Beyond The Bite • Chapter 8
(Word Count: 1,917)
"Stiles."
"Wake up."
"It's here."
I jolted awake with a gasp, my hands frantically casting off the tangled sheets while a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm me. I bolted to the bathroom, my stomach heaving as I vomited into the toilet.
Wracked with shivers, I remained doubled over, the remnants of the previous evening's meal making a dreadful reappearance. The taste of regurgitated pizza was bitter on my tongue.
After the tumult subsided, I flushed away the evidence of my discomfort. The toilet's flush echoed, the gurgling noise reverberating through my throbbing head and eliciting a grimace from me.
A knock interrupted my misery, sending a spike of tension through my already rattled frame. "Stiles, it's me," came Derek's voice, muffled yet concerned through the barrier of the door.
With a shaky exhale, I dragged my hand through my damp, sweat-slicked hair and trudged toward the door. Opening it, I was met with Derek's visage - one clearly etched with immediate concern. His attempt to maintain eye contact, despite my scant attire, didn't go unnoticed. His voice carried an odd note that I soon attributed to my current state of undress—bare in just my boxer briefs.
"I heard you across the hall." Derek's tone carried a thread of concern, his eyes scanning my disheveled appearance—a clear indication of my distress.
"Sorry. Bad dream," I croaked, a chilling draft slipping around me like wraiths, causing me to shudder.
"Did you get sick?" Derek inquired, his brow furrowing as he stepped closer, the back of his hand gently meeting my feverish skin. "You feel like you're on fire."
"Since when do werewolves catch the flu?" I joked weakly, my lids heavy with the weight of my exhausted state.
"We don't," he responded, his grip firm yet gentle on my arm, steering me back to the sanctuary of my bed. "Lie down. I'll be back."
I complied without protest, the mattress a welcome cradle for my weary form.
Derek returned, pulling the desk chair beside the bed.
I audibly winced at the sound of the chair shrieking across the floor.
Derek placed a comforting hand on my bare shoulder, the warmth was a comforting contrast to the chill that suddenly struck my body.
"Concentrating on something specific might alleviate the sensitivity," Derek suggested, his voice soothing as he laid a cool, damp cloth upon my fevered brow.
Grasping onto Derek's advice, I zeroed in on a rhythmic beating that resonated soothingly in my ears.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Derek's heartbeat played like a lullaby.
Feeling my body begin to unwind, Derek began to prepare a medicinal mixture, the scent strong and potent—a sharp contrast to the subtler tones I needed.
Refocusing, I found consolation in the familiar scent of leather, musk and earth. The essence of Derek wrapped around me like a blanket.
Noticing my quiescence, Derek's expression softened.
"Better?"
"A bit, yeah," my voice was a parched whisper as Derek passed me two cups, one containing his homemade remedy.
"What is it?"
"It's a remedy my mother made when those of our family who were human felt unwell... It doesn't taste great from what I was told but it helps."My heart contracted with empathy at the mention of his family. The family he lost.
Per instructions, I downed the bitter concoction, following it with a swift gulp of water. The taste lingered, earthen and harsh.
"It tasted like dirt." I observed with a grimace, returning the now-empty cups.
A genuine smile graced Derek's lips, "Noted."
Settling back, I felt the persistent nausea recede, relief washing over me in soothing waves.
"Thank you," I murmured, my body succumbing to fatigue.
"Of course," Derek said softly, his touch lingering on my skin, fingers combing lightly through my damp hair.
"I'll always take care of you."
"That's really nice," I managed, my consciousness waning under the gentle caress.
I could hear the amused affection in Derek's subtle snicker, his fingers remaining ensnared in my locks.
In the haze of impending slumber, I sensed a delicate warmth grace my lips—a fleeting kiss, its presence as comforting as it was ephemeral. With that tender gesture as my lullaby, I surrendered to sleep's inviting embrace.
•
When I awoke, it was surprising to find Derek still by my side. He seemed different; the careful grooming of his hair was replaced by strands falling haphazardly across his forehead. His usual choice of jeans and a Henley shirt was traded for a wife beater and gray sweats, and his feet were bare, propped up on my bed. Most intriguing was the sight of oval glasses perched on his nose as he read from a novel he had picked from my desk.
"Into fantasy romance, are we?"
He snapped the book shut and removed his glasses, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he studied me. "It has its charms," he admitted, seemingly assessing my condition after my few hours of extra rest.
"When Rhysand shows up, it gets even better," I teased, pulling myself to a seated position.
I caught Derek's gaze drifting over my bare chest before reconnecting with my eyes.
"Feeling any better?" he inquired, voice steady but eyes revealing concern.
"A bit, yeah," I replied, striving to maintain a composed demeanor.
A silence ensued, a noticeable shift from our usual comfortable quietude to a charged stillness laden with unspoken words – a new normal since our confessions.
Memories of Derek's fleeting kiss began to resurface, a reminder that I wasn't meant to recall those moments shrouded in my delirium. Warmth crawled up my neck as I subconsciously moistened my lips, the faint imprint of his touch lingering.
Our eyes met again, revealing an intensity I hadn't seen from him before. I drew up my knees defensively, and just as quickly, the moment dissipated when Derek rose to return the book to my desk.
"Hungry? I can make something light," he offered, shifting away from the bed.
"Sounds good," I answered, my voice a little flustered.
Waiting for Derek to leave, I finally let out a deep breath, dressed hastily, and tidied up, making space on my desk should he choose to join me for the meal.
Upon his return, I feigned nonchalance, yet there seemed to be a flicker of something in Derek's expression as he set down a tray with soup and coffee.
"Join me?" His invitation was casual as he served my favorite chicken noodle soup and cradled his coffee mug.
"Of course," I made room for him on the bed, his proximity providing an inexplicable warmth.
Our shared meal played out in comfortable silence save for the birdsong outside my window.
"Would you like more?" Derek promptly asked, but I declined, letting him clear away our dishes.
"Thank you for taking care of me last night. I can only imagine how exhausted you must be after staying up all night. I don't expect you to remain here if you would prefer to rest or—"
My words were abruptly halted as I found myself enveloped in a sudden kiss. My surprise was evident as my eyes flew open wide. However, it wasn't long before Derek's insistent tongue coaxed mine into a tender dance, and I melted against him. This kiss was imbued with a sense of urgency that was absent from the chaste one last night. As I moaned softly into Derek's mouth, I could discern the distinct flavors of toothpaste mingled with the slight bitterness of coffee. I found the combination intoxicating. With Derek's roughened hand gently tracing circles on the small of my back beneath my shirt, the world around us seemed to fade away.
The kiss unfolded for what felt like eons before he drew back, leaving us both almost as breathless as each other.
"I've wanted to do that for so long," he murmured, now holding my waist. I could only nod, my cheeks alight with a rush of color.
"Was it too much?" he looked into my eyes, searching for reassurance.
"It was perfect," I breathed, feeling the intensity of his gaze as he lifted my chin.
"Before we were interrupted last night, I wanted to tell you something, but I've been scared to admit it..."
Our moment was shattered as Scott's voice echoed up the staircase, his urgency resonating through each sprint he took against the clanging metal steps that led upwards.
Derek and I exchanged a swift glance before we both got to our feet to meet Scott in the hall outside our rooms.
The slight irritation bubbling within me dissipated instantly at the sight of Scott. His face flushed, his breaths coming in short, labored gasps, evidence of his haste to reach us.
"Scott?" I asked, a twinge of anxiety coloring my voice.
There was a momentary pause as Scott caught my gaze, then shifted to Derek, his eyes transmitting a silent, secretive message that escaped my understanding.
Derek's hand came to rest reassuringly on my shoulder, a gesture of solidarity as he aligned himself by my side. "What's happened?" Derek probed, his tone steady yet concerned.
Scott hesitated, a heavy swallow betrayed his inner turmoil, an aura of guilt emanating from him - its tangibility almost bitter to my highly sensitive nose, causing a flare of irritation in my nostrils.
"Scott," I increased the volume of my voice, an edge of growing panic seeping through.
That look on Scott's face was all too familiar - it spoke of pain, of someone hurt, bad.
"Maybe I should speak with Derek alone," Scott hesitantly suggested, avoiding my insistent stare.
"What happened?" My demand sliced through the air, refusing to be ignored.
After a moment heavy with silence, Scott took a breath and spoke, "Stiles, it's your dad."
Scott's eyes held a pained look of regret as he took in my stunned reaction.
Next to me, Derek's body tensed, but he was quick to offer support as I nearly lost my balance, shock taking hold.
"He's alive, right?" The question was barely a whisper, a plea.
"Stiles, I'm—" Scott began, his voice laced with sympathy.
"He's alive. Right." I insisted, not willing to hear anything to the contrary, my words reverberated against the sparsely decorated walls. Scott's somber look said all I needed to know. The terrible familiarity of grief began to close in.
I refused to accept such a possibility again.
Shrugging off Derek's attempt to steady me, I pushed through my rising panic and past him.
"Stiles," Scott called out, a note of concern sharp in his voice.
My frantic search for my car keys took over as I tossed my room into disarray, at the same time slipping on my sneakers without bothering with socks, my eyes scanning every possible hiding spot.
"Stiles, please, just sit down for a moment and—"
"Take me to him," came my hollow command, a sliver of hope holding my despair at bay. I faced Derek squarely, "Now."
Derek, his face etched with concern, seemed to weigh his response carefully before nodding, "Okay."
As I moved to exit, Scott attempted once more, "Stiles..." But I strode by him, disengaging from his presence, while Derek fell into step behind me.
"Gather the others. We'll reconvene here in one hour," I heard Derek instruct Scott as we entered the elevator.
"Okay," was all that Scott could muster in reply.
As the elevator doors closed, carrying Derek and me away from the unspoken sorrow, my resolve crumbled, the walls of the world seeming to collapse in around me.