METAMORPHOSIS • DEREK HALE [COMPLETED]

Chapter Fourteen

"I don't want to see him Derek," Alex shook her head. After coming back to the loft, she deemed a shower necessary to rid her of hospital smell and calm her nerves, but with her hair still damp, she was more unnerved than ever.

"And you don't have to," he said, watching her adamantly pace in front of the large picture window, "But Alex, he seemed to know what you are. He knows what a Demontra is. He is one too. You both have the same eyes."

Her light canter faltered, and she said, "Do you think I should talk to him?" Her voice sounded taut, but Derek wasn't the one she was mad at. It was a mixture of the pain-staking guilt she felt for killing that girl, the sleep deprivation, and the fact that her supposedly dead father wasn't dead but alive. Everything that happened in the past forty-eight hours was driving her insane.

"I think he might be able to help, but we don't have to go to him right away. We still have Deaton and Argent who we can talk to first," he proposed, listing her other options.

Nodding, she joined him on the arm of the couch, feeling her heart rate lower, but he manager to bring it right back up. With their half-sitting half-standing stance, their thighs brushed together, and she said, "I'd like to talk to them first."

He silently agreed but didn't tell her that when he met him, he gave Matthew the address to the loft and that he was coming.

The air in the room fell quiet, filled with nothing but their low breathing. Exhaustion settled in both of them, neither having slept more than a wink in the past day. Alex moved to rub her tired eyes with dark crescent shadows permanently etched underneath them.

"You should get some sleep."

"You as well," she noted the same dark circles developing under his own eyes. They both rose from the coach, but Alex noticed a small wince on his face. "What's wrong," she asked.

"Nothing," he lied, but she saw right through it, and the smell of drying blood had already hit her nose.

"No, something's wrong," she stopped him from fully standing by pressing a hand to his shoulder. "I remember you were shot at the hospital. It still hasn't healed yet?"

"It just needs a little time," he nudged the subject away, but Alex stood her ground. Her disbelieving look pushed him to say further, "Being tired also slows the healing." With her disapproving eyes and crossed arms still facing him, he continued and stood before placing a hand on her shoulder, "Alex, we're both exhausted. We need to sleep. The bed is all yours tonight."

"Derek," she sighed, with the corners of her mouth turned upwards, "You were shot, and you're giving up your bed?"

"You almost died today, I think you can take the bed," he grinned back, admiring her stubbornness. He saw it in her eyes, but with the fatigue heavily creeping in, she wasn't up for a frivolous clash.

"Touché," she slightly bowed her head as she walked over to the bed in the corner of the loft by the window. But she didn't want to go to it, not alone.

He settled on to the couch, debating on joining her, but they both mentally decided to stay apart, for this night that is. With their kiss still not talked about along with all of the newly discovered information, Alex didn't know if she could add her love life into the mix. But her feelings for him were strong. She didn't want to lose him, and he felt the same about her.

"Goodnight Alex," he said softly.

"Night Derek," she smiled, crawling under the sheets laced with his scent.

They then both closed their eyes, hoping for the restful sleep that would never come.

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