#i. peter

After recuperating at Olivia’s, Roman knew he couldn’t keep avoiding going back to the White Fang. He knew he was a bad sire for not going back immediately to check on Stiles, but a small part of Roman wished it would make Stiles realise he was better off without the elder vampire and select a chosen sire instead.

On the way back Roman had found his broken phone and pocketed the broken pieces with a snarl. He’d liked his phone. He had photos taken on it that meant a lot to him, and only a quick glance told him even the memory clip had been damaged too. 

Roman let himself in through the back staff’s entrance, and didn’t even give Peter a second thought until after he’d seen that Stiles was okay. He didn’t approach the younger vampire, but instead lurked by the doorway watching and mentally logging any sign that Stiles might be hurt. Thankfully, the kid seemed okay.

Then, and only then, did Roman make his way to Peter’s office and let himself in without a knock. 

He dropped into the chair opposite the werewolf, and tossed his smashed phone on the desk.

“Sorry I’m late. Got the shit kicked out of me, didn’t die though and Olivia fixed me up; so s’all good. What the fuck happened with Stiles? I got a flash of danger from him- couldn’t answer thanks to the shit kicking I mentioned,” Roman grumbled. “you two have a fight or something?”

People were privileged to even know of the Authority’s existence, let alone be considered to be brought into its arms; such ranks that Joshua and Olivia belonged to. 

Nashuja’s whole purpose in the forsaken town was for those two. Everything else that she had encountered since was a wonderful bonus. Mara. Seamus. All these vulnerable children in need of a mother to guide them...

And yet, of all these arguably worthy downworlders living in Beacon Hills, Nashuja received word she was to approach a man by the name of Peter Hale; owner of the White Fang. The first time she entered and asked for Mr. Hale, the man the dancer pointed out had Nashuja turning around and walking back out. 

No. Certainly not. There was no way she was truly being sent to assess him. The rat bastard who left her broken down on the side of the road like some scrap. 

It took three more tries before Nashuja finally stomached standing outside his office and entering without knocking. Knocking on his door, awaiting his approval? Beneath her.

“Peter Hale, you’re not too busy for a chat are you?”

the days outside of hogwarts were so invariably beautiful that he couldn’t imagine going back to visit. godforsaken grey, cracks creeping silently along the cobble suggesting the ancient history having gone on through that time.

boring. seven years in it and it was putting him to sleep to think about.

Finding out Stiles wasn’t dead, really dead, should have been a relief. It should have come as sweet breath in her lungs that one of her best friends wasn’t really gone from the world completely.

But knowing what she knew about Stiles and his wishes concerning his Humanity: Lydia was furious.

He wanted to remain Human. He’d only ever wanted that, and some leech of a creature decided he’d take it upon himself to turn Stiles into something he’d never wanted to be.

Storming up to the doors of the club, Lydia paused only to curl a lip at the place, before pushing past others trying to get in. 

Forget waiting her turn in the queue, she was seeing Stiles if it was the last thing she-

  - Lydia dropped dead in her tracks. Not metaphorically, but instead because a hand was on her shoulder with a strength that surely couldn’t belong to the petite woman beside her. Her senses reached out, and identified the red head as a werewolf, even if the strength alone hadn’t given it away. 

 “Put that hand back where it came from, sweetie. Before you lose it.”