THE HYBRID'S MATE, sterek [book 01] ✔

xxviii. mr. comatose over there

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐘𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄

𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺-𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵: 𝘮𝘳. 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘦
𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦

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One Week Later

     STILES IS JUST LAYING there. He is deathly pale and barely breathing, but he is healing. He sustained more damage than the rest of us combined almost. There's no doubt about it, he is one tough Hybrid. Deaton told the Packs that if anyone of us had sustained this much damage, we would have died on the spot. 

     He told us to be glad that it was Stiles and not anyone else. That's only due to Stiles being able to heal twice as fast as us - that is due to him being a Fox and a Wolf. We had to hold Derek back when Deaton said that. He wanted to claw Deaton's eyes out.

     "Isaac," Allison says, walking over to me and leaning on me. "He's going to be alright. Stiles is a fighter, and the best one we know."

     I wrap my arm around her waist and lay my head on her shoulder, breathing her comforting scent in. "I know, Alli. It just hurts to see him like this."

     "It hurts Derek more, but I'm not belittling your pain."

     "A Mate Bond hurts like hell when your Mate is like this. Even for a Human."

     "I know, Isaac. I do."

     Peter walks in with Chris in tow. "We have our Nine Herbs. This is going to help Stiles."

     Allison and I stare at the two as they apply the mixture to Stiles' wound. He starts to writhe on the bench and I jump up, accidentally knocking Allison into a table. I pin Stiles' shoulders down and send her an apologetic look. She holds his feet down and smiles at me. She knows that it was an accident.

•

One Week Later

     Pain. Goddamn the pain. Through the pain I can feel myself healing. How the hell am I healing so quickly? It can't be just my Hybrid genes. Wait. The Nine Herbs. Chris! He found them all. There's no way he would have got them all without help. Who would help him? Derek? No. Derek doesn't like or trust Argent. Peter? Of course. The creepy Werewolf would do that.

     I force my eyes to open and groan, covering my eyes. Bright light. Goddamn it, Deaton. Get normal lights will you?

     "I'm afraid that normal lights aren't ideal for surgery, Stiles," Deaton says, humour lacing his tone. 

     I growl. "Well, they'd be ideal for supernatural eyes. They bloody hurt."

     Click.

     Deaton walks somewhere. "You can open your eyes now, Stiles."

     I uncover my eyes and slowly open them. He turned the lights off. Good. I push myself up onto my elbows and hiss at the slight pain in my abdomen. I pull my shirt up and am met with a giant purple and red mess on my gut. The outside has healed majorly, but it's the internal that still has to heal completely.

     "How long until I can walk again, Deaton?" I ask, pushing my shirt back down.

     Deaton pauses. "Possibly by the end of the week. You are healing extraordinarily fast. Even for a supernatural creature."

     "The Nine Herbs helped."

     "Actually, Stiles, they didn't help as much as you think."

     "Derek?"

     "Also didn't help as much as you think."

     That just confuses me even more. "Then, if it wasn't the Herbs and Derek, what the hell was it?"

     Deaton looks over at me with unusually soft eyes. "Stiles, you are the Hybrid. It's something that has been foretold for millennia. You are more powerful than anyone could ever imagine. That's how you have survived everything that has been thrown at you. You are the one thing they can't kill."

     "What are you saying? Am I immortal or something?"

     "No, Stiles. You're just extremely hard to kill."

• • •

     "What the hell?!"

     I smile and wave. "Hey, guys. I'm alive."

     Their faces are shock covered and their expressions are down right disbelieving. They don't believe what they're seeing is real. I mean, come on, I was only out for two weeks. It's not like I actually died and came back from the dead. Wait. Did I actually die? Who bloody knows. Deaton probably, but I can't be bothered to actually ask him.

     "Is everyone just going to stare at me?" I ask, raising my eyebrow.

     All of a sudden, a cry comes from the mass. "Puppy pile!"

     "Shit!"