wait to get into your pants,” Stiles realized what he said the moment he said it and tried to backpedal as hard as he could. “The swimming. Hot springs. I’m really looking forward to the hot springs in your pants– In the swimsuit I’m borrowing. To go to the hot springs.”

Derek cocked a brow but slightly nodded before walking to his room to shower. Unfortunately, the Pack and Derek were very used to Stiles’ outburst by now, so while Stiles was mortified, the Pack just thought it was another Tuesday.

The Pack finished their dinner and began packing the car, Stiles taking the opportunity to shower quickly and change into the swimsuit Erica had handed him from Derek’s laundry. He felt a little awkward wearing Derek’s clothing once more, but he also couldn’t imagine the Alpha wolf in the bright pink and peach with flamingo swim trunks. He had hoped that meant Derek had never worn them before.

Stiles piled in with the group in the car, offering Peter the front seat with Derek while he scrambled into the middle row with Isaac and Cora. Erica, Boyd, and Jackson had taken the back row – Erica complaining about having to be in the middle – and with everyone buckled, they took off down the road to Hrunalaug. The weather was a bit cloudy today; sparse sections of rain could be seen as they drove down the ‘Golden Circle’ as Peter had called it. If there was anything Stiles had learned from his almost month here already, it was that if you don’t like the weather, wait twenty minutes.

Sure enough, about thirty minutes into the drive, the sun was out in full form, and the rain was a distant memory. The national park that was Derek’s territory always took Stiles’ attention. He had zoned out of the conversations in the car to watch the rocky hills flow past them like a sea of lush green and wild purple flowers. Every mile – sorry, kilometer – closer to the hot spring they got, the more green and hilly the terrain became. Derek turned them down a small road to a gravel parking lot that was completely empty.

“See, I told you I got us the private treatment!” Erica called from the back, a grin on her face.

Stiles chuckled as they got out and grabbed their towels and bags from the back of the SUV. The walk from the parking lot to the hot spring was beautiful: green hills and a few curious sheep watching their every step as they crossed the small bridge and followed the signs. A small hut came into view as they rounded another bend, and Stiles saw the two stone-walled baths, steam rising from them into the evening air. There was a small collection box on a post nearby, and Derek shoved a large amount of Króna into it despite Erica telling him she had paid for it online.

“Last one in does the dishes tomorrow!” Isaac called as he stripped his shirt and shoes before running towards the long pool. Jackson and Cora followed after, the two of them stripping as they ran as well. Peter followed slower but with the same haste in his step.

Stiles watched Erica and Boyd take off on their own towards the small hut and noticed a smaller pool that could only seat maybe two. He assumed they were off to do some canoodling without the group and turned his attention back to where Derek was stripping.

The Alpha pulled his shirt off cleanly, folding it and putting it on the side with his towel. Stiles had to look away as he moved to take his own shirt off and toe his shoes and socks off. He paused as he felt Derek’s fingers brush against his chest, lifting the pendant of the Triskelion Stiles still wore around his neck.

“I didn’t know you wore it,” Derek said softly. Surprise colored his voice as the green eyes traced over the symbol before he dropped it back against Stiles’ chest. The tips of Derek’s fingers lingered for a moment before pulling away completely.

“You, uh, you gave it to me. Or Eoin did from you or– Yeah, of course, I’d wear the Pack symbol. I’m Pack. Temporarily, at least.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed slightly before relaxing again. “Right. Temporarily.”

Stiles didn’t know if he said something wrong, but he felt like Derek had been disappointed with that response. The wolf nodded and made his way to the pool with everyone else, Stiles waiting a moment longer before joining the rest of the Pack in the long rectangular pool. He slid into the warm water, glancing over the outer ring of columnar basalt into the long stretched plains of green and brown grass leading to the mountains in the distance. It was almost like he was in a storybook with how perfect it felt.

Here’s to you, Mom. Stiles thought as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the steaming water against his body. The worry and stress he had been feeling moments ago seemed to melt as the water lapped against his bare chest.

“Guess Stiles’ doing the dishes again.” Jackson teased as the Pack began chatting throughout the pool. “At least you’re better at the dishes than shearing the sheep.”

Stiles groaned, lifting his head to glare at Jackson. “Hey, I was raised in the city and had never even touched a sheep until I came here. Cut me some slack!”

The Pack laughed at his outburst, even Derek chuckling from his spot against the wall. The wolf’s eyes were closed, but Stiles could tell he was paying attention.

“What are we laughing about?” Erica asked as she slid into the pool with Boyd following after.

“My inability to shear sheep,” Stiles grumbled and scooted closer to the Pack so the two would have more room. Boyd was carrying a green bottle of something as he sank into the water, twisting open the cap and taking a swig before handing it to Erica.

“That was pretty funny; what did you keep calling her? Steve?” Erica gave the bottle a swig before handing it to Stiles.

He took the bottle and glanced over the label that read Brennivín. “Scotty, because my friend back home has the same crooked jaw. And why are we drinking if wolves can’t get drunk?”

“Maybe not on your American shit, but Brennivín is high-quality Aquavit and is strong enough to get even a born wolf tipsy.” Peter motioned to the bottle. “It’s also called Black Death, so consider that before drinking it, Stilinski.”

Stiles sighed, putting the bottle to his lips and taking a swig. The liquid burned going down and tasted of anise mixed with caraway and cumin – almost like the bread they ate with every meal. He made a face, handing the bottle to Peter and coughing from the strength of it.

“Oh my god, that’s what you drink all the time?!” He gagged, trying to find something to clean his mouth out that wasn’t ‘werewolf soup’ hot spring water.

“Not always, usually for special occasions like Þorrablót or the solstice.” Peter took a swig before handing it to Isaac. “Usually, you just drink a shot. More than enough to warm the blood.”

The Betas continued to pass the bottle around, Derek taking it last and swallowing a shot before handing it back to Boyd to put the cap on. They sat in comfortable silence now, everyone enjoying the heat of the water and the schnapps in their bellies.

“Yeah, feeling that whole warm blood thing real good. ” Stiles murmured after a while, feeling the alcohol and steam rise over his face more than before. He had never been good at drinking spirits. Beer? Yeah, no problem! He could knock those back like no tomorrow. But since Scott and he shared a bottle of Jack at their freshman welcome party at Wyldin, Stiles had stayed away from them.

“You can move to one of the colder pools if the heat is getting to you already,” Boyd mentioned, seeing Stiles’ probably very flushed face.

“Agree. Derek, take Stiles to the other one; you know where they are.” Peter urged, almost pushing the Alpha out of the water. “Don’t want our Emissary to faint, do we?”

Stiles could see Derek shoot a look at Peter before standing up and motioning for Stiles to follow him to the other pool. He scrambled after the Alpha, trying to keep himself from looking at how tightly the wet swimwear clung to Derek’s legs. The two of them entered the little hut, Derek motioning to the pool so Stiles could climb in first. He swam over to the edge, overlooking the other little pool and more rolling green hills. The water was colder than the bigger pool, but not by much. It still felt good, and maybe being by himself would be nice.

But then Derek got into the pool, too.

It wouldn't be an issue if this pool were as big as the one they had just left. But this – according to Erica – was built originally to hold a sheep and the person bathing them. Which meant it was not very big. Derek’s knee grazed against Stiles’ calf as the wolf sat down, Stiles realizing that if he backed up even a little, he’d be sitting in Derek’s lap.

And poor, poor Stiles was having a hard time keeping his eyes to himself.

“Are you enjoying the view?” Derek asked, making Stiles choke. “Hrunalaug has better scenery than the Secret Lagoon.”

Stiles covered his choke with a cough, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, everything is really–” He glanced at Derek, seeing the wolf’s eyes on the rolling landscape. The midnight sun reflected over the water, casting a gentle glow on the olive skin of the Alpha, giving him an almost ethereal look that took what little control Stiles had away. “Beautiful.”

Derek turned to look at Stiles; his eyes crinkled as a soft smile pulled his lips up to show his prominent teeth. “It is.”

Stiles sank as far into the water as he could without touching Derek. He needed to get over this crush, and fast before he lost control of his heartbeat, or worse, the wolves smelled him.

“You said there were different schools of magic when we first talked,” Derek spoke up after a while, attempting to fill the silence. “How many are there?”

“Oh, six, technically. Three Branches of magic, each with two sides of the same coin.” Stiles held his hand up and crossed his fingers together to show the woven together forms of magic. He stopped after that, leaning back against the wall of the pool. Hopefully, that was enough to satisfy whatever Derek was looking for.

Derek cocked a brow and made a ‘go on’ motion with his hand.

“Uh, okay, I guess. But you’re about to start me on a very long rant about things you probably don’t care about.”

“You’re my Emissary. Shouldn’t I care about how you use magic to protect us?” Derek offered another half-smirk and once more made the ‘go on’ motion with his hand.

“Touché,” Stiles sighed. “OK, ok, but I warned you. We have to go through it all for you to understand. The four types of magic users –”

“Druid, Sorcerers, Mages, and Theurgist. And Sparks.” Derek counted them off on his fingers, giving Stiles a look that said, ‘I listen.’

Stiles rolled his eyes and gently splashed some water on Derek. “Yeah, smartass. Each of the four types learns how to use magic differently, but they all have what’s called a manifestation. An Emissary will manifest one branch when their powers have fully formed. They can still use most branches of magic; it just won’t be as strong.”

“Which one is your Manifestation?” Derek asked, which Stiles should have expected.

“I don’t know. I didn’t show an affinity for any of the branches over the other. So I just… learned it all. Jack of all trades.” Master of none.

“And that’s why you can use grass as a focus?” Derek filled in, his eyebrows cocking up in question.

“Yes. Well, kinda. No. Actually.” Derek gave Stiles a look before Stiles continued. “Magic is anchored to the world or the ley lines or just – magic needs an Anchor. Like I said, most people use a symbol or a necklace, but others use things like… People. My mother’s magic was anchored in my Dad. Her magic was always the strongest when he was around.”

And your anchor is Derek; your magic has never been stronger than with him. Stiles pushed past the intrusive thought and continued his explanation.

“The first branch is Materia with the schools Creation and Negation. Most Druids manifest this branch, but Creation has all those fancy spells for life and– ok here.” Stiles reached over and grabbed Derek’s hand in his. He pulled a rock from nearby and placed it in the center of Derek’s palm. “Creation is taking something and putting life where there might not be. It’s usually used for things like weather control, plant growth, making something out of nothing–”

He wrapped Derek’s fingers around the rock, placing his hand over the closed fist, and channeled his magic into it. The tips of his fingers took on an almost silver tint, veins glowing the familiar silver-purple of his magic. Green vines began to spring from the rock and grew between Derek’s fingers, twisting and wrapping themselves down the Alpha’s arm. Stiles’ heart skipped a beat as he saw the wonder in Derek’s eyes again; the way his mouth fell open in surprise, and his eyes sparkled with pure joy was breathtakingly beautiful.

“Negation is the opposite. It takes or negates life, like a fire that burns a forest down to bring in new growth or a flooding river.” Stiles pushed a different form of magic through the stone, and the vines began to wither and die before dropping into the pool beneath them. “It’s usually used to create protections or barriers – prevent things from happening. Like the Wards I used to protect the territory or stop sound from leaving your room, that’s Negation.”

Derek nodded, watching their hands as he waited for the next part of Stiles’ speech.

“The next branch is Industria; the two schools are Primal and Spirit. This is a little more loose, but Primal magics are the ones you think about when someone says they can do magic.” Stiles released his hand and opened Derek’s fingers to show the rock on fire. It flickered and danced, Derek reaching to touch it and pulled his hand back as his fingers were singed. Stiles grabbed the stone from his hand and snuffed the fire out into the pool. “Firebolts and lightning, very, very frightening.”

“And Spirit is the opposite?” Derek asked, shaking his fingers out where they had been burned.

“Exactly. Just like how a wolf can take the pain of those they care about or heal when they’re injured –” Stiles took Derek’s hand and gently squeezed the burnt fingers to speed the healing process. The tips became his natural skin tone rather than the bright red of the first-degree burns. Stiles’ urge to kiss each one softly was only doubled as Derek’s thumb swept across Stiles’ knuckles and slowly began circling the skin. “–Spirit can heal and soothe. It sometimes gets a bad name because it has been used to bring back lost souls or the dead. Necromancy and all that, but at its core, it’s one of the crucial parts of the branch.”

Derek nodded and dipped his chin to his chest, glancing up through his eyelashes at Stiles. His thumb was still circling Stiles’ knuckles as he smiled toothily. If Stiles didn’t know any better, he would say Derek was giving him a come hither look. Stiles took a deep breath and placed the rock back in his hand.

“The last branch is newer. It’s only been a few hundred years since they defined it. It’s called Potentia, and the two schools are Body and Mind. Mind is often simplified to alterations or changing of things. It can also be divination, but some argue that’s more Spirit.” He ran his fingers over the rock, and it slowly carved itself into something else. The stone was smooth and polished, resembling a howling wolf now with a small Triskelion carved into the flank. “It also can be used to make illusions or make people see things, but it should only ever be used to protect your Pack.”

Derek ran his hand over the stone wolf, eyes transfixed on the little carving like it was the greatest thing he had ever seen.

“If Mind is changing something, is Body changing someone?”

Stiles nodded. “It’s actually the only school of magic Emissaries can’t do. Usually. There are always exceptions, but there hasn’t been an Emissary who could in centuries. Only one type of magical being can. You.”

Derek looked up, confused. “Me?”

“When you shift, you change yourself into something different but are still yourself. You maintain your humanity while becoming more than human.” Stiles put his hand over Derek’s again, the small stone wolf between their hands. “An Emissary connects the wolf to the Human world, but the wolf connects the Emissary to the Supernatural world—two sides of the same coin, like all branches of magic. Without one, the other wouldn’t be as strong or balanced. My magic is anchored to you as your Emissary.” Stiles swallowed, unsure if he should say what was on his mind.

‘Do it, Mischief. Tell him.’ It didn’t sound like his voice, but he knew telling the Alpha the truth was better.

“I think– I think it’s always been anchored to you.” Stiles felt his voice shake a little as he spoke. He had only ever told Scott and his Mom about his dreams – even his Dad was unaware the black wolf of Stiles’ nighttime visions had continued past childhood. It hadn't seemed important since he didn't want to burden him with more Emissary things. “I’ve been dreaming about a black wolf my whole life, and you’re– It looked exactly like you. My mother told me to follow him when I was younger, that he was meant to lead me somewhere. And I don’t know how, but– but I think she knew that was you. That I was dreaming of you this whole time.”

“Sciatháin dubha na mí-ádh…” Derek’s mouth opened in surprise, his other hand wrapping around Stiles’ upper arm. His thumb brushed over Stiles’ wet skin, each sweep making Stiles’ heart skip.

Stiles had no idea what the wolf had said, but he nodded anyway. Derek’s body moved closer in the already tight space, the wolf’s knee gently brushing against Stiles’ thigh. He shivered despite the warmth of the water around him and the warm hands of the wolf slowly sliding up his arm towards his neck. Every inch of skin that Derek touched felt like fire, passionate and destructive. Derek could ruin him right now, and Stiles would thank him. This wasn’t like how he felt for Lydia all those years ago – this was more potent.

“Derek!” Peter’s voice called across the hot spring, the two jumping apart as Peter burst through the little door. “Isaac shifted and ran off. Jackson bet him 6000 to finish the bottle, and we all know how he gets…”

Derek nodded, dropping his hand from Stiles’ and stepping out of the pool. He paused, turning to look at Stiles. “We’ll talk later?”

Stiles nodded, watching as the Alpha handed something to Peter and shifted into his wolf form. He ran off toward the direction Peter pointed, the black fur disappearing past the little cottage's threshold and out of sight. He groaned, putting his hands over his face, and dove into the water.

We’ll talk later.

Chapter 7: Questions

Later, it seemed, meant never; it had been a little over a week since the hot springs, and Derek still hadn’t talked to Stiles about what they had spoken about. Sure, with the solstice being over, Derek had to ensure the Huldufólk had no additional information about the sacrifice. And yeah, Stiles had been extra busy with other paperwork the Council had sent him for his one-month check-in. But you’d think the two of them would have had some time to themselves to talk about everything that had happened.

He had repeatedly replayed the night in his head, wondering if he had been too forward or chatty. Who tells someone they have been dreaming about them since childhood? Stiles' imagination grew wilder each day that passed without the two talking. His current running theory was that Derek had suffered mild heat stroke in the hot spring in combination with the alcohol and spontaneously forgot that they had any sort of conversation. Or that Isaac had drunkenly roundhouse kicked him in the face, and he was suffering short-term memory loss.

There was no in-between at this point.

Stiles had taken to walking and wandered around the territory near the house to avoid thinking about Derek. It helped for the most part, except when he thought about Derek. And if Stiles was being honest with himself, he thought about Derek a lot. He’d been wearing the sweater that Derek had picked out more often than not, hoping to spark some desire for them to talk. Stiles' usual dreams of being a bird had been replaced with the wolf touching him like he had that night.

He had it bad.

Stiles turned down one of the little paths towards the greenhouse and the field, seeing the goats and sheep out grazing while the chickens clucked happily around them. Stiles counted the chickens a few times and noticed another missing. Derek had explained that they sometimes ran off or were eaten by foxes, but it was still sad to see their numbers dwindling again. The animals seemed to ignore him except the one sheep Stiles had dubbed Scotty. She never failed to say hi to him.

“Hey there, Scotty, you doing ok?” Stiles asked as he ran a hand over the freshly sheared torso. “I see Peter got you nice and trim after my debacle.”

Scotty bleated in response, knocking her head against Stiles’ shoulder playfully. He fell back to the ground, letting her almost trample him to get into his lap. He hadn’t expected sheep to be almost dog-like in their affection, but maybe sheep raised by wolves differed from others.

“Alright, alright, but only for a little.” Another bleat from the sheep, quieter this time as she rested her head on Stiles’ lap and enjoyed his scratching pets through her short wool. He felt his phone vibrating wildly, pulling it out to see the Pack was chatting with one another in the group chat.

Peter Hale says: Camping trip tonight. Pack your shit.

Cora Hale reacted with 👍

Erica Reyes and Isaac Lahey reacted with 😮

Erica Reyes says: BOOOOO I veto!

V. Boyd says: Erica, it's for the thing we talked about.

Erica Reyes says IN THAT CASE, I'll be there with bells.❤️

Eoin Keene says We leave after dinner.

Jackson Whittemore says Should we pack clothing or is this just one night?

Derek Hale says Back tomorrow evening for the full moon.

Cora Hale says Eoin will you make camping pancakes?

“Oh, look. Camping… yet another excuse to not talk to me.” Stiles sighed, lifting his hand from the sheep and scrolling through the messages. He had been about to text the group when a private chat came in. Stiles felt his heart skip as he saw Derek’s name. The wolf never texted Stiles back. He always just used the thumbs-up response or answered verbally, but Derek was texting him first this time.

Older messages

Stiles Stilinski says: So. That whole talking thing is going well.

Stiles Stilinski says: If you're not dead busy today I should be free.

Stiles Stilinski says: Ha ha, just kidding. I got homework. I thought I was done with homework when I left school...

Derek Hale reacted with 👍

New messages

Derek Hale says: Can we talk today?: After dinner.

Stiles Stilinski says: I thought you were going on that camping thing. Derek Hale says: No. Just the Betas and Eoin.

Stiles Stilinski says: Sending the kids away so we can talk alone? cry laughing emoji Derek Hale says: Yes.

Stiles Stilinski says: Yeah, I'm free.

“Oh my god.” Stiles felt his face flush as he realized Derek had ensured they would have time to talk without interruption. Talk without interruption alone in the big, empty house. “Scotty, I don’t know if I’ll survive a night.”

The sheep looked up at him with curious eyes, bleating again as she headbutted his hand to move. Scotty must have understood that Stiles was done with petting her and got up to graze with the other sheep, leaving him free.

Stiles stood and brushed himself off before waving to Scotty and the other animals, the sheep now ignoring him in favor of the grass. He turned to walk down a little path, trying to keep his heart from beating out of his chest as he thought about tonight. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw the familiar black raven sitting on the roof of the woodshed near the house. He hadn’t seen the raven since following it to find the body, so his curiosity was piqued. He began walking towards the creature, wondering exactly why it had decided to show its face now of all times.

As he stepped closer to the woodshed, he watched the bird fly to a window above him. Stiles watched as the creature began pushing against the window until it gently swung in and opened just a little so Stiles could hear a conversation floating through the breeze.

“ –Are ya sure ya can trust him, Alpha?” Eoin, Stiles thought and stepped closer to the woodshed and the window. He knew he shouldn’t be listening to this conversation, but his insatiable need to know everything got the better of him.

“I dun’t believe that ‘lost my bag’ one bit; I think he’s hidin’ somethin’. He arrives late an’ then a death happens? Suddenly wants ta cook an’ bake an’ do thin’s ya already have me fer? Askin’ those questions for the Council? I bet they sent someone ta undermine ya and turn yer Pack against ya. Maybe even kill ya.”

Stiles felt his heart sink as Eoin confessed his feelings to Derek. He had thought he had made a positive impression on everyone in the Pack, but apparently, Eoin felt different. Stiles tried to remember if Eoin ate anything he had made and came up blank; the human had always made an excuse to eat in his own house whenever Stiles was the one cooking. Did he really not trust Stiles?

“Where is this coming from?” Derek’s voice came next, laced with genuine concern. Stiles imagined the wolf standing with his arms crossed against his chest, the default Derek position.

“Jus’ a feelin. I’m not ta only one who feels it either.”

That hurt. God, that hurt Stiles more than he thought words could. Maybe he really wasn’t getting as close to the Pack as he thought. Maybe he was just seen as a threat from the Council. He began to wonder who else was feeling like this. Peter? Jackson? Cora?

“Who else feels that way?” Derek asked the question Stiles was thinking. “Because when I asked the rest of the Pack, no one said anything to me.”

“Yer their Alpha, Derek. An’ ta some, a brother or nephew. I doubt they’da tell ya the truth if they thought ya Emissary could hear.”

Derek’s laugh was like a slight lift of the pressure on Stiles’ heart. “Cora has never been shy at telling me I’m an idiot. And Peter would have told me instantly if he didn’t trust Stiles. I don’t think they would tell me they liked him if they didn’t.”

“Maybe he’s put ‘em under a spell. Emissarys can do mind magic, yes?” Eoin pushed. “We still dun’t know what magic he can do.”

There was a pause before Derek continued. “I understand you’re concerned for me and our Pack, but it’s not like Ireland. Stiles is here to help us, and I trust him. That should be enough for you. It’s enough for the rest of the Pack.”

Eoin tsked, and there was something in a language Stiles couldn’t understand that wasn’t Icelandic. “Ya never learn, fine. I hope yer right an’ no one else has ta die fer you ta see he’s bad news.”

Stiles couldn’t take it anymore and walked as far from the woodshed as he could without hearing Derek’s reply. He took a few calming breaths and kept walking until he reached the dock overlooking the lake. He gazed into the still water, wondering if Eoin was right and others in the Pack were feeling the same way. If they were, would Derek turn on him, too? He had spent so long trying to earn Derek’s trust, but if the Pack didn’t trust him, it wouldn’t matter.

Maybe you should just tell Derek to forget about the whole dream thing, Stiles thought. It would be simple – just tell the Alpha he was mistaken – then everything could return to how it was for the year. Stiles could do what an Emissary did; Derek could go back to ignoring him like he had the first week. He’d stop cooking for them, stop trying to be a friend, and just fade away when the year ended.

But he couldn’t do that. They might not like him, but god, he was so happy to have been invited here. The Pack was the closest thing he’d felt to a family in ages. Yeah, his Dad was great, and Denison’s Pack had been there for him when his Mom died, but it always felt like he was an outsider looking in. When he was here, he felt… right. He decided that he would just have to try harder: the Pack would like him by the end of this, or he would die trying.

“Stiles,” Isaac’s voice called over the lawn, the Beta stepping out of the house and down the yard. “Peter was wondering if you’ll still cook dinner for us tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” Stiles called, turning to look at Isaac. He had lots of practice with pretending he was alright – came with the dead Mom territory – so he schooled his face to show nothing but excitement.

Isaac shoved his hands in his pocket, looking at Stiles before raising an eyebrow. “Sucks you’re not coming. We could have roasted marshmallows and stuck them in Jackson’s hair.”

Stiles snorted at that, shoving Isaac’s shoulder, and began walking to the house with the Beta in tow. “Yeah, I’m sure he would have loved that.”

“Loved spelled h-a-t-e-d,” Isaac agreed with a grin. “When we were in high school, I accidentally left my gum in his hair. He cried so much Talia made me cut my hair in solidarity.”

“Jackson cried?” Stiles asked, laughing as Isaac nodded. “I honestly can’t see him crying over anything.”

The two walked into the house, Jackson shooting them both a look as he narrowed his eyes.

“You told Stiles about The Notebook?!” He snapped at Isaac, bright red covering his cheeks. “That was our secret, Iz.”

“You cried at The Notebook, too?” Stiles asked with a snort. “My friend in High School was obsessed with it. She used to rent it every weekend. Scott and I watched it at least a dozen times and cried every time. We cried so much she disinvited us to the watch parties.”

Jackson seemed slightly less defensive but gave Isaac another look before grabbing his book and storming to the living room. Isaac left Stiles’ side to follow Jackson to do damage control. Cora was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and her book, head down as she tried to ignore the other Betas.

Stiles crept to the kitchen and grabbed everything he needed for dinner tonight. Originally, Stiles had planned to make another Italian dish since his garlic bread had gone over so well every time he made it, but with how he was feeling, he needed his type of comfort food. He didn’t care if no one else ate it; he would make what he wanted. He pulled out the sauerkraut and kiełbasa and began cooking.

“Something smells amazing,” Peter mused as he entered the kitchen. “Kiełbasa Kapusta?”

“Kiełbasa Makaron Kapuściany, technically. Mom always added noodles and lots of cheese because child me couldn’t eat anything without noodles.” Stiles sautéed the meat with the onions, mushrooms, and garlic, glancing at Peter. “Have you had it before?”

Peter nodded and leaned against the island. “A long, long time ago. Daí cooked a lot of her homeland’s food for Talia. Talia was pregnant with Cora, so she won’t remember, but Derek –”

“Kiełbasa?” Derek’s voice interrupted Peter’s train of thought. Eoin and the Alpha stepped into the kitchen next, Eoin making an excuse before stepping out to his own house. “I haven’t had Kiełbasa since… I think I was five.”

“You were five, Derek.” Peter agreed before moving from the island to grab coffee from the counter.

Derek walked up behind Stiles, leaning down to inhale the cooking meat and vegetables. Stiles felt the heat radiating off the wolf, their bodies close but not quite touching. He could smell the wolf over everything: hints of amber resin, mahogany, cedar, and patchouli wrapped in Ylang Ylang and vanilla.

“Smells great,” Derek murmured almost in Stiles’ ear.

Yes, you do. Stiles bit back whatever emotion threatened to bubble from his throat and moved to add the rest of the ingredients to the pan. The wolf moved to the table with Cora, the two talking in low voices that Stiles couldn’t tell if it was English or Icelandic.

The Betas began filing into the kitchen as the scent of dinner enticed them all. Stiles started to serve up plates, leaving Eoin’s tucked in the cupboard since he knew the human wouldn’t join them. His heart sank back into his stomach as he thought about what he had overheard again.

No, Stiles reprimanded himself. Stop thinking like that.

He finished plating the food and watched the Betas take their usual seats; Cora sat in the middle on the side closest to the counter, Jackson on her left, and Isaac on her right. Across from her, Erica sat in the middle, and Boyd on her left. Usually, Eoin would sit on Derek’s left and Peter on Derek’s right, but this time, Peter had elected to sit on the other end of the table. Stiles glanced between the two spots, feeling like this was a test.

If he sat on the right side, it would be like calling himself the Second or as crucial as the Alpha’s mate. But if he sat on the left, he’d be taking the place of Eoin – someone who had already been wary of Stiles’ presence in the house. If Eoin did come back and saw his spot taken…

“Are you sitting or just standing there looking like a statue?” Erica teased, patting the chair next to her – Derek’s right.

Relieved that someone had chosen for him, he took the spot to Derek’s right and settled with his plate and drink. The table fell into easy conversation about the camping trip tonight, making packing plans and sleeping arrangements for the tents and arguing over who got the bigger tent since Derek wasn’t coming. By the time the food was gone, they had settled on Erica and Boyd taking the bigger tent, Jackson and Isaac sharing a tent, Cora in her own, and Eoin and Peter sharing another.

The Pack helped clean up the kitchen and dishes, grabbing their things and carrying everything to the car where Eoin was waiting. The roar of the SUV starting up and driving down the road were the last sounds Stiles heard before the silence of the empty house fell over Derek and Stiles. They stood at opposite sides of the kitchen counter, unsure how to break the silence.

“I still need to do the Council Survey,” Stiles blurted out. He knew bringing up the Council was probably the wrong move with Derek, but it was the only thing he could think of that wasn’t ‘did you want to kiss me that night.’

Derek tsked, glancing up at the liquor shelf, and grabbed the green bottle of Brennivín and two shot glasses. He turned on his heel and went to the living room; Stiles was unsure if that meant yes or if Derek was once more avoiding anything to do with the Council.

“Are you going to join me or ask questions from the kitchen?” Derek called, answering Stiles’ first of many.

“Right.” Stiles followed the wolf into the living room, grabbing his notebook from the window ledge and settling on the couch across from Derek. He pulled his legs under him so he wasn’t touching Derek, but they were still close enough to reach over if he wanted to. The wolf cocked a brow but poured two shots and put one on Stiles’ side of the coffee table.

“Are you getting drunk or trying to get me drunk?”

“Both.” Derek downed his shot and poured another for himself. “I’m assuming the Council’s questions for the Alpha are different from the Betas?”

Stiles nodded, opening the notebook and pulling out the small list of questions he had almost memorized. He had filled out the ones he knew – Full name, likes to be called, color of wolf fur – but a few were still mysteries.

“When in Rome,” Stiles murmured as he grabbed the shot glass and tipped the burning liquid down his throat.

“We’re in Iceland, Stiles.” Derek joked as he leaned against the couch. There was an almost playful expression on the wolf’s face – like he was trying to hold back a laugh at his joke.

Stiles rolled his eyes heavily and sighed. No time like the present. “Are you hoping to expand your Pack?”

Derek’s lip twitched slightly at the question, the playful expression falling into a sour look. Stiles almost winced at how quickly the wolf’s mood dropped, wanting to return to before.

“No.”

Stiles sighed as he scribbled the ‘no’ down before reading over the next question. “Are you planning to move your Pack in the near future?”

“No.”

Monosyllabic answers. Great. Stiles could see this would be a difficult night if he did this with all the questions.

“Do you have any Packs that you keep in regular contact with outside your former Packs or family ties?”

Stiles watched as Derek lifted his middle and index finger before tapping them together with his thumb, almost like the mouth of a scolding teacher saying No.

With each question, he could feel Derek getting more and more irritated. This hadn’t been what Stiles wanted the evening to start as, but the Council had asked him to fill these questions out. He had received a very big, very red email chastising him for not finishing it sooner.

“Why did you become an Alpha?”

“Why did you become an Emissary?” Derek quipped rather than answering the question. At least it wasn’t a single-word answer.

Should have stuck with the kissing questions.

“My mother was an Emissary before she died. ‘My little Mischief will be the best Emissary of them all,’ she used to tell me. I couldn’t say Mieczysław when I was younger; I could only say Mischief. So that’s what she called me.” Stiles explained, the liquor already going to his head. He tugged at the sleeves of his sweater and cleared his throat before continuing. “She said I was a Spark who was destined to run with the wolves on black wings of Mischief.”

Derek sat up a little at that but didn’t say anything.

“I never really understood it, the whole black wings thing. I just… wanted to feel connected to her. So as soon as I was invited to the Academy, I agreed to be an Emissary.” Stiles tapped his pen against the notebook before speaking up again. “I also like being needed. I spent so many years caring for my Dad after my Mom died that it just became second nature.”

“When did she die?” Derek asked, still not answering the original question.

“When I was sixteen. I guess… Six years ago. It feels longer, honestly. She was sick for a while, though, so we knew it was coming. Doesn’t make it any easier.” Stiles sighed, tapping his hands against his knee.

Derek reached out for a moment, looking like he was going to put a hand on Stiles’. Instead, he grabbed the bottle and poured another shot for himself and Stiles, downing his before pouring another. Stiles hoped that meant the answer would be more than a ‘No.’

“My Mother was stripped of her Alpha powers by the High Council of Emissaries.” Derek’s voice was so soft Stiles had almost missed it. “My Sister Laura and I were ordered to split her Pack and leave Ireland. That’s why I became an Alpha.”

Stiles hesitated; his pen hovered over the space where he was supposed to write the answer. He didn’t write anything yet, watching Derek take another shot and leaning back against the couch.

“After her Emissary left, there were accidents all around Ireland. Girls were turning up dead– missing their hearts. Peter said it happened in the summer – three hearts, three months – but no one seemed concerned with the wolf pack on their doorstep until six years ago. After the third murder that year, the people were terrified of us. They blamed the Pack, blamed my Mother, and said wolves should never have been in Ireland. At one point, they set our house on fire to drive us out. The Council stepped in and said we could either find another Pack – separate after being with each other almost our whole lives – or split the Hale Pack between Laura and myself.

“Since we picked the split, we were assigned our new locations. Laura was assigned to London; I was assigned to Iceland. The Council continues to have our Packs under surveillance to ensure nothing like that happens again, checking in on us or sending me files after files of Emissaries to pick from. Every time I said ‘no,’ they just sent more files and threatened that if Laura and I didn’t choose someone, we’d have our powers taken too.”

To all Emissaries assigned Packs in IS and UK, Stiles remembered the email sent to himself and another Emissary, Laura’s Emissary. The Council didn’t want these questions for every Pack. They only wanted it for the Hale Packs.

Stiles felt his heart sink. They had sent him here to spy on them. Eoin was right. Derek had been so upset when he thought Stiles had told the Council about the sacrifice because if Stiles had told them, they would have disbanded Derek’s Pack. Send the Betas to god knows where to god knows what Pack without a second thought. He had seen it happen; sometimes, mates were separated if a Pack was considered too dangerous.

He had been fed bullshit after bullshit with the Council: denying his request to go to his mother’s school, assigning him to a Pack outside the United States, and all but harassing him for the survey results. A thought crossed his mind. Did Denison deny him, or had the Council wanted him to blame Derek for having to leave his friends and family? Had they used him as a way to try and break Derek’s Pack apart without having to lift a finger?

Emotions bubbled through him like a river – grief, embarrassment, sadness, anger – and he didn’t know what came over him. Stiles grabbed the list of questions and began tearing them up piece by piece. Stiles put each scrap of paper into the empty shot glass and put his hand over it. Flames burst out of the glass, the remnants of the alcohol fueling Stiles’ magical flames as they burned the paper into nothing but scorch marks on the glass. With a snap of his finger, the glass was back to normal, and Stiles poured himself another shot.

“Fuck the Council,” Stiles said and downed the liquid. He poured another and tossed it back, feeling the alcohol hit him hard. “Fuck their questions, fuck their rules, fuck them thinking they can use me – use YOU – like that. Fuck–”

But Stiles didn’t get to continue his rant. Derek’s hands had wrapped around his jaw and tugged him into a heated, sloppy kiss. Teeth crashed violently, and the copper taste of blood filled Stiles’ mouth as Derek's canines broke the skin of his lips. Derek pressed Stiles against the arm of the couch, his body hard and soft in all the right places as he deepened the kiss. Hands slid from Stiles’ jaw to the nape of his neck, fingers lacing through his hair and tugging fists of it as they crashed needy lips against one another. Both were starving for the attention the other was more than willing to give.

Stiles opened his mouth wider to deepen the kiss, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck and pulling him as close as possible. Clothing separated them from what he wanted, what they could have felt at the hot spring if Peter hadn’t interrupted them.

Hot Spring. Stiles’ eyes opened as he realized they had planned to talk about that tonight. He pulled off reluctantly, breaking the kiss so he could speak. Derek let out a feral growl as he launched himself back at Stiles, their lips meeting again as the wolf devoured Stiles’ mouth.

“Derek–” Stiles groaned through the rough kisses, feeling the beard scrape over his jaw as his lips trailed down the pale column of Stiles’ throat. “Derek, we– oh my god! Oh my g-ahhh”

The wolf began sucking the sensitive flesh below Stiles’ ear, a low rumble escaping his throat as he began to speak against the sensitive flesh. “You smell like leather–”

Stiles whimpered, but the wolf continued whispering against him.

“–Old, musky wood and the antique paper of aged books. I just want to curl up next to you and leaf through you like the pages of my favorite stories…”

“I thought we were going to talk!” Stiles attempted to push the wolf off him but found himself trapped against the couch and Derek’s warm body. The wolf pressed another kiss against Stiles’ neck, nuzzling in.

“Found something better to do with our mouths.”

Stiles groaned and pushed Derek off him finally. He glanced at the green bottle and saw it was nearly empty, where it had been full before they started.

“You’re drunk, and I think you might need to just… calm down.”

Derek growled but didn’t argue, his canines were pointed and protruded out slightly from his top lip. His eyes were a strange mixture of his usual green and the bright red of his wolf; the two swirled in a haze of animal and man. Partway between shifting and keeping his control.

Fuck was it hot.

“Do… Do you not like it?” Derek asked, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. “Was… You told me you dreamt of me, and I thought that meant – I just attacked you like that–”

Stiles could see the fear creep behind the wolf’s eyes and leaned over to press a kiss against his lips. He pulled back and rested his forehead against Derek’s.

“Yeah, I like it. Just… use your words next time. A ‘Hey Stiles, I really want to kiss you. Do you think we can make out on my couch?’ would be great.”

Derek nodded and wrapped an arm around Stiles’ waist as best he could. “Next time?”

“I’m going to assume this wasn’t a one-time kiss deal? Like… this isn’t just drunk Alpha taking advantage of his drunk Emissary, right?”

“Right.” Derek smiled. “More like drunk Alpha working up the courage to do what he’s wanted to do for a month.”

That made a heated pool in the bottom of Stiles’ stomach, a warm flood of invigorating energy entangled with the sense of anticipation. He could feel the tension through his whole body, but Stiles had never felt more relaxed with Derek’s arm around his waist.

“You’ve wanted to kiss me for a month?” Stiles rasped, knowing this wasn’t exactly the conversation they planned to have, but it was much better. “You avoided me–”

Derek moved to kiss down Stiles’ neck again, teeth gently scraping over the flesh as he growled again. “The moment you ran to find me on that full moon when our eyes locked, I wanted you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about the way you said my name, or the way you looked at me with your big eyes – I didn’t want you to think that I was pushing myself on you or that I was being… forward. Every time I saw or smelled you, I just wanted you. ”

Stiles shivered at the confession, feeling the lips sucking and teasing at the flesh on his neck – he knew there would be marks in the morning, but he didn’t care.

“Oh my god, I thought, ahhh–” Stiles’ words were interrupted as Derek bit a little harder against his neck and shoulder, the wolf reaching a hand down to slide up Stiles’ thigh slowly. “– You didn’t like me at all! I thought I was the only one with this crush.”

A growl ripped through Derek’s throat as his hand gripped Stiles’ thigh and slowly pulled them apart. Stiles didn’t fight, wrapping his leg around Derek’s waist and pulling the wolf tighter against him. “Of course I had a crush on you. You’re my Mate.”

“M-Mate?”

Derek’s lips brushed over Stiles’ pulse point. “I didn’t realize it at first, but you confirmed it when you said you dreamt of me. Because I’ve been dreaming of you just as long, sciatháin dubha na mí-ádh.”

Stiles felt pressure on his chest and a twist of his stomach like he was nervous. Derek had been dreaming of him, too? He gasped as Derek sucked the skin in the hollow of his neck before releasing it with a soft pop.

“Wha– What is a sciatháin dubha na mí-ádh? That’s not– not Icelandic.” Stiles moaned as Derek continued to leave trails of kisses down his throat. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate on facilitating the conversation when Derek was doing everything he could to distract him.

“It’s Gaeilge – Irish – it means ‘black wings of Mischief.’ But it can also mean misfortune.” Derek finally relented, sitting back enough so they were now eye to eye. “When I was younger – couldn’t have been older than five – my dreams were filled with something chasing me. I didn’t know what it was, but knew it had black, ominous wings. My mother told me my mate would come on sciatháin dubha na mí-ádh; black wings of misfortune. She always said, ‘Maybe you’re meant to let him catch you.’ And so… I did. And there you were.”

‘Maybe you’re meant to follow him.’ Stiles could hear his mother’s voice telling him. All these years, Derek had been running from him all these years, but Stiles kept pushing, chasing until they were both finally ready. Until this very moment.

Stiles flung himself at Derek and smashed their lips together again, hungrily wrapping his body around the wolf and rocking himself against Derek’s warm body.

“You said you wanted to talk,” Derek teased as he slid a hand over Stiles’ back and splayed his warm fingers against his flesh. He hoisted Stiles up from the couch and began to walk from the sunken living room toward the stairs.

“We can talk in your room,” Stiles whispered against his lips. He could hear the husky need in his voice, hoping he didn’t sound too wanton. “Maybe rethink the dress code?”

Derek continued to carry Stiles up the stairs, a wolfish smile on his face. “Of course.”

Chapter 8: The Huldufólk

They didn’t talk. Well, they didn’t talk at first.

After the third or fourth time, Stiles needed a little break. The Betas weren’t set to return until that evening for the full moon and they took full advantage of the nearly 24 hours of just them. The two took time to talk about everything and anything they could think of: school, movies, books, old pets, favorite colors and foods, what their best birthday was, and any exes they had (Stiles talked about Lydia and the few guys he dated in Emissary Academy while Derek spoke about his few flings in Ireland, but he had been waiting for his Mate like his mother told him) and family. They talked a lot about family.

Derek talked about his home in Ireland before the Council made them leave, what his mother was like, about Laura, about growing up as a wolf – it was probably the most Stiles had heard Derek talk since they met. He could listen to him talk for hours.

Stiles talked about his home in California, about his Dad and Scott, and his Mother. He told Derek things he hadn’t talked about with anyone since her death. Her constant need to bake something at two in the morning, the way she never talked about her old Pack, how she would speak Polish on Tuesdays so the boys wouldn’t forget how. How Noah and Stiles still spoke Polish on Tuesdays. Derek offered to keep the tradition alive and speak Polish with Stiles if he wanted.

They slept between conversations, fucked between sleeping, and ate the last bit of candy Derek had stashed in his room as sustenance rather than leaving to find real food. They were in their own little world, and Stiles never wanted it to end.

But the real world called, and before Stiles knew it they were getting dressed to prepare for the Betas’ return. Stiles reluctantly used a cover spell for the marks Derek had left on him. The wolf seemed mildly disappointed, too, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he just placed another mark on Stiles’ shoulder where no one would see it as a compromise. Stiles couldn’t argue, being with Derek felt… Right. He had never felt more sure about anything in his life, even being an Emissary.

“Will you sleep in my bed tonight?” Derek asked, nosing into the juncture between Stiles’ neck and back. He kissed the nape of Stiles’ neck before letting out a soft growl. “I want the sheets to smell like you.”

Stiles let a small whimper escape his throat as he wriggled out of Derek’s grip. “I’m pretty sure your sheets are going to smell like me no matter what after all we just did.”

Derek pouted and glanced back to the ruffled bed sheets and then to Stiles. “So that’s a no?”

“I didn’t say that.” Stiles grabbed for his shirt only to realize Derek had taken it. He grabbed Derek’s shirt and pulled it over his head, wondering if he needed to lay some ground rules about the whole scent marking thing. Especially if Derek was going to try and keep this a secret from the Pack. “Is this like a between you and me sneaking around kinda deal?”

“Did you want to keep it a secret?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head, holding his hands up as he gave a nervous laugh. “No, no, I’m asking you. Because if I were deciding, I’d want ‘Property of Derek Hale’ stamped on my ass. I’d be shouting it to the hills, telling random strangers on the street – because no way in hell would anyone believe I could pull someone that looks like you.”

Derek’s smile was overpowering as he pulled Stiles against him. “You told me you had dated other people before.”

“People,” Stiles grumbled. “Not a Sex God Polyglot Alpha Werewolf.”

“Sex God?” Derek teased as he leaned down to kiss Stiles’ lips softly. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

“Then they’re all stupid. Or blind. Or you scare them with your tough guy façade,” Stiles murmured against Derek’s lips. “So what are you going to tell the Pack?”

The conversation between Eoin and Derek yesterday popped into Stiles’ mind; if Eoin didn’t trust him, then this would look like Stiles was just trying to get under Derek’s skin. He didn’t want the Pack to think he was just… sleeping with Derek because of his position as Emissary.

“That the plan worked.” Derek shrugged as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Stiles with him so he stood between Derek’s thighs. “It was Peter’s idea for them to go camping and give us the house, but Erica suggested giving us time alone to see if you felt the same as me.”

Stiles was speechless. Probably for the first time in his life, he didn’t have a quip or a sarcastic comment about the situation at hand. Initial shock over, he cleared his throat. “Your Betas knew you wanted to kiss me before you told me?”

“You do realize how hard it is to keep something from your Betas, right? They know what the Alpha is feeling, and it’s a little hard to hide when they find their mate…” Derek laughed a little, giving Stiles a look.

Stiles flushed a little, remembering that lesson briefly. He hadn’t actually paid a lot of attention to the Alpha mates and courting sections of his training. Mostly because Stiles hadn’t thought an Alpha would want him, but also partly because he had been preparing to be in Denison’s Pack, and as attractive as the wolf was, he wasn’t Stiles’ type.

“They’re back.” Derek stood from the bed, lifting Stiles’ chin and pressing a soft kiss against his lips. The two of them walked out of the room and down the stairs to where the Betas were unloading the SUV onto the porch. Everyone seemed to be in high spirits as the hour drew nearer to moonrise, despite the sun still hanging in the blue-gray sky.

“Stiles! And Derek,” Peter called as he noticed the two of them. “Did you both have a good day?”

“I’ll say they did,” Cora muttered as she walked into the house carrying two tents in a bag.

Stiles had the good sense to flush, wondering exactly what he smelled like to the wolves. The other Betas shared the same knowing look, Isaac giving Stiles a thumbs up as he passed into the house.

“Yeah, how was camping?” asked Stiles, trying to keep himself from thinking about things he couldn’t control. The wolf was out of the bag – the Betas knew what he had gotten up to.

The Betas launched into a story about Isaac nearly falling into the geyser and Eoin burning their morning pancakes because he was talking too much. They did lament how boring it was without Stiles there to tease and made him promise that the next camping trip he’d come along with them. Even Eoin seemed to agree it would be better if they all went together.

“Promise, next time I’ll come. But you better keep me from the geysers; I’ll probably fall into one if I’m not careful.” Stiles joked as the wolves began preparing for their full moon run. Eoin had gone back to his house, wishing them all a good night and avoiding looking at Stiles. Hopefully Stiles would be able to remedy Eoin’s perception of him. He did have a whole year with the Pack.

“Have fun while I’m gone, Mischief,” teased Derek.

“I should not have told you that story,” Stiles grumbled and wrapped his arms around Derek for one second before breaking apart when Cora came out of the house again. He still wasn’t sure how to act around them, even if they knew. “Maybe I’ll see you in my dreams?”

Derek smiled at that, placing one last kiss on Stiles’ lips before breaking off to walk where the Pack was. He took his shirt off first, and then Stiles watched the group shift into their wolves. With a howl, Derek and the Pack ran off into the midnight sun.

.o00o.

Stiles had made himself actual food, not realizing how hungry he was after spending the last 24 hours confined to bed. It wasn’t anything special – a few pylsur with some chips on the side – but it filled him up enough. He took a shower next, cleaning himself as best as possible with how tired he was. When Derek had been around, his mind was preoccupied with the literal adonis in his arms, but now that he was alone in the house again, he just wanted to sleep. True to his word, Stiles crawled into Derek’s bed rather than his own, wrapping himself in the sheets that still smelled of Derek’s heady musk. He sighed, closing his eyes and drifting into a restless sleep.

He found himself flying over an open field of green; the rolling hills were familiar now with how often he had seen them both in his dreams and in person. A cool northern breeze twisted through his feathers as he soared toward the plateau near a crystal blue lake. He could see the green grass changing to the yellow-brown of the mountains and a pack of creatures running through the raised craigs of the riverbeds. Stiles could tell they were hunting something, his eyes glancing around to try and spot the deer or horse they were after.

Instead, he saw a woman with short brown hair. She was wearing hiking gear and had dropped her backpack a few meters back as she tried to outrun the creatures. Stiles caught another glimpse of the cat-fox creatures from the first dream – fear pulsing through his veins. There’s more than one now. He thought, wondering how they had multiplied to three. Were they breeding? Her screams were louder this time, begging for someone to help her as the creatures snapped at her heels. Stiles opened his mouth to call for her, to say he was there, but nothing came out.

‘Fly, Mischief!’ A voice whispered in the back of his mind, the same voice that had been in all his dreams since coming to Iceland. He glanced around, trying to see if someone else was with him, but he couldn't see anyone.

He flew faster, heart pumping in time with each flap of the wings. He didn’t want to watch another death – he didn’t want to find another body. His body trembled from exhaustion as he pushed himself to his limit, the woman’s screams fueling him. One of the creatures turned around, bloodshot yellow eyes meeting Stiles’, and he instantly woke up.

“Derek!” cried Stiles, realizing he was in the wolf’s room and the soundproofing might prevent the wolf from hearing him. He ran out of the room and clambered down the stairs toward the front door. He didn’t even stop to put on shoes as he ran from the porch to the damp grass. He could feel the mist from a rainstorm passing or starting, the sun dipping slightly lower but still shining in the sky.

“DEREK!” Stiles screamed as loud as he could again, the rumble of thunder echoing through the mountains with the same ferocity. He felt bad he was probably waking Eoin, but he didn’t care. If they hurried, maybe Stiles could save her. I wish I had real wings. Stiles thought as he glanced around nervously for the wolf, not even sure the Alpha had heard him.

Derek came bounding across from one of the ridges, black fur damp and glistening as his red eyes met Stiles’. He was big, nearly six feet long, with broad shoulders and a massive tail that swept nervously through the air. He could tell Derek was on edge – but they could deal with that later.

“I saw another girl with the creatures. If we hurry…”

The wolf nodded, bending down to allow Stiles to get onto his shoulders. Stiles didn't have time to unpack how weird it was to be riding a wolf right now and instead swung his leg over the other and buried his hands in the wolf’s fur. He glanced up, looking for a sign of where to go.

“That way.” Stiles pointed forward, the black raven bouncing through storm clouds above. Derek launched himself like a bullet, the wind whipping through Stiles’ hair and across his face. Rain pelted his cheeks as they broke through another storm – the distant sound of thunder vibrating through Stiles as they ran. Each twist the raven took, Stiles would call, and Derek would move with mechanical precision. It was almost like he was used to running with a rider.

They came to the familiar green hills, Stiles turning Derek down a carved path closer to the edge of the mountain where the raven was circling. They passed a red and blue canvas hiking bag, Stiles’ stomach dropping as he realized this was it. He didn’t know how long it had been, didn’t know if she was still alive but he had to try. Derek jumped up to the top of a ridge for Stiles to catch sight of the same horrific scene of a Blood Eagle, just like before.

The woman was standing with her arms taught against two posts carved in runes. She was covered in bite and scratch marks over her flesh, the familiar and gruesome pattern holding. He could see the same white bone sticking out like wings with the flesh of her back stitched to the posts to keep it open, the same pink lungs were thrown over her shoulder, the same crimson blood pooling around her, and Stiles was sure if they checked they would find her heart was missing. Unlike the first victim, her body still smelled strongly of blood; Stiles could almost taste it in his throat. That thought alone made him gag.

He slid from Derek’s back and made his way around the body, careful where he stepped with his bare feet. Sure enough, he saw the face of the woman in his dreams – her eyes a mask of horror. Stiles swallowed and reached up to close them, the least he could do after being too late. Again.

“Are the runes the same?” Derek inquired as he shifted from wolf to human. Despite being in human form, his eyes still reflected the red of the Alpha as he walked up beside Stiles. The wolf placed a warm hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing a soft circle over the flesh.

Stiles nodded, trying to focus on what they could learn from this. The runes looked almost the same as before. They were carved into the poles and painted with delicate strokes of blue and white paint, but some of the letters were different. “The other translated to ‘Make their hearts black as ash.’ But see here?” Stiles pointed to one of the runes. “This says ‘h-j-a-r-t-a’ not ‘h-j-o-r-t-u.’”

“That’s the singular form. Make her heart black as ash?” asked Derek. His hand still rested against Stiles’ shoulder, thumb rubbing gentle circles to calm himself. Stiles could tell Derek was nervous, and after what he had learned about how Derek had gotten his Alphaship, he knew it wasn’t unwarranted.

‘His’, the voice whispered in the back of Stiles’ mind again. He didn’t know why, but he repeated the words back. “His heart.”

“Make his heart black as ash,” Derek murmured, the hand on Stiles’ shoulder squeezed tighter. “I have to go to the Huldufólk.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Derek looked surprised, his eyes swiveling down to Stiles. He could see fear in the red eyes of the Alpha, something Stiles hadn’t noticed before. Stiles lifted a hand to cover the wolf’s and squeezed softly in comfort. The wolf took a deep breath but nodded.

“We should go to the house first, it’s a long run and it would be better if we drove. And then maybe you can change.” Derek looked down at Stiles, wearing only his boxers and a tank top. Stiles had been so determined to find the woman that he hadn’t put on anything besides what he had been sleeping in.

“Yeah, yeah, pants would be a good thing.” Despite Derek being the naked one, Stiles felt more exposed and tried to cover himself as best he could.

The wolf’s smile was small as he looked over Stiles’ slightly embarrassed face. Derek stepped to the side and rolled his shoulders back, shifting back into his black wolf. He shook out the fur before offering his back to Stiles, red eyes trained on him. Stiles slid onto his back again and grabbed tufts of the fur in his hands before squeezing his thighs to say he was ready. Derek took off like a bullet through the hills back to the house, Stiles grateful that no one was out to see him riding naked on the back of a werewolf.

When Derek ran to the house, the rest of the Pack awaited him. They had thrown on minimal clothing, obviously concerned that their Emissary had called for their Alpha in the middle of the full moon run.

“Are you alright?” Peter asked as Stiles slid off Derek’s back. “What happened?”

Eoin came out of his house in a bathrobe, glancing between the Pack and Stiles. He looked like he had only just woken up, but he was just as concerned as the others.

“There was another body,” Derek said quickly. “Stiles and I are going to the Huldufólk to ask what to do next.”

“He’s goin’ too?” Eoin whinged, something in his voice breaking a bit. “I thought only wolves–”

“Stiles is the Emissary, Eoin,” Peter interrupted. “He’s the one they’ll want to talk to. Especially if the deaths are sacrificial. This is what he’s trained for.”

Stiles nodded and made his way into the house to grab some clothing. He pulled on jeans and a shirt, holding the wool sweater and sliding it on. He put socks and shoes on this time and ran out to the front again. Derek was already dressed in jeans and a shirt, holding the car keys in one hand. He was talking with Eoin in a low voice in another language – Stiles trying not even to attempt to eavesdrop.

“You didn’t answer Peter,” Cora said softly. “Are you alright?”

Stiles jumped as she came up behind him, his eyes turning to the youngest Hale. “Yeah. No. I don’t know. This whole ‘twice is a coincidence’ situation isn’t something I really wanted to find myself in.”

Cora lifted an eyebrow, clearly unaware of what Stiles was talking about.

“Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern. Two bodies, two full moons, same way of dying…”

“Coincidence,” Cora agreed.

Eoin shouted angrily and turned to storm back into his house, leaving Derek looking hurt. Stiles didn’t know what was going on between them, but it wasn’t the most important thing on his mind. Derek turned back to Stiles and Cora.

“You ready?”

Stiles nodded and followed the Alpha to the car only to have them walk past it and towards a smaller shed. Stiles had wondered what was in there, but he had assumed it was a shed for the boat that Peter had mentioned they used. Sure enough, a large boat and several ATV bikes lined inside the shed's walls. Derek grabbed the larger, black, and blue four-wheeler and pushed it out to the gravel of the drive.

He swung his leg over, motioning for Stiles to hop onto the back before turning the engine over. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s waist, tucking himself as close to the wolf as he could before they zipped off through the dimming light of the evening. Stiles hadn’t been awake for the sun setting yet, so seeing the yellow-brown mountains and green fields cast in anything but the sun's soft light was jarring.

It was a reasonably long ride – even with Derek taking the less paved and known paths – and it took them almost two hours before Stiles saw the mountain. The slopes were even more majestic in person as they drove across the shallow section of the water, Stiles glancing to where a few tourists were standing on the water’s edge taking pictures with their families or hiking up to the bubbling waterfall a few feet away.

“We have to walk from here,” Derek apologized as he turned the ATV off. “I usually climb it, but there’s another entrance if you’re not confident.”

Stiles glanced up at the mountain, seeing that it wasn’t exactly steep, but it didn’t look like it was something he’d easily climb. “I’ve never climbed a mountain before.”

“Then the other entrance it is.”

The two left the ATV with the other tourist’s cars and approached the mountain's base. Derek had a look of determination on his face, but Stiles could see a hint of fear in his red eyes. He wanted to reach out and take his hand to let him know everything would be alright. They hadn’t defined their relationship, but with how the wolf kept calling Stiles his mate, he was sure the small comfort would be accepted.

“A few things before we go. Huldufólk will offer you food; always take a small amount; it’s rude not to, but don’t eat more than a few bites. Don’t raise your voice, don’t call them fairies, and don’t stare at them.” Derek continued around the mountain looking for something, glancing back every now and then to make sure Stiles was still following.

“What do the Huldufólk look like?” asked Stiles, deciding to keep Derek distracted with questions. “If they look pretty strange it might be hard for me to not stare.”

“They look like us –” Derek trailed off, leading Stiles around the mountain's base towards the ocean. “– A little more like me since they have black hair but don’t look any different than humans. Most of the time, they’re invisible in our realm, but –”

“We can make ourselves visible whenever we want,” a woman spoke softly behind Stiles.

He jumped in surprise, grabbing Derek’s arm and squeezing it as he came face-to-face with what he assumed was a Huldufólk.

Taller than Stiles, she wore a blue and black bodice tucked over a black twill skirt with red patterns. Her woolen jacket was decorated in the same red design on her skirt, symbols that Stiles had no way of knowing what they meant. Her deep blue eyes were focused on the two of them, black hair braided and tucked halfway under a black woolen hat with a long gold tassel.

“Elisabet,” greeted Derek. The wolf bowed his head slightly, Stiles mimicking him. “Did you know we were coming?”

She nodded, smiling to Stiles. “I’ve been calling for this one since he arrived.”

“Me?”

“Stiles?”

Derek and Stiles spoke simultaneously, glancing at one another before back at Elisabet.

“Come, we’ve much to talk about,” she chirped as she walked them to the edge of the mountain. She grabbed a rock in the face, twisting it like a handle to reveal a hallway that looked as if it was made of finely carved wood rather than stone.

Stiles didn’t know how that was possible, but he followed Derek down the hall towards an open room lined with tables. Several women were sitting on wooden stools at the tables with plates of food in front of them, all wearing the same type of clothing as Elisabet, ranging from bright blue to black. The men were standing and talking in Icelandic, Stiles noticing they were in woolen trousers, double button vests, and jackets with similarly tasseled hats over their short black hair.

“Food?” offered Elisabet, holding out a plate she had grabbed from somewhere laden with fruit and cheeses. Stiles had read a lot of things about eating food and telling your name to fairies, but he wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for Huldufólk. Derek reached over to grab a single piece of apple and motioned for Stiles to do the same. Stiles grabbed a small amount of cheese and popped it into his mouth.

It was crumbly and tangy, a little like goat cheese but with something else behind it. Stiles couldn’t put it in words, which made sense – they were more than likely in another realm. He watched Derek eat the piece of apple, and the two continued into the room following Elisabet. She sat at an empty table, motioning for them to sit before taking a chair herself.

“Mischief, right?” she asked with a smile.

“Uh, yes. Stiles works too, if that whole name thing – You said that you had been calling me?” he recounted, cutting to the chase as always.

Elisabet nodded and took a grape from the plate before popping it into her mouth. “I have, we all have. It’s not every day an Öll útibú comes to our lands. But that’s not why you came. You came because of your Alpha.”

Stiles nodded, sheepishly turning to Derek so the wolf could relay what they had found. It was nice, though that Derek didn’t tell him to stop talking or interrupt him.

“We found another sacrifice,” Derek started. “And you and Ólafur had said there wouldn’t be more until the next solstice. But we found her less than an hour after she had died.”

“With her heart missing too?”

Stiles and Derek both nodded as Elisabet hummed softly. “Tell me about the dream, Stiles. What did you see?”

“Uh, well. It always starts with me flying. Like, a black raven, I think. I’ve never seen myself. But anyways, I’m flying over the hills, and I see these creatures chasing the woman.”

“What did they look like?” interrupted Elisabet, her blue eyes still trained on Stiles.

“Like… Almost like if a cat and a fox had a baby? But they’re almost the size of a medium dog. Every time they look at me, I wake up so I can’t get a close look.”

Elisabet tapped her fingers against the table before pushing the plate to the side and slowly drew a creature on the wooden surface. The same strange mixture of fox and cat with the gray ribs protruding out and the patched fur over the tail and body. She drew another creature similar, but it looked more like a raccoon with formidable teeth and a long, slinky tail.

Stiles pointed to the first drawing, looking up between Elisabet and Derek. “That’s the creature I saw.”

“Skoffín,” confirmed Elisabet. “The offspring of a male Arctic fox and a female cat with a gaze so deadly it can kill you with just a glance. They are called demon harriers and are usually familiars of Sorcerers.”

“Skoffín…” Stiles repeated. “How many Sorcerers are registered in Iceland? Could we find out who might be sending them?”

Derek and Elisabet shared a look before she spoke again. “You are the only registered magic user in Iceland now outside of Sandvík Island. Even then, there are no Sorcerer students this year. The last one graduated almost ten years ago and is an Emissary in Peru.”

Stiles had been about to ask how she could know this, but then realized that Derek had said the Huldufólk knew everything and were masters of the land. Of course, they would know if someone had entered their territory with magical powers. Which meant that if Stiles was the only magic user, was she saying that it was him controlling the skoffín? He swallowed.

“Stiles isn’t a Sorcerer,” Derek said firmly. “So, there’s a Sorcerer that isn’t registered on the Island.”

Stiles felt his heart rise as Derek defended him. He knew the wolf trusted him; it just felt great every time he heard it out loud.

“Or there is someone using magic that shouldn’t be,” Stiles commented. “Anyone can learn to be a Sorcerer. It could be someone using magic without knowing what it is or what they’re doing.”

“That is more likely the case,” Elisabet agreed, grabbing another piece of fruit and popping it into her mouth. “It doesn’t feel like someone who the Council or Huldufólk has trained.”

Stiles wanted to ask what a Huldufólk's training was like, but he refrained.

“How do you accidentally summon creatures?” doubted Derek, looking between the two.

Elisabet had taken another bite of cheese and fruit, chewing thoughtfully before speaking again. “Skoffín kittens are born with their eyes wide open, and if not destroyed immediately, they sink into the ground and emerge after three years of maturation. Sorcerers using Materia Abnuium could summon the creatures from the ground to do their bidding after offering equivalency.”

Derek looked at a loss. While Stiles had tried to explain the magic as best as he could, without Derek having to go through years of training, Elisabet was just throwing him into the deep end of the magical pool without teaching him how to swim. Luckily, Stiles was there to keep his Alpha’s head above the water.

“She means they can use Negation magic to balance the Creation; a skoffín is born, so the Sorcerer is sacrificing something else to bring them into the world,” Stiles added, “Like chickens or sheep. Something no one would miss.”

“The women we found weren’t the sacrifice for the skoffín? Then what are they a sacrifice for?” Derek turned to Elisabet for clarification, the wolf trying to wrap his head around everything he was being told.

“You said the first sacrifice was found in a Blood Eagle?” inquired Elisabet, her eyes swiveling to Derek. “With runes carved. Was the second the same?”

Stiles and Derek nodded together.

Elisabet stood up without answering Derek’s question and moved from the table to a group of Huldufólk eating and drinking nearby. She spoke quietly and fiercely in a language Stiles couldn’t identify, leaning in a little more, trying to hear but feeling Derek’s hand softly rest on his thigh.

“This is the part where they decide what to do next,” explained Derek, “If they think we need to tell the Council that there is a rogue Sorcerer–”

Stiles knew what that meant without Derek needing to finish his thought. If the Huldufólk told Derek they needed to involve the Council, Stiles would have to report the murders. The same type of murderers that had lost Talia Hale her Pack and Alphaship. Derek would lose his Alphaship, and the Pack would be scattered.

He didn’t want that. He wanted the Hale Pack to stay together: Jackson annoying Erica about the bathroom, Cora judging everyone silently while enjoying her time with them, Isaac making new paintings and hanging them around the house, Eoin cooking the most delicious food, Boyd keeping everyone in line as best he could, Peter doing… well whatever it was Peter did, and Derek as their caring Alpha. Stiles didn’t want the Council to pull that apart for something that wasn’t their fault. He could feel anger bubbling up in his veins again as he watched the Huldufólk nod solemnly to one another.

They were going to break the Pack.

Elisabet walked back to their table, placing her hands on her lap. “We have decided–”

“You can’t tell the Council!” Stiles protested, slamming his fist on the table and standing so quickly his stool clattered to the floor. All the Huldufólk’s eyes were on him now, but he didn’t care. He hoped they knew how stupid they were being. “We still don’t know who this Sorcerer is, and if we bring the High Council of Emissaries to the Island, they won’t ever find out! They’ll just pick apart a Pack for no reason and say they fixed the issue. But then you’ll have skoffín running around killing people without a Pack to help protect.”

“Mischief–”

“I don’t care; I’ll lose my Emissary position before I watch them rip apart the Hales again,” he snapped at her. “Throw me out, take away my magic permit, do what you will, but I will not let you condemn an innocent Pack to–”

“We’ve decided to keep it between the Pack and the Huldufólk,” she interrupted with a smile, “But I am glad to see you are as loyal as we knew you would be.”

Stiles swallowed his anger and realized he had just shouted in the hall of the Huldufólk for no actual reason. Embarrassment crept over his ears, and he moved to straighten his stool so he could sit back down. Stiles didn’t even want to look at Derek now, too afraid of what the wolf’s face would look like. He was sure there was anger for embarrassing him in front of the Huldufólk, maybe even disappointment that his Emissary couldn’t stay neutral.

“Ólafur and I agree that finding this Sorcerer and stopping the skoffín is more important than keeping the Council updated,” she continued, “We can let them know once the crisis is over or if we have run out of options. For now, keep the Pack aware that there is a situation the Huldufólk are handling and keep to your normal day-to-day. Do not tell them more than that.”

“Understood,” agreed Derek. “Thank you as always, Elisabet.”

The wolf stood from the table and bowed lightly, turning to walk towards the exit without another glance at Stiles. His shoulders were hunched, and Stiles stood quickly, bowing lightly, and turned to leave. He felt Elisabet’s arm on his, pulling him closer to her.

“Spread your wings, Mischief. Let your Spark out and become Öll útibú. That is the only way you will save their Pack,” she whispered, placing something in Stiles’ hand. Stiles had no idea what that meant but nodded and walked out after Derek. It wasn’t until they were outside the mountain again that he glanced down to see what Elisabet had given him.

It was a pure silver pendant of a tree with three main branches, the roots and branches knotted into a Celtic pattern around the edges. The Emissary’s Focus. He frowned, turning it in his hands to see that all branches were silver rather than the traditional copper for the branches that weren’t your Manifestation. He had never seen one of pure silver before. Sure, some of the Archmages or Archscorcerers had two branches filled in with silver or one with gold if it was a Manifestation above the rest, but never every branch.

“Stiles,” murmured Derek, bringing the human back to the issue. He hadn’t looked at Derek since his outburst, wondering exactly how the Alpha would react to being spoken over. Finally, Stiles glanced up at Derek, ready to take whatever verbal reprimanding he would receive.

Derek roughly slammed Stiles against the mountain wall, his hand going up to catch Stiles’ head before it could hit the stone, and pressed a deep, needy kiss against his lips. It was heated and filled with so many emotions that Stiles could have sworn he tasted every single one of them.

A moan escaped Stiles’ mouth as he kissed back with the same ferocity, hands snaking up to grip black hair between his fingers and tugging the wolf closer. This was probably the best of all the reactions to Stiles’ big mouth. They broke apart after a moment, Derek resting his forehead against Stiles’ while he caught his breath.

“No one’s ever done that before,” Derek spoke with an almost surprised tone, “Stood up for me or our Pack like that.” The wolf’s firm grip was nearly too tight around Stiles’ waist, but it still was not tight enough.

“I was taught that an Emissary protects their Alpha in any way they can.”

Derek chuckled at that and pressed a kiss against Stiles’ lips again. “You continue to surprise me.”

“In a good way?” asked Stiles, waggling his eyebrows.

“In the best way,” Derek agreed, “We should get back to the Pack, though.”

Stiles nodded and attempted to push himself off the mountain, only to find Derek pressed against him. He smirked and kissed the wolf again. They had a few more moments to spare.

Chapter 9: Chosen

“So, we just… Keep going as if someone’s not dying every full moon?” asked Jackson, leaning back against the chair at the table. “That’s the Huldufólk’s decision? I thought they were supposed to be intelligent.”

The Pack was sitting at the table with breakfast half eaten, all now informed of what the Huldufólk had told Derek and Stiles. The two had returned around one in the morning, both tired from the lack of sleep and the fade of the adrenaline spike. When they arrived, no one else had been around, so the two showered and slept until breakfast.

Stiles’ dreams had been filled with him flying through the valleys and mountains of the territory, but that was it. He didn’t see skoffín or wolves or anything but the wild and untamed land. He wondered if this was an Omen or just because of what Elisabet said. Let your Spark out and become Öll útibú.

“Would you rather them tell me to alert the Council?” Stiles challenged from his spot against the wall. “Because, at this point, I’m supposed to. Two dead bodies? Yeah, it’s something the Council would want on their radar.”

Jackson bit back his following comment, glancing at Derek, who nodded solemnly.

“Why aren’t you telling them, then? If it’s what you’re supposed to be doing, shouldn’t you do your job as an Emissary?” Boyd wondered out loud. Everyone was silent at the question and looked over at Stiles for the answer.

Stiles glanced at Derek before sighing softly. “My first job as an Emissary is to protect and defend the Pack and Alpha by any means I have. Keeping the Council in the dark is something I can do to keep that promise until we know what the Huldufólk’s plan is. I serve the Pack first, Council second.”

In another language, Eoin muttered something under his breath at that comment, standing up and throwing his mug in the sink. There was a crash as the ceramic shattered against the plates and cups in the sink.

“Yar really goin ta support this? He’s just goin’ ta tell the Council as soon as yar back is turned. Ya trust him still, after all this? After it shows time an’ time again, he is the reason there are deaths?” Stiles cringed, feeling the Human’s eyes on him before Eoin returned to Derek.

Derek rolled his shoulders back, standing a little taller against the sink. “With my life.”

“Second,” Peter spoke up and glanced at Stiles with a small smile.

Eoin shot a look at Derek and then at Peter before storming out of the house and into his own. The door slamming echoed through the house, and all the wolves wincing at the sound.

“What’s that about?” Erica questioned after a moment, looking at Peter.

“Eoin’s been against having an Emissary in the Pack since the beginning; even with Daí, he was wary.” Peter ran a hand over his face and sipped his coffee slowly. “He’s not a big fan of the Council.”

“None of us are,” agreed Cora, “Doesn’t mean we get to pout and break things like a toddler having a temper tantrum.”

Derek growled a warning at Cora, his eyes flicking between the rest of the Pack. “If you don’t trust me or our Emissary, you can leave with him. I know Eoin said you are doubting–”

“No one’s leaving, Derek.” Isaac lifted his head from the table and gave the Alpha a stern look. It was the first time Stiles had seen such determination on the Beta’s face. “We trust you, and we trust Stiles – if the Huldufólk say this is what we need to know, then that’s what we need to know.”

Everyone nodded in agreement with Isaac, Stiles watching as each Pack member’s body language changed from defensive to acceptance. He could feel his heart swelling at their trust in Derek and him.

“I’m going to talk to Eoin.” Derek pushed himself from the sink and walked to the door. “We’ll be going on our full moon run tonight. Rest up.”

Everyone groaned at the comment, trying to argue that they should have the day off, but Derek had already left the house and was going to Eoin’s place to talk. The Pack cleaned up their breakfast dishes, and Peter scooped the broken shards of Eoin’s blue mug from the sink so Stiles could do his chores for the day.

His chores had become almost routine at this point. Stiles cared for the inner house, and everyone else cared for the animals and anything outside the home. He did trade-off with everyone on bathroom and laundry duties, and true to his word, Derek never assigned Stiles anything mechanical, so he never had to deal with the generators or water heaters, but the rest of the house was his domain.

Stiles would wash the dishes and pans after every meal, cook dinners and lunches on Monday-Wednesday-Friday and every other Saturday, keep the floors and rugs clean, and even make sure if there were small or minor fixes, he took care of them. The number of times he had to realign the bathroom door after Erica or Jackson broke it down was almost unreal.

He was finishing sweeping the kitchen floor when Derek walked back into the house with a defeated look. “That bad, huh?” Stiles asked.

“Eoin just locked the door and said he’d talk to me after the full moon.” Derek moved to sit on the couch, grabbing a pillow and pulling it into his lap. “If he were a Beta, this wouldn’t happen.”

Stiles moved to stand behind Derek, hesitating for a moment before gently running a hand through his hair. The wolf almost purred as Stiles’ fingers carded through the short hair, gently massaging down and behind his ears. He smiled softly as Derek’s eyes closed, and the Alpha almost seemed to melt beneath his touch.

“Does he want the bite?” inquired Stiles as he continued administering his gentle massage to Derek’s neck and head.

“Not exactly. My mom said he had the potential to be an Emissary at one point, but he didn’t pass the initial test. After that, I guess there’s a limit to when you can join the Academy?”

“The cut-off is 27,” Stiles agreed. “Something, Something magic regression, something, something Council.”

Derek chuckled as he relaxed a little more. “He asked me for the bite when we first moved to Iceland, thinking that may awaken his powers since the Council was very specific that I needed an Emissary, but the Huldufólk only gave us permission for the wolves we have now. They didn’t approve an Emissary until three years ago, and by then, Eoin had dropped the desire to join the Pack as a wolf.”

With each little push and touch, the wolf melted in his hands; almost obscene sounds dropped from Derek’s mouth while Stiles moved to his shoulders and upper back. “And it took you three years to pick someone? Why didn’t you choose someone immediately to get the Council off your back?”

“Peter convinced me to try and get the same Emissary Mom had, but she never came up in the files. Finally, the Council gave me an ultimatum and said they would if I didn’t pick someone. We read through the files, and… well, I picked you. Something told me you were the right choice, so I sent it to the Council. They told me you were the one they would choose and gave us the go-ahead to start preparing for you. Which meant I started learning Polish.”

“Come again, what?” Stiles hesitated. “You didn’t know Polish before?”

“When I picked you as my potential Emissary, it said you spoke fluent English and Polish. With a name like Mieczysław, I assumed Polish was your first language. So I learned it.” Derek shrugged. “I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable in our Pack.”

Stiles leaned down and pressed a kiss on Derek’s lips, smiling at the confession of this kind man. “Yeah, if my Dad ever meets you, he will flip that someone else knows Polish in the Pack.”

“You should invite him,” Derek murmured against Stiles’ lips. “I was going to have you invite your family too when I offered the summons, but the Council removed that part of my letter. I know what it’s like to be separated from those you love; I didn’t want my Emissary to feel the same.”

“I’ll think about it. Right now, I sort of want to just give you all my attention,” purred Stiles. He would love for his Dad to come and visit, but he also wanted to spend all his time with Derek, both as an Emissary and doing these sorts of things.

Derek chuckled, the vibrations sending little ripples of pleasure through Stiles’ whole body. He gave another kiss before licking Stiles’ bottom lip. “Can I steal a little of that attention right now?”

“You can have it all, undivided, uncontested, unshared, unalloyed, undistracted. In fact, I think I know exactly what area I’m going to pay attention to first–”

The door opened with a bang, and Stiles jumped back in surprise, almost smacking Derek’s nose with his own. He whipped his head over to see Cora walking in with the eggs for the morning. She didn’t say anything, but a smug look was plastered over her face as she began putting the eggs in the cupboard with the bread.

“By all means, don’t stop on my account,” she teased, walking to the living room with the empty basket. “Just know that I’m telling Laura.”

Derek groaned and rubbed his hands over his face.

“Dear Laura, remember all the times Derek told you to get a room when you were making out with your mate? Well, you’ll never guess what Derek is doing now–”

“Coraline…” warned Derek, sitting up to give her a look.

She held her hands up and gave Stiles a smirk. “Peter’s already sent Mom a dozen texts about you two. She’s begging for pictures of your Emissary.”

Stiles felt the tips of his ears turn pink as he realized wolves moved quickly. He cleared his throat and turned to Cora. “Well, it’s 500 Króna for the first ten. After that, you’ll have to start on the monthly plan. That’s where I put the real good stuff.”

Derek scoffed at that, reaching over to pinch Stiles’s side. “It’s only been two days, Cora. Let him breathe before you throw him to the wolves.”

“He’s been running with the wolves since he got here,” Cora pointed out. “I think he’s going to be ok.”

He beamed at that.

“Besides, anyone who can put up with your needy ass can handle Mom.” Cora walked out of the house to finish the chores, leaving the two of them alone again. Stiles had to hold back a snort; glancing down at Derek’s face, he noticed his cheeks and neck were bright red.

“Sisters…” grumbled Derek, leaning slightly against Stiles’ arms. “What were you saying about giving me your attention?”

“I think it might be easier just to show you,” Stiles teased, letting out an actual laugh as Derek got up from the couch and took his hand. He said nothing but tugged Stiles up toward the bedroom a little faster than before.

.o00o.

Stiles blinked, and July was almost over. Even with everything happening, it had been one of the best months of his life. He had spent the days growing closer to the Pack and his nights growing closer to Derek. Stolen kisses in between Pack duties, the gentle hand against his thigh as they ate, Derek’s warm embrace lulling him to sleep and waking him up every morning – he had it made.

Everything fell into a routine that felt so natural that Stiles couldn’t remember what it was like outside of Iceland. Sure, he missed watching TV with Scott or his Dad, and yes, he did miss a burger that wasn’t made of Lamb and spicy tacos, but he was still happy. They had gone to the movies, explored more hot springs, hiked some trails, and read more books than Stiles had ever read in his life.

The only thing that gave a dark cloud over everything was Eoin. He barely came out of his own house and hardly spoke to anyone. Derek had tried many times to get the human to open up, but it seemed like a lost cause. Stiles had overheard another one of their arguments one night; Eoin was still sure that Stiles would tell the Council about the murders and refused to listen if Derek was still taking advice from a ‘Council Whelp.’

Stiles hated to admit how much it hurt that Eoin didn’t trust him, but he couldn’t blame the man. He had been with the Hales before Peter was born and loved this Pack. If Stiles were in his position, he would have felt the same. So, Stiles did everything he could to keep the house running without Eoin’s cooking. He took on full cooking responsibilities, even learning to cook the bread Eoin made daily. He wasn’t good at first, but over time, he managed to make it so no one could tell the difference.

“Best one yet, Mischief.” Peter took another bite of the bread and flipped the paper over to read through the classifieds. That was another thing. Because of Derek’s constant use of the nickname, Peter had taken to calling Stiles ‘Mischief’ to annoy him.

“You know, Stiles works too. In fact, Stiles works the best,” Stiles grumbled as he poured his coffee and took a deep sip.

“Then how come Derek gets to call you that?”

“Because Derek had his dick in his mouth this morning,” interrupted Jackson, walking to the plates of eggs and sausage Stiles had made for them.

Stiles choked on his coffee, coughing as the warm liquid went up his nose and back into the mug. His face was hot from the scalding liquid that had just cleared his sinuses and from the blush now creeping from his ears down his neck. Jackson slapped him over the back playfully before sitting at the table.

“I didn’t… We… you can’t just…” Stiles spluttered, putting his mug back on the counter. His nose stung with the scent of coffee, and he could almost feel the burns inside his nostrils.

With Boyd and Cora in tow, Isaac trailing behind the group, Erica walked up. She glanced between Jackson and Stiles, lifting a manicured brow. “What did Derek do?”

“Sucked Stiles’ dick,” Jackson and Peter said in unison. The two grinned at each other as Stiles shot them both stern looks.

“Oh, that’s it?” Cora teased, grabbing her plate and sitting next to Jackson. “I thought we were talking about new information.”

Stiles ran a finger over his nose and whispered a little healing spell. “Ha ha, alright. Laugh it up, but new rule then. Unless my dick has been in your mouth or you are my biological father, no one can call me Mischief, agree?”

The Pack gave Stiles knowing looks but agreed to the new terms on nickname rights. Breakfast resumed without another word about who had whose dick in their mouth, the Betas picking up conversations about the plans for the day ahead while Derek and Stiles went shopping for the month. The door opened, and Derek walked in from outside, his face pulled in an angry frown.

“What’s wrong?” asked Isaac, tilting his head.

“Something got into the coop last night. We lost another two chickens,” Derek growled, putting the fresh goat milk and eggs on the counter. “That’s five in two months… I’m going to have to set a trap or something.”

“Stiles could do magic, right?” offered Boyd on the Emissary’s behalf. “Maybe one of those protection wards on the coop?”

Stiles nodded, reaching over to put a hand on Derek’s shoulder and squeezed. “I can do that today if you want. I know we were going to go into town today, but I can stay behind, and you can bring the Betas?”

“I don’t–” started Derek, but the Pack now agreed with Stiles. It seemed everyone wanted to go to Reykjavík enough that Derek couldn’t argue. “Alright, alright! You all can go! Stiles, list everything you want from the store, and I’ll be sure we pick it up.”

Stiles smirked as the Betas began chatting more animatedly, discussing what they would do once they got to the city. Derek looked like he was already exhausted and shot Stiles a look of betrayal.

“You know how much I hate shopping,” grumbled Derek in Polish. He pulled his plate of food over and began biting down on the sausages.

“It’ll be good for you to spend time with the Pack.” Stiles poured the wolf a cup of coffee, pushing it towards Derek with a grin. “You’ll have a good time.”

“Derek, can we stop by and get some new chickens?” Isaac asked from the table, the Betas crowding over a piece of paper that Cora was writing on.

Stiles looked at Derek, nudging him slightly as the Alpha sighed. “Fine! Yes, we can get more chickens. Only because Stiles doesn’t eat fish, and you need more protein.”

Isaac let out a little cheer, writing down chickens on the paper. Stiles grabbed his journal and began writing out the list of things he would need for the month, checking through the shelves and making sure anything they could possibly need was on the list. Stiles knew that Derek would always drive back if he forgot something, but Stiles was meticulous for a reason. Everything accounted for, including what he would make for dinner this month, he handed the paper to Derek.

“You forgot something,” Derek mused, grabbing the pen from Stiles and writing down ‘gummy sharks’ before handing the pen back.

“Right. The five basic food groups: fruit and veggies, grains, protein, dairy, and gummy candy.”

Derek nodded, folding the paper up and shoving it in his pocket. “Very important to have your daily candy intake.”

Stiles leaned over and kissed Derek’s cheek, inhaling the scent of the wolf for a moment before breaking off. “What about you? Don’t you need some candy?”

“You promised me a cake. Cora ate my slice last time, so you better make another one,” Derek warned, “And there better be one with dinner tonight.”

“Cross my heart, hope to die.”

Derek frowned at that and pressed a kiss against Stiles’ lips. “Not on my watch.”

Stiles leaned against the counter and smiled wide. With breakfast finished and the Pack already out the door, the wolves left the house and left Stiles alone, the car starting up the last sound before Stiles was alone with his thoughts. He started cleaning up the dishes first, finishing his chores for the morning before deciding to deep clean the kitchen.

Chores finally done, Stiles took to reading his book and catching up on his emails. He took a nap, played a game of solitaire on his computer, ate lunch, cleaned up after lunch, got a headstart on his laundry, and realized how bored he was without the Pack. When they were around, he didn’t miss having the lack of internet or TV. Without them? He might as well be stranded on a desert island with nothing but coconuts.

At about four, he decided to make the cake he promised Derek, pulling out everything he would need. Of course, that was when his phone decided to ring. He glanced at Scott’s name and pressed the answer video call. “Look at you, learning time zones!”

“Look at you in a sweater. Is that wool?” Scott teased, his smile plastered across his crooked face. “Miss you, Stiles. How’s the Pack?”

“Pretty alright. They’re already off running errands for the day. Anything special going on with your Pack?”

Scott went off on a tangent of the plans for tonight, Stiles only half paying attention as he began putting the dry ingredients together in a bowl before he started on the wet. He set the phone to the side so Scott could see him and know he was still listening, Stiles making appropriate comments where it was required.

“--And you won’t believe what Holly did,” Scott exclaimed after a while. His smile had only grown wider as he couldn’t wait for Stiles to guess. “She quit!”

Stiles’ eyes widened, mouth hanging open. “No! She’s only been there two months; how long did Denison sign a contract with her?”

“Six months. The longest one any Emissary was offered. Well, I guess besides you…” Scott rambled as he continued his story. “Apparently, Denison was ‘too strict and demanding,’ and she filed a complaint about the Pack. Which is total bullshit because everything she is complaining about was what you did when you were just a Human in the pack.”

“Scott,” began Stiles, “Most Emissaries don’t do what I did. Remember that whole me wanting to impress Denison? Yeah, I did everything, so he’d like me.” He grabbed the whisk and the bowl of wet ingredients and gently whisked them together. Stiles didn’t know why Scott was bringing it up like this; it seemed… targeted.

“Well, yeah, but Denison is learning the hard way not everyone’s like you. The Council has been trying to find a replacement for the last two months, but Denison says he doesn’t want anyone else except you, so I heard you might be getting an invitation to switch Packs!”

Stiles blinked, dumbfounded at Scott’s news. Two months ago, he would have been willing to hop on a plane and ditch Derek for Scott, his Dad, and his own bed. But now… Now, he was enjoying Iceland and the Pack; he belonged here. His face flushed a little as he realized he was happier here than he had ever been in Denison’s pack. And not just because of Derek.

“I’m not coming back, Scott.”

Scott’s face fell at that, his brown eyes wide in confusion. “But… But Denison said you can be his Emissary now! I thought you’d be excited! We can finally be in the same Pack again.”

“Scott–”

“Denison said he made a mistake; you should have been his Emissary from the start! You could have a permanent position in my Pack, Stiles!”

Stiles’s lip twitched at that: ‘My Pack.’ Even when Stiles had been a human in Denison’s Pack, Scott always referred to it as his Pack, unlike Derek, who had always referred to it as ‘our Pack’ from day one. Even when Stiles hadn’t been sure, when Stiles was only temporary, Derek had welcomed him without question. Without Stiles needed to prove he was useful.

“Look, my visa is for a year, and if Derek chooses to extend me – which he will – I’m saying yes and staying in Iceland,” explained Stiles.

“Why? Denison–”

“You know, I’m actually sick of hearing Alpha Denison’s name.” Stiles didn’t mean to snap at his friend, but he had about enough of this. “I wasn’t good enough for him when I was first willing to be his Emissary, but now that his first choice is gone and he’s up shit creek, suddenly I’m enough?”

Scott didn’t say anything. Clearly, the Beta was thinking the same thing.

“Sorry, no. I was Derek’s first choice. I was his only choice. I deserve to be with a Pack that actually wants me, not when it's convenient for them.” Stiles wanted to throw his phone across the room angrily, but he took a few calming breaths.

“When did he become Derek and not Alpha Hale?” Scott asked, a tiny hint of bitterness in the tone. “I thought you wanted to be in my Pack, Stiles.”

“I did,” Stiles sighed, whisking the bowl harder than he intended. He slammed the bowl down and took another deep breath. “But it’s your Pack, Scott, not our pack. You always belonged because Denison bit you; I was just your friend who came with you.”

“What if I become an Alpha? Will you come back then?” Scott asked, his face a mask of worry.

“No, I –”

“What about your Dad? Are you just going to abandon him?” pleaded Scott.

Stiles was too upset to argue about this with Scott, especially when the man had used his Dad as leverage. “I have to go.”

“Fine.” And Scott hung up without another word.

Stiles slammed his fist on the counter and released a resounding angry cry. For years, he had wanted nothing more than to be Denison’s Emissary, to have the Alpha want him the same way Scott was wanted. But now that it was within his grasp, it wasn’t what Stiles wanted. Stiles wanted Derek and their Pack. He wanted sarcastic Cora and stoic Boyd, Catwoman Erica, sassy Jackson, Animal-lover Isaac, and bastard Peter. And his Alpha, the one who chose him – the one he dreamt about his entire life – his mate.

He grabbed the bowl and vigorously mixed the dry and wet ingredients. The batter was now fully set and ready to pour; Stiles grabbed the cake pans and filled them to the line. He placed them in the oven, holding his phone, and moved to sit on the couch while he waited for the timer to beep. Part of him thought he should call Scott back to apologize, but instead, he dialed his father’s number and waited for the man to pick up. It took a few rings, but the sheriff answered.

“What’s going on, kiddo? I thought you said you were going into town with–”

“Ojczulek…” Stiles murmured, hiding his eyes so he wouldn’t have to think about the look on his Dad’s face. He didn’t use Polish unless it was serious or a Tuesday.

“What’s up?” Noah switched to Polish quickly, like they had been speaking it the whole time. “Is it that Alpha? Should I come get you?”

Stiles shook his head and realized that his father couldn’t see him. “I’m just missing you. And… and I might–”

“And you might stay.” Noah finished in English, a chuckle on the tip of his tongue. “It’s OK if you do; I knew this day would come when you’d find your Pack. Didn’t think it’d be your first one, but your mother only had one Pack. And you’re just like her. More and more every day.”

Stiles scrubbed his hand over his face, trying hard to keep himself under control. He loved and hated when his Dad said he was like his mother. She had been such an important part of their lives, but Stiles leaving his Dad alone was one of his biggest fears. It was why Scott knew he could pull the abandoning your Father card to shake him.

“But you only let me be an Emissary because you thought I’d be in Denison’s Pack!” Stiles couldn’t help but raise his voice. “You didn’t expect me to be halfway across the world from you.”

The other end of the line was quiet; something shuffling could be heard before Noah sighed. “I didn’t let you do anything, Stiles. I don’t think I could have stopped you. If you wanted to do something, you did it. Didn’t matter what I wanted.”

“Dad–”

“And your mother stayed with her Pack even after we got married. I’d visit her, or she’d come visit me, but we didn’t live together our first few years of marriage. Hell, I was getting ready to move in with the Pack for her. She would have returned to the Pack if she hadn’t gotten sick. We would have raised you in Ireland if that happened.”

Ireland. This was the first time Stiles had heard where his mother’s Pack had been; he had always assumed Poland since that was where his father met her in College when he took a semester abroad. Hearing his Dad had almost moved to Ireland for his mom gave him some hope. Maybe, just maybe…

“Would you move to Iceland for your son?” Stiles joked, though he was half serious.

“In a heartbeat. Is this you asking me to?”

Stiles took a deep breath, wishing he could just hug his Dad. He remembered Derek talking about inviting his Dad earlier this month, but he hadn’t brought it up yet. “Derek said you should come visit.”

“Did he now,” Noah’s voice sounded pleasantly surprised. “I’d love to see you; maybe bring your suitcase so I stop tripping over it in the morning.”

“I could book you a ticket right now. When’s your next free day?” Stiles perked up at his Dad’s agreement, not even thinking as he put the phone on speaker and began typing trips up.

Noah was talking to someone off the phone for a moment, returning after a minute. “Is Monday too soon?”

“No, never too soon. There’s one flight from San Diego with only one stop. And it’s in the States, so you won’t have to go through London like I did. It’s actually not a bad price either…”

“Book it!”

Stiles pulled out the information he would need, not even batting an eye at the price since the salary the Council paid him was excessive. He filled out all his Dad’s information and sent the ticket to him without pausing. “Everything’s good to go; I’ll have someone pick you up.”

“Maybe that Uncle, huh?” Noah asked innocently, but Stiles knew what he was doing.

“I’ll pick you up if that’s how you’re going to be,” warned Stiles. “We can’t both date a Hale.”

“Both?”

Stiles bit his lip, realizing what he said out loud. He debated just hanging up on his Dad, but the soft laugh from his Dad was a comfort that it wasn’t too much of a shock.

“Two for Two, Claudia,” his Dad murmured, “I gotta finish some paperwork if I’m leaving Monday. See you in a few days?”

“Yeah, yeah, see you then,” Stiles beamed as their call disconnected. He felt a weight off his shoulders as he lay on the couch thinking about everything he would do with his Dad. Stiles spent the next twenty minutes or so reading through the top things to do in Iceland when he realized he had invited his Dad and not told the Alpha whose house he was staying in. Quickly, he texted Derek, hoping the wolf hadn’t changed his mind.

Stiles Stilinski says: So that offer about my dad coming

Stiles Stilinski says: Is that still on the table?

Stiles Stilinski says: Because I might have invited him;

Derek Hale reacted with 👍

Derek Hale says: Yes. When should I book his ticket?

Stiles Stilinski says: I already did…

Stiles Stilinski says: He’s coming Monday?

Derek Hale reacted with 👍

Derek Hale says: Sounds good. Is there anything you want me to grab in town for him? Does he like beer?

Stiles Stilinski says: He likes whiskey.

Stiles Stilinski says: And trashy romance novels.

Derek Hale says: Peter will help me pick some out. What’s his favorite food?

Stiles Stilinski says: Anything unhealthy. So several packages of pylsur.

Derek Hale says: Will do.

Stiles Stilinski says: Thank you 🙏🙏🙏

Derek Hale reacted with ❤️

Stiles felt his ears burn as the wolf placed the little heart response to his text, it was the small things like this made Stiles’ heart beat wildly like he was back in high school. The timer went off, saying that his cakes were ready; Stiles got up and took them out to cool before frosting.

“Magic time it is,” Stiles thought aloud as he turned the oven off and left the house.

He went to the coop and began to wrangle the chickens and sheep into the little pens and coops before casting – he wanted to ensure they were all under protection. Unfortunately, no one wanted to listen to him, especially Scotty the sheep, who would rather run away from him and into the front lawn to headbutt Eoin’s door several times. Stiles winced after every time, apologizing to the wood since he knew Eoin wouldn’t answer.

Satisfied and sure that every animal was back in their spot, he grabbed a handful of grass and rolled it between his hands, channeling magic into the plants. He felt the familiar tingle in his toes before closing his eyes and blowing the grass out. Each blade slowly manifested as the silver and black butterfly, floating to the compass points around the coop. The spell hovered over the building, sparkling and twisting like the runes of his spell before disappearing in a flash of light. The silver and black triskelion reflected over the coop and faded just as slowly.

A raven cried, dipping through the trees and around the buildings before disappearing into the distance.

Chapter 10: Guests and Dreams

The weekend zoomed by quickly, and soon, it was Monday. Stiles loaded up in the SUV and went to Keflavík to pick his Dad up. Derek had initially offered to go with him, but with the full moon approaching and the potential of another attack, they decided the Alpha should stay in the territory. Plus, then Stiles and his Dad could have some time together.

Parking and making his way into the Airport, Stiles waited excitedly for the familiar short blond-brown hair and blue eyes that was his father.

“Stiles!” boomed Noah, almost tripping over his bags as he greeted him. Stiles smiled and flung his arms around his Dad, squeezing him tightly and inhaling the scent of his childhood home. He missed the subtle smell of mothballs and rosewood, the gentle undercut of his dad’s aftershave. Now, he truly felt he was home.

“Long flight?” Stiles asked and broke their hug. “Hope you don’t mind the upgrade I got you.”

Noah grinned, clapping him on the shoulder and squeezing it. “This is why I still call you Mischief. I didn’t need first class, you głupi.”

“You didn’t need it, yeah, but come on. Eleven hours? Wasn’t it better to have all that legroom and a hot meal?” teased Stiles as he grabbed the bright green bag – his lost luggage. He was just thankful that it hadn’t repeated itself this time. Maybe it was a sign.

They walked back to the car, Noah recounting his adventure to Denver for the layover, where he sat next to a nice Alpha and her Pack returning from their vacation and on their way to France. Stiles’ Dad had always been good at making fast friends; it came with the territory of law enforcement in smaller towns. Stiles threw the bags into the back seat, hopped into the front, and started the car.

“We’re going to have dinner at the house tonight, but I don’t know if you want to go right there or take a detour and do some tourist things, maybe get lunch?” Stiles offered, turning down the road to leave the Airport.

“If you haven’t eaten, I could go for a bite. Maybe a glass of something?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I told Derek you liked Whiskey and smut novels, so I hope you enjoy your vacation because I think they got you both.”

“Spoiling your old man, huh?”

“Someone has to do it since you won’t yourself.”

The sheriff chuckled and nodded, leaning back in the seat as they walked through the winding roads toward Reykjavík. Stiles knew exactly where he was going to take his Dad – the same place Derek had taken Stiles.

“So,” began Noah, “You and Derek, huh?”

Stiles had thought he would have more time than this to prepare for his Dad’s questions about the Alpha and his relationship, but no time like the present, he supposed.

“Yes.”

Noah snorted, “Was it the first night, or did you at least let him get to know you before telling him?”

“I’ll have you know, I wasn’t– wait, telling him? What do you mean? Telling him what? What are you talking about?” Stiles peppered his Dad with questions, unsure what the man was talking about.

“That you’ve been dreaming of him,” Noah pointed out, “He’s the wolf you talked about in your dreams, right? Your mother said that would be the Alpha you would choose.”

Stiles felt his ears grow hot as he remembered that his Dad had been listening to him talk about his ‘wolf dreams' since childhood. He felt even more embarrassed that apparently his mother knew he was dreaming about his future Alpha and said nothing.

“I told him about a month ago that I had been dreaming of him,” confessed Stiles, “I didn’t know the part about my dreams being prophetic. When did she tell you?”

Noah smiled softly, reaching over to squeeze Stiles’ leg. “She wrote me a letter to open when you got your first Pack, wrote you one too. I brought it with me in case you didn’t want to wait until you became official.”

“I– She wrote me a letter?” asked Stiles, glancing over to his Dad for a moment before turning back to the road. They were almost to Reykjavík, the hills turning to a more manicured landscape as the city came into view, and Stiles didn’t know what to think. Part of him was excited to read what his mother had written, but the other part wanted to keep his memories of her as they were. If he read this letter, those memories might change.

“You don’t have to read it yet, Stiles,” Noah assured his son, “Just thought I’d give you the option.”

Stiles pulled them into the little side street closer to the pylsur stand than Derek had, paying for their parking and leading Noah through the slightly crowded streets. Noah was fascinated by the row of shops and restaurants, smiling at the colorful rows of houses they passed before reaching the little side alley near the stand.

“Ok, so I think you need to have one eina með öllu, but the second can just be Bill Clinton style if you want,” Stiles grinned as they moved through the line.

Noad raised a brow but shrugged. “You can decide for me; you’re the local.”

Local. Stiles couldn’t call himself that, but compared to his Dad, he really did feel like he knew the land around Thingvallavatn pretty well, at least. He ordered them two each (Derek’s four each was way too many, but Stiles had eaten them all to be polite at the time), one eina með öllu and one with just mustard for his dad, both eina með öllu for him. The two sat on the picnic tables with their pylsur and sodas, Stiles sending a quick text to the Group Chat letting them know his Dad was acquired and then went back to eating the loaded sausage.

“So, tell me about the Pack, so I’m not an idiot when I greet them,” Noah chuckled, “Have to make a good impression if they’re going to be the people I see at Christmas, right?”

Stiles rolled his eyes but launched into a description of the Hale Pack while they ate. The conversation continued past their lunch and into the car, Stiles being sure to give as much detail as possible without entering the creepy zone. The ride to the house wasn’t too long, Stiles pulling up alongside the house to see Isaac carrying Scotty the Sheep in his arms. The Beta smiled, waving one of his hands from under the sheep’s fluff.

“Welcome back, Stiles!” He called, nodding to Noah, “Hello, Mr. Stilinski, welcome to Iceland.”

Noah gave a quick smile back, narrowing his eyes before snapping. “Thank you, Isaac!”

Isaac beamed at that, turning to bring Scotty back to the pen with the other animals. Stiles had noticed Scotty was escaping more and more, unsure why she had decided that the grass on their front lawn tasted better than the grass in their little meadow.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding. This is basically like heaven…” Noah sighed, putting his hands on his hips and taking in the scenery. “You get to live here.”

“Perks of not being in a bustling city,” Peter said with a tease as he walked down the steps. “Though I do miss a good pub.”

Noah turned to Peter now, a smile on his face that dropped almost immediately when he saw him. Shock covered his face, and his blue eyes widened. “Pete…”

“Nóe…” Peter whispered, stumbling back and almost falling off the deck. Stiles glanced over and saw Peter with the same shocked expression. Silence fell between the three of them as Peter and Stiles’ Dad shared a look of sadness and happiness.

“So, I don’t know how to read minds,” Stiles reminded them, holding a hand in a mock wave. “And not sure what’s going on. Can one of you speak in complete sentences, or are we past that?”

Noah cleared his throat, still keeping his eyes on Peter. “Your mother’s Pack was with Alpha Talia Hale – She was their Emissary in Ireland.”

.o00o.

Stiles worried his lip as he sat on the island counter, looking over the table where the pack sat. His dad was downing his second whiskey in ten minutes, glancing sideways to where Peter was pacing the area between the living room and kitchen. The rest of the pack was seated at the table, sharing confused looks while Noah and Peter continued their bizarre conversation.

“But your name was Gajos, Noah and Claudia Gajos—”

“I went by her name in Ireland since that was her Emissary title, but she took my name in the States,” Noah explained, finding his voice while the pack looked on. “Did you know Stiles was–”

Peter shook his head, glancing back at Noah. “No. We searched for her for years but couldn’t find Claudia Gajos, so Derek chose –” Peter motioned at Stiles, “He’s… He’s her son?”

Noah nodded, giving a slight chuckle. “Can’t you tell? He’s got her everything.”

Peter looked at Stiles now, his blue eyes seeking something in his face. Derek cleared his throat from where he leaned against the kitchen wall, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed deep, almost warning Peter to make it quick.

Territorial shit, Stiles thought with a smirk on his face.

“Stiles is Cora’s age…”

“Stiles is older,” Cora interrupted. “He’s an April baby, I'm May.”

Noah nodded, looking at the group. “She left when she realized she was pregnant. Talia told her it would be better to be with her family and relieved her of her Emissary duties. I had thought she would have told you.”

“No. Talia told me the Council was the reason Daí left.” Peter looked hurt at that, crossing his arms and huffing. Stiles noticed how Peter kept glancing at his Dad – as if waiting for something else to be said. But silence fell through the Pack again, Noah tipping the glass back until it was empty.

Derek sighed, pushing himself off the wall and breaking the silence. “It doesn’t matter why Mom lied, Peter. All that matters is now we know why we couldn’t find her when we looked for her.”

Peter muttered something under his breath that only the wolves could hear, looking away from Noah now.

“She took her name off the Registry of Emissaries after Stiles was born. Even if she were alive, you wouldn’t have found her,” Noah murmured into his cup. “She didn’t want to take on any other Pack; your mother was her Alpha always.”

That made Derek’s lips twitch into a smile, his green eyes moving from Noah to Stiles. “You both really had no idea?”

Stiles shook his head. “My mother told me enough that I knew she had only one Pack, left when she found out she was having me, and that she met my Dad in Poland, but she didn’t say anything about being a Hale Pack.”

“And I thought Hale was a common enough name that a Pack in Iceland wouldn't be related to a Pack in Ireland,” Noah explained, “Especially because I had no idea your name was Derek. Claudia always called you Darragh when she spoke about you.”

“I remember,” mused Derek fondly, “She thought it suited me.”

Peter stopped pacing for a moment and glanced over to the table. As Noah took another sip from his whiskey glass, Stiles saw something in the man’s face. He didn’t know precisely how close the two had been when Claudia was Talia’s Emissary, but it seemed close.

“So for those of us just catching up, Stiles is the son of Claudia Gajos, Mom’s old Emissary who left before I was born, when Derek was five, and when Peter was in college. No one knew she had a son except her husband and Mom, but Derek just happened to pick him as our Emissary because… fate. That about right?” summarized Cora, pointing to each person as she put the pieces together.

“No,” Derek countered, glancing over at Stiles. His green eyes shone with determination and something that Stiles could only describe as love. “I didn’t happen to pick him. I chose him for his skills, testimony, and abilities. I wouldn't have chosen him just because he was Claudia’s son. I didn’t know her well enough to have the same bond Peter had. I chose Stiles for who he is. Without question, without doubt, with every beat of my heart.”

Stiles felt his ears turning bright red as he tried to hide how much that sappy confession affected him. But it did feel good to know it wasn’t some fate planned, that Derek had chosen him for himself, not because of what he had done for him. Stiles had chosen Derek too – eventually, but still – and would continue to choose Derek. He jumped from his spot on the counter and looked between the Pack.

“With that proverbial cat out of the bag, who’s hungry?” asked Stiles, trying to bring the mood away from Derek’s almost Elizabethan love confession. The rest of the Pack agreed, getting up from the table to help Stiles prepare for dinner. Noah even rolled up his sleeves to help as much as Stiles or Derek would let him. Soon, a rack of lamb was roasting in the oven, and the pack moved on to wait while it cooked.

“Pete, can we…” Noah started, looking almost sheepish. Stiles had never seen that look on his Dad’s face, and it felt… odd. Peter nodded, and the two of them moved to leave. “We’ll be back in a bit.”

They left the house, Noah waving to Stiles before the door closed, and the two walked towards the lake with about three feet of distance between them. Stiles watched for another moment, feeling Derek’s hand on his back.

“Peter was 16 when your Mom joined the pack. I’m sure he remembers your Dad better than anyone. Well, Eoin, I guess,” explained Derek. “He used to talk about Daí and Nóe a lot when I was growing up.”

Stiles nodded, crossing his arms as he turned away from the window. “I imagine they had a powerful impact on his life.”

Derek made a noise of agreement, looking down at Stiles. “I wanted to ask you something –”

Stiles knew this was coming, knew that this would be the question on the tip of Derek’s tongue. He had practiced what he would say repeatedly, but now that it finally came to it, Stiles was nervous. He took a deep breath, licking his lips as he nodded in agreement.

“Yes, I’ll stay in Iceland permanently –”

“Can you put the silence spell on tonight?”

They both talked at once, the two wide-eyed as they realized what the other had said. Derek’s face was beaming in joy, realizing that Stiles was planning to stay; Stiles’ face was a bright red as he realized Derek was just horny.

“You’re going to stay?” Derek exclaimed, wrapping his arm around Stiles’ lower back and pulling him tight.

“Of course. You told me we’re mates; I don’t just let anyone do the things you’ve done to me… I thought you were asking me to be your permanent Emissary…” Stiles was going to come back to Derek’s thing later. Right now, he was more concerned with Derek thinking he wouldn’t stay after the year.

Derek’s cheeks took on a soft tint as he dipped his chin against his chest and glanced up at Stiles. The Emissary had come to call this the ‘I’m thinking about you in ways that are inappropriate’ chin dip.

And Derek did it a lot.

“Mates doesn’t always mean you’ll stay with my pack. My parents were mates but had two packs and lived in two countries. I didn’t know if you’d still want to be my Emissary after the end of the year or if you’d be –”

Stiles pressed their lips together to swallow Derek’s words. His hands cupped the back of Derek’s head and curled his fingers into the thick, black hair. The kiss broke after a moment, Stiles’ nose gently brushing over Derek’s.

“I choose you, Derek. And I’ll choose you over and over and over. Without question, without doubt, with every beat of my heart, I’ll keep choosing you,” repeated Stiles, using Derek’s words back at him, “So if you even think of calling another Emissary –”

It was Derek’s turn to interrupt Stiles with a kiss, the wolf wrapping his arms around Stiles tightly to hold him flush. His hand splayed over Stiles’ back and hoisted him up to sit on the counter so Derek could have a better angle. Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist and tugged him closer, fisting black locks in his hands.

The timer went off, and Stiles jumped in surprise, swallowing Derek’s laugh.

“I think that means we’re out of time,” Derek purred softly, “But tonight?”

“Yeah, yeah, good idea,'' babbled Stiles. He pushed away from Derek to check dinner, but the wolf held him tighter for just another second before letting go. Stiles flushed and grabbed his potholders to check on the lamb and potatoes. Derek’s hand trailed over Stiles’ back just to keep some sort of contact between the two of them. Stiles knew it was a wolfy thing but didn’t mind.

“Go set the table, touchy,” Stiles teased as he pulled the lamb out and placed it on the range. “And maybe check on the Betas or my Dad and Peter? See if they need more time?”

Derek reluctantly moved his hand from Stiles’ back and began setting the table with their colored dishes. The wolf placed each plate in its usual position and the new gray one at the head of the table, putting his dish on the left and Stiles’ on the right. It wouldn’t mean much to Noah Stilinski, but Stiles knew this was an act of an Alpha showing his guest the utmost respect.

It made Stiles love Derek even more.

Love thought Stiles. Yeah, it’s love.

Table set, Derek made his way down to the basement where the Betas were to let them know dinner was ready. Stiles finished the last touches on the side dishes and began dishing out the portions when the door opened. Peter walked in first, not even looking at Stiles as he walked up the stairs to the bathroom to wash up. Noah followed in after, shoving his hands in his pockets and smiling at Stiles.

“Sorry, Mischief. Is it time to eat?” He asked in Polish, clearly wanting to talk without anyone else knowing.

“Are you going to tell me what that’s about, or do I have to guess?” Stiles questioned, putting the lamb on each plate before starting with the potatoes and vegetables.

Noah’s lip twitched a little, a faint blush creeping over the man’s cheeks. Stiles suddenly didn’t want to know what it was about. Luckily, Derek walked up, interrupting the conversation. Noah shot Stiles a look before moving to sit at an empty spot.

“That’s Peter’s spot; your plate is gray.” Stiles pointed to the gray one at the head of the table. “Everyone’s color-coded.”

“Why?” Noah asked, taking the seat Stiles pointed to.

“Because Isaac kept taking dishes into his room and leaving them there,” Cora explained as she walked up from the basement. She grabbed the bread from the counter, helping Stiles finish setting up the food. “We used to have more than one plate and bowl per person when we first moved here until Isaac took late-night snacks to his room and never brought them back.”

“We had ants a lot, and no one knew why; plus, we always were missing a bowl or a plate for dinner. So Eoin finally said we each get one bowl, plate, and mug,” Jackson added. “And they’re color-coded, so we know who didn’t wash their plate.”

Isaac rolled his eyes and sighed, “I think you were all just being dramatic; it wasn’t that many dishes.”

“Isaac, we had 24 plates and found 22 in your room,” Derek countered, “I think that’s not being dramatic.”

“That’s nothing,” Noah started, smiling at Stiles.

Oh no.

“When Stiles was in high school, he’d do the same thing with mugs. Bring them to his bedroom for late-night things and just forget them there–”

“Dad, I would pay you–”

Derek put his hand on Stiles’ shoulder and offered a grin. A shit-eating grin. Stiles really should have told his Dad to leave the stories at home. Soon, Derek would be hearing about how he used to eat bugs for ten bucks when he was a kid or the many, many things Stiles had been trying to make everyone forget when he started Academy.

“--When he left for the Emissary Academy, he was cleaning out his room, and we found probably close to 50 mugs just lying around. On the dresser, on his desk, under the bed–”

“It wasn’t 50!” Stiles argued, crossing his arms. He could feel Derek’s hand creeping over his waist and pulling him closer. Clearly, the wolf was enjoying this.

“How many was it?” Derek asked with that same shit-eating grin on his face. If he thought Stiles had been attractive before, at the end of these two weeks with his Dad, that attraction would be gone.

“It was 37.”

Isaac let out a laugh, turning to the rest of the Betas. “You can’t say shit then, our Emissary is worse than me.”

“Who has 37 coffee mugs?” Erica accused as she and Boyd walked up the stairs. Stiles knew they had heard the whole story, even if they hadn’t been in the room. “Or did you just keep buying new ones because you didn’t have mugs?”

“You telling?” Noah asked, grinning, “Or am I?”

Stiles groaned, putting his face in his hands, and tried to will the floor to eat him. This was it. This was how the cool façade he had built up as a powerful and respectable Emissary crumbled before his eyes. There would be no coming back from this.

“Dad’s the Sheriff of the small town we live in outside of San Diego, so I’d bring him dinner after school or the games. And then I’d grab a cup of coffee from the station and just… Never brought them back.”

The Betas let out roars of laughter, Peter walking down with a smile. Stiles glanced up at Derek, the wolf’s lips twitching as he held his laughter back. Stiles had to remind himself this was part of parents meeting significant others – the crazy children stories – but he had never introduced someone to his Dad before, so this was new territory.

And Stiles was embarrassed.

“It explains why you always leave your mug in our room,” Derek teased, “I thought you were just forgetful.”

“I don’t–” Stiles blinked back in surprise. Of course, he remembered all the times he had to return to the room and get his mug before breakfast, but that wasn’t why he was surprised. Derek, casually and without thought, called it their room, not his. “I guess I do. Leave it in our room.”

More laughter filled the room, but it didn’t matter. Derek’s green eyes flashed a soft understanding as they had just silently agreed Stiles would be moving into the same room permanently. Stiles was floating on air as they walked to the table and took their seats. Everyone settled with drinks and food, the conversation naturally lulling to other topics until it lulled into complete silence while everyone enjoyed their lamb. The scraping of forks and knives was the only sound outside the occasional request to pass salt or butter. Peace settled over the usually chaotic Hale table.

.o00o.

Stiles’ Dad seemed to fit in with the Pack easily – especially with Peter, but Stiles didn’t want to think about that – and the days leading up to the full moon were uneventful. Which only made Stiles more anxious. Each day, as the moon grew closer and closer, Stiles could only think of his dreams: the skoffín chasing the girls, their hearts missing from their chests, the strange runes that threatened to make someone’s heart black as ash. His mind was wrought with it, and try as he might to hide it, Derek could tell.

“Are you alright?” Derek asked for the millionth time, kissing up Stiles’ bare and sweaty neck as the wolf snuggled into his shoulder. For the millionth and one time, Stiles was going to say ‘yes,’ but something held him back. He glanced up to the window where the sun still showed, but the full moon hung in the gray and blue sky. It was almost time for Derek to run.

“What if I have those dreams again tonight? What if– what if we find another body?”

Derek was quiet, lips pressing soft kisses against the freckles and moles. Stiles knew the wolf was counting. “Do you have control over these dreams? I know when I dreamt of you, I could do things like change the direction I was running or decide to look back.”

“I’ve flown closer before and tried to talk,” Stiles sighed, relaxing against Derek’s mouth as he slowly covered the bare flesh of his neck and shoulders with kisses. “But I’ve never done anything else.”

“What if you try?” He murmured, the wolf’s nose buried between Stiles’ shoulder blades. He could feel Derek’s rough beard brushing against his back, tickling his skin and sending a shiver up his spine. Each kiss tickled more than the last, but Stiles lapped up the attention as much as he could. Until it was too much.

“Alright, alright, ok!” Stiles wriggled away from the beard, glancing back at the wolf. He rolled to his side so they were facing each other now and gently ran a hand through Derek’s hair. “Be safe on your run.”

Derek nodded and leaned in to kiss Stiles slowly and softly. “I will. We all will.”

“Good.”

The wolf slid from the bed reluctantly and placed another kiss on Stiles’ lips. “If you need me, call me.”

“What should I call you?” Stiles teased, sitting up a little in the bed. He grabbed for a pair of boxers – unsure if they were his or Derek’s – and slid them on.

“Call me ‘my wolf,’” Derek responded in Polish, opening the door. “And I’ll call you ‘my spark.’”

“Get out of here,” Stiles groaned, covering his face. He paused, glancing up at Derek. “My wolf.”

Derek’s smile widened, “See you in the morning, my spark.”

Stiles sighed again and took this opportunity to get ready for bed. He showered and brushed his teeth, noticing his red mug on the bedside table where he had left it. Snatching it, he opened the door and stomped his way back down to the kitchen.

“Look at you, bringing your mug back,” his Dad teased as he pushed back from the counter. “Derek’s been a good influence.”

“Ha ha ha, you’re so funny,” deadpanned Stiles, “What are you doing up still? I thought you went to bed an hour ago?”

Noah shrugged, closing his book and getting up from the couch. “Couldn’t sleep; something about it never really getting dark makes me want to stay up late.”

“The winter has days where the sun doesn’t even rise. I bet those full moons are parties.” Stiles rinsed his mug, putting it back on the shelf so he wouldn’t be tempted to grab it again. “You’d come back for Christmas, right?”

“If you’ll have me,” he teased as he walked over and pressed a kiss against Stiles’ forehead – almost the same spot Derek had. “I told you I’d move here if you asked; I didn’t change my mind that fast.”

“Even with Peter?”

Noah’s face twisted in a half smile as he nodded. “I don’t know what you think, but Peter and I are on good terms.”

“Uhhu, but how good of terms is that? Like, am I going to have to break up fights? Was Peter in love with Mom or something?” Stiles joked, but his heart quickened as he realized his Dad wasn’t arguing. “Wait, Peter was in love with –”

“No, Stiles,” Noah huffed, giving him a look, “And if you want to know –”

“You know what, I don’t. I’m just going to leave that where it is and not touch it ever.” Stiles frowned, holding his hand up and shaking his head.

“I’d appreciate that,” he clapped Stiles’ over the shoulder and squeezed it softly before moving towards the stairs. “Good night, Stiles.”

“Night,” Stiles called after his Dad. He waited until the other had walked up and closed the door to the loft before making his way to the bedroom again. Flopping into the bed, he briefly rolled around on his phone before closing his eyes.

He felt the wind under his wings before he saw anything, the gentle breeze sending him toward the rolling hills. He recognized this place for once – the mountain near the Huldufólk. He dipped a little lower as he saw the groups of tourists near the bridge and the hills, pushing past them toward the taller peaks of the Volcanic mountains. Snow was visible on the lower planes, Stiles gasping in surprise as the white mixed with the black rock.

Stiles glanced over the snow, seeing footprints where tourists were hiking. He had been about to turn around when a scream ripped through the air. He saw a red-headed woman running, her lengthy hair like flames against the white snow, while five skoffín chased her. Stiles could see they had grown in numbers since the last time he had run into them, wondering why so many had been summoned. He dove down to get a better look – Derek’s voice echoing in his mind.

What if you try?

The creatures pounced on the woman, burying their claws and teeth into her as they tried to subdue the redhead. She screamed again, the sound echoing in the mountain. Without hesitation, Stiles dove after the creatures. Talons clawed at the creature's eyes, remembering Elisabet's story about their deadly stare.

He could hear the woman screaming again, the sound mixing with the cries of pain and anguish coming from the creatures as Stiles continued to peck and claw at their faces. One sank their teeth into his wing, sharp little daggers piercing through the flesh over his bones. Stiles let out a cry of anger, and lightning struck the ground where the creature was. Fur singed, the creature skittered across the snow, dragging fresh, black blood where it had been injured. He didn’t stop, the talons sinking deeper into the bone and flesh as he gouged their eyes out. They scattered, turning to run in the opposite direction.

Stiles hesitated, looking over to where the girl lay in the snow and where the skoffín had begun escaping. He took off after the creatures, diving down at them from above until they disappeared into the snow banks and melted into pools of black blood. He turned to fly back when a howl ripped through him, eyes fluttering open as he awoke from his dream.

Only when Stiles woke up, he wasn’t in his bed. He was naked in the snow.

Chapter 11: Black Wings of Mischief

Stiles took a moment to glance around at his surroundings, trying to see exactly where he was in relation to his dream. Black blood and feathers littered the snow around him, pawprints where the skoffín had been moments before he woke up.

No, he thought. If he had been dreaming, he wouldn’t have woken up here. He shivered from the cold, feeling the light breeze of the summer winds against his bare shoulders.

“Ok, ok. Think. Maybe you teleported? That’s possible. All it takes is a teleportation circle, three candles, and knowing exactly where it is you want to go – but sure. Teleported,” Stiles mumbled to himself as he tried to figure out what could have been the reason he would wake up covered in feathers in the middle of a snowfield. Stiles’ mind returned to the hot springs, where he had explained the branches of magic to Derek. It seemed ridiculous to think, but maybe, just maybe…

“Black wings of Mischief,” Stiles whispered to himself as he grabbed one of the feathers on the snowbank, twisting it between his fingers. He scrambled to his feet, stumbling as he saw he was near a ledge that overlooked the valley below. It was a relatively significant drop – enough that he would seriously injure himself if he fell.

‘Spread your wings, Mischief!’ Elisabet’s voice in the back of his mind grew louder, the distant sound of a low howl mingling with it.

He twisted the feather in his hand again, letting his magic slowly spread through his body; a silver-purple tint spread up his fingers and traced up his veins as he closed his eyes. “You are an idiot, Mieczysław.”

And he stepped off the ledge.

Stiles felt the rush of the wind, the cold biting against his bare skin as he fell – then, warmth. He opened his eyes, seeing the ground approaching faster than before. He flapped his wings, veering up just in time for his feathers to graze over the fresh powdered snow. Everything seemed brighter and more vital, like the landscape had colors he couldn't even imagine. Each movement of his wings seemed deliberate, gliding through the air with shallow, infrequent flaps. He had shifted.

Excitement bubbled through his veins as he dove and somersaulted through the air playfully. He had never felt this free; the world he knew was beneath him, and he was flying.

A howl echoed through the valley, Stiles rising higher as he saw a pack of wolves racing towards him, a black wolf with bright red eyes leading the charge. He cried out, the cawing sound of his voice surprising him before he dove down to fly alongside the wolf. Their eyes met, Derek turning off down a path from the rest of the Pack. Stiles followed after the wolf a little faster than before, watching the black against snow continue towards where the woman was. Three figures were with her – fear spiking through Stiles’ whole being.

“It’s Elisabet,” Derek’s voice whispered through his mind. “She’s safe.”

“How’d you do that?” Stiles asked, glancing down at where the wolf was running.

Red eyes glanced up at Stiles, the wolf almost smirking.

“I’m the Alpha – you’re a shifter in my pack.”

Shifter.

They circled the Huldufólk, Derek finally shifting from his wolf form into a human as Stiles continued to soar. After a moment longer, Stiles landed on the soft snow and reached a wing out in front of himself to steady the landing. The feathers slowly slid into his skin, and the wings became hands and arms again. His fingers were still tinted black with long, almost claw-like nails, but more human than before. The black feathers draped over his shoulder like a cape, and his legs were covered in black feathers until his waist– his feet were still birdlike with four toes ending in sharp talons. Wincing in pain, he felt his face twist and morph back from beak to lips, eyes still blurred between the hyper-focus color of a bird and his human vision before they settled again.

“Öll útibú,” Elisabet greeted Stiles, the Huldufólk bowing behind her. “Alfa Hale. We came as soon as we felt the skoffín outside our door.”

She nodded towards the white-capped mountain, Stiles realizing that this must be another entrance to the hall of the Huldufólk. The woman groaned softly on the ground; one of the Huldufólk bent down and checked on her. Red blood covered the white snow where the creatures had sunk their teeth and claws in, her breathing ragged and shallow.

Derek’s eyes flicked from the blood-covered snow to his Emissary, “Stiles, can you–”

Stiles grabbed a handful of snow, brushing it over the cuts and scrapes before letting magic slowly heal her wounds. Soon, each cut and scrape was a superficial scar over her skin that faded into nothing but purple and silver wisps of magic. Her breathing returned to normal, eyes fluttering open momentarily before closing again. It was clear to see she was exhausted; her chest heaved once more before a shiver went through her body.

“She needs to get somewhere warm and rest. Magic can only keep her healed and warm for so long,” Stiles informed the group, glancing between Derek and the Huldufólk. Derek lifted his head, and the rest of the Pack came up over the ridge behind him; a tawny wolf with bright blue eyes walked forward and headbutted Derek’s thigh softly.

“Peter and the Pack can take her back unless the Huldufólk –” Derek started, but Elisabet lifted her hand.

“This is a human matter; you and Öll útibú can handle looking after her. We will attempt to find the skoffín before they seek another sacrifice. The full moon isn’t over yet.” She motioned for the other two to follow her toward the mountain. They disappeared almost as quickly as they had appeared, Stiles blinking to find them gone.

.o00o.

They had returned to the house in record time, Stiles shifting and flying alongside the Pack to ensure they were uninterrupted in their trek. She lay on the couch with a blanket over her, Stiles and Derek sitting across from her on the other couch – waiting to see if she would wake up.

“You shifted,” Derek spoke finally, words laced with awe. Stiles was sitting cross-legged on the couch, Derek’s fingers curling over Stiles’ ankle and his thumb slowly rubbing the soft flesh of his malleoli as they talked. “I thought you said Emissaries didn’t shift.“

“They don’t – not usually. There have been Wolves who become Emissaries, but nothing about… Raven shifters.”

Derek’s thumb continued to circle his skin, the warmth of his fingers sending a soothing tremor through Stiles’ body. “It can’t be a coincidence. My mother told me that my Mate and my Emissary would come on black wings; your mother told you that you were destined to run with the wolves on black wings – and now you just happen to be able to shift into a Raven?”

Stiles’ lip twitched as he realized only one person could answer their questions. He uncrossed his legs and stood up from the couch. Derek glanced up, confused, but didn’t stop him as Stiles walked to their bedroom and flopped on their bed. He lay there for a moment,

“Damn it,” Stiles cursed as he grabbed the bedside table drawer and opened it a little rougher than he should. He pulled the journal out and fiddled with the cover for a few moments before tugging the crinkled paper of the letter out. He looked over the gentle swoop of his mother’s handwriting another moment.

Mieczysław.

He gently opened the envelope, pulling the sheets of paper out and unfolding them before he began to read.

Mieczysław,

There are many things I wish I could explain to you, to say to you, but even if I were to live a hundred years, I don’t think I would even have time. So, I will start with the most important. I love you. Never forget how much I love you, my Mischief. I want nothing but the best for you, which is why I did what I did.

When you were very little, I told you the Spark travels to the firstborn of every member of my line – What I didn’t tell you was that it grows stronger with every Gajos born. Our bloodline is tied with the very first magic users, the very core of magic. Each son or daughter could control more powers than the ones before. I had mastered all but one of the Schools of Magic by the time I became an Emissary. Something I hid from the Council and only shared with those I trusted – Your father and Talia Hale, my Alpha.

When I found out I was pregnant with you, I knew you would also carry the Spark as my firstborn son. I had every intention of staying with my Pack, of raising you among the wolves to learn from the Hales and all they could teach you. But plans change.

Talia’s son touched my stomach after I found out about you, and for the first time in my life, I had a vision. It was of you soaring through the snow banks of a far-off land on black wings with a black wolf below. Your magic trailing after you in purple and silver hues like the Aurora Borealis. That same night, Derek began to have dreams of a raven following him. I knew then you were destined to be the final Spark of the Gajos line. The one who would be able to control all schools of Magic. Wszystkie Gałęzie Magii, All Branches. And Derek’s mate.

An Emissary with a Wolf for a mate is rare but not unheard of. An Emissary with the power of Shapeshifting with a Future Alpha as a mate? The rarest of them all. It was my duty to tell the Council of my visions and knowledge of your potential powers and Mate, but I knew what that meant. The Council would keep you both under lock and key, ensuring that you grew up with your powers in check the way they wanted you to. The last Emissary who possessed all branches was paraded like a puppet and kept like a house pet, while her mate was chained in a cage for safekeeping. They would have taken you from me as soon as you were born and taken Derek from Talia.

Before I met you, I knew I loved you and wouldn’t want to be apart. Sometimes what is right is not always easy – giving up my Pack was the hardest thing I could do. But I want you to make your choices and to have your life be what you want. It would have been too risky if you grew up among the Hales. You would have manifested your powers too quickly alongside your anchor, and Mate and the Council would have known. So, Talia and I broke our pact as Alpha and Emissary to protect you and her son. We agreed to keep the two of you unaware of your connection; I would keep a spell over her pack from afar to keep them shielded. It was stronger when I was in Ireland, but their Pack would be protected so long as I kept my anchor close to me. I dread what will happen when I pass.

Despite all my attempts to keep Derek hidden from you, you still dreamed of your wolf and anchor every night. It killed me not to tell you, Mischief, but I knew that if you wanted to find him, you would.

If you are reading this letter, then you have chosen an Alpha. Even if it isn’t who I hope for, I know you have chosen based on what you wanted. Not because your mother told you, not because you were forced or pushed, but because you chose them. My heart does hope that you and Derek have found one another, and I hope that you both have chosen one another without knowing you were destined, chosen one another because you wanted to. You are the master of your choices and your fate, you and you alone.

I hope you forgive me for my deception, but everything I did was for you.

I love you, Mieczysław, Wszystkie Gałęzie Magii, Mischief, My Stiles.

Mom

Stiles hadn’t realized he was crying until the words were illegible through the tears. He pulled his legs against his chest and pressed his forehead against his knees in thought. Time ticked by slowly as he continued to sit in this position, eyes closed and mind on his mother’s words. She had been protecting him, letting him make his own choices at the sacrifice of losing her desires. All for him.

There was a knock on the door. Stiles scrubbed his face with the edge of his sleeve before clearing his throat. “Yeah?”

“Derek says the woman’s awake,” Jackson’s voice came through the door. “Just wanted to see if you’d want to join–”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute,” confirmed Stiles. He took another breath, grabbed the journal, and replaced the letter between the pages. Standing and exiting the room, he smirked at the Beta. “Did you choose the short straw on who had to check on me?”

Jackson scoffed, gently punching Stiles’ shoulder. “Yeah, had nothing to do with me wanting to make sure my Emissary was okay.”

“That would mean you have a heart, and we all know that’s not true,” Stiles teased, wrapping his arm around Jackson’s shoulder. They smirked before walking down the stairs to the living room.

The redhead was sitting up with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a cup of something warm between her hands as she sipped softly. Stiles could see the pink enamel of the mug between her fingers, her eyes glancing up as Stiles entered the room. Derek was still sitting on the couch across from her, his eyes meeting Stiles’ before returning to her.

“Anything else we can get you, Miriam?” Derek said again as Stiles moved to sit on the couch next to him. “Anyone we can call for you or–”

“No, just– The ride into town would be appreciated. I’m just so grateful you found me.” Miriam’s voice was soft as she spoke, eyes still gazing down into her cup. “I guess Emery wasn’t as lucky.”

“Emery?” Stiles asked as he leaned forward, “Was that who you were with?”

Miriam nodded, pushing her hair behind her ear. “He was a guy I met at the hostel I was staying at. We went hiking around the mountain and planned to go to Arnarstapi together, but when I turned around, he was gone, and those things chased me. I ran after that.”

“I didn’t see someone else when I was flying,” Stiles whispered in Polish, “I don’t think Emery was out there when the skoffín were.”

Derek adjusted himself on the couch, glancing at his Emissary before meeting Miriam’s gaze. “Did Emery say anything strange to you? Do anything to make you think he wasn’t what he appeared to be?”

“Not really. He kept saying he was an Emissary to a wolf pack, but guys always say things to impress you, you know?”

“Wait,” Stiles interrupted, “People are impressed with Emissaries? Like, that’s a line to get people into bed?”

Miriam flushed but gave Stiles a nod. “Emissaries are great lovers.”

“Yes, they are,” Derek murmured under his breath. “Did Emery say what pack he was Emissary of, or was he just using the line?

“He said the Hale Pack,” Miriam recalled, “He had the license and everything, even showed me a few magic tricks to convince me.”

The Sorcerer, Stiles thought. “Did he have any distinguishable features? A last name? Anything that might help us track him?”

“He was Irish? I’m not sure if that–”

Before Miriam had even finished her sentence, Derek and Peter were heading towards the door of the house. Stiles scrambled off the couch to follow them out of the main house and down the porch to the Emissary’s house – Eoin’s place. They were talking so fast and over one another that Stiles could barely pick up pieces of their conversation.

“Lack of magic, my ass–”

“You don’t think it’s the same as Ire–”

“– Girls missing their hearts showing up on full moons? It sure fucking feels like it,” Peter snapped as he reached for the door first. The Beta cried and yanked his hand back; second-degree burns covered the area that the knob had touched. Stiles watched as the wolf slowly healed, eyes flashing bright blue. “Is it a spell?”

Stiles shook his head. “This is an Emissary house, right? The handle is a mixture of Mountain Ash, Silver, and Wolfsbane. The Council started installing them after Emissaries complained about Alphas coming in without permission. I’m guessing you’ve never needed to get in here?”

“No, I wanted Eoin to have a place for himself, so I always knocked,” Derek huffed as he glanced over the door. A raven flew down to settle on the house's roof, Stiles watching it momentarily before pushing through the wolves and opening the door. Stiles walked in first, Derek closely behind him.

The interior was much like the main house: Douglas fir floors, partially slatted ceiling, and walls with sliding doors, kitchen with stainless steel appliances and light birch cabinets, sunken lounge lined with windows and couches. Stiles could see stairs leading up to a Lofted bedroom and a basement below, eyes looking for Eoin.

“Do you smell that?” Peter asked as he stepped into the house. His nose wrinkled before he turned to the others.

Derek nodded in agreement, stepping into the room and lifting his head like he was tracking. His eyes flashed red, and he walked over to the basement stairs. He slammed into an invisible barrier, wincing as he looked down and up. “Mountain ash.”

“I got you, big guy–” Stiles walked over and slammed his foot into the floorboard. The planks snapped with a satisfying crack. Derek slipped through the doorway quickly, Stiles and Peter following him down. Stiles could tell there was a silencing spell around the basement; everything became almost muted as they walked.

Stiles could smell what Derek and Peter had been discussing as they descended. He had smelled it before with the first victim – a scent that hadn’t left his thoughts – but it clung to the air thicker than it had been out in the open. It smelled as if the walls were permeated with it, clinging to the timber in the stairs as they reached the basement floor.

Drawn on the floor in dried blood was a triangle in the center with a tall black and blue candle. Three circles encompassed the triangle, text scrawled between each ring. Stiles could recognize the symbols and sigils, but when translated, the language wasn’t English or Latin. Above each triangle point hung a small metal dish made of bronze. He could see two of them holding a yellow and black organ, dried drops of blood still caked onto the floor where they had dripped.

Stiles turned to see Peter looking in the opposite direction, the wolf kicking a pile of small bones that looked like the chickens they had been missing. Stiles could see a smear of blood on the wooden walls as he turned back to the main focus.

“Stiles, can you write out the translation of the runes?” Derek asked, walking around the outer circle and glancing between the words. “I know some of the letters from the Blood Eagles, but –”

“Yeah, give me a second.” Stiles grabbed his phone and began typing out the letters as he translated them, putting a space where the small dots were between the runes. Once he had finished, he handed his phone over so the wolf could read. “I think it’s Irish.”

“It is,” confirmed Derek as he read through the text. “ ‘One heart of gold for strength twofold, one heart of mud for bad blood, one heart of fire to conspire; three hearts I take, black heart I make.’ I don’t know what he means by any of this…”

“The hair color,” Stiles said softly. “Remember the first woman was blonde – and the second had brown hair. Miriam is a redhead…”

“Eoin was using their hearts to turn us against Stiles,” murmured Derek. “He had said the Pack didn’t trust you, but I didn’t believe that. And then when he tried to question my trust in you again after the second one –”

“It seems the spell wasn’t working at all,” Peter interrupted, “ I’m not surprised though. It might have worked if Stiles was a regular Emissary, but he’s not. Not only is he a powerful magic user, but he’s also your mate – a bond that nothing can break once you’ve sealed it.”

Stiles felt his ears heat up, and he cleared his throat. “Still doesn’t explain why Eoin would be casting this spell –”

Peter frowned, crossing his arms as Stiles trailed off. “When your mother left our pack, Eoin offered his services as the stand-in Emissary since Talia didn’t want to deal with the Council. She said no, and then… then the girls started turning up dead and heartless. Three every year, but the Council didn’t take notice until six years ago when they decided to separate our Pack.”

We agreed to keep the two of you unaware of your connection; I would keep a spell over her pack from afar to keep them shielded.

Stiles remembered the words from his mother’s letter. “My mother wrote that she had a barrier around your Pack. She was maintaining a shielding spell around you all until she died.”

“Six years ago,” Derek confirmed.

Peter cursed softly, a smile across his face. “She always was one step ahead of everything; no wonder the Council had no idea anything was going on.”

“We need to find Eoin,” addressed Stiles as he walked up the stairs; Derek and Peter agreed and followed him. There was a sound of something crashing as they reached the top of the basement landing, Derek’s eyes flashing red as he took off towards the sound. Stiles smelled the smoke before he saw it, but the flames were hard to miss once he had left Eoin’s house with Peter not far behind him. The embers flew from the blaze like crimson butterflies, thick black smoke twisted through the treelines, and the screams of the Betas from inside the house echoed through the air.

Derek rushed forward without thinking, running face-first into an invisible barrier like before. The wolf let out a frenzied cry, slamming himself against the barrier as the Betas continued to call for their Alpha – each voice a cacophony of anguish and fear that rang through the early morning air. Peter joined in, the two wolves slamming with every force they had to try and get through the barrier.

The flames grew, and Stiles knew there was only a small amount of time before it would be impossible to stop the raging inferno. He took a deep breath, grabbed a handful of grass, and rolled it between his fingers. The lake behind him bubbled and churned, Stiles closing his eyes and whispering to the grass in his hand and the water behind him. Each finger took on a purple tint, his nails growing the same sharp points they had earlier, and feathers sprouted from his arms and back like wings. Runes began tracing up his skin as his magic sent a tremor through the very earth. His eyes flashed open, feeling the rumble and rush of rising water.

Peter and Derek stopped, their eyes turning from the house to Stiles as the Emissary whispered the final incantations. The water towered above them now like a giant wave, hovering momentarily before crashing down against the house. It encompassed the building, extinguishing the flames and dousing the wood in a thick blanket of water. Stiles whispered, the water now freezing in place until the fire was snuffed out, then receded into the lake where it had come from.

The water had displaced the barrier, and Derek ran through to find the Betas. Stiles rushed after, breaking mountain ash barrier after barrier until they found the Betas huddled in the basement. Jackson was beaten and bloody, with Erica just as battered beside him. Cora and Boyd were unconscious and covered in bites and scratches next to Isaac, whose leg was broken but healing.

“Was it Eoin?” Derek asked, the venom in his voice dripping as the Alpha moved to help the Betas.

Jackson winced as he tried to get up. “The skoffín kept attacking us; we took on as many as possible, but it was like they could teleport. We ran here to escape, and he locked us down with them.” He motioned to the two bodies of dead skoffín, their eyes gouged and necks twisted unnaturally. “He took Miriam and Noah.”

Stiles felt his veins freeze at the mention of his Dad. “Did he say where he was taking them?” It was a long shot, but maybe Eoin was just stupid enough to lead them exactly where they needed to.

“No, sorry,” Jackson let out a cough as he stood up from his spot. “But he took the car.”

Anger fueling him, Stiles turned on his heel and ran out of the basement. He pushed out of the house, glancing around the front lawn for clues as to where they might have gone. The water Stiles had used to extinguish the fire had washed the tire tracks away, almost like Eoin knew what Stiles would do. He cursed softly, glancing over the road for some clue.

And then the raven appeared.

“Derek!” Stiles cried out. Before the wolf could answer, Stiles spread his arms and ripped himself out of his clothing – arms shifting into black wings before he soared through the air like a Raven again. Derek and Peter came rushing out, the two of them shifting into the black and red wolf before following Stiles down the path.

“Can you see the way they took?” asked Derek through his Alpha link, the black wolf keeping pace with Stiles’ corvid form.

“Yes, trust me.”

“I always do.”

Chapter 12: An Emissary's Duty

The trio ran and flew through the valleys towards the mountains where they had found Miriam before, the Raven still leading Stiles in the direction. He could feel Derek and Peter tugging at his subconscious, asking questions without verbalizing them as they turned down another road. Stiles didn’t have an answer for them – he didn’t know how much further they had – but the wolves still followed him without doubt.

Stiles began to feel his insecurities creeping up as they continued to fly with no sign of the car or the three humans. He had been about to turn around when he saw the tire marks over fresh snow, his eyes now searching the sea of white for the bright red of Miriam’s hair.

“There they are, left and above on the ridge,” cawed Stiles as they descended from the valley into the mountain range. Derek veered left after Stiles, the wolf running as fast as he could toward the direction Stiles gave. Peter followed closely after his Alpha, the group approaching Eoin and the others.

Eoin was in the center of a black ring of ash, wearing a thick cape of what looked like fox fur and carving runes into the wide posts with a knife in his left hand. The remaining three skoffín surrounded him, the creatures still blinded and gouges of their face missing where Stiles had carved into them only a few hours previously. Stiles could see Noah and Miriam lying on the ground with their hands bound in front of them. Both seemed awake and alive, but for how long, Stiles didn’t know.

“We can’t get through the barrier,” reminded Derek as the two wolves paused outside the black circle. Eoin didn’t seem to notice or care, just continued carving into the post.

“I’m on it; just get my Dad and Miriam out as soon as you can.” Stiles dove down to the ash circle, wings hovering as he attempted to break the barrier so Peter and Derek could push through. Before he could even reach it, the skoffín attacked him. Claws and fangs sank into Stiles’ wings and neck, the human letting out a cry of pain before Peter tackled the creatures off him. Stiles fell to the ground, sliding into the circle and breaking the ash with his body. He attempted to wriggle up, but the skoffín tried to pin him again.

Derek launched himself over the broken circle, sinking his teeth into another skoffín and slamming it back into the ground. The soft snow muffled the sound of breaking bones, and the tiniest whimper escaped as the creature disappeared in a pool of black dripping from Derek’s maw. His red eyes found his next target, breaking his way through the snow towards them.

Peter had taken the opposite route, rushing towards Noah and Miriam. Eoin caught sight of the red wolf and stood up quickly to step in front of him. The man grabbed Noah and pressed the knife in his hand against Noah’s neck. “Not another move, or I gut ya mate.”

Stiles blinked at the word mate, rolling himself onto his talons and lifting himself upright again. He didn’t know who Eoin was talking to, but both wolves paused. Stiles’ eyes flicked to Derek, who had another skoffín in his jaw, and Peter, who was snarling. The Beta’s hackles raised, anger leaching as he stepped forward.

“Peter,” Derek’s Alpha voice rang through their heads, clearly a warning.

Peter hesitated but shifted into his human form instead and held his hands up. Stiles could still see the pointed ears and elongated teeth of the Beta, Peter's ethereal blue eyes watching Noah. “Eoin put Noah down. He didn’t do anything–”

“Not. Another. Move. Peter.” Eoin pressed the knife tighter against Noah’s throat, nodding at Stiles and Derek. “An’ turn yar self human. All of you.”

Stiles could see Derek release his jaw, and the skoffín skitter off into the snow and a black puddle of blood. The wolf shifted into his human form, holding his hands up like Peter, the black blood of his last kill still staining his chin and neck. Stiles took one last look around the surroundings before landing next to Derek.

The trio stood in silence as Eoin held Noah at knifepoint, eyes flicking back and forth between the three. “I suppose this is ta part where ya ask me why, init?”

“Why are you trying to turn the Pack against Stiles?” Derek asked, his eyes still red as he kept his hands where Eoin could see them. “Is it just because he’s my Emissary?”

Eoin snorted, rolling his eyes. “Stiles this, Stiles that – all ya talk about is Stiles, Derek. An’ I’m sick of it. Black wings o’ Mischief, if I had ta hear another incessant dream about yar fuckin’ Emissary, I think I would have ripped yar throat out me self.”

Derek winced at the chastising words, glancing over at Stiles before returning to Eoin. “I was a child, Eoin; I thought I could come to you with everything. You were like a father to me–”

“But ya wouldn’t let me be yar Emissary?” interrupted Eoin, “Wouldn’t even give me the bite when I asked? What type o’son are ya then, Derek? I put in my time, my blood, my sweat, my tears fer the Pack – fer Talia an’ ya – and ya both just deny me.”

Eoin pressed the knife a little closer to Noah’s neck, a red strip of blood now visible against the pale column of his throat.

“The Huldufólk–”

“Yar just hidin’ behind them because yar scared,” Eoin scolded, “They tell ya yes or no an’ ya JUMP, Like a good little trained pup. The Council kicked ya, so ya walk with yar tail between yar legs when ya should be tearin’ their throats out with yar teeth.”

Derek’s lip curled at the lecture, the tips of his fangs barely visible past the black-stained lips. Stiles could tell the Alpha was holding himself back from saying something. Eoin must have known it, too, because he decided to fill the silence instead.

“I decided ya had to go. Yar weren’t fit ta be an Alpha an’ yar Pack deserved better than an American Yank. It worked befer when I split the Pack; maybe the next Hale would finally give me what I wanted. But fer some god-forsaken reason, the spell didn’t work. The Pack should have been angry with ya, but instead, it seemed they only trusted ya more. I dun’t know how yar little Emissary slut did it, but I assume he’s already got ya under his spell. Why else would ya throw yar self at him like a waif in love?”

Derek snarled at Eoin in another language – Gaeilge, most likely – snapping his teeth towards Eoin. The man only laughed and pressed the blade against Noah’s throat slightly tighter.

“Dun’t ferget Derek; I could take his life right now if ya dun’t behave.”

The wolf backed down but still snarled under his breath. Stiles reached out to touch the wolf’s shoulder, feeling Derek relax. Eoin made a face at the two of them, his blue eyes taking a green tint of his magic. Stiles didn’t back down, though; it only made him hold Derek’s shoulder tighter.

“The spell wasn’t to turn the people's hearts against me,” recounted Stiles as he took a single step forward, “You were trying to turn them against Derek. Just like you did with Talia.”

Eoin rolled his eyes, sneering at Stiles, “Talia woulda been sooner if a certain Spark woulda kept her nose out of our Pack’s business after she left. The protection spell was a pain in my arse. I had been workin’ my way in so Peter would have made me an Emissary when he became Alpha–”

“I think the fuck not,” Peter spat, “My sister kept many things from me, but she had warned me that you were delusional for thinking you were owed Emissaryship. Just because your mother was my Mother’s Emissary doesn’t mean you would be Talia’s – or Mine.”

“Who would have been then, Peter? Claudia? Because then her faithful husband woulda toddled along with her an’ ya could stare at him from afar fer another three years? Ya really are a lovesick whelp – the both o’ya. Hales are the same; tethered ta Gajos like ravens ta wolves.” Eoin spat on the ground, forcing Noah onto his knees in front of him.

Peter let out a growl of fear, his eyes flashing bright blue as he spoke again. “It doesn’t matter; I’m not an Alpha. Derek is your Alpha, and Stiles is your Emissary –”

“He’s no Emissary o’mine,” Eoin growled back, “My Mother told me that I would journey with the wolves as an Emissary. The Hale Emissary. It is my birthright. An’ nothin’ will stand in my way of gettin’ what I deserve.”

He lifted the knife above his head and plunged it into Peter, who had launched himself between Noah and the blade. The knife sank deep into Peter’s shoulder, twisting into his flesh. The wolf howled in pain, the wound festering with black blood and smoke – as if his very blood was on fire. Stiles knew only one thing could have caused that type of reaction to a Wolf’s body: Wolfsbane.

Eoin grabbed Peter’s motionless body and tossed him aside, pulling the knife out and wiping the black blood over his fur pelt. “One down, I suppose.”

Stiles angrily cried as he grabbed a handful of snow and began channeling his magic; to his left, Derek shifted into his wolf and launched himself toward Eoin. The Alpha sunk his teeth into the man’s arm, forcing him to drop the knife into the pile of snow. Eoin cursed, trying to shake the wolf’s grip, but Derek just sank his teeth in deeper. The sound of sinew tearing, breaking bones, and Derek’s animalistic anger diminished the cries of pain from Eoin, but Stiles could still hear them.

The remaining skoffín launched themself at the wolf to try and help their master, the creature biting and clawing at Derek to no avail. The Alpha shrugged the beast’s bites off without a care, focusing solely on keeping Eoin’s arm locked between his jaws. He shook his head, and Stiles heard the distinct pop of the shoulder dislocating – Eoin screamed louder, trying to tear Derek’s jaws off with his other hand slick with his blood.

Noah had crawled to press snow into Peter’s wound to try and clean the wolfsbane out of his blood. The slow, shallow breathing grew further and further as Peter’s blue eyes dimmed. Black blood dripped over Noah’s legs as he pulled the wolf against him. For one brief, stagnant moment, Stiles thought he saw a tear falling from his Dad’s eyes. Stiles knew Peter had only a few moments left before his heart stopped completely.

Faster, Stiles urged his magic. He knew that spells took time, but he had none with Peter’s heart crawling to a pause and the skoffín clawing and biting at Derek.

Derek finally tackled Eoin to the ground, releasing the arm from his jaws, useless and mangled at Eoin’s side. The wolf stepped forward – teeth bared in a display of aggression – and opened his mouth to encase Eoin’s head in his jaw. Stiles could see that Derek had every intention of taking his life, and while he didn’t blame him, he had a duty.

“Let him go,” Stiles spoke in an even tone, the magic surrounding him now like a small storm, Purple, silver, and black feathers raging around him like gusts of wind. Runes glowed a hazy purple over his bare skin, covering him from head to toe. The wolf still hadn’t moved, his red eyes glancing over to Stiles with a hint of defiance. If the Alpha made a choice, Stiles couldn’t go against him – but his duty was to protect. “Derek, release him.”

Derek growled at Stiles’ command, teeth softly scraping against Eoin’s face. He finally relented and stepped off Eoin with a snap of his teeth. Stiles could tell the wolf wasn’t happy about being called off, the Alpha’s eyes watching him warily.

Stiles gave Derek a look back, his hand reaching out to gently brush through the black fur in comfort. “Trust me.”

“What a good little Emissary. Callin’ yar rabid dog off ta uphold yar code, ” Eoin let out a laugh that morphed into a cough, a gurgle of blood sputtering over his smiling lips. He attempted to sit on his still functioning arm, but the fresh snow and his mangled arm made the human wince and fell back. “Ya said it yar self, yar first job as an Emissary is ta protect an’ defend the Pack an’ Alpha by any means ya have.”

“You’re right,” agreed Stiles as he stepped on Eoin’s broken arm, his smile faltering momentarily. “I have a duty to protect my Pack. But you forgot one thing –”

Stiles slammed his hand into Eoin’s chest, fingers wrapping around his beating heart. He could feel the organ pulsing quicker now that the host was in a mild state of panic, each little beat of Eoin’s heart mimicked by Stiles’ magic.

Eoin gasped a wet and ragged breath like someone whose lungs had deflated and grabbed Stiles’ forearm to try to stop him. In counter, Stiles twisted his hand tighter until he felt the soft pull of what he was looking for: Eoin’s life force. He pulled at the spark of life and gently lifted his blood-covered hand into the air. Stiles held an orb of pure energy between his fingers that opened like a flower blooming; four petals twisted and turned like wisps of purple and silver smoke.

“You said it yourself: I’m not your Emissary.”

Stepping off the man’s arm, Stiles made his way towards Peter. The Beta was still, eyes barely open and lips stained black from the blood dripping down his chin. His body was colder than a wolf should be, and there was no life behind the dimming blue eyes.

Stiles knelt next to Peter, sharing a glance with his Dad. “Open his mouth.”

Noah nodded and pried the wolf’s jaw open, Peter’s fangs dripping with saliva and blood. A whimper escaped the wolf as Stiles slid the essence into his throat, closing his mouth. For a moment, nothing happened. Time crawled to a stop as Stiles and Noah held their breath for different reasons.

Peter gasped, eyes ripping open to reveal a purple tint for a brief second before fading to blue. His wounds began to knit together faster than even an Alpha could heal, and purple runes traced up his arms before burning themselves into his flesh. They faded slowly as the wolf healed, a final reminder that he had been returned from the dead.

Behind them, Eoin began screaming in pain. Stiles stood up, glancing over to watch the body convulse and twitch: black blood dripped from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. The same purple runes traced over his arms and seared themselves into the flesh, but they didn’t fade this time. They continued to trace over the human’s skin, up his face before his eyes changed from a soft blue to a vibrant purple and then an ink black. He let out one final cry of pain and then he was still.

Stiles felt the magic leave his body, and the drain hit him like a truck. He collapsed back, feeling warm arms wrap around him and catch him before he could hit the snow. And then the world faded to black.

.o00o.

“--Be okay? He shouldn’t have been able to do that, right?”

Stiles could hear Cora’s distant voice, his mind fading in and out as a warm hand holding a damp cloth pressed over his shoulders and neck. He could feel the cool water beading down his chest and stomach, tickling him as it passed over his meager chest hair. He was too tired even to move, just enjoying the sensation of whoever was touching him.

His suspicions were Derek, but he couldn’t confirm.

“He took life to give life,” Peter’s voice joined. It was raw like he hadn’t used it for years, but he was talking. “Emissaries have to keep the balance, so he made a decision.”

“The right decision,” Boyd spoke up softly. Stiles wondered where exactly he was if everyone seemed crowded around him enough to talk.

There was a pause in the conversation, Stiles’ attention moving back to the cloth slowly brushing against his skin, each delicate touch sending shivers over his body that he knew Derek could feel. But the wolf said nothing and only continued to touch and comfort Stiles. He wasn’t going to complain.

“What was it like? Dying?” asked Erica, “Did your life flash before your eyes and all that stuff?”

Peter snorted in laughter; the sound of cloth shifting filled the room. “A little. I saw what I loved, what I cared for. The Pack, Derek, Stiles, even –” The wolf cut himself off, clearing his throat before he continued. “ It hurt like hell, and then I felt nothing until Stiles gave me Eoin’s life essence. Then I felt… everything. I could feel the hairs on my arm growing while everything returned to me. Then I opened my eyes. I was fortunate.”

“I almost let my anger get the better of me. I wanted Eoin dead for the pain and suffering he had caused. But if I had –” Derek thought out loud, his voice a low whisper.

“You listened to your Emissary,” Peter pointed out, “That’s the mark of a true Alpha and Emissary bond; you trusted him, and he trusted you. Thinking about the what-ifs won’t help. You did the right thing, and that’s what matters.”

Stiles finally felt enough strength to open his eyes, glancing up at Derek, who hovered over him. The wolf smiled softly and brushed his thumb over Stiles’ cheek.

“Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” groaned Stiles, “Happy to be here. And where is here exactly?”

Derek leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against his forehead before sitting up. “The Hall of the Huldufólk. As soon as you passed out, Elisabet brought us back here and went to get the rest of the Pack.”

Sitting up as best he could, Stiles glanced around the room. Peter was lying in a small bed on a pine bed frame across from him, the wolf wrapped in a blue blanket draped over his waist and nothing else. Peter glanced over to where Stiles was, offering a gentle smile to him. Stiles blinked, seeing a slight purple tint to the wolf’s eyes that hadn’t been there before. He wondered if Peter would now always have Purple eyes or if it was just for the moment.

Erica, Cora, Boyd, Isaac, and Jackson all sat on chairs between his bed and Peter’s, the five of them now looking at Stiles and Derek. He could see the concern on their faces melting as he lifted his hand to wave at them. Adjusting himself on the bed, he realized Derek was seated beneath him, holding his head in his lap. It was nice but made it difficult for Stiles to move.

“My dad–”

“–Is with Miriam and Ólafur. Unfortunately, humans cannot cross into our realm without an Anchor in the Supernatural,” Elisabet walked into the room carrying a tray of bread and cheese. She offered it to the Betas first, then Peter.

Stiles saw Peter’s eyes flick down into his lap as Elisabet spoke about Noah, the Beta taking a small amount of cheese before looking away again. He remembered Eoin calling out to Peter and saying, ‘I’ll gut your mate’ or something to that effect while holding his Dad. Did that mean…

“Your father was the one who offered to take her back to town to make sure she was safe,” Elisabet interrupted his thoughts as she walked over to offer Derek something from the tray. Derek took a few pieces of bread and cheese, pulling them onto his knee and biting into one.

“That sounds like my Dad,” agreed Stiles.

“Did you know Eoin was the Sorcerer?” Peter asked finally, his eyes on the Huldufólk.

“No,” Elisabet shook her head as she spoke, “Because he had kept his magic at a minimum, I had assumed all magic coming from the Hale Territory was the Council’s initial wards. We had been told someone in the Hale Pack had been murdering innocents, and that was why they were coming to us, but the Council had told us it was Peter.”

Peter scoffed and crossed his arms. “Why would the Council assume me?”

“They thought you were bitter you hadn’t been appointed Alpha by Talia,” Elisabet turned to the wolf now and offered a bow of apology. “As you sacrificed yourself for a human, it is obvious how wrong they were.”

“But Eoin had asked to be an Emissary,” Peter stated, “Would that not be suspicious? He had come from a line of Emissaries and had the potential for magic–”

“The Council overlooks those that weren’t accepted to the Academy. They’re not exactly worried about someone who couldn’t meet the initial requirements for entry.” Stiles filled in.

Elisabet confirmed with Stiles, “At most, he would have been able to cast a protection spell or turn water to wine. The ritual was contained within Mischief’s protection spell, so even if we could feel it, his magic was stronger and masked Eoin’s.”

“Eoin was the one in Ireland, too,” Isaac reasoned as he looked at Derek. “The reason we had to leave?”

“Yes,” Derek hesitated but continued, “He confirmed it himself before he stabbed Peter.”

“Why did Eoin do it?” Cora asked, crossing her arms as she looked at her brother. “Peter said it was because Derek or Mom didn’t make him an Emissary, but that seems… petty.”

Derek was quiet, Stiles watching his eyes trace over his sister with regret. “I don’t think we’ll ever understand why. Mom, Peter, and Eoin were raised by Grandma together – he had been a human in a Wolf Pack his entire life and then was told he was destined to be an Emissary. It could drive you to do anything to make your destiny happen, even hurting people you once loved.”

Cora nodded, pulling her legs up against her chest. Silence fell over the Pack as they ate the offered bread and cheese. Stiles could tell they had all been close with Eoin, and nothing Derek or anyone said at this moment would change what had happened. He wanted to make it right, but there was no way he could. Only time would tell if they would trust someone as openly as they had trusted Eoin.

“I suppose there’s no way to hide this from the Council, is there?” questioned Stiles, trying to keep the mood a little lighter, “I don’t exactly want to explain how I can now shift into a Raven.”

“Or that you sucked someone’s soul out,” offered Jackson.

Stiles gave him the best side eye he could from his spot on Derek’s lap, but at least the Beta was joking with him.

Elisabet laughed softly, shaking her head. “Mischief, I am the Council.”

Derek and Stiles stiffened a little, sharing a glance as Elisabet continued.

“While the High Council of Emissaries is a group of magically inclined humans, the Huldufólk – or Fae as you humans are so fond of calling us – make the final decision. Each holds court in the country they were born in, and so long as a Pack is in our territory, we decide the final action. Some are more strict, like Ireland and Egypt; others are forgiving, like the Americas. But the Council cannot overrule us. “

“So even though I put that I wouldn’t travel outside of the country –”

She nodded at Stiles’ comment, putting the tray of food down. “I knew of your powers thanks to my connection with the Fae of California; they had been watching you for many, many years, but you hadn’t noticed them until recently.”

The Ravens, Stiles thought. That had been who was watching him?

“I ensured you were on the list the Council gave Derek. While it was ultimately Derek’s decision, I wanted to offer a little push,” Elisabet nodded to them, “Though it seems a small push wasn’t even needed.”

Derek’s fingers ran through Stiles’ hair comfortably, fingertips gently rubbing his scalp. “I don’t think so.”

A smile crept over Stiles’ lips, eyes tracing Derek’s face. While it was apparent that the two of them still had many things to discuss regarding Eoin and their relationship's future, for now, all Stiles could think about was how he had finally found where the wolf in his dreams was leading him.

Home.

Chapter 13: Epilogue

The group sat around the table, everyone full from the lasagna that Noah had made for them and the thick slices of chocolate cake Stiles had served them with coffee. With summer ending, the final full moon had finally arrived – a Supermoon at that – and everyone was excited. Noah had extended his stay for the rest of the summer after the events with Eoin just to ensure that Stiles wouldn’t need anything – though he had spent most of his time checking in on Peter rather than Stiles.

“A toast,” called Derek as he hoisted his mug with the half-drunk coffee. “To our Pack, to our Bastard whose heart still beats, and to our Emissary – who will officially join our pack tonight.”

A cheer echoed through the house, everyone lifting their mugs and clicking them against one another.

“Is he getting branded like we did, or are you being nice to him?” Jackson asked, draining his mug and grabbing the pot for another cup.

Stiles winced at the word brand. While he knew it was tradition for the Betas and Emissaries to take the symbol of the pack, he wasn’t looking forward to having a hot branding iron against his back.

“He’s human, Jackson,” Peter snorted, “He’ll just get a tattoo.”

“Like your mother,” Noah sipped his coffee and put the mug down without more clarification. Stiles’ mouth dropped open as he turned to Peter, who confirmed.

“She was Talia’s Emissary, so she did take the Pack symbol. If I remember correctly, she had it put on her ankle.”

Noah nodded in agreement, “Talia offered the back as well, but Claudia wanted to be able to see it.”

Stiles didn’t remember his mother having a tattoo – then again, he didn’t even know she had been the Hale Emissary until this year, so he was sure there were many things he didn’t know about her.

“I almost got one, too,” Noah continued, “But we left before I could join.”

“You could join tonight.”

Stiles, Peter, and Noah looked up at Derek as the wolf casually invited the human into their Pack. “It’s clear that you’ll be coming back here with Stiles as our Emissary. Why not officially join the Hale Pack?”

“The Huldufólk –” Peter started, but Derek shook his head.

“I already had to ask Elisabet about expanding the pack since someone is expecting –”

The group looked at Erica, licking her plate clean of the leftover chocolate frosting. The she-wolf held up her middle finger to them all and continued to take the rest of the chocolate off Boyd’s plate.

“ – She said that as long as Stiles is our Emissary, we can add anyone he deems worthy. So, is Noah Stilinski worthy?”

Stiles hummed and glanced at his Dad, “I don’t know… Pack?”

“As long as he’s willing to babysit, he can live with me,” Erica licked her fingers clean before scooping another finger full of frosting off Boyd’s cake. “I’m not looking forward to wolf toddlers.”

“I’d love to help if Stiles will–”

“Oh my god, yes! Ok, fine! But we’ll have to look at building a bigger house or something–” grumbled Stiles with a smile.

“We’re already talking about re-building the Emissary house for you, Stiles,” Peter mused, “The Council requires you to have your own space.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “I think Erica and Boyd will need the space before me. And since I assume my Dad will spend his time with you like he’s been the last few weeks.”

Noah and Peter flushed at Stiles’ comment, sitting a little further apart now that they were called out. Stiles didn’t care, but he liked seeing his Dad squirm a little about it.

“It’s almost time,” Derek interrupted the conversation, “Once Noah’s given us the timetable for his move-in, we’ll talk about the living arrangements. For now, we need to get started before the moon rises too high.”

With their Alpha's encouragement, the Betas stood from the table and began putting their plates in the sink for Stiles to wash later. He had already washed most of the pans from cooking, but the Pack still made a lot of Dishes.

“You're running with them tonight, right, Mischief?” His dad asked as he brought his plate and mug over. “You’re a shifter, too, right?”

“But–”

“I can do the dishes, Stiles. I’m not helpless. In fact, I used to do the dishes all the time before you came along and thought you had to,” Noah reached up and ruffled his hair softly. “I’m the Dad; I take care of you – not the other way around.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “We’re supposed to take care of each other.”

“Then let me take care of the dishes while you enjoy your first full moon as an official Hale Emissary.”

He couldn’t argue with that and instead clapped the man on his shoulder and walked them out of the house to where the wolves were preparing for their run. Derek was already shirtless and waiting, holding a Triskelion medallion. The wolf smiled as he saw them both stepping onto the porch and offering the medal to Stiles. The Emissary took it in his hand while Derek held the other side, their thumbs gently brushing against one another.

Showtime.

“May the path you tread be steady,” Derek enunciated as he spoke the Emissary greeting. Stiles smiled wide, realizing the wolf was at least trying to do things by the book – even if their entire relationship had been anything but.

“And the road rise to meet you,” Stiles responded in turn, “I, Mieczysław Elias Stilinski, approach you as an Emissary. One who solemnly swears to support and defend your Pack against all enemies, bear true faith and allegiance to the same, administer wisdom and knowledge with fair and neutral judgment, and faithfully and impartially perform all the duties incumbent upon me. I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of your Emissary until you dismiss me or my last dying breath – whichever shall come first.”

Derek cleared his throat, clearly nervous as he spoke his part. “I, Derek Hale, take you as my Emissary; I will heed your advice, take your wisdom, and provide my own judgment based on your suggestions. I will conduct myself with integrity and civility – regardless of your answers – and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend you as your Alpha until you dismiss me or my last dying breath – whichever shall come first.”

He leaned forward, pressed his lips against Stiles’ neck, and bit down hard on the juncture between Stiles’ shoulder and neck with human teeth. It was enough to leave a mark but not break skin. Stiles moaned softly, wrapping his hand around Derek’s head and pulling him closer as the wolf left his mark. Usually, the Emissary was just bitten on the wrist or arm for the initial swearing-in, but this felt far more intimate – like he was claiming Stiles as more than an Emissary. The wolf finally pulled back, licking the mark softly before smiling.

As he pulled back, Stiles watched as feathers enshrined Derek’s head like a halo – purple and silver light glowing softly around Derek’s green eyes before disappearing. If Stiles hadn’t felt it before, this was the final sign that he belonged here and was finally home.

“Welcome to our Pack, Stiles Stilinski and Noah Stilinski.”

Noah looked at the Alpha, motioning with his hands. “I don’t have to be bit like that, right? That’s just an Emissary thing?”

Derek nodded in agreement, offering a handshake instead. Noah grabbed his hand and hugged him, whispering something in Derek’s ear. The wolf nodded, a smile curling over his face as they broke their hug. Noah clapped his shoulder a few times before taking a step back.

“Alright, you all be safe. I’m going to do some dishes and probably sleep. If you need anything, let me know.” He waved a bit before returning to the house and closing the door.

Stiles approached Derek, giving him a sly look. “Did my Dad threaten to hurt you if you hurt me?”

“No,” murmured Derek, “He asked me if he could call me son, too.”

“That sounds like him,” agreed Stiles.

“Are we going for a run, or are you two going to spend the full moon gazing into each other’s eyes?” Jackson teased, jumping forward and shifting into his wolf. The others followed suit, Stiles watching each wolf run off into the highlands as the moon began to rise higher in the sky.

“Shall we?” Derek motioned to the group, grinning. “I’ll race you.”

“You’re on,” Stiles jumped into the air, spreading his wings and soaring through the sky toward the pack. The black wolf beneath him ran forward, the two dipping and diving through the Icelandic wilderness on black wings of mischief.

Just like his Mother told him.

Notes:

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