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There’s no way they can escape the warehouse alive.
Derek pulls Stiles closer to his chest as more shadows appear. Stalking, taunting, and dancing around them. Ready to strike again at any moment.
That’s the thing about daevas. They’re not like other supernatural beings the Pack has encountered. They reek of sulfur, yet they can’t be seen or heard, even by shifters. When they attack, they’re quick and efficient.
It’s no wonder why the Station received three mysterious murder reports within two weeks. And why the Pack is currently losing momentum trying to fight back. Everyone’s bleeding. Exhausted. And so scared. Derek doesn’t blame them because he gets it. Daevas are savage creatures—monsters that were meant to kill for a master.
Another demon, perhaps. One who either has a bounty on all of their heads or who wants vengeance.
“The altar…someone needs to destroy the altar!” Stiles hisses under his breath, clinging to Derek and shaking like a leaf. His voice is quiet yet hoarse, but Derek can still hear the words. He’s positive the other wolves can, too.
Unfortunately, so can the daevas. Because in the next second, all hell breaks loose.
Something clatters and breaks (he hopes it’s part of the black magic altar). Then, Derek hears a series of angry roars, screams of pain and stuttering heartbeats. Panic suddenly flares up and threatens to overwhelm him. The Pack is hurting. His heart almost stops when he feels the bonds connected to him grow taut.
Derek cannot lose anyone else. Not again.
Yet, his life is on the line, and the long fingers digging hard into his forearms finally force him to get out of his head. Breathe. Keep grounded. Stay in the moment. It’s a damn good thing Derek comes back to his senses because that’s when shadowed claws choose to swoop in. Aiming directly for him and Stiles.
“Derek! Look out!”
His eyes flash. Derek growls and throws himself to the floor, yanking Stiles down with him. It’s instinct, but his wolf tells—no, demands—him to protect Stiles at all costs. Like he’s sacred. Irreplaceable. That’s why Derek wraps a solid arm around Stiles’ waist, keeping him near as they’re splayed out on their bellies against hard concrete.
What he doesn’t expect is for Stiles to glow. Literally.
It starts with wide amber eyes that transform into a majestic violet. The lean body pressed flush against Derek’s side warms up fast, even through plain cotton and plaid. Derek stays where he is and doesn’t dare move. In case he fucks things up.
Then, he sees and feels the aura surrounding Stiles. Vibrating and radiant. Like pure, beautiful magic.
Of course. Stiles is a Spark filled with intention and belief. And there’s something surreal about watching Stiles shine brighter and brighter, enough to dispel all the daevas immediately.
Derek exhales. Lets his beta shift take over. This time, he knows they have a chance. A chance of surviving and walking out of here…together.