Til The Dawn [Midnights #1] ✓

chapter 48

Peter sat hunched over the steering wheel of his car for what felt like a very long time. In reality, he knew it was probably closer to ten minutes. But lately, time had ceased to have any meaning. And he'd discovered as he'd gotten older, time often had a habit of slowing down when you wanted whatever shitty day you were experiencing to be over and barreling along at breakneck speed when you wished to savor an experience. Never at the pace you wanted, though.

No, Peter Hale had never been that sort of lucky.

It had been two whole weeks since they had transformed Isaac, and Derek had spent that two weeks apologizing to Stiles for his transgression in a manner of ways, showing him that he did, in fact, care about Stiles a little bit. All ways that were hysterical to Peter. And Scott and Isaac too.

But he knew he had to get out of the car and face another day. Another day full of disappointment, he was sure. Another day where he fell woefully short of all his goals. Goals that included, first and foremost, keeping the town that had shaped him and his family safe. Even if that family was much, much smaller than he'd ever intended.

He groaned loudly and pushed the door open, knowing that if he didn't get out now, he'd likely fall asleep in there and wake up to a whole slew of new problems. Mostly his back and his neck requiring a chiropractor.

And he had to check on Stiles.

He'd made sure the boy had stayed at their house overnight. Peter had reasoned that with it being Isaac's first full moon, they had no idea what was going to happen. He and Derek had been born werewolves, and their first full moons were never quite as chaotic. A rite of passage, to be sure, but not as painful as even Scott had endured.

And while Isaac had received a much more relaxed transformation initially, he had been a wild card until last night. They didn't have a clue how he was going to react, and having Stiles under their umbrella of safety made Peter feel better.

Derek might not admit it, but Peter knew it made him feel better too. And Scott had made it clear, specifically to Stiles, that the safest place in town was at the Hale house. Repeatedly. Often, Stiles had felt like the Mom of their group, but last night it had been reversed, with Scott explaining that under no circumstances was he to sneak out and do his own investigations.

Peter prayed he'd listened to all the dire warnings.

Because he knew Scott was right. Being all wrapped up in four separate werewolf scents made Stiles vulnerable. He was bound to draw attention. Given that they had no idea what kind of attention was lurking in Beacon Hills lately, Stiles had agreed to crash on the couch.

As long as he'd stayed put, Peter likely wouldn't be walking into anything too horrifying.

He fumbled with his keys, his eyes glazing over as he attempted to complete the task with difficulty. The lack of sleep had him feeling drunk, and he wondered if he even should have driven home.

Then he smelled it. A hunter. An Argent hunter. One he didn't recognize right away, which meant it could be the rogue terrorizing his home.

He let loose a low growl as he whipped around, the adrenaline coursing through his veins in an instant, jolting him fully awake.

But when he turned, all he caught sight of was Kate Argent.

He furrowed his brows, lowering his hands and retracting his claws. And while he couldn't see himself to verify, he knew his eyes had flashed an unsettling crimson and were now back to their more traditional deep navy color.

"That's... new," he murmured.

"Peter?"

His eyes grew wide as her voice reached his ears, the clarity as flawless as if she'd really been standing on his porch too.