The Bravest of the Pack (Sterek)

Part fourteen

Derek was finding himself in the woods more often than he was in his house, as well as feeling panicked more than calm. Although being in a panic in this situation was well and truly justified.

His breathing was heavy and his body was tired, he'd been looking for hours and there was no sign of the lion or Stiles. Derek's heart was broken and his faith in his werewolf senses was fleeting, what good was a heightened sense of smell if he couldn't even track a scent that was seared into his brain.

He stopped and collapsed onto his knees, letting out a loud roar. He couldn't do it anymore. He lost him, Stiles was gone and there was nothing he could do about it.

~~~~~

Stiles stopped, looking down at the huge paws his hands had formed into. The cool air gave him a rush of excitement, he felt free. He hadn't noticed the huge mane which had grown around his head until that point, or that he was now covered in golden fur. His eyes darted around him, his heart was pumping in the most glorious way.

Deep in the woods, far behind him, he heard a pained roar. Stiles' heart began to bleed, it was Derek, and Derek was clearly in pain. The only amount of blood he could smell in Beacon Hills was a paper cut, so Derek thankfully wasn't physically hurt. But Stiles could tell something was wrong.

He tried to hold it back. Stiles knew it would have been safer if he did, but he could feel it building up. It was almost painful to try to hold it back any more, so he didn't. He tilted his head up to the dark sky which was dotted with glistening firefly-like stars... and roared back.

Rocks around him crumbled, animals scuttled away in fear. His wide, sharp-fanged mouth closed again, and he listened to the sudden peace around him. He hoped Derek would see that he was trying to say he loved him too.