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The sound that leaves Scott’s mouth is… definitely not a howl. Stiles hangs her head, shaking with the combined need to laugh her ass off and to slap her almost-brother across the head.
“Well, how did that sound?” Scott asks, all puppy-eyed and excited. If he had a tail, he’d be wagging it.
Stiles can’t look at him. “Um…. Not that good, Scotty.”
“What did it sound like to you?”
She dithers for a moment, unsure of how, exactly, to word it. “It sounded like a cat being strangled to death,” she finally admits.
Scott’s expression does this thing where he’s simultaneously embarrassed and pissed. It’s the wolf in him, Stiles knows. Scott’s never really had much of a temper, and definitely never used to be so confrontational with her, but ever since he’d been bit, his wolf constantly sought to dominate her. It sensed what she was, even if it didn’t understand it.
Derek sensed it too.
She knew he did, because she also knew that Talia had taught all her children better than to be so handsy with mere humans. Derek knew she wasn’t fully human, knew she could take more punishment than the frail lifeforms she imitated.
Stiles also knew that he didn’t know what, exactly, she was. If he did, he’d never be so stupid as to let her within a mile of the alpha.
“You do it then,” Scott eventually bit out.
“The whole point of this is to get your so-called alpha. A human howling isn’t going to do jack shit except possibly announce free dinner,” she snaps back. She wants to. God, does she want to. The alpha's scent has been driving her wild; his deliberate choice of victims and careful execution of clever plans enticing her with his obvious intelligence; his keen ability to hide even from a beta werewolf with motive and desire to find him calling to her with his cunning.
The alpha doesn’t know even it, but he’s doing his best to entice her into doing something stupid, like howling for him and starting The Chase.
And the more she thinks about it, the more appealing it sounds.
It would be one way to get the fucker off Scott’s back – this alpha is clearly unstable, with no pack bonds of any sort to bring him any kind of peace from the hell that must be his new instincts. A mate – properly caught and claimed – would be far better for him than a mere beta unrelated by blood. And she’d have a powerful mate who would give her strong pups. The alpha is clever and intelligent, despite his current mental instability, or else he’d have already been caught and killed, so clearly she wouldn’t have to fear having a stupid mate – which her mother had made sure to tell her was a fate worse than death. And his actions – the systematic murder of everyone who’d dared to kill off the Hale pack highlighted the depths of his loyalty.
There is nothing more enticing than a mate who would move heaven and hell and all the stars in the sky for the protection of his or her pack, and – if unable to prevent such an atrocity as the Hale fire – in vengeance for it.
“Just do it, Stiles,” Scott says, rolling his eyes.
And Stiles smiles coyly, knowing her eyes are glowing from the way Scott looks at her all wide-eyed and shocked. She opens her mouth, and howls.
In the distance, the alpha howls back.
=
Derek knows as soon as the strangled sound echoes across the building that something was going to go seriously wrong. And it’s not the howl – or weak imitation of one – that drives a stake of dread right though his gut.
It’s the way Stiles’ heart-beat elevates when Scott snaps at her to do it instead.
It’s the way her scent goes sweet and sugary with a subtle tint of musk, enticing to even the most sensitive of noses.
It’s the way he can almost hear the wheels in her head turn, as she contemplates howling for an alpha that isn’t hers. Yet.
Derek knows that she’s not human. He doesn’t know what she is. She acts so much like a born wolf, but displays none of the physical characteristics. But he does know that he doesn’t want her and the alpha anywhere near each other. He doesn’t know why, but the need to keep them separated is strong.
And then she howls.
He’s heard all manner of howls before, being a born wolf. He’s heard the ululating calls for pack, the furious roars of a pissed-off alpha, the playful chattering of pups. He’s never heard this before: crystal clear and loud, ululating like a call for pack, but with a bite of a roar behind it, a call and a challenge both.
Catch me if you can. Stiles’ howl rang clear and bright, echoing in the empty lot. Claim me if you can.
Fuck. Fucking fuckity fuck.
A delta. There’s a fucking delta wolf hiding right in front of him, and he hadn’t been able to identify her. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groans, covering his face.
Whelp, there went his plans. No more revenge for Laura, that’s for damn sure.
A lone alpha without a pack? He’d be somewhat easy prey – if Derek could get Scott to cooperate. A freshly mated alpha who’s every instinct would be the protection and preservation of its newly formed pack? Yeah, no. Not happening. He hated himself for what he had allowed to happen to his family, hated himself even more for allowing Laura to run off back to Beacon Hills on her own, but never enough to actively seek out his own death.
"Shit," he said, kicking his tire with more attitude than force. "Fucking shit." He doesn't get a chance to say anything else; one moment he's pulling back his leg to give his tire yet another kick, the next thing he knows, Scott is barelling into him and then over him, racing as fast as he can to get away. Derek groans incoherent curses into the concrete, waiting for his broken nose to set before he dares to get up. He glances around warily, has a split second to see the alarmingly huge Alpha standing in the doorway of the school, before he too is scrambling as fast as he can out of the parking lot.
The last thing he hears before he is too far away is a smug little giggle from Stiles.
Fucking deltas.