#packstarter

Nowadays, the omega could never quite shake the bitterness from his tone. Stiles wasn’t trying very hard lately. There were dark circles under his eyes, but every night when his head hit his pillow, he was out like a light. It was a shame his busy schedule kept him late int the night and drove him up terribly early in the morning. It was unfortunately that things were already going as well as they could be. They were making good progress, and the McCalls had fallen into line and what protests they did dredge up seemed to lack any heat. Stiles had no illusions about their acceptance. For the moment, cards were falling in their favor. No one wanted to shatter a winning streak just yet.

Stiles was just far less prepared for this than he thought he was.

He dropped his papers on Scott’s desk and ran a hand through his hair before hitting the most important topic. “How’s Felix?”

It had been far too long since he’d seen either of his kids.

It was just after four in the afternoon. The club owned by Dimitri Roman was empty except for the administrative workers who came in before the night started. Among them was the alpha himself. 

The McCalls guards, their numbers bolstered and weapons drawn flooded into the club. They had the perimeter secured and all the exits blocked. Guards were subdued, forced down at gunpoint as Stiles carved a path through the building. 

"Dimitri Roman." He stated coolly. "Your pack alpha's getting an official notice, in case you haven't figured it out already. This is war."

Not waiting for an answer, she quickly hung up the phone, distracted enough to not realise her cart had knocked into the back of someone’s legs until she heard them let out a shout.

“... Sorry about that.” She muttered, lowering her head, trying to move past them as quickly as possible.