Sometimes Peter thinks that she's a punishment for all his sins. Because fate, magic and nature are clearly mocking him, sending this wayward girl as his mate.
She's younger than him for ten years, she's less experienced, and dammit, she's a female. A she-wolf, obliged to agree with her mate about everything.
Their joint life is an eternal struggle. For each of his words, she finds dozens of sarcastic comebacks, they argue and fight literally about everything in the world.
Sometimes Peter thinks that her name should also be on the death list.
Their sex is an eternal battle. This is a clash of lips, tongues, bodies. It's an animal passion bordering on rudeness. This is a constant competition for the superiority, scratches from claws, marks from bites all over the body and total exhaustion, and the next couple of hours they can't even move.
Their sex is full satisfaction of the desires of both, and Peter would be delighted, honestly. If in the rest, free from the rampant, uncontrollable passion time, he didn't want to kill this girl with his bare hands, tear her throat with his claws, tear her spine with his fangs.
Sometimes Hale believes that his life without her will become much easier.
🐺
Pain overtakes Peter as he walks from the sheriff's station, heading for a meeting with Kate, and at first he can't understand what happened to him. The werewolf grabs his side, tries to determine the source, inspects himself for damage - the skin is clean, there's no bruise, no scratches, internal organs also intact.
But the pain doesn't go anywhere, on the contrary, its burning sensation spreads further, reaches the chest. Muscles are sore, bones seem to melt, and a terrible guess finally comes to Hale's mind. Trying to abstract himself from foreign pain, he takes out the phone from his pants pocket and taps the hot key.
Beep, one more, and then another. Peter nervously taps his heel on the asphalt, cursing his she-wolf and simultaneously praying that his guesses remain just thoughts.
Beep. Connection. Peter exhales breathlessly and is about to chastise the girl for having once again shoved the phone somewhere in the very ass, to promise that "again, and it will actually be there," as he hears in the phone not a woman's voice.
"She's seriously injured," Derek says. "We're going to Deaton," and hangs up. Peter doesn't need to be told twice.
🐺
He meets Derek and Braden at the clinic, takes bleeding unconscious girl from the nephew, and anger rises in him like a black wave. With the kick of his foot he opens the doors, and apparently Deaton has already been warned about their situation, because he meets them on the threshold and without further ado lets the werewolf inside. Hale Sr. puts the girl on the table, the doctor begins to work on her wounds and everything is even worse than Peter could imagine. A ruptured bullet impregnated with wolfsbane. Dozens of small fragments that poison her body don't let the wounds close.
"We must act very quickly," says the veterinarian, laying out the instruments on the table. "If she doesn't die from the loss of blood, the wolfsbane will do it."
Peter jumps to her, leans to the very face of the girl and quietly whispers to her on the lips, "You're strong, my girl. Hold on. You just have to survive. "
And then quickly leaves the clinic.
🐺
Hatred boils in his blood, bubbling with swift streams through his veins, pushing the smell of killers who have long since left their warehouse.
