Devil of Wolves (Sterek)

Chapter Fourteen (Lies Like Poison)

Let's just pretend that I haven't been gone for three months and return with a 33,500-word chapter :)

Thanks for sticking with this story! ♥︎

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Stiles woke up cold. Not the cold he normally woke up to, but a bitter cold, the kind of cold that only comes from playing in the snow with no gloves or taking a walk at night with no coat.

He blinks his eyes open, sucking in a breath. He was outside. The moon was full and bright, reflecting off the snow. Tall trees loomed overhead. Stiles sat up, looking around. This wasn't right, it couldn't be, he was nowhere near his apartment or even close to the city. He couldn't have been sleepwalking out this far...right?

"Okay," Stiles breathed, and wrapped his freezing arms around his torso. He was barefoot, in a thin t-shirt and pajama pants. "You're okay, it's alright."

But it didn't feel alright. Stiles spun around, eyes wide as he searched the woods behind him. His heart thudded loud and painful in his chest as he got to his feet, shivering and wincing. He took a step forward, barefoot in three inches of hard snow, it felt like stepping on razor blades.

"Not that way," a sudden, terrified voice called out. Stiles yanked his foot back and spun around. The wind picked up and he shook violently.

"Ah hell," he whined, clutching himself tightly as he looked for the voice. He couldn't tell who or what said it, but it sounded absolutely terrified which made his heart jump in fear.

He was not about to ask 'who's there' like some horror movie dumbass. If the voice wanted to show themselves to him, they would. He knew better than to wish they didn't.

Stiles needed to get back to the city. He needed to get back to his apartment to bundle himself in blankets before hypothermia set in. So he began walking, gritting his teeth as the snow crunched under his sore frozen feet.

"Wrong way!" the voice cried. "Going the wrong way. Lost. Going to get lost, already lost! Wrong way."

Stiles felt panic grip him tightly. The voice seemed to come from all sides now, slightly overlapping itself and rising in both pitch and fear. He turned and ran, the voice following.

"Lost! Going the wrong way. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe!"

Stiles let out a desperate shout, pushing himself harder, his feet bloodied and battered and so so cold.

"Wrong way!"

"Lost."

"Danger."

"Don't go that way!"

Every turn he made, he couldn't escape the voice. He tripped and fell to his knees in the snow, hyperventilating and covering his ears, pinching his eyes closed. His magic was as numb and cold as the rest of him. He was alone.

"Lost. Lost. Not safe. Gotta go. Gotta run. Run. Run!"

Stiles nearly sobbed as he pushed himself to his feet. Something was close. Something was behind him, breathing along the nape of his neck. Something was brushing against his ankles. He ran, leaving behind a trail of bloody footprints in the snow.

He didn't know where he was running, and couldn't see much in the dark. Was he running towards safety or further into the woods?

Death of exposure was definite, but Stiles wasn't afraid of that. He was afraid of what the voice was afraid of. Afraid of what was licking at his heels.