High Infidelity [Midnights #2]

chapter 2

Derek stared Deaton down as he worked on Isaac's bullet-ridden body. He was laid out on the exam table a few feet away. Maybe inches, really. And Derek Hale couldn't move. He was frozen, his mind racing to catch up to the scene in front of him.

And then Isaac snapped at Stiles.

He had regained some of his supernatural strength through Melissa's quick thinking, according to what Scott had told him the moment he'd walked through the front door after the frantic call that had led Derek here. And it was that exact thing that forced him forward.

He used one arm to hold Isaac down while pushing Stiles against the nearest wall with his other arm across his chest.

"Stop, Derek!" Stiles complained. "He's my friend."

"You're too goddamn close, Stiles," Derek explained. "Back up. Now!"

Derek knew that Stiles had likely been through some shit in the last few hours, but he wasn't going to be able to focus on helping Deaton, when and if he needed it, if he was worried about the pack human getting bitten. And even though Stiles, and his usual stubborn self, likely had a well-reasoned argument all locked and loaded, he simply pursed his lips and did as he was told, likely for the first time in his whole life, his back hitting the wall.

The look on his face said he was ready to claw Derek's eyeballs right out, but all Derek could do was fight the urge to laugh. Now was not the time. No matter how hilariously adorable it was that Stiles Stilinski was trying to appear threatening to a werewolf.

"What the fuck happened?" Derek asked, turning back to Scott, who was on the other side of the table. "And why didn't you bring him here first?"

"We were headed... out," Scott began. "Obviously, we were ambushed or something. The minute we hit the front porch. Isaac was the first one outside and..."

He motioned toward the mostly listless Isaac between them, and Derek struggled to shake the memories of his own time on this table after his run-in with likely the same type of bullets. He understood the random bouts of energy followed by extreme fatigue as the wolfsbane coursed through your veins.

"We couldn't move him at first. He was bleeding way too much," Scott continued. "And then we figured out they were silver when he didn't heal right away. Then the black veins, you know? I tried Peter. And then you. But when you guys didn't answer, I called my mom and she brought Stiles' dad. I'm... I'm sorry, Derek."

"It's fine. I get it."

And he did. Derek wasn't lying. Even though he was basically an orphan, they each had one parent they could call, and Melissa had medical training. Not werewolf medical training, but it made sense they would think of her.

"I know you told us not to be out," Scott said, hanging his head. "But..."

"But we were going to a party in the middle of town," Stiles interrupted obstinately, his arms crossed over his chest in defiance. "We were going to be around a ton of fucking people. And we deserve to be normal-ass teenagers sometimes, Derek."

"Funnily enough, I don't share your opinion, Stiles," Derek contradicted. "Because Scott is not a normal-ass teenager. And you all fucking almost died, so maybe there's something to my rules, huh?"

Stiles rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "No one was shooting at me. I'm not a werewolf."

"Not the point."

"You're right. The point is that this is clearly the Argents," Stiles insisted. "So, go over there and end this, Derek."

"It's not the Argents," Derek argued. "They have a code. They don't go after younger wolves at all, and definitely not ones that have never lifted a finger against anyone."