Sterek One Shots (manxman)

The One With The Scottish Wolf

Tags: Actual wolf!Derek, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, bodice ripper, True Love, Mating, Knotting, Humor, Fluff, Claiming, FANTASY KNOTTING, they do a lot of readingSEXY READING, Derek and Stiles are Mates

Title - The One With The Scottish Wolf

Author - LordStoney

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Summary:

The Hales are alive and a royal family in Scotland; Stiles is the waif sent to work in the kitchens, elevated to personal attendant/servant to the young Lord Hale. Who happens to be a wolf who can't shift back. (Not without finding... *spoiler*)

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[Notes:

Stiles starts out as 17 here, but is over 18 when they Do It]

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“Just...do your best, son. They can't ask for more than that.”

Stiles heaved out a harsh breath and fixed his father with a wry grin. “Of course they can, Dad,” he said, clapping his hand on his father's shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “They own the place.”

His father sighed, rubbing the center of his forehead as he nodded. “Maybe just try and stay out of the way as much as possible, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

His father sighed, looking impossibly sad for a moment before saying quietly, “Just don't get yourself killed. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

His dad pulled him into one last, tight hug, before gently pushing him towards the servant's entrance to the castle's kitchens. It was considered an honor among the upper class, he knew that. Being given a job inside Hale Castle was a step up from anything else for a boy of his station. His best friend Scott had recently been made a page for the Whittemore's son, newly bitten and knighted, and while he was happy that Scott seemed happy, Stiles knew that he'd rather be a night soil man or a pure-finder like their friend Isaac, than be saddled with that hateful Whittemore boy. Talk about monsters...

A heavy-set woman pushed past him roughly. “In or out, boy, don't stand there gawping all day!”

He mumbled an apology and dashed into the kitchen, narrowly avoiding a tall man with a tray laden with freshly plucked geese, twisting to dodge under the arm of a broad-chested man wielding a butcher's knife, and hopping over a young girl crouched at a low bench, tying garlic braids.

“Gah!” he screamed as he felt someone grab the back of his shirt and drag him to a corner of the bustling kitchen.

“You the Stilinski boy? The watchman's son?”

Stiles looked down into the red, stern face of an old woman, her face lined and serious. At his hesitant nod, her eyes sparkled with mirth. “You've the looks of him,” she said, smiling briefly. “Although you do seem to still be growing into your limbs. Lord, and you'll be stealing the eggs and bread crusts every chance you get, won't you?”

“No, ma'am!” he said, shaking his head emphatically.

She clucked her tongue, gently cuffing his head. “Mind no one sees you when you do.” He trembled at the seriousness of her tone; it wouldn't do to forget who he was working for. “Let's put you to work instead of standing about like we've nothing better to do.”

He struggled to keep up with her brisk strides, pulling his shirt back to rights, narrowly avoiding running into people as she led him through the labyrinthian kitchens and larders of the castle, his skin prickling with a sense of dread while being led further into a predator's lair.