#wyprpclosed

lukasxkrieger

The night was cold. Or, perhaps, he was cold. And that would not be a good sign by any means. Peter Hale had conquered death far too many times to succumb to it now -- now that he was wandering through old forests on untrodden path with a teenage demon. Lukas. Peter reminded himself that he had to call the kid Lukas. Not because he owed it to him -- though technically, Lukas was helping save his life -- but because he understood the need to reclaim his name as a positive and not a reminder of the mistakes of the past.

They had wandered a little way farther when Peter began noticing lights through the trees. Even with the wolfsbane dulling his senses, he could still tell by the overwhelming stench of death and sanitizer that those lights were shining out from hospital windows. He slipped out from under Lukas’s arm -- when had he allowed Lukas to actually support him? And how strong was the kid that he could hold a full grown werewolf? -- and staggered until he could lean back against a tree.