Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A rabid Alpha has been following him for an hour now. Derek’s been trying to scare him off and lose him, but with one wrong move, the literal sniper target on his back could kill him instantly.

He sighs deeply. It’s October, so at least the walk around Washington’s national park is beautiful—but his patience is wearing thin.

He can smell faint traces of heat on him, so he’s been trying to rationalize the situation in his mind. The Alpha could’ve found him by scent and wants a chase, can’t take rejection for an answer, or wants a fight. He could be from a rival pack and thinks Derek’s easy pickings alone—or maybe he’s so heat-drunk that he’s desperate for anyone or anything.

Plus, Derek’s an eligible bachelor and a model with a vast territory. There’s an endless list of reasons why.

Damn it, but why him?

He’s not interested. Not even by its scent.

He just doesn’t understand and he doesn’t care.

There was a snowstorm forecasted this morning, and it’s supposedly going to be pretty bad. They’re predicting at least ten inches tonight. He’s worried about getting back to Chip, his yellow Lab, who he hasn’t even fed breakfast to yet.

He’s running out of options, and the only appealing one now is to stop and politely ask the guy to fuck off.

He should’ve known the guy was a fucking nut job.

As soon as he stops, a shot is fired into the air—and a gaping hole opens in his neck.

Did he just shoot me? was his last thought before passing out.

He’s out for a while, until the Alpha who dragged him off wakes him with a jolt, tossing him to the ground.

“Wake up. Rise and shine, princess…”

Those are his last words.

Derek shifts so fast the rabid Alpha doesn’t get to finish his sentence—his head is ripped clean off his body.

Chapter Text

“What’s that funny look on your face?”

Derek furrows his brows, blinking into focus the pack’s emissary and black-ops agent, Stiles Stilinski.

Huh? How did he get here so quickly? Derek asks himself in confusion.

Oh right—it’s a week away from Halloween and the autumn solstice, a sacred holiday for werewolves all over the world. The pack’s annual gathering is soon, so that must mean—

“You called me. Oh my god, you don’t remember! That explains the intense stare you’ve been giving me since I arrived... Listen, you got shot in the neck with some kind of, um, stimulant, which explains all this…”

Stiles motions vaguely to his entire body and then to his lower region.

“Oh fuck!” Derek tries to cover himself, but let’s face it—nothing is big enough to hide what’s so painfully obvious at the moment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about...” he mutters stupidly, embarrassed but unashamed of how well-endowed he is. Knowing his wolf, he must’ve been subconsciously staring at what Derek has now come to terms with as his mate.

“I didn’t try to—um you know…”

“Oh god, no! You just tried to piss on me to mark me as your territory. It’s not that big of a deal. You know I’ve always had a thing for piss play—”

“Stiles…”

“Okay! Sorry, it’s just a joke. No! Of course not. Whatever he drugged you with left you barely able to stand. Not to mention the huge hole in your neck—with all the blood and tendons—”

“Got it,” Derek cuts him off, aware of Stiles’ aversion to blood.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Stiles sits down beside him on the edge of the couch, his sincere gaze intense as he assesses the wound. He sighs deeply.

“That’s going to need some time, even with your werewolf healing abilities. Here, let me...”

Stiles pulls a vial from his pants and carefully unwraps the bandage around Derek’s neck, allowing a few drops of blood to fall into it.

This close, Derek’s heightened senses take him in again. He’s breathtakingly gorgeous—all-consuming and magnificent in the dim light emanating from the fireplace. With just a few more scars than before, his beauty is only enhanced. Derek can’t help but admire the fresh buzzcut faded down the back of his neck like velvet, the molten brown eyes bright with mischief, and the red, smooth lips—wet and begging to be kissed.

Derek is lost—blinded by his Stiles, the pinnacle of warmth in contrast to the modern, harsh lines of his cabin in the woods.

“I’ve missed you...” Derek moans, reaching for the emissary’s cold hands and interlocking their fingers.

It’s been five years since Stiles graduated from the FBI, and it’s like Derek hasn’t been able to relax since. Always worrying, always sending him the latest self-defense equipment—anything to keep the spark safe.

Stiles’ cheeks burn in response as he accepts the touch and shyly glances down at their intertwined hands.

“I’ve missed you too…”

Where words fail, silence settles softly between them.

Stolen kisses and rushed, hot hands during combat training sessions flash through Derek’s mind. They have history—so much of it—but time never seemed to be on their side.

So there they are, in from the snow, with Derek’s bloody neck dripping down his naked torso and leather-clad back, and

Stiles in his maroon cable-knit turtleneck, waiting to see whatever drug he was shot with take effect.

“Here.”Derek reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small gold nutscrew from his pocket. Simple. But he hopes it’s enough.

He slips it onto Stiles’ ring finger and kisses it just long enough to see the tears fall from Stiles’ eyes and hear his whispered,

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

Stiles wipes at his face. Of all the times to pass out, doing it right after giving him what looks suspiciously like an engagement ring had to be one of the worst.

“Oh my God. I want to make out with your face and call Scott right now, but I’m not sure if you just asked me to marry you or not! Cora! Isaac! Peter! Get in here and tell me if Sourwolf just asked me to marry him! I don’t know—I’m in shock! Someone pinch me right now! Wait, don’t—I have sensitive skin! I know you guys were listening!”

“Was not…” Cora says casually, wearing the biggest smirk. She glides in with the rest of them like Gossip Girl’s It Girl, Blair Waldorf, leading her minions.

“Definitely not—especially not when he said he missed you like that wasn’t embarrassingly obvious,” Isaac jokes, taking his time rifling through the cabinets for God knows what—oh, right, chocolate chip cookies, his favorite.

“Well, you know what they say—diamonds are a girl’s best friend, and if that was one, you’ve just won the jackpot. Hmm, seems to be missing something... Yup, it’s your wedding band.”

“Peter!” Cora reprimands. “Lemme see…”

“It’s from Roscoe—my mom’s Jeep! It’s absolutely perfect!”

“Aww, I hope it is,” Cora says in awe. The golden nutscrew sparkles in the light. “From what I’ve seen, this isn’t the last surprise he’s got in store for you…”

“You tell me right now, Hale! I know what you and Lydia did last New Year…” Stiles threatens, pulling his hand back from her grasp. Let’s just say Lydia hadn’t noticed him walking in with Cora between her legs as she sat at the kitchen table with a wine glass in hand. He hasn’t been able to erase the image from his mind since.

“He hasn’t told you yet, has he?” she smiles wickedly.

“No? Told me what?” Stiles asks, his heart picking up speed in anticipation.

“Follow me…”

Cora leads Stiles into Derek’s study. With brown leather accents and an enormous chestnut desk, the room is covered in all kinds of blueprints. One stands out from the rest—so massive in scale it could be mistaken for a palace, with arching doorways and numerous rooms. It’s hung up on an easel and appears to show…

“Is that a nursery?” There’s a seating area connected to a small room with a massive view of the preserve. A charming wooden crib is nestled in the corner with a cream canopy flanking its sides, and Stiles is absolutely in love with it.

“Of course that’s the first thing you noticed,” Cora laughs. “You’re such a mother hen. Yes, there’s the nursery, but what you’re really looking at are the final blueprints for the remodeled Hale house.”

Stiles laughs in delight as he grabs Cora’s hand and squeezes it. “This is so sick! Really? You guys are really moving back? I’m so happy I could cry!”

Cora allows it, smiling back at him like a Cheshire cat. “About time, right?”

“You should see the files he has on you…” Isaac teases, entering and sitting down at Derek’s desk to rummage through the drawers. He pulls one out with Stiles’ name on it and throws it down like an old scrapbook.

“Sure, go on and show me Derek’s personal documents, Isaac. I’m sure he won’t be weirded out at all and totally doesn’t have a pros-and-cons list about my ass,” Stiles snarks, even though it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to rip open the file and see what Derek really thinks of him.

“Well, it’s not exactly a secret. He has a file on all of us. Yours just happens to span 40 years into the future.”

“Ahh, sweet music to my ears…” Stiles swoons. Honored. His sourwolf took the time to think about him—let alone plan his
future.

“Am I afforded no privacy in this house?!” Derek’s voice calls from behind them. Stiles straightens. If Derek’s using Old English, it means business.

“Oh, come on! Let’s go, Isaac. This sourwolf has some explaining to do.”

Isaac and Cora leave, giving Stiles the opportunity to walk up to Derek teasingly, a sly smile on his lips. “So, I hear you’ve been busy planning our future together. Thought you were getting sick of me…”

“You’ve grown sick in the head, more like it. But yes, actually, I’ve thought about us thoroughly—and when I wanted to be married, and be a dad…”

“Ugh, tell me more! Can I start taking my clothes off now, or…?”

That makes Derek smile. “I knew you were going to say that. I’ve learned a lot from you over the years—like your 10-year plan with Lydia—and I think I can literally and figuratively top that.”

If Stiles wasn’t hard as a rock before, he definitely is now.

“Tell me more. I want to know every detail. I’m 30 now. What’s another 40 years in the future, huh? Pretty sure I’ll still be a pain in the ass even then. I’m a handful on a good day and multifaceted. And you are extremely high-maintenance…”

Derek shrugs. “That’s right. But you’ve got nothing on me, because I’m your perfect match. I’ve studied you. I know how you are with children. I know how you are at home, with Chip, with your friends, and with your dad. I’ve seen you stressed and struggling at work, and I’ve seen how you treat me. You always show up—for me, for your friends—and you always go above and beyond. To this day, I haven’t stopped falling in love with you. And I swear to you, I will always prioritize your happiness, Stiles Stilinski.”

Stiles swallows hard, tears welling in his eyes. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. You and me, working as a team, raising tiny mini-me’s while snarking at each other. I want it more than anything in the world.”

Derek nods like he just received a direct order from the president. “I promise to protect you and the life we build. And that means sharing a part of myself that I’ve kept hidden for years. Promise me you’ll keep this secret.”

“Promise,” Stiles swears, taking Derek’s hand in his own.

“Okay then. Being with me—a werewolf—comes with conditions I need you to look over. It’s the reason this plan spans 40 years. I’ve had to create two very detailed futures: one where our kids are adopted… and one where they’re conceived naturally.”

“Naturally? As in… one of us gets pregnant? Don’t mess with me, Derek. I’m serious…”

“Yes. Well, it’s a clause, so don’t get too caught up in it—but yes, natural pregnancy is a thing. I’m an Alpha now, so it’s possible for me to get a male Omega pregnant. But that requires the bite.”

“Wait—sorry, off-topic—but could that be the motive behind your attack today? An alpha wanted you as his mate… to have kids?”

“Yes. But I’m not sure his decapitated head would agree…”

“But it could be a motive. Noted.”

“Yes. And that’s why this trait—and your potential pregnancy—must be kept secret. No one can know. Male Omega pregnancy is extremely high-risk. And it’s not just that… Please don’t joke around when I say this—”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Just spit it out already!”

“It’s high-risk because male Omegas… carry what we werewolves call a ‘litter.’ Or… twins."

“TWINS?! YES! Derek! Yes! I accept! Get me pregnant right now, oh Alpha of mine!”

Chapter Text

Harmony Norwood’s dream had always been the same — get mated and have four children of her own. She had found her mate, a bond of a lifetime with Laura Hale, and for the first time in her life, she felt complete. No longer a freak of nature, she could finally just be one of the girls — even if she was a gifted witch from a well-known coven.

But it would be one of the last times she'd ever felt that way.

Life had other plans for her. News of Laura’s death reached her during her senior year of high school. She turned numb, waiting in the emergency room to see her — but it wasn’t until the coroner showed her Laura’s half-slain body that the truth finally sank in.

She’d been ripped in half.

All of Harmony’s dreams were crushed, dying somewhere in some undisclosed location, and Harmony was devastated. From that day forward, she knew she’d never be the same again.

Derek and Peter — the only survivors of the Hale fire. The news should have brought her some comfort, but Derek’s detest for human contact, let alone any talk of legacy, made that impossible. Still, Harmony didn’t blame him. In fact, she had the same plan: leave this godforsaken town and lose herself in some distant city where no one knew her name.

But she would never forget what happened.

One day, she was going to hunt every Argent down — and make them pay. If it didn’t jeopardize her future, she’d unleash her own powers on them. See how they fucking liked it.

Minutes crept into hours, and eventually, she noticed the sun going down. Life had turned bleak and meaningless — until news of Derek Hale’s return to Beacon Hills appeared in the Sunday newspaper.

Her depression was crippling, but that didn’t stop her from reading the paper as she made her way to her only survivor support group at Eichen House.

Hope.

That emotion had grown foreign to her, but Harmony clung to it with all her might — and she didn’t plan on letting it go
anytime soon.

Just some strands of hair, full moon water, rose petals, fey wings, and a werewolf fang, and she had a womb potion ready to go.

Better make two batches, just in case.

Off to the potions emporium she goes!

Chapter Text

Stiles trembles on the bed as Derek watches him with crimson red eyes, his gaze blazing like wildfire. He’s going to utterly destroy me, Stiles thinks, his heart pounding with anticipation. The memory of the Alpha’s impressive size on the couch—those straining veins tracing down his V-line—sears through Stiles’ mind.

The spark licks his lips, desire flooding his veins.

Oh hell yeah. His mind, body, and soul are achingly ready for whatever primal desires the Alpha has in store for him. He jolts in surprise as Derek seizes his ankle and drags him hungrily toward the edge of the bed.

“Take this off.” With shaking fingers, Stiles frantically tears off his knitted sweater. In one fluid motion, Derek snatches him up by the ears and yanks hard, causing Stiles’ upper body to collapse onto the bed.

“Fuck you,” Stiles teases breathlessly, but Derek doesn’t relent. Stiles play-fights with mounting intensity until he’s pinned forcefully against the mattress, both wrists captured above his head.

“I told you the conditions, no backing out now…” Derek growls, his voice dripping with primal need as he yanks Stiles’ pants down with a single, powerful motion.

“Oh fuck!” Stiles had made his decision, but now a delicious panic begins to settle into his bones.

“You promised me pups. I want six, and if I’ve planned this right, you’ll be pregnant by the end of the week.” Stiles gulps and nods, his throat tight with overwhelming desire.

“Good.”

Derek smirks as he slowly reveals his enormous length and its massive girth. Stiles has had his lips around it before but never inside him. The nerves about its size stretching him are quelled by Derek’s tender strokes against his aching cock.

“There you go. You’re doing so good.” Derek’s breath escapes in ragged bursts as he bottoms out, and Stiles can’t help but arch his back and gasp in awe.

Pride surges through him for taking all of Derek’s impressively huge dick. The Alpha shifts his hips slightly, and deep, shattering pleasure racks throughout Stiles’ trembling body. It crashes through him again as Derek thrusts even deeper than before, the sensation mind-blowingly good. The Alpha pushes his ass up, and it’s Stiles’ turn to yell out his desperate praise.

“Derek! Oh fuck yes!”

Every nerve ending in his body screams to be touched; he’s delirious with overwhelming pleasure. Derek senses his need and begins hammering into him relentlessly, reaching depths Stiles has never felt before.

“Derek, don’t stop—deeper!” Derek drives so deeply inside his body that Stiles is certain he’ll split in two. Stiles cries out as Derek’s powerful thrusts send electric tingles racing through his dick, and before he realizes it, he’s cumming untouched, his
entire body convulsing with ecstasy.

“That’s it… Give it to me,” Derek growls, carnal and fierce.
Stiles doesn’t get any sleep that night. Derek’s promise echoes endlessly in his mind: “If I plan this right, you’ll be pregnant by the end of the week.”

Stiles sure hopes so. Derek hadn’t given him the bite yet, so Stiles tries to temper his soaring excitement.

If it were possible, the spark is even more deeply in love with the Alpha than before. Stiles reflects on all the times Derek has had the chance to claim him and hasn’t. That level of self-control is beyond impressive, and Derek is truly it for him. Stiles’ ass burns pleasantly, forcing him to shift to relieve some of the weight. In the gentle early light, he vividly imagines their future together, not bothered at all by the thought of little bodies sleeping warmly beside them, knowing Derek would be an incredible father.

His desire for the Alpha reawakens with fierce intensity.

Stiles yearns to be fucked pregnant.

The Alpha has kept his promise so far, and now it’s time for the bite.
Stiles wakes the Alpha with tender kisses up and down his neck until Derek growls teasingly and captures his lips in a kiss of delicious warmth.

They fuck for hours, and truthfully, Stiles savors every single moment, especially when Derek’s fangs sink deeply into the nape of his neck.

Derek pounds into him from behind as the shift takes hold, Stiles’ eyes glowing a bright omega gold.

Chapter Text

It takes three days. Just three days of nonstop mind-blowing sex for the positive pregnancy test to stare back at him. Jesus Christ, the alpha was fertile. Stiles will have to keep that in mind if he wanted to extend their honeymoon phase between twins. Or triplets…or quadruplets—honestly, the possibilities freaked him out so that’s where Stiles stopped reading the 100-page paper on male omega pregnancy.

What he was more concerned with were his symptoms that Derek had listed like the back of a seed packet. Divided into three different categories depending on the type of shift the child would take on, Alphas and Betas were the normal 3-month conception period, but Omegas’ pregnancies had the habit of being premature births. Derek reassured him that if planned ahead of time, the high-fat diet would keep the womb strong and healthy. But of course, his anxiety-ridden mind couldn’t help but worry about it.

Things have happened so fast there was no way of telling what the future held. Stiles cradled his stomach, trying to imagine it swollen with a child. How protective Derek would become of him and how Stiles was going to make it to three months without saying a word to anyone. It was a daunting concept, but he was thankful he could at least tell his dad and the pack. Now all he had to do was tell Derek the news. But how?

Stiles looked around the bathroom for something to conceal the pregnancy test, but all he had at his disposal was toilet paper and the white hand towel that he refused to dirty with his pregnancy stick. He panics, overthinking things until a strange sensation occurs in his chest. A hot flash creeps its way down his chest, and before he knows it, the smell of spilled milk reaches his nose.

“Oh no!” Stiles cries out, lifting his shirt to examine his chest where his nipples looked oddly swollen.

“Is everything alright in there?” Derek asks from behind the door. Stiles jumps, hand rushing to cover himself.

“Uh, yes…Yes, everything’s fine! Don’t come in! I’m changing!” Technically he was supposed to be; he had showered and then remembered how he’d snuck off and DoorDashed a pregnancy stick behind the alpha’s back. Curiosity clawing at him to check, but he really didn’t think it would read positive this fast. He stuck the stick in the back of his jean pocket and straightened out his borrowed sweatshirt, glad Derek was twice his size. There was no way the alpha wouldn’t smell his milk coming in, but Stiles hoped at least the smell would conceal the test and give him enough time to think of a creative way to tell the Alpha. He exits the bathroom, back rigid when Derek comes over to hug him.

“Hey love, I have coffee waiting for you in the kitchen. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, just give me a minute, ok? I’ll be right there.”

“Sure. I’ll get breakfast ready.” Derek kisses him as he leaves the room. Stiles gulps, thankful when he’s finally alone, heart beating out of his chest. He shoves the stick in Derek’s potted olive tree, making sure it’s covered in soil before he leaves the room, hoping to God Derek’s super sense of smell doesn’t notice anything amiss.

“Hey, so Lydia’s coming by this afternoon with the results of Derek’s blood test,” Cora says over her bowl of cereal as he comes into the kitchen.

“Nice. You plan on asking her out on a date any time soon?” Stiles asks casually as he walks over to where Derek is cooking eggs and kisses the back of his neck.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I tried that already. Didn’t go well. She shot down the whole dating concept actually. She said if I had any common sense, I’d stick one in her and get her pregnant if I ever wanted her to settle down. I can’t say I’m opposed to the idea, but I want the time to be right; she’s got a lot going on now that she’s focused on winning the Fields Medal.”

“She’s won the medal five times over already, Cora. Take it from us, it’s never going to be the perfect time. Just do it…”

Cora smirks, “Oh, I’ve got a few ideas in mind. I’m just waiting for us to move back to Beacon Hills. How long until construction’s over with, Derek?”

“The renovations are finished, so it shouldn’t be long until the contractor gives me the keys. I’d say in two weeks.”

“Great. Make sure to include the waterfall shower head I asked for.” Derek rolls his eyes in response but nods anyway.

“Can’t wait! My dad’s going to want us to go to dinner with him, especially after seeing this…” Stiles points to his engagement ring, the golden nut screw glinting in the light. “You, Isaac, and Peter are invited too of course.”

Halfway through breakfast, Derek freezes mid-bite. His pupils dilate suddenly, a thin ring of crimson bleeding into the hazel of his green irises. The fork in his hand bends under the pressure of his grip.

“Derek?” Stiles reaches across the table, concern etched across his face. “What’s wrong?”
A low, rumbling growl escapes Derek’s throat as he pushes back from the table, knocking over his chair. Sweat beads along his hairline and his breathing becomes labored.

“Something’s… wrong,” Derek manages to grit out, his canines visibly elongating. “Can’t… control it.”
Cora is immediately at his side, eyes wide with alarm. “This isn’t a normal shift. His scent’s all wrong—like he’s in heat.”

“Heat? But that’s not possible,” Stiles protests, moving toward Derek only to be stopped by Cora’s arm.

“Don’t. He’s not himself right now.” Her warning comes just as Derek slams his fist into the wall, plaster crumbling under the
impact. His claws are fully extended now, skin flushing an unnatural shade of red.

“It has to be a triggered response,” Cora says, keeping herself between Stiles and her brother. “Maybe something he ate or—”

“Oh god,” Stiles interrupts, realization dawning. “It’s me. The milk… I’m starting to lactate.”

Derek’s head snaps up at Stiles’ words, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply. A primal, hungry look crosses his face. “Stiles,” he growls, the sound barely human. “Need you.”

“This is bad,” Cora says, pulling out her phone. “His alpha instincts are going haywire. If you’re pregnant and producing milk already, the pheromones are probably triggering a mating response. But this isn’t natural—it’s too intense, too sudden.”

Derek takes a step toward Stiles, his movements jerky and uncoordinated as he fights for control. The veins in his neck stand out prominently, pulsing black beneath his skin.

“There’s a place in Beacon Hills,” Cora says, already grabbing her keys. “A greenhouse that specializes in elixirs. They have a moonflower elixir that can calm werewolf heats.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Stiles asks, not taking his eyes off Derek. “We need to go. Now.”

The drive to Beacon Hills is tense. Derek is curled in the backseat, every muscle in his body rigid as he battles the primal urges threatening to overwhelm him. Stiles sits in the front passenger seat, glancing back worriedly every few minutes.

“He’s never lost control like this,” Stiles whispers to Cora. “Not even on full moons.”

“Whatever’s happening isn’t natural,” Cora replies, pressing harder on the accelerator. “Someone dosed him with something.”

The Beacon Hills Potions Emporium sits nestled between two modern buildings, looking wildly out of place with its Victorian architecture and stained-glass windows. A greenhouse extends from the back, glass panels steamed over with condensation from the exotic plants growing within.

Stained glass windows cast colorful patterns on the ground as they rush Derek inside, one arm draped over each of their shoulders through the ornate wooden doors, a bell tinkling softly to announce their arrival. The interior is a riot of scents—herbs hanging from the rafters, bottles of colorful liquids lining the walls, and the earthy aroma of soil and growing things.

The interior is warm and humid, filled with liquids that shimmer and shift in the filtered sunlight.

“Hello?” Stiles calls out, struggling under Derek’s weight. “We need help!”

A woman emerges from between tall shelves of plants, her fiery red hair cascading in waves past her shoulders. Intricate, colorful tattoos wind up her arms like vines, disappearing beneath the sleeves of her flowing green dress. Her bright blue eyes widen at the sight of them.

“Oh my,” she says, quickly clearing a space on a nearby chaise lounge. “Bring him here.”

As they lay Derek down, he growls and reaches for Stiles, who takes his hand despite Cora’s warning glance.

“I’m Harmony Norwood,” the woman says, examining Derek’s face. His eyes are now fully red, and black veins have spread up his neck to his jawline. “What happened?”

“We don’t know,” Stiles explains. “It came on suddenly. We think he’s experiencing some kind of triggered heat.”

Derek’s nostrils flare, and his gaze locks onto Harmony. Something like recognition flickers in his eyes, followed by distrust. He growls, low and threatening.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Stiles soothes, running his fingers through Derek’s sweat-dampened hair.
Harmony watches the interaction with keen interest. “An Alpha’s sudden heat is extremely rare,” she says. “Usually triggered by a mate’s pregnancy…” Her eyes flick to Stiles briefly, a calculating look that’s gone almost before it registers.

“Can you help him?” Cora demands. “We think he’s been dosed with a werewolf heat inducer,” Cora explains when Derek remains silent. “We need the moonflower elixir.”

“Yes, of course.” Harmony nods, moving to a cabinet filled with small vials. Her gaze lingering on Stiles. “That’s a rare potion, but you’re in luck. I just finished brewing a fresh batch yesterday. It’s a powerful stabilizer for werewolves. This should counteract the effects within minutes.”

As she selects a vial of iridescent blue liquid, Derek manages to whisper to Stiles, “Don’t trust her. Smell… wrong.” Her scent is masked by the overwhelming aromas of the shop, but underneath it all, there’s something unpleasant—something that reminds
him of death, of rot, of a dead carcass left too long in the sun.

Stiles frowns, but Harmony is already returning with the potion. “Three drops under his tongue should do it,” she instructs, handing the vial to Stiles. “I’ll need to check his pulse first, to make sure the dosage is safe.”

When her fingers touch Derek’s wrist, he jerks away with surprising strength, baring his teeth. Harmony doesn’t seem offended; instead, she reaches for Stiles’ hand.

“Perhaps you could assist me then? I need to establish a baseline.”

The moment their skin connects, Stiles feels it—a dark, oppressive energy that makes his own spark recoil. It’s like diving into a cold, murky lake, the pressure building in his ears, the darkness closing in. Stiles’ eyes fly open, a gasp tearing from his throat. He can feel it—her spark, her magic, but it’s nothing like his own. Where his feels like sunlight and electricity, hers is dense and suffocating, like drowning in tar. It presses against him, searching, probing, hungry. He gasps, trying to pull away, but Harmony’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly.

“You’re a spark,” she whispers, surprise and hunger flashing in her eyes.

“And you’re not just a witch,” Stiles manages to say, through gritted teeth, pulling his hand away. “Your energy… it’s dark.”

Something dangerous flickers across Harmony’s face before her expression smooths into a professional smile. She uncorks the vial. “Many would consider that a compliment. My coven practices the old ways. Now, shall we help your Alpha?”

As Stiles administers the elixir to Derek, Harmony moves behind him, her fingers brushing against his neck as if in a comforting gesture. Unnoticed, she plucks a few strands of his hair, slipping them into her palm.

The effect of the elixir is almost immediate. The tension leaves Derek’s body, his claws and fangs retracting as the red fades from his eyes. His breathing steadies, and the black veins recede from his skin. Stiles wants to feel relieved but his instincts are screaming at him to get Derek away from her.

“Thank you,” Stiles says to Harmony, genuine relief in his voice despite his lingering unease.

“My pleasure,” she replies, her eyes lingering on Stiles’ midsection for just a moment too long. As Stiles helps Derek sit up, Harmony moves to the counter, discreetly slipping the stolen hairs into a small envelope that disappears into her pocket.

“The final ingredient,” she murmurs to herself, satisfaction curling her lips upward. “The womb potion will be complete at last.”

“How much do we owe you?” Cora asks, reaching for her wallet.

Harmony waves her hand dismissively. “Consider it a welcome gift for your return to Beacon Hills. I hear the Hale house
renovations are nearly complete.” At their surprised expressions, she adds, “Small town, big gossip. Besides, we magical folk
should look out for each other.”

As they prepare to leave, Derek now steady enough to walk with just Cora’s support, Harmony touches Stiles’ arm one last time.

“You should come back soon,” she says, her voice soft but intent. “I have herbs that are excellent for… new beginnings.”

There’s something in her tone, a longing that seems at odds with her otherwise composed demeanor. For just a moment, Stiles
glimpses something beneath the surface—a desperate hope, a loneliness that seems bottomless.

“Perhaps,” Stiles says noncommittally. As they leave the shop, Stiles leans heavily against Derek. “There’s something seriously wrong with her, Der. Her magic… it felt like death.”

In the car, Derek leans his head against the window, his strength returning gradually. “That woman,” he says, his voice rough.

“I’ve seen her before, but I can’t remember where. Her scent…” He shudders. “Was evil. And something else… something sad.”

“We can figure it out later,” Stiles says, reaching back to squeeze Derek’s knee. “Let’s just get you home.” Derek’s hand drifts
down to rest gently on Stiles’ stomach, still unaware of the precious secret growing within.

Back at the Emporium, Harmony carefully places Stiles’ hairs in a small vial, adding it to a collection of other ingredients—wolfsbane grown under a blood moon, the tears of a banshee, and earth from the oldest Nemeton in California.

“Almost complete,” she whispers, her fingers tracing the symbols tattooed on her arms—the last remnants of a once-powerful lineage. A family portrait sits on her workbench, showing generations of red-haired women with the same bright blue eyes. She is the last of them.

“The Norwood legacy will not end with me,” she vows, touching her flat stomach with a mixture of determination and sorrow.

“Whatever the cost.”

Chapter Text

Stiles looks over the blueprints of the Hale estate again and marvels at its beauty. The dazzling, one-of-a-kind estate is nestled at the very end of a private drive and sited on a beautiful 2.78-acre lot. He can’t wait to tour it with Derek by his side, the alpha asleep after another round of baby making.

Ripping each other’s clothes off whenever they get the chance doesn’t afford them much time to check if the moonflower elixir had worked, but he figures since Derek hasn’t ripped his throat out, it has to be a good sign. He ponders over what life would be like trying to raise twins while working full-time for the FBI and how Derek’s investment properties would coexist with one another.

It would be a hard feat of endurance on both of their sides, and he is glad his dad would be by his side to help them through it. It’s a week away from Halloween, and neither Derek nor he has discussed what festivities would transpire in the week ahead.

They could always go as Beauty and the Beast, or Red Riding Hood and the wolf, but something sparks in his mind about how that could be the perfect time to break the news to Derek and his dad that he is pregnant.

He searches on his phone for a few hours, looking for something not too on the nose but with enough of a hint to be symbolic. Time slips away from him as sleep takes over, sitting in one of Derek’s love seats across from his desk. When he settles on breaking the news dressed as mike and sully, he falls asleep.

His dream starts pleasant enough in a long corridor, something telling him he’s at the Hale house. He’s bathed in afternoon light, in a sunny spot under a skylight in what seems to be a hall into a bedroom. He walks down, opening the door to the nursery where a cot lies.

He makes his way over to peer at his twins, but there’s only one, his daughter Isabella. The sight confuses him, but the sight of her lifting her arms up and her pursed mouth in sleep makes him pause in awe. Her dark lashes cutely fans out over her pink cheeks.

He bends down and scoops the baby in his arms, rocking her so she doesn’t wake up.

“Stiles.” The voice turns his blood to ice. He looks up at the mirror and his heart seizes in his chest. There stands Harmony, but not as he remembers her—this Harmony is a nightmare personified. Her fiery red hair writhes like living flames around a face that’s too pale, too sharp, the skin stretched taut over jutting cheekbones. Her once-blue eyes now burn an unnatural violet, pupils constricted to pinpricks of absolute darkness. Her lips, cracked and bloodless, curl into a smile that stretches impossibly wide, revealing teeth too numerous and needle-sharp.

And in her arms—oh god—in her skeletal, tattooed arms is his son Elijah.

A primal, guttural sound tears from Stiles’ throat as white-hot terror floods his system. His legs buckle, and he clutches Isabella tighter to his chest, her warmth the only anchor in this spiraling nightmare. The nursery walls seem to contract around him, the air growing thick and sulfurous. Harmony’s shadow on the wall behind her stretches and distorts, sprouting thorny appendages that scrape against the ceiling.

“No,” Stiles chokes out, tears streaming down his face as he stumbles backward. “Not my son. Please, not my baby.”

His free hand reaches desperately toward Elijah, who seems oblivious to the monster holding him. Harmony’s head tilts at an unnatural angle, her neck cracking loudly.

“Too late,” she whispers, her voice echoing as if spoken by multiple throats at once. Before Stiles can lunge forward, before his scream can fully form, she speaks the words—

“Uterum divido, vitam transfero, puerum vindico”—in Latin, each syllable pulsing with malevolent power.

A tearing sensation courses through him, so violent and profound it’s as if his very soul is being flayed open. The pain is beyond physical—it’s the existential agony of having part of himself forcibly severed, like he’d just had his limb ripped off, but infinitely worse. He can feel Elijah’s life force being wrenched away, the connection between them shredding like tissue paper.

“One for you. One for me…” And the glass breaks as Eli’s crying screams echo in his ears, a sound so desperate and afraid that it shatters something fundamental inside Stiles.

Waking up from a fitful sleep, he realizes he’s drenched in sweat, the taste of bleach in his mouth bitter and disgusting. He sits up quickly, then feels it, the odd sensation of something falling in his stomach. The scream for Derek’s name is out of his mouth before he knows it.

“Stiles! What’s wrong!” They race towards Deaton’s vet clinic all the way in Beacon Hills with Stiles’ hand clutching the dirt-covered positive pregnancy test. The tears won’t stop falling down his face in bitter despair. He’s angry, furious with himself for ever trusting a witch with such an evil aura.

“It’s my fault. I should’ve never given her the chance to touch me. I shouldn’t have allowed it!”

The words feel like lead in his mouth. Something in him knows it’s too late. It’s too late to save his son. He’s never had a dream so vivid and disturbingly real in his life. His spark has never steered him wrong; he should’ve listened, and now there was no surprise for Derek who deserved to know more than anyone in the world.

Derek’s quiet, but Stiles can see it, the slight tremble in his forearms.

Stiles hates this, not being able to protect another pivotal moment in Derek’s life is absolutely devastating to him.

They peel into the vet clinic, both of them rushing out of their seats and into the lobby with all the concern parents who dread having to bury their own children can muster.

They go through the motions of Deaton’s checkup, and by the look on Deaton’s face, it was bad news. His stomach covered in clear gel as Deaton uses the handheld probe to scan for any signs of life, for a heartbeat.

The thump-thump of the twins takes time to reach their ears, and to Stiles’ unsurprised horror, there’s only one.

The beating of her heart is strong, healthy, and Deaton reassures them of that, Derek’s hand clutching his with so much hope, the longing in his eyes to see more of the baby’s form in the ultrasound so openly vulnerable.

Stiles hates that he has to ruin the moment.

“There should be two. Check again, please…” His voice comes out gravelly.

Deaton takes his time, his pregnancy so early that there appears to be nothing but his stomach in the ultrasound.

“There’s the gestational sac, the yolk sac, and fetal pole. Honestly, a very good sign for a male omega’s pregnancy. But again, there’s only one. It’s still a bit too early to tell; one can be hidden behind the other if they share an amniotic sac…”

Stiles gulps, knowing the doc was wrong but having nothing to show for it except the sinking feeling in his stomach that there should’ve been two.

“Ok. Thank you, Deaton. Can you leave her up there for a sec? I need to talk with Derek.”

“Sure, I’ll let you guys have a moment of privacy.”

“I believe you,” Derek says the moment Deaton leaves the room.

Stiles dry heaves and covers his face with his arm, unable to face the alpha. “She took him. I know she did.” Stiles sniffs. He peeks again at Isabella’s ultrasound just to make sure she was still there.

“I wanted it to be a surprise, Der, but this dream… I can’t explain it; my spark just knows. We’re supposed to be having two. One girl and one boy. They are named after my grandparents. I still can’t believe it; this has to be some sort of psychic connection to them. Elijah was taken by that fucking witch. I know I can’t prove it right now, but I swear to you, once I get my hands on her…”

“Shh. It’s ok. I will handle it. I’ll have Cora and Isaac drive out tonight and meet with her. She can’t get far.”

Stiles nods, squeezing Derek’s hand.

On the other side of town, Harmony stops the car just at the cemetery gates, moonlight washing over her like a second skin. She opens the grimoire one last time, fingers brushing the page holding Elijah’s essence. Her eyes gleam, madness and devotion twisted into one.

“Ad portam umbrarum, viam aperi.” A gust of wind howls through the night, leaves spiraling in unnatural patterns. The ground trembles softly beneath her boots as a violet light burns into existence before Laura Hale’s gravestone—spinning, churning, warping space.

“Per sanguinem, per amorem, in aeternum coniunge.” A portal ignites—deep, violent, and otherworldly. Harmony smiles through the swirling winds.

“We’ll be together soon, Elijah. Just a little longer.” With one last look over her shoulder, Harmony steps into the portal— —

and vanishes.

Chapter Text

Stiles traced the triskelion on Derek’s back with his forefinger. It had been three months, and only one heartbeat had continued to grow stronger in the ultrasound. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Stiles had allowed himself to escape reality, finding hope in the supernatural. He still clung to the belief that, somehow, Elijah would return to them—rescued by magic, telling tales of life with a wicked witch. But reality didn’t play fair.

Time had run out.

It had taken exactly three days to conceive and three months to give birth. Maybe, just maybe, another third miracle was on the horizon.

In a trance, Stiles continued to trace the thick black lines of Derek’s tattoo.

“Alpha, Beta, Omega.”

Again.

“Alpha, Beta, Omega.”

Again.

“Alpha, Beta, and Omega. Once is an incident, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern.”

He whispered it aloud to the half-asleep Alpha. The number 3—it was a pattern. But what would Harmony’s next move be? She already had what she wanted. Stiles hated not knowing. He was always two steps ahead. He considered again the significance of the number three.

Nikola Tesla once said: If you only knew the magnificence of the numbers 3, 6, and 9, then you would have a key to the universe.

If that was what it took, then Stiles was willing to find the key to the universe—for his son.

He might have been overcomplicating things, though. So, he returned to his mental drawing board, sifting through every possible angle. Harmony had said her coven used the old ways, and Latin in their spells. That gave him an idea.

“Lux, Tres, Nexum—the light of three binds all.”

The spell invoked the hidden powers of 3, 6, and 9 to unify and control the flow of energy and fate. Stiles whispered it like a prayer—and in an instant, the triskelion on Derek’s back glowed gold, spinning faster and faster until a burst of golden light shot into the sky. It illuminated the night like a beacon, forming a giant triskelion in the heavens—like a magical Bat-Signal.

Stiles gasped as the magic crawled up his arm and onto the back of his neck, where his own triskelion tattoo began to glow.

“Holy shit!” he breathed, trying not to wake Derek. Carefully, he unstraddled the Alpha and rushed to the balcony.

Sure enough, the triskelion hovered in the sky, glowing bright for miles.

Unable to contain his excitement, he turned and ran back inside.

“Derek! Wake up, you have to come see this!”

“Hmph?”

“Now, Derek! Come on!”

Groggy but alert, Derek got up and followed him to the balcony. They both stared up at the glowing magical sigil.

“I closed my eyes for five minutes,” Derek muttered.

“Isn’t it awesome? I did that!” Stiles grinned.

“How do you stop it?” Derek asked, already wary.

“Stop it?” Stiles echoed, offended—just as two fighter jets flew through the triskelion symbol, sending the couple stumbling back in panic.

“Go! Get inside!” Derek shouted.

“Right behind you!”

Turns out, reciting the spell again was the only way to deactivate the sky beacon—after fighter jets, fire trucks, police, and ambulances had all arrived to Derek’s cabin.

Once the chaos was over and the emergency crews had left, Derek and Stiles made a promise: they'd figure out what Stiles had done—in the morning.

Later that night…

“Just a little more,” Derek swore to himself as he released deep inside the spark. Their sweat-slicked bodies collided with rhythmic, muffled thumps against the snow-covered log.

“That was amazing,” Stiles panted, pulling his pants up and straightening his shirt.

“Don’t ever flash your neck like that again,” Derek growled, eyes still smoldering. “Unless you want to end up face-down, ass-up.”

“Sounds like a dare,” Stiles teased.

Derek shook his head, trying to calm the heat that still coursed through him. The moonflower elixir clearly wasn’t strong enough to suppress his heat cycle. Luckily, Stiles was more than an enthusiastic partner.

Still, the sight of that glowing spark—those thick veins, that chisled body—it drove Derek wild.

But for now, they had to make their way back to the carriage Derek had rented for them—a surprise, one of many early Christmas gifts; the reindeer weren’t exactly known for their patience.

The northern lights shimmered above them, the sky a canvas of purple, blue, and green. Hand in hand, they returned to the fur-lined carriage where two steaming mugs of hot chocolate waited.

“Hut, hut!” Derek called out, and the reindeer began to trot down the snowy trail, weaving between trees beneath the dancing lights.

“This is too beautiful not to try and capture—woah!”
“Easy there—wait, no! Grrr...” Derek tried to rein them in, but the reindeer had other ideas.

They swerved off the path, speeding through the woods.

“If we start to fly, I swear I’m calling you Santa Claus forever,” Stiles called out.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into them. They smell something… wait—oh my god.”

The forest opened around them.

In the heart of the woods, a glowing clearing awaited—lit softly by the northern lights. Ancient trees circled protectively around a sacred nemeton. Its twisted limbs cradled a shimmering nest, alive with the flutter of tiny, glowing fairies. They danced through the air like embers caught in the wind, their laughter like windchimes.

Stiles stepped closer, one hand extended. A particularly bright fairy landed in his palm, wings pulsing with golden light.

“We come bearing gifts for the unborn,” it said, its voice chiming in their minds.

“One lies within our nest—a pool of healing waters. Bathe them, and they shall be protected from sickness, sorrow, and silence. But the gift must be earned.”

Stiles nodded, breathless. “We’ll do whatever it takes.”

The fay tilted its head. “Then listen closely, Spark.”

Derek tensed, a warning echoing in his mind—Never accept a fairy’s gift without knowing the price. But when he saw the look on Stiles’ face—hope, fierce and unyielding—he stayed silent.

“The Hall of Mirrors lies between worlds,” the fay said. “A prison of reflections where truths become lies, and lies, truths. Your son is there. But he is not alone.”

Stiles stiffened. “Who’s with him?”

“One who was promised but never claimed. The mirror keeps what is forgotten. To retrieve your child, you must offer memory in return.”

Derek frowned. “Memory?”

“A truth you cherish. A moment that defines your bond. One of you must give it up—permanently.”

“I’ll do it,” Stiles said without hesitation.

“No,” Derek growled. “Stiles, you’ve already lost too much—your mother, your safety—”

“So have you,” Stiles whispered. “But this is Elijah. He’s ours. I’ll give up anything for him.”

The fay hovered closer, pulsing golden where their hands met. “Decide quickly. The mirror shifts each day. Soon, even we will not be able to find him.”

Stiles took a shaky breath. “Take the memory of our first kiss. Just that. Not the love, not the rest. Just… the moment I realized I was home.”

The fay bowed. “So it is done.”

The air thickened. The nest glowed. And at its center appeared a crystalline pool, now pulsing with faint light.

“It leads to the Hall,” the fay said. “One of you must enter. The other must wait.”

“You’re not going alone,” Derek said.

“This is my deal,” Stiles replied gently. “My choice.”

He stepped toward the water.

Then—pain. Sudden, sharp. Stiles doubled over. Blood bloomed across his pants.

“Stiles!” Derek lunged forward, but the fay held him back with a wall of shimmering light.

“I’m okay,” Stiles gasped. “I’m okay—”

He wasn’t.

The pool darkened with blood as contractions wracked his body. The fairies danced faster, chanting in a forgotten tongue, weaving his pain into power. Stiles screamed, half in agony, half in determination—and the pool pulsed.

Something ancient was being born.

“Take me in, let me out, and lost ones shall be found.”

With one final push, the pain split—and Isabella was born.

Stiles cradled her to his chest, her cries loud and alive.

“There’s one more—Elijah!”

“I need Derek!” Stiles cried.

The wall dropped. Derek surged in, grabbing Isabella as Stiles reached into himself to lift Elijah from his body. The healing waters knitted him whole as if time bent around him.

But from the bloodied depths of the pool, Harmony Norwood emerged.

Her tangled red hair was slick with tar, eyes glowing a cruel ice-blue.

“Mine,” she hissed, reaching for Elijah.

Stiles fought her, holding Elijah close.

“Derek!”

She was too strong. Out of pure instinct, Stiles screamed:

“Lux, Tres, Nexum!”

The spell exploded outward, knocking Harmony back into the water—but not before she grabbed for his child.

She laughed wickedly and vanished.

“No! Derek! Elijah!”

“He’s here!” Derek shouted, swimming back. “He’s in your arms, Stiles. Look!”

Stiles looked down. Elijah—safe, alive—cried in his arms.

“Oh, thank god. I thought—oh god, I thought I lost him…”

“But she had a child in her arms,” Stiles said grimly.

Derek paled.

“As fate decrees, the other half dwells within mirrored halls, lost till one who bears the seal breaks the deadly thrall.”

They didn’t understand it fully, not yet.

But Stiles knew one thing:

Isabella and Elijah were safe—for now.

And he would burn the world to keep it that way.

Cradled safely in each arm, Stiles carries them home—unaware that the treskilion behind each twins ear is a deadly kill switch threatening their safety.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, that Eli had snuck out of the house. Its large metal ceilings were covered in his shoe marks from his countless comings and goings, but he suspected the huge sliding walls had been installed just so there’d be no escaping what was now the newly rebuilt Hale house.

The spacious grounds and estate were described as the ideal “indoor-outdoor” Californian lifestyle.

It was a feat leaving it, and Eli didn’t do it often.

The place had everything you could dream of — a chef’s kitchen, game lounges, home theater, and a spa with a steam room and sauna attached to a massage room. But it was suffocating at worst and barely tolerable at best.

He had five other siblings — okay, not to mention the other pack kids, Eric and Zen — who had all grown up here together. He’d had an amazing childhood, but as a young adult, it was crowded. And nothing was more of a cock block than his twin brothers, Milos and Noah, barging into his room when he had a date over.

Isabella, his fraternal twin, knew that feeling well — but since she was dating Eric, no one dared barge in on her, knowing there were two very hormonal and angry teenage werewolves capable of mass destruction under one roof who could kill you in an instant if you dared.

That was his life: Isabella, the respectable one everyone adored; and him — the disaster who had a habit of forgetting where he was and the emotional one who could cry on demand.

Apparently, it was because his “testes hadn’t dropped yet” or something about his frontal lobe not being fully developed — whatever his dad, Stiles, had said that he hadn’t been listening to.

All he cared about now was Rebecca — and his car, Roscoe — which was in the auto shop and definitely not safe to drive. But he didn’t care. He was determined to drive it, even if the earth’s crust opened up and hell’s creatures crawled out. He was going to drive it with Rebecca in the passenger seat. He’d already waited all summer, and he was sick of the excuses for why he wasn’t allowed to drive yet.

Nothing was lamer than having to skateboard his way to Rebecca’s family mansion. And he didn’t care if it sounded spoiled — Rebecca wanted to be with a man. Preferably, a man with a car.

So yeah, he snuck out — skateboard hidden in the bushes and a condom in his back pocket. He wasn’t planning on coming back until late that night. As soon as he was in the clear, he was off, riding his skateboard through Beacon Hills’ back roads with his wireless headphones and music blasting.

Nothing felt more freeing than riding his skateboard on clear roads, watching the sunset on the horizon. After Dark played in his ears as he arrived at the stop sign dividing the preserve from the private drive up to Rebecca’s house. He paused, looking into the woods — the temptation to run wild in his full shift form clawed at him — but Eric and Zen had promised him a full moon run that weekend, so he resisted and instead took the turn down Rebecca’s drive.

She was waiting at their secret meeting spot, and she looked incredible. Damn, he was a lucky son of a bitch.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Ready to ride off? I’ve got a new place for us to smoke.”

“Yeah.”

He really did have a new place — one he’d found on a run one day. It looked like something straight out of a fairytale. The tree had to be ancient — its trunk thicker than his arm span, its branches curling in a Dr. Seuss sort of way that made it perfect for one of his smoke spots. If he could find it again, he was sure Rebecca would love it — maybe even enough to want to fool around under it. Bonus points if he could get a feel under her Victoria’s Secret push-up bra — tonight’s goal.

They walked in silence for a while, just vibing, until the snapped branch he’d left as a marker came into view. Eli pulled out the joint he’d rolled earlier and lit it.

“We’re almost there, Beck. Can’t wait for you to see it — it’s magical, like that fairytale stuff you like.”


“Really? I can’t wait to see it!”


“Here.” He passed her the joint, and she took a deep breath, exhaling smoke into the cool night air.

They climbed the hill, and just as the tree came into focus, Eli stepped into a puddle of mud.
“Fuck! My sneaker! Hey, watch out—”

“Ew, gross! My shoe!”

“Sorry, didn’t realize it rained. Maybe we should go back…”

“No! Look! It’s a pool of water. Wow, it really is magical! Look at how the trees reflect in it — it’s like a movie.”

Eli looked ahead at the perfectly still pool and its mirrored image of the tree.

“Hey, go over there — let me take a photo.”

“Really? Sure. Here, hold my bag.”

Rebecca handed him her purse and walked into the water, which was deeper than it looked. Soon it was up to her knees.

“Nice — hold still…” He lifted his iPhone — and something behind her moved. Then she screamed, shoved backward into the water — arms and legs flailing — and then she was gone.

“Rebecca! Hold on! I’m coming!”

He rushed forward, splashing through the water, took a deep breath, and dove in after her. The water was crystal clear — frogs and kelp drifted past as he swam deeper, surprised by its depth. He frantically looked around for her — under rocks, behind fallen branches — but she was nowhere to be seen.

He could hold his breath longer than any human, so he shifted to his omega form, keeping himself from needing air. Still — she was gone. The longer he searched, the more helpless he felt.

“Rebecca! Rebecca!” he shouted when he finally came up for air. Only silence answered.

He was about to give up when, from the depths of the pool, came glowing orbs — balls of light rising toward him, illuminating the forest in hues of purple, green, and blue, like the northern lights.

Fairies.

“The Hall of Mirrors lies between worlds,” one of the fae said. “The mirror keeps what is forgotten. To retrieve your friend, you must offer a memory in return.”

The fairy’s voice lingered in the air like a song fading through mist.

Eli hesitated. The lights shimmered closer, circling him — warm and cold all at once. He thought of Rebecca, her laughter, her perfume clinging to his hoodie — but then his mind drifted to home.

To them.

He saw his family around the long oak dining table, the one his dad insisted on restoring himself. Isabella teasing Milos about his bad haircut, Stiles arguing with Derek over whether silver actually repelled vampires, Noah and Zen laughing so hard they nearly choked on dinner. The chaos, the noise, the love — the way it made him feel safe even when he pretended he hated it.

It wasn’t just dinner. It was every night they’d spent together when the world outside felt dangerous — storms, hunts, full moons. It was the smell of garlic bread, the sound of a Disney movie playing, his fathers voice telling them to settle down. It was belonging.

His chest ached.

“That one,” he whispered. “You can have that one.”

The lights pulsed as if they understood.
He felt it being lifted — like someone pulling threads out of his chest. The warmth of the table, the laughter, the feeling of home — fading into the shimmering air until it was gone.

When the light dimmed, he couldn’t quite remember why he felt hollow. Only that something important had been taken.

And then the water rippled — and Rebecca’s hand broke the surface, gasping for air.

“Elijah! Oh my god! I thought I was dead! I really just saw my life flash before my eyes!” Rebecca cried out.

“Shh it’s ok! It’s ok! You’re safe now…Lets get you home.”

He tucks her into bed after she showered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll never let anything harm you, you have my word Rebecca…”

“You promise?”

“Promise.” He kisses her good night and with one more look behind him to make sure she was safe he heads back home, determined to return to the pool the following day with Zen, Eric and Isabella and get to the bottom of what happened.

Chapter Text

“Lights!”

“Move, move, go!” the runway instructor shouted over the chaotic noise of models and fashion interns all busy getting dressed, doing makeup, and fixing hair. The final touches were being done to the debutantes making their debut at the ball. Girls in white dresses were all lined up to walk down the spiraling staircase where their dates in tuxedos waited to offer their arms.

Except Isabella. She hadn’t gone to private school — she’d attended the supernatural academy called Evergreen — and she was there as a makeup artist. It was her dream to one day work for Vogue or MAC Cosmetics, but doing makeup and modeling were her stepping stones, and she loved what she did for a living. She was only eighteen, so she had a long way to go, but she believed she could achieve anything she set her mind to — and nothing was going to get in the way of that. Not even her brother, who was annoyingly calling her nonstop at 6 p.m. on a Friday.

“Like, get a life,” she muttered, sending the call to voicemail. “Bother Laura or Klaudia — I’m busy.” Surely the twins were done with their afternoon Pilates and barre workouts by now. The phone rang again, so she switched it to silent as she finished up her debutante’s lip gloss.

“All done! Now you may kiss your frog. Jason, was it? You know what they say about guys with J names…” Isabella rambled.
Her debutante ignored her, checking her reflection in the mirror.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t go for liner in my waterline?”

“Yeah, no — unless you want to look like a twenty-an-hour—”

“Got it! No, thank you. Okay! I’m off! Kiss!” They air-kissed twice, and the debutante hurried off to get in line.

The reception had barely started, but of course Eli had to make a big deal out of something.
She sighed, cleaned up her makeup station, and grabbed her luggage to check her phone outside the great hall among the ball guests.

“What! Eli, I swear, if this isn’t important—”

“Yes! You picked up! Meet me, Eric, and Zen by the Wakefield graveyard in thirty. Yes, it’s important. Yes, you should’ve picked up your phone sooner. What kind of twin are you? Bye.” And just like that, the line went dead.

“Great. Fucking fantastic.”

Thirty minutes later.

“I’m about to drown you instead if you don’t get to the point, Elijah! Dear God! If I ever ramble like that, Eric, seriously, knock me out.”
Eric laughed while Zen continued to look at Eli like he had two heads.

“Okay, water — bad. Rebecca almost drowned. It’s deeper than it looks. Could lead to a portal world or something. It’s freaky as shit.”

“Great. Who volunteers to dive in? Not me! Nose goes.” Zen, Malissa and Kira son and Eric, Scott and Issac's spawn, were faster than they looked.

“We’ll look for your high-tops when you go under. Make sure they don’t float you back to the surface.”

“Fine! But you have to tell Dad and Papa if I don’t make it out. No Nancy Drew-ing it, understand? I’ll be dead before you write your article about it on your makeup blog.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“No. That’s all. Zen, Eric — you two got my back?”

“Always.”

“Good.”

Then Eli was gone — his annoying Air Forces the last sight of him as he went under.

It would be a good two hours before they decided to leave, and Isabella would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought Eli was full of shit. But hey — what are twins for?

One missing twin coming up, Daddy and Papa.

Chapter Text

“My papa instincts are going off, Der…”

“It’s just in your head, love,” Derek said as they got home from grocery shopping at Costco. When they built the house, they made sure to install a walk-in refrigerator room to fit all the necessary produce it took to feed six kids, three cubs, and several pack members. It was Derek’s life’s work.

The home featured a bright, open floor plan with high ceilings and large glass walls that connected seamlessly to the spacious outdoor grounds. It included a stunning chef’s kitchen with dual islands, counter seating, and a full catering kitchen. The adjoining family, living, and dining rooms offered the perfect setting for relaxed entertaining.

Every aspect of the home was well thought out and custom-designed. Stiles couldn’t have come up with a better place to raise their family and pack if he tried. It was an oasis — a private estate that wasn’t just beautiful, but bulletproof, fireproof, and protected by the best security system ever built. Stiles made sure of that.

But the outside world was unpredictable. Nothing could have prepared him for the guilty look on Isabella’s face when she stepped into the kitchen, Zen and Eric trailing behind her with wide, nervous eyes.

The news of Eli’s disappearance was bone-chilling.

“Get your sisters, brothers, and Scarlet here this instant! I’ll contact the rest of the pack. Don’t leave this spot, do you hear me? Your brother is in grave danger, damn it, Isabella!”

“Sorry, Papa. He saved Rebecca. We all thought he’d come right back.”

“It’s okay. Just make sure you stay here. We’ll handle this together,” Derek replied as Stiles ran off to call Scott and Lydia.

“Scarlet? Isn’t she in New York? She’s hours away…” Isabella said, the severity of the situation dawning on her.

“Call her. I’ve got the twins,” Eric reassured her.

Three hours later, the entire pack had gathered — even Uncle Peter, who only ever showed up for holidays. Isabella gave the twins, Laura and Klaudia, and Scarlet (Lydia and Cora’s kid) the full rundown, trying to see if they’d ever experienced anything similar. But apparently, none of them had ever run into the Nemeton. And from the stories they’d grown up hearing, nothing good ever came from finding the Nemeton.

She was definitely grounded. She hadn’t realized how bad things were, and now she dreaded being alone with her parents — they were going to give her a stern talking-to. Maybe even take away her Black Card. Oh God. She’d really messed up.

She looked around. Zen sat between his parents, Melissa and Kira, looking like he’d seen a ghost. Eric had already been banned from seeing her, but thankfully they were stuck in lockdown under the same roof. His parents, Scott and Isaac, stood near a white board set up in the family room. A redheaded woman’s photo was pinned to the center like a haunting headshot. Even from the picture, she looked evil — pupils blown wide, expression blank. Bad vibes.

Isabella reached for her phone, about to call Milos, when he finally walked through the double doors with Stiles hot on his heels — being dragged in by the ear.

She would’ve laughed if she wasn’t terrified of her own punishment.

“You couldn’t stay out of the Delos daughter’s bedroom for one day? Your brother’s missing!”

“Not to mention you closed the door!” Dad yelled in front of everyone. So embarrassing. She thought she’d taught him more finesse than that. Oh well.

“Ow! That hurts!” Milos yelped as Stiles let go of his ear.

“Where’s Noah? Noah! No? Where is he?” Papa demanded, scanning the room and giving Isabella the we’ll talk laterlook.

“He’s got that modeling gig in town, remember?” Milos said, rubbing his ear like a scolded puppy.

“Right. Well, tell him to come home. He needs to be here. God forbid one of us went missing — you’d never find us! You’d have to call in the National Guard!”

“I’ll try him again,” Isabella said, about to dial, when Stiles stopped her with a raised hand.

“No, that won’t be necessary. This meeting starts now. You all know about the triskelion tattoo, right?”

The pack nodded. They all had one. It appeared when a pup was born and grew with them through life. Some had it on the back of their necks, others behind an ear or on a shoulder. It was a constant reminder of their bond as a family — and Isabella loved hers. She’d only ever met a few werewolves who didn’t.

“It was a magical sigil created when you and your brother were born, Isabella,” Stiles said. “I didn’t know it at the time, but it was meant for moments like this — in case any of you were taken, I’d be able to find you.”

“Yes, well, your Papa got a bit carried away…” Derek added, giving Stiles a wary look.

“That’s right — I love my family,” Stiles said firmly. “That’s why every pack in the world now bears a sigil like yours. It stands for Lux, Tres, Nexum — the light of three binds all. I can telepathically locate any werewolf in existence, but especially one from my own pack. I’ll call upon its power tonight to find Noah and your grandfather.”

He paused, his voice lowering.

“But if I can’t find Elijah…” — his eyes darkened — “then he’s been taken by a witch more powerful than I’ve ever faced.”

Stiles looked at each of them, the name heavy on his tongue.

“Her name is Harmony Norwood. A witch whose power rivals the very magic that binds our pack — ancient, relentless, and deadly. If she has Elijah… then she doesn’t plan to give him back.”

———————————————————————————————————————————————

“10-20 — Suspect is spotted…”

The sheriff watched as the approaching car turned off its headlights before creeping toward the abandoned warehouse. Its tinted windows gave it an ominous look as it rolled silently to the back of the building. He quickly unbuckled his seatbelt, stepped out, and drew his gun, instincts sharpened by decades of service. Everything in him said he was about to crack down on a drug heist.

Two women, scantily dressed, climbed out of the SUV, followed by a man dressed entirely in black.

Got them, the sheriff thought.

They walked up to the side door, where another man in a ski mask waited. An exchange was made, and the two women were led inside. Prostitution and drug operations usually went hand in hand — which meant there were more men inside. He was outnumbered. He needed backup.

He slipped back behind his patrol car and radioed it in. Once he’d confirmed backup was en route, he crept back toward the building, taking careful looks through the broken windows, trying to count heads. When he reached the rear entrance, he froze — a man suddenly stumbled out, doubled over, vomiting violently into the dirt.

The sheriff cursed under his breath. This was his chance.

He moved quickly, slipping through the open door and ducking behind one of the many rusted factory machines littering the warehouse. The air smelled of rot, chemicals, and sweat.

“What a pretty pet you are! Baby, I’ve got a lot more of this in store for you…”

“Grr… give me more then, it’s cold in here.”

“Yeah, why couldn’t we meet at the lounge?”

“This is the strongest formula on the market. Just you wait…” The man’s laugh came out as a dry crackle — the sound of lungs long destroyed.

The sheriff’s gut twisted. He needed to get out. Then it hit him — those women weren’t victims at all. They were werewolves. And it was just his damn luck to stumble into something supernatural without the pack at his back.

He began to retreat, careful and silent, but a sudden yank on his jacket stopped him cold. The grip was iron-strong — and when he turned, he met glowing eyes.

Another werewolf.

Shit.

“Look what we have here, girls… a fed.”

“Stick him with one of these. It’ll send him on a joyride.”

He struggled with every ounce of strength, but it was useless. A sharp sting bit into his neck. The world tilted violently as the drug took hold, flooding his veins with burning fire. The last thing he felt was the cold concrete beneath him as everything went dark.

He was left for dead.

When Noah arrived at the scene, the flashing lights painted everything in red and blue. His grandfather’s body lay beneath a black tarp, sectioned off as a crime scene — the kind of sight he’d seen a hundred times in his life, but this time… this time, it broke him.

The air left his lungs.

He dropped to his knees beside the tape, hands trembling, staring at the still form that had once been his hero — the man who’d raised him, taught him right from wrong, taught him what it meant to protect others.

“Grandpa…” he whispered, voice cracking, the word swallowed by the hum of the generators and the quiet murmurs of deputies who couldn’t meet his eyes.

Those murderers hadn’t just taken a sheriff.

They’d taken his family — the only man he’d ever truly wanted to make proud.

And Noah swore, right then and there, he’d make them pay.

Chapter Text

“Everyone, meet in the theater room now!” Noah announced as he charged in, his gaze making it clear he was out for blood.

“About time,” Milos remarked as his twin led everyone—members of the next generation of Hales—into the soundproof room. Klaudia automatically walked over to the bar, pulling out the aged whiskey and making whiskey on the rocks for her siblings. Bartending had been her first job after graduation, and Milos was thankful for that as they all took their drinks and silently prepared themselves for whatever Noah was about to say—something he clearly didn’t want the parents to hear.

Papa had taken the news fairly well, sighing deeply after Noah had called and telling the room that the old man had finally kicked the bucket. Everyone was shocked, but one warning from Laura—“Don’t start crying or I’ll start”—had everyone masking their emotions, knowing full well how much she hated her face turning red, sometimes resulting in deadly consequences. The identical twins never liked getting their hands dirty, but with Grandpa dead and Noah being so secretive, Milos dreaded having to involve them. Their alpha form was the deadliest of the bunch when provoked.

“Come on, what is it? The Alpha Pack? Drugs? Spiky? Territory dispute? Aliens?” Laura half-joked.

“Spiky? Is that what they’re calling ecstasy nowadays? Don’t tell me the models are snorting that stuff…” Noah said, crossing his arms and looking annoyingly like Dad. But to be fair, he was practically a copy-and-paste version of Papa, so Milos forgave his brother’s haunting looks.

“So it is Spiky. Go figure,” Klaudia remarked. Their underground dealings with powerful men hadn’t exactly been a chosen career path—their model looks just drew in that crowd. And if Milos could guess, Noah wanted to ask them about it without freaking out Papa, who was always adamant about not using their looks to make business deals. But it couldn’t be helped. Just like how Noah had grown into his six-foot-four frame by the age of sixteen, signing modeling contracts just seemed to be the norm around here. GQ, Ralph Lauren, Loro Piana—you name it, they’d modeled for it.

At six-foot-two, Milos could get away with having a “normal” job as a surf instructor and diving coach at their local seaport, Port Alliance. But it meant being out of the loop when it came to the underground dealings of mainstream media moguls.

“So that’s how they killed Grandpa? A drug overdose? Oh no… we can’t tell Dad or Papa,” Isabella said, her nerves putting the rest of them on edge.

“No, we can’t. Dad and Papa will think I’m dealing again, but I swear I’ve been clean for two years now. Still, it’s not worth the headache getting them involved. I’ll just tell them he was shot in a drug heist for now.”

“Papa always finds out,” Milos said. He could hear him now, rambling on about how dangerous it was dealing with the supernatural black market. He’d tear their heads off if he knew.

“Which is why we tell him it was a drug heist and nothing more. I’ll need to go undercover, and I always get mistaken for Dad. His reputation as an arms dealer didn’t end well with the Sureños cartel, so I need them to stay put so I don’t get caught in the crossfire. I’d ask you, Bella, to help me—but with Eli gone, I’ll have to rely on the twins for intel.”

“Not so fast. Don’t count me out just yet,” Isabella interrupted. “Dad’s always inviting us to those annual fundraisers held by the Lycan Committee. With Laura and Klaudia’s help, we’ll make our debut there as the Hale Pack and announce that we’re up for auction. Those Alphas will be drooling for a chance to speak with us and make a bid. The highest bidder will help us get the word out about banning Spiky—and help us find Eli.”

“Uh, do we have a say in this? I don’t want to be featured in Omega’s Magazine without a designer fit on. This will make headline news—we’ll need to make a statement,” Laura added, twirling her Van Cleef necklace nervously.

“Oh yes! Scarlett, you know a few designers from the Fashion Institute of Technology! Tell them we’ll need three custom ball gowns for the event. We’ll need to start planning now!” Klaudia said excitedly. No doubt serving looks at a fundraising auction piqued the twins’ interest—and Isabella was a genius when she wanted to be.

“We’ll handle security. When’s the event being held?” Milos asked, his palms a bit sweaty at how much planning would need to go into this ahead of time—especially without their dads. It was a risky plan.

“It’s two months away—just before Christmas, on the 21st.”

“Damn, two months away?” Noah commented. “You think you guys will be ready by then? Seems a bit soon.”

“Yes. If we work as a pack, I’m sure we’ll accomplish it—and avenge Grandpa.”

“So it’s done. No one says a word of this to Dad or Papa. Is that clear?” Noah said, using his Alpha voice. Everyone nodded.

Chapter Text

Eli felt like he was drowning. The pool was more like an ocean, its depth stretching endlessly as time dragged on. His lungs screamed for air, and just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, he saw a light at the end of the tunnel. Bursting through the surface, he gasped for breath and coughed up blood. His head pounded, his vision blurred — he felt like death itself. He couldn’t hold his shift any longer, clear evidence that he had been under extreme strain.

He swam toward the edge of the lake, his legs heavy as anchors. Crawling onto shore, he looked around — still in the preserve. His heartbeat quickened as hope flooded his veins.

“Yes! Thank God, I thought I was gone for—” he rasped, wringing out his shirt. Stumbling forward, he made his way deeper into the woods until he found an empty road. After hitchhiking what felt like miles, he finally reached a gas station. Using the phone booth, he tried calling Isabella, but the line was out of service. Cursing under his breath, he asked the store attendant to call him an Uber to the police station.

When he arrived, the station was filled with unfamiliar officers — odd, considering his grandfather had been the sheriff. Eli approached the front desk and asked for him.

“I’m sorry,” said the receptionist, looking confused. “There’s no Sheriff Stilinski here.”

Panicking, Eli asked what station he was in, even though he knew the answer.

“Beacon Hills Police Station,” the old woman replied, giving him a stern look — clearly thinking he was high.

He laughed nervously. “You don’t understand. My grandfather is the sheriff — Sheriff John Stilinski. Gray hair, a belly from one too many donuts, you know—”

“Sorry, kid. No Sheriff Stilinski here. Laura Hale is the sheriff.”

“Laura Hale? That’s not possible…”

Eli stared at her like she was insane, but realization slowly sank in — maybe he wasn’t in his Beacon Hills anymore. Maybe this was another dimension.

“Laura Hale, you said? Can I talk to her?”

“Eli… just go in there and tell her yourself. She’ll be busy, but I’m sure she’ll make time for her son.”

Eli froze. “Son?”

“Yes, kid. Go on.”

Turns out, he was right about the portal theory. Now he had to convince his aunt — who was apparently his mom here — that he needed her help. God help him. If she was truly Laura Hale, she’d be just as stubborn as his dad, and those Hale genes were strong.

Two hours, several ramblings, and multiple cups of coffee later, Laura was dragging him by the collar out of her office and tossing him into her cruiser like he weighed nothing.

“Wait until your mom Harmony hears this. She’s going to think we’ve both lost it…”

Harmony? Damn, he must’ve really been in deep. Isabella was going to flip.

“Honey! We’re home!” Laura called as they pulled up to the house.

And that’s when Eli saw it .

A small straw-top cottage, straight out of a fairytale.
The thatched roof was golden and soft-looking, the sunlight catching on its uneven texture. Cobblestone walls gave the place a timeless charm, while ivy climbed lazily up the sides. The ancient wooden door was heavy, carved with intricate symbols that looked older than Beacon Hills itself. Inside, the air smelled faintly of herbs and woodsmoke. There were no modern light fixtures, no sleek furniture — just raw stone walls, warm candlelight, and well-worn, classical furnishings that whispered stories of a simpler, magical time.

“Nice,” Eli muttered, trying to take it all in. “Where’s Mom?”

Growing up with two dads made the question feel strange on his tongue — like he was acting in someone else’s life.

“In the kitchen, of course!” Laura laughed. “She’ll think you got knocked in the head. But don’t worry — there’s nothing she can’t fix with magic. She’s handled worse. Remember when you got bit by the Parkers’ vampiric son Josh after scoring the winning goal in lacrosse?”

“Lacrosse?” Eli blinked. He hated sports. That was for his six-foot-something brothers, not him. He was 5 foot 10 — like Papa. And apparently, in this world, the supernatural wasn’t even hidden.

“Hey, babe,” came a voice from the kitchen. “Where’s Elijah?”

Eli turned to see a woman with tattooed sleeves, horse-riding boots, and two sausage dogs trotting happily at her feet. Definitely not what he expected from his “portal mom” — but she had dogs, so she couldn’t be all bad.

“What do you mean, where’s Elijah? He’s standing right there!” Laura said, throwing her hands up. “Seriously, did both of you hit your heads this morning? I’ve got to get back to work!”

“You don’t belong here. This isn’t your world. Damn it! Those fucking fey! I am going to ring someone’s neck!” Harmony says as she paces back and forth and twists the tea towel in her hand nervously.

“Whoa there, honey. What’s going on?” Laura asked, still out of the loop as they sat side by side.

“You have to go back! I can’t afford for your father to find out. I’ve built a life here — I can’t let him mess this up for me.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand if you just explain what happened,” Eli said, confusion written all over his face. “Even I don’t understand. You said you brought a part of me here when I was young — why? I know it’s not because of my personality.”

That made Harmony smile and roll her eyes.

“That’s just it. You’re my son in this world, Elijah — I mean, Eli — and if your father found out, he’d take you away from me. From us. I can’t let that happen.”

Harmony stopped pacing and reached for him, her hand soft against his cheek. She looked deeply into his eyes and began to recite a spell — one Eli hoped would send him back to his world.

But instead, his mind went blank.
 He forgot why he needed to go home.

This was his home — with his identical twin, Elijah, and his two moms.

He didn’t want to leave.


He wanted to stay.

—————————————————————————————————————————————

As they approached the DNA-sequenced building, Isabella’s only thought was of finding her brother, Eli.

The structure loomed ahead like a living organism — veins of bioluminescent light pulsing along its glass and steel frame, each flicker responding to the genetic signatures of those who entered. Its walls shimmered with an iridescent hue, patterns of sigiles and fairies moving like constellations under the surface. Every entrance was monitored by scanners capable of reading one’s DNA in seconds, identifying bloodlines and ranks. To the untrained eye, it was just architecture. To the wolves, it was a temple of science and power — a place where heritage could both damn and save you.

Two months of searching for Eli had flown by in a blur of sleepless nights and dead ends, and this was their final chance. The designer drug Spiky was flooding the black market like wildfire — addictive, dangerous, and especially devastating to omegas whose minds became works of chaotic art, abstract and shattered like a Leonardo da Vinci sketch left unfinished. Tonight’s auction was rumored to be the largest and most extravagant of the year, with bids soaring into the millions.

Isabella was both predator and bait. She couldn’t deny the morbid curiosity about how much a date with her might go for — but vigilance came first. There were whispers of a plan to “spike the punch bowl,” a metaphor for sabotage, and she’d warned Laura, Klaudia, and her brothers in advance. Eric ensured they all wore discreet earpieces, keeping them connected and cautious as they mingled with the bidders — the richest, most powerful foreign men who flew in from villas and estates around the world, drawn to the allure of American tan werewolves and the danger they carried.

Getting ready had been an event in itself. With Scarlet’s expert hand guiding them, the women of the Hale pack transformed into myth.

The twins wore gowns spun from liquid silk, fabrics so fine they shimmered like moonlight caught on water. Intricate beadwork traced celestial patterns down their backs, each of them adorned with a diamond-encrusted emblem — one shaped like the sun, the other the moon — nestled perfectly in the dip of their spines. Their jewels caught the light with every movement, creating halos of reflected gold and silver that made them appear almost divine.

Isabella, however, stole the night. Her dress was a masterpiece — a phoenix reborn from ash. The corset was a deep molten gold, fitted to perfection and laced with threads of ruby light that pulsed like embers beneath her skin. Her skirt cascaded into layers of crimson silk and translucent gold chiffon, each tier hand-painted to mimic rising flames. At the base of her corset gleamed the Hale triskelion — a symbol of unity and rebirth — rendered entirely in diamonds.

They were not merely guests; they were the storm before dawn — front-page ready, radiant, and resolute. Tonight, they would make an entrance no one would forget — debuting the Hale Pack as a force of nature, beautiful, dangerous, and unyielding.

Chapter Text

Everywhere she looked there was a stud—some with blackout eyes and horns, others with kohl liner and tattoos—and Isabella had to admit, supernatural men were in a league of their own. But nothing was more panty-dropping than the men wearing turbans and masks. One was speaking to her now, his brown eyes framed by the most incredibly long, dark lashes she’d ever seen.

He was an oil mogul from a long line of shapeshifter vipers, the same shift her godfather Jackson took on as the Kanima. He complimented her dress, flashing his neck to reveal a coiled snake sigil. She licked her lips, flashing her eyes in interest—then instantly regretted it when Eric’s voice buzzed over her earpiece, low and warning:

“Behave.”

She swallowed hard as the Kanima shifter flashed his gold eyes in return, a silent exchange of submission in werewolf language. Her wolf itched beneath her skin, desperate to come out and play, but she held it back. Every move tonight was being analyzed by her peers. She’d have to keep her scent of interest hidden until the auction.

With a polite smile, she ended the conversation with a promise to bid for one another during the event, then continued making her rounds. The smiley one with ravishing blonde hair caught her attention with talk of teaming up to cater banquets and do makeup artistry, while another—dark-haired with mesmerizing green eyes—promised to fly her to Bali and other exotic lands humans had never seen. The perks of being in the supernatural elite, she thought.

Isabella was having the time of her life, mingling with Alphas from all over. If it weren’t for Eric watching, she might have had her pick of the litter.

The twins, of course, were the crowd favorites. Their identical looks drew every eye in the ballroom. They had taken over a corner to pose for photos with suitors from around the world. The men laughed, comparing the sisters and asking which one they preferred. To outsiders it might have seemed playful, but Isabella knew the twins could tell which suitors saw them as trophies and which were genuine. The clever ones waited patiently for their turn to speak.

At one table of five, she could tell the decision had already been made. Good, she thought—Noah had put everything into tonight’s operation. Their grandfather’s death still hung heavy, and the success of this infiltration meant everything. The money from the auction would fund their search for Elijah and the killers.

Spiky hadn’t appeared among the guests yet, which likely meant it was being reserved for the Omega auction segment. In werewolf tradition, the night ended with Alphas choosing Omegas to form alliances through primal ritual—a mix of diplomacy and instinct, sealed by passion. Some called it barbaric; others, sacred.

Either way, it had kept their kind from extinction, through both alliance and reproduction.

Isabella and the twins were expected to play their parts, to pick the highest bidders and “seal” the alliances. But the sisters had other plans—plans that did not include mating. Hopefully, they could slip away without fallout. After all, the bidders were wealthy enough to find other partners.

Or so Isabella thought.

The night was young, the champagne endless, and the energy electric. Nothing could ruin it. If anything tried, she’d kill it—preferably with her Louis Vuitton red heels.

Then the speakers crackled to life:

“Alright, will all the auctioneers please gather at the stage? The bidding will begin in five minutes!”

A hush swept the ballroom as servers dimmed the lights. The stage shimmered with gold and red velvet curtains. The air was thick with pheromones and tension.

Laura stepped forward first—her gown a cascade of white silk that shimmered like pearls . The crowd erupted. Bids came fast and furious, numbers climbing into the millions as Alphas tried to outdo one another.

“Two million!”


“Ten point five!”


“Twenty million, from the house of De Valtor!”

A ripple of gasps followed. Another Alpha, his eyes glowing amber, snarled.

“Thirty million—and I’ll throw in my estate in Monaco!”

Laura’s lips curved into a knowing smile.

Then Klaudia entered, a vision in black lace and gold, her energy radiating danger and allure. The bids came even faster this time.

“Ten million!”


“Twelve!”


“Twenty million, final offer!”

The ballroom was chaos—growls mixing with laughter, fists slamming tables. One of the bidders lunged at another, claws flashing as security scrambled to intervene. The crowd surged, screams echoing as magic pulsed through the air.

“Enough!” a voice boomed through the speakers. “Everyone, separate! Ballrooms A through C, clear out immediately!”

Guards ushered people toward different wings of the building, dividing guests into separate rooms and lounges. Isabella reached for her sisters’ hands, but the crush of bodies split them apart—Laura was pushed toward the east wing, Klaudia toward the north. Isabella stumbled back into the main hall, her heart pounding.

For the first time all night, the wolf inside her howled.

“For God’s sake, get off me!” Klaudia screamed. Her voice drifted from the next room; instinct screamed at Isabella that her sister was in trouble, then the noise cut out.

“Everyone return to the main ballroom, please! This way!” somebody ordered.

“Laura—three o’clock—coming in fast.” Isabella spun toward the sound, worry etched across her face as she scanned the room for her sister.

“She was just here!” Laura said, panic rising.

“I saw her go that way.” Isabella pointed to the adjoining room and the two girls pushed through patrons, the auction forgotten.

“Stay together. Noah and Milos should be with you— they’re taking up security to your right,” Eric said over her earpiece.

“Security’s down. We’ll be with you in ten minutes,” Zen replied. But any time apart at a supernatural gathering was dangerous. The sisters ran as fast as they could toward the next room, only to find the door locked from the inside.

They pounded on the heavy door. “Klaudia! Are you there? We’re coming in!”

They tried every lever and shoulder shove, but the soundproof chamber held. Dread tightened in Isabella’s stomach as minutes ticked by.

Inside the room, Klaudia had come face to face with one of the oldest vampires known to man—his deadly reputation one she had not yet realized. He stood among the caged Omegas, watching them like a general surveying prisoners.

“You weres all smell the same,” he murmured, voice silky and old. “But I have always admired your kind. Your primal drive—your need—that hunger. It fascinates us Vampires...”

His lips curved in a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Your mate could be in here, you know.”

Klaudia had no time for this. She had been bid—twenty million—and she was not about to wait while this Vampire toyed with her.

“Let me out, or I’ll rip your throat out,” she warned, claws extending to underline her promise.

The vampire tilted his head as if amused. “What’s the rush? You don’t plan on mating with those boneheads, do you? Look—your mate may already be here, terrified and bound.”

Klaudia scanned the cages. The Omegas were gaunt, eyes wide with terror; something foul hung about them.

“They were supposed to be willing,” she said. “Why are they locked like animals? High off Spiky no less…”

“They were sold to me,” he said casually. “Some for appetizer, some for the main course.”

“Who let you in?” she spat. “We don’t make bargains with your kind. You should be banned from this event.”

He stepped closer, and for the first time she noticed how deceptively slight he seemed—until he moved. With a motion too sudden and smooth to be human, he slammed a palm against the nearest cage. The metal warped as if it were tissue; his fingers closed around the bars and crumpled them. The cage door ripped open like paper.

Klaudia’s breath caught. The vampire’s strength was not for show; it was cruel and devastating. He lifted the trapped Alpha in one arm as if cradling a doll, then tipped his head and drank. Blood poured down his throat in an instant—merciless, efficient—and the man’s life blinked out like a candle.

“No!” Klaudia screamed, lunging. Her claws scraped his chest—flesh and suited—but he barely flinched. He moved as if in water, graceful and lethal, and in two heartbeats he had her pinned against the polished piano. The impact knocked the air from her lungs; her back slammed against the glossy wood with a bone-sight sound.

“Submit,” he said, voice low enough that the whole room seemed to vibrate.

Klaudia twisted, kicked, and bit at him, fury fueling every motion. She managed to rake a line across his shoulder—something no one had done in a century—and he uttered a small, almost delighted sound.

“Well, aren’t you feisty,” he breathed. “Impressive, really.”

He traced his fingers along the edge of her g-string, teasingly, as her mate’s scent enveloped her—rich cognac oak, warm cinnamon, and tonka bean. The fragrance was intoxicating, almost enough to bring her to her knees.

Her papa once told her that to catch the scent of one’s true mate was to experience the rarest luxury—something meant to last forever. The memory of her family’s oak barrels soaked in eau-de-vie blended perfectly with that exquisite aroma, grounding her in familiarity even as desire threatened to consume her.

“I’m great with my fingers, please just give me a chance…” He whispered seductively in her ear, his cupid attractive looks, threatening her resolve.

His control was a quiet cruelty.

He pinned her hands, his grip unyielding, and with the other hand he coldly began tearing the frames and locks from the nearest cages. Metal screamed. The freed Omega beside her scrambled out, trembling.

“Release as many as you can,” Klaudia snarled to the freed man. “Run. Go—now.”

The Omega hesitated, eyes darting to the vampire. The vampire’s gaze slid over him unimpressed.

“If you’re not useful to me, little one, you’re meat,” he said softly.

Klaudia surged, using the moment the vampire glanced away to wrench her hand free. She shoved the nearest pedal of the piano with a sharp heel; the heavy instrument toppled, smashing through a cage and sending shards of metal and wood flying.

The freed Omega finally found his legs and bolted.

The vampire’s amusement hardened into a slow, dangerous grin.

He straightened, the muscles beneath his black suit jacket rippling with strength that belied his aristocratic calm.

He moved to intercept another escaping Omega, but her brothers Milos and Noah—arriving at last—threw themselves into the doorway. They arrived just in time, and the vampire’s laugh was soft and terrible as he turned his attention toward them.

“Now, now,” he said as if admonishing noisy children. “We won’t have a massacre tonight. Not yet.”

Klaudia spat blood from her lip and hauled herself upright. Her shift was torn, her skin stung, but the spark in her eyes was as fierce as ever. She had clawed him.

She had freed some of the captives. She had not submitted.

Outside the locked room, Isabella and Laura were frantic, battering the door until it splintered; guards swarmed the hall and shouted as the ballroom was divided—guests ushered into separate wings, alarms shrilling.

The vampire’s shadow slipped between them like ink through water; he was already vanishing into the mansion’s network of dark corridors, leaving the stench of iron and the taste of cold dread in his wake.

Klaudia forced herself to her feet, pressing her palms to her ribs, listening as the muffled chaos rose and fell through the walls. She’d lost her one potential mate tonight—taken in seconds—and the knowledge burned through her. But she was not broken. She had a hall full of omega’s. She had an enemy to hunt. And she had sisters.

“Get them out,” she rasped to the nearest freed Omega. “Tell them what happened. Tell them about the Vampire.”

He nodded, returning the favor of the small mercy she’d carved out for him.

Outside, the ballroom’s divided crowds roared in confused frenzy. Alphas barked orders. The sisters were separated in the rush. Klaudia’s heart hammered as she scanned for any sign of Laura—then saw, through the chaos, a flash of torn white lace and a hand raised in a signal.

She would not let that vampire get away with this.

Chapter Text

The room was still a swirl of chaos, but at last, the twins, Laura and Klaudia, had found each other.

“Who’s the host of this auction?” Isabella asked through her earpiece, ready to take charge—until the ballroom suddenly fell silent.

Footsteps echoed—light as air, but the presence behind them was suffocatingly heavy. Isabella had never felt anything like it. The very air seemed to thin, charged with a strange, sensual energy that made her body sway toward the source.

He appeared then—the host—dressed in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, a black silk tie, and a matching pocket square. His jet-black hair was cropped in a sharp crew cut that framed eyes so pale they looked carved from ice. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea.

“Incubus…” Isabella breathed, her heart hammering in her chest. That was him—the host. And suddenly, everything made sense. They weren’t just dealing with any old auction event—they were dealing with the underground supernatural market.
Her blood ran cold. She’d have to tell her father, shut it down before the willing became unwilling. If she’d known this auction was run by an incubus, she would’ve worn charms to counteract his allure. Now, they were at his mercy.

“Shit. We have to retreat. Everyone, fall back—” But it was too late.

The incubus’s gaze found her, and Isabella froze where she stood. Her instincts whispered not to fear him—a warning in itself. Every nerve screamed to resist the growing urge to bare her neck in submission.

“No,” the incubus said smoothly, his voice like smoke and velvet. “I think the bidding should continue. Don’t you?”

Isabella swallowed hard, heat flooding through her body as her resolve wavered. His calm, hypnotic aura made her eyelids heavy. When he took her hand and kissed it, her breath hitched. His lips lingered, eyes locked on hers—a silent invitation to mate, impossible to misread—as he
guided her onto the stage.

“I’ll start the bidding at fifty million dollars,” he announced, voice echoing through the hall. “Any higher offers?”

The room erupted in whispers and gasps, but everyone already knew—she belonged to him.

Just as Isabella turned to step off the stage, the ground beneath her shook. A sudden crack split the air, followed by a flash of violent purple light.

A portal tore open midair, swirling like a cyclone of shadow and lightning. Sparks of amethyst and indigo fire lashed out, crackling with energy so fierce it rattled the chandeliers. The force of it threw loose papers and glass across the ballroom as the incubus instinctively pulled
Isabella behind him in a rare gesture of protection.

“Incubum vinculis umbrae aeternis alligo, ne iterum carnem tangas!”

The voice—sharp, commanding—cut through the roar of magic. Isabella flinched; she knew that spell and the witch who spoke it. Harmony.

The spell’s power struck, but the metal collar around the incubus’s throat glowed crimson, deflecting the magic like it had hit an invisible shield.

From within the swirling portal, Harmony stepped out—dress fluttering, hair crackling with residual energy—and beside her, Eli emerged.

“Elijah! We’ve been looking for you for ages! Where have you been?” Isabella cried, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Who are you?” His tone was empty, eyes hollow—no hint of recognition.

“Ah, I see,” the incubus purred, amused. “Fraternal twins. I retract my bid and offer sixty million for a night with both of you.”

“Sixty million?!” Eli gasped. “I could buy a million Roscoes with that much money!”

But then Eli’s expression shifted. His gaze lingered on Isabella—familiarity flickering in his eyes.

“Yes! Eli, we’re twins! I’m your sister—don’t you remember me?”

“Kind of,” he murmured, rubbing his temple. “But it’s… hazy. Makes my head hurt.”

Harmony stepped forward, her voice smooth but edged with judgment. “Good job finding your mated pair, Isabella. I can’t say I approve, but if he makes you both happy, I’ll overlook his… allure.”

“This is between my brother and I,” Isabella snapped. “I don’t need your approval. Eli—let’s go.”

“Not so fast,” Harmony said, snapping her fingers.

A glazed look overtook Eli’s eyes. His memories of her vanished again as he stepped back, in a daze.

“I demand you return my auctioneers,” The incubus hissed, power lacing his tone, “or I’ll show you a death more painful than you can imagine!”

“No! Eli!” Isabella screamed as the incubus reopened the portal—its light surging brighter this time, a roaring vortex of violet energy.

The incubus moved faster than any mortal or witch. In a blur of motion, he seized Eli, pulling him into his grip. A vampire—the same one Klaudia had fought earlier—shoved Harmony backward with supernatural force, hurling her into her own portal. It swallowed her whole,
collapsing inward in a burst of white-hot sparks and the scent of ozone.

“Give me my son back!” Laura roared, her wolf eyes glowing as she lunged forward—but a towering man in a black masquerade mask, nearly six foot seven, stepped into her path, blocking her with inhuman precision.

“Son? What’s going on?!” Laura shouted, confusion slicing through the noise.

Before anyone could answer, the chaos multiplied tenfold. The air shimmered again as another portal ripped open—this one a chasm of hellfire, ringed in molten red and black flames that devoured everything near it.

Through it, the incubus, vampire, and masked man vanished—taking Eli with them. The flames died in a hiss, leaving the stench of sulfur and burned ozone in their wake.

“Hand him back and no one gets hurt,” Stiles’s voice thundered as he and Derek appeared, their arrival shaking the air with the power of their combined presence. Stiles omega eyes glowed, pulsing with warning.

But then Derek’s gaze froze—fixed not on the chaos, but on someone behind Isabella.

“Laura?” he whispered, face pale as death.

“Daddy, I’m right here! Don’t you see me?” young Laura cried, breaking from her twin to rush toward him.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me! I couldn’t bear it—Daddy!” She struck his chest, but he didn’t move. His eyes remained locked on the other woman—the one who shared her name.

Isabella sighed, recognizing the fear that always haunted her sister—the fear of being forgotten by the same mental disease that had taken their grandmother called frontal dementia. Being mistaken for her twin had always sent Laura spiraling.

Then Laura disappeared completely into the infernal portal, sealing it with a thunderous boom that shook the room to its foundation.

“No, Laura, stay here!” Derek shouted, dropping to his knees as another rift swallowed the werewolf into the darkness.

Tonight’s festivities were over.
And they were no closer to finding Eli than when they’d begun.