Blood Runs Cold

Chapter Twelve

So every alpha had their way of teaching control. At least they all did on some level; Scott had Stiles throwing lacrosse balls at him until he could handle the rage without shifting, Derek just beat the shit out of his betas until they could control themselves, and as for Peter...

Well, Peter sat back and watched as the full moon crept into the sky and Chris and Stiles began their shifts. He had made absolutely no attempt to tie the two of them down or restrain them in any way whatsoever.

"This is two acres of land that you can't escape from, that's the restraint I'm putting on you," Peter said when Stiles asked.

Which, okay yeah that kept them away from the general population of Beacon Hills, sure. The only, teensy-weensy issue there was the fact that Stiles was pretty certain he and Chris were going to murder each other. And by murder each other he meant Chris was going to murder him and maybe have a couple of claw marks that would quickly heal to show for it.

Stiles spat out a mouth full of dirt and realized that he had been far, far too kind to Scott when the way he worked on control with him was by throwing lacrosse balls at him. Yeah , he thought as Chris pulled him up by his shirt collar and slammed him against a tree, snarling all the while, lacrosse balls had been way too fucking nice.

"You feel that fury?" Peter called, voice far too casual and amused for the situation. The situation being Chris had Stiles pinned to the tree with his forearm against his throat and was busy seeing just how many times he could punch Stiles in the stomach before he vomited, or his spine broke, or maybe his stomach exploded. "Hold onto it and control it, don't let it control you."

Christ, next he was gonna tell Stiles to let the hate flow through him. Thanks, Palpatine, very helpful! Stiles wanted to call out, but that was pretty hard to do with the way his fangs were currently wrapped around Chris's forearm.

Chris yowled in pain as he shook Stiles off, fangs trailing deep marks in the flesh. Stiles spat out a mouthful of blood, met Chris's eyes, and bared his fangs. Chris snarled back, arm already knitting itself back together.

Meanwhile, Peter looked like all he needed was some popcorn and he'd have his Saturday night entertainment perfectly sorted out. It pissed Stiles off on a bone deep level, enough that he turned away from him and started bolting towards Peter, ready to teach him a les—

Chris tackled him and slammed his face against the ground. Stiles ended up biting his lower lip and felt it hanging loose against his chin, trailing blood across his face. The lawn was nicely manicured and softer than a gravel path, but even soft grass could break a nose if said nose was being slammed into it again and again by a highly trained former hunter with super strength.

Stiles tried to scramble and free himself, but Chris was a heavy weight on his back and his claws dug deep into the thin skin of his scalp. He snarled and thrashed, lip slapping wetly against his teeth and skin. His claws gouged deep lines into the dirt and he really wished that it was someone's chest they were sunk into.

Stiles threw an elbow up and managed to hit Chris in the side with it, drawing out a grunt from him. It didn't dislodge the other man, but Stiles followed up the elbowing with a swift turn to the side and suddenly, Stiles was on top of Chris, straddling his chest.

He snarled loudly and started pummeling Chris with fast, hard punches. His knuckles bled from where he scraped them against Chris's sharp fangs, but Chris's nose was bleeding more as Stiles felt it crunch beneath his fists. He roared in victory, finally the one on top. But that time was short lived as Chris dug his claws into Stiles' side and threw him off.