Archive of Our Own

Laura had always loved the summer. For what damned reason, Derek could never truly parse. He supposed he understood the appeal in the lyrical sense, but those were just fanciful hypotheticals of which many a thing might be pleasant, if they only existed as they did in his head. There was, in some storied idea of the season, a summer day where the sun shone just bright enough to pleasantly suffuse through the skin. Where his shirt would not stick to the small of his back with sweat and his neck not feel smothered by his collars. 

In Laura’s summer insects only flitted idly by and did not hum incessantly in your ear. Flowers bloomed but did not irritate your eyes. The ground was impossibly soft and fine and always warm instead of caked and splitting. Somewhere, out there, Laura was happy to be plucking cherries straight from the tree, laughing as they burst between her fine fingers in search for the stone. 

Where Derek lived there was currently a grainy haze that had set itself forever on the horizon. It sizzled along with the cicadas and reminded him every time he peered outside that he would find no relief there. Though he imagined a light breeze which could alight upon his sweltering skin and bring him relief, it did not exist beyond these windows. Instead it had traveled along to meet Laura wherever she ran barefoot through the tall grass. 

He surely did not blame it. T’was a place he would much like to visit. He had so very many things he wished to ask her, confide in her about. She could tease him about the amounts of rhubarb jam that he would smear across his breakfast and he would feign his fussiness, but continue on indulging that sweet tooth anyway. 

There was no room for embarrassment, sat across from her. She simply wouldn’t allow it. There wasn’t space for it when she brought the din of all the other emotions that rolled off her shoulders. It was an endless cascade of ups and downs that suredly wore you out, but only in the most pleasant of ways. Like the burn his thighs felt after too many days of travel atop his horse. 

He had meant to ride it into town today. He’d been looking forward to it all week. It was rare now that he got to take meandering trips away from the Hale estate. If and when he left, it was for business that had strict schedules and demanded he arrive in a certain state of disaffectedness. In fact, most times he was set free from the property it was a much better idea to take the carriage and leave his favorite steed in pasture. 

They hadn’t taken an adventure for quite some time and though his cousin had laid out a suggestion of a schedule in their letters, Jackson was never much good at keeping to such things. The young viper had worked many a year to paint himself as ambitious and shrewd and while the restructuring of his reputation was largely successful, he couldn’t help certain dalliances that were too tempting to resist. 

Little peeks into his life as a single, spoiled child tended to bleed through his manicured sneer and Derek couldn’t help but let him languish in them. He was afforded precious few indulgences and if Derek were to enjoy any portion of being the lord of the Hale estate, it was going to be in humoring every little whim his family dared expose. 

He had supposed that Jackson would arrive some hours late, but so as to be a good cousin and host, he would have to show up on time to meet him. Just in case. It would not do to have their dear ward waiting on him, tired from travel and aching for a familiar meal. And when Derek showed up and he had not yet arrived, delayed by some flight of fancy that kept him an extra few hours on the road, then he would have to find some way to occupy himself. 

Perhaps he could wile away a few hours at the gentleman’s club— light up a cigar that smelled of his father and loosen up with a finger or two of something that burned on the way down. The boys would likely badger at his continued bachelorship though, and finding that a sore subject he imagined that he wouldn’t manage to stay there long. At that point he should make a show of turning his attention to a range or hunter’s collection. The tang of steel and bite of gunpowder was supposed to be of a particular interest of his. 

But having paid his traditional dues earlier, the stink of it still heavy on his jacket, he could excuse himself to the book store he had so adored as a child. Though he doesn’t often find his way there now, he’s confident he would remember the exact layout of the shelves. He had thought it would be nice to freshen up the library a bit. For their guests, of course. 

He hadn’t much the time to sit and fretter away the afternoon there anymore, and Cora had never been one to sit still long enough to read. Indeed if there weren’t servants to whisk away the dust every morning, he rather thought it might have collected cobwebs by now. Likely authors he had once followed quite closely would have an entire houvre he was no longer aware of. The social theories he once argued right at the freshest edge of were confidently old hat in conversation. 

How could he very well participate in the social season everyone so pressured him to pay more attention to if he were so rusty and ill versed on conversational topics? Indeed, he would have not just been playing to an old vice that itched at his fingers much more aggressively than any tobacco, but paying his unexpected time forward into an investment for the family. He was overdue to be married and passing his knowledge on to a new first born, missing out was a disservice to them all. 

But the argument held little water even in his own head, let alone presented aloud to the management men he kept on tap. His father had successfully diversified a great deal of their fortune and maintaining its health required more constant upkeep than a child, especially considering— well considering that health was deeply tied to that of the head of the household. 

Keeping the velocity of many spinning plates was one thing. They were easy to track and to understand. You had to have your hand on them always, but you grew accustomed to exactly what they needed and when you would have to deliver that. Righting them once they had already teetered past a wobble and were actively falling? 

Well, that had taken Derek years, more than had even passed for those around him. As proof early crows feet took root along the corners of his eyes and grey hair had filtered both through his beard and through his coat, enough so to give him a streak of it. It was his daily reminder that he might play the part, but he was an impostor to his own family. 

He didn’t dwell on it often. Quite honestly he simply didn’t have the time. Even now he chided himself for letting his thoughts wander. What use was missing out on Jackson’s arrival and the day that could have been if he didn’t at least get the work done that he had deemed so important in the first place? And if he wanted to share dinner with the family he had better get to it. He hated taking meals in the office and besides just that selfish desire to socialize, he had been promised a surprise. 

A surprise from Jackson set about a tremulous sort of excitement for him— constantly threatening to turn to fear if he stewed on it for too long. His cousin often had more ambition than common sense, a plight which they were all too familiar with. Even as a child he’d had an eerie knack for getting himself in over his head just deep enough to need rescuing. 

Back then it was with his taunting jeers to the local children, climbing up trees without noticing how far down he might fall, assuming with far too much conviction that he could make himself welcome in any room, at any time. Derek’s main job, for a while, had simply been to rein him in or chase him down. 

They weren’t exactly fast friends. He didn’t imagine Jackson to be the sort that anyone made fast friends with. His true skill, unbeknownst to him, was that he grew on you. Whether you wanted him to or not. It was a slow and unsteady process and you could never be sure just how great of an undertaking it might be, but he would always get his mark in the end. It’s just a shame most kith didn’t last long enough to see it. 

Indeed, perhaps the very first surprise he had ever gifted Derek with was their friendship. He still remembers the first time it sunk in. Jackson’s tail weaving hypnotic, threatening patterns in the air. Derek barely able to make out the lithe, sharp ways he moved past his own tears. He can still smell the stale rain in the cobblestones from that night sometimes. Every time he tastes blood he swears he catches a whiff of it, and vice versa. 

He doesn’t think on that night often, not if he can help it, but somehow he is still grateful for it. He wonders if they ever would have had the opportunity to grow as close as they did without the danger, if they’d ever have gotten past the reputations and hearsay that kept them at each others’ throats. In the end what mattered was the silent promise they’d made to each other then, the stalwart protection that cemented. The world could be a cruel place, but together they would be sharper. 

In truth, Derek had dearly missed his cousin and was much looking forward to housing him for the season. He would never tell the viper as such, content to watch him enjoy his travels from afar, but he much desired to have that solid presence in his life again. He loved Cora dearly, but she was much too busy for him. Young as she was, she had much that she felt she needed to prove, and much more she wished to explore. Derek was just pleased when he could be kept abreast of her schedule, debriefed at dinner about all the wonderful things she’d gotten up to. 

Alone in the manor with naught but his paperwork and the silent, stern grounds, he’d grown to resent the long days and harsh sun and sweltering heat. Each week felt like a marathon that he had little time to recuperate from— the months that housed them sisyphean torture. He could use another gift that genuine again. Something to get him through this fetid summer. 

A fox in their home. Of all things Jackson Whittemore thought he could get away with, none had been so presumptuous as to invite a fox to stay at the Hale estate. Father would roll in his grave. Laura would probably find it hilarious. Derek could barely find it in him to look at the simpering little kith. 

He’d certainly made himself at home, right away. His worn through, much too large boots had tracked slop through half the house before Derek had even left the study. He was sure some blood vessel or another was about to burst in his temple as he had followed the tracks in their winding patterns through the halls. With each new set of them his blood pressure had risen and he felt his fists grow tighter and tighter, a scowl on his face and his claws hitting a faster and faster staccato across the wood. 

He could hear Cora’s excited ramblings just down the hallway and was preparing himself to tear into a rant when he’d rounded the corner. Only he came up short when he’d seen the stranger. It had been quite a while since there was a new face in their home, and he reeled over the instant panic that had flooded his system. 

It was an unwelcome response and one he tamped down on as quick as he could wrangle it, but the damage had been done. He’d whirled into the room the very picture of austere anger and then frozen in place, breath stifling in his chest and then coming out in sharp, stuttered gusts. The stranger turned to him, ears fluttering, face bright with surprise. His dark eyes were wide, soft mouth gently hung open. A hand drew up to his chest as he examined the Lord of the house from the bottom of his boots to his stunned expression and concern bloomed in the squirm of his brows. 

There was a moment where their eyes locked, the electric stillness of predator and prey before the hunt began. Derek caught his breath. The stranger began to smile. Jackson and Cora shared a look of their own before they started slowly sidling to the far wall. “Was the mudroom not properly readied for your arrival, cousin?” Derek addressed him without taking his eyes off of the fox, now having his own turn to make his evaluations. 

The kith was young, somewhere between him and Jackson. His skin was naturally pale, but bloomed with ruddiness from being forced often into the sun despite a complexion not quite suited to it. His clothes were plain and clearly well worn, heavily maintenanced. Odd colored threads and patches against similar grains had been attempted to be hidden, but a keen eye picked them out nonetheless. 

Without realizing it, they began to circle each other, Derek’s eyes narrowing when the creature let out a little, excited chitter. His lips were curled with deviousness as though this were some sort of game they were playing, his arms folded behind his back which hunched over in a parody of investigation. “Apologies, Derek. It has been a long day—longer than anticipated— and we were perhaps overeager to make ourselves at home.” Jackson sounded not the least bit reticent, but that was no surprise. Derek’s not entirely sure he’s capable of making such sounds, no matter how genuine his apology might be. 

“And who might we be, exactly?” he tutted, drawing to a stiff standstill when he noticed the fox enjoying their stalking much too much. The boy copied his pose, albeit with a ludicrously puffed chest and ridiculous scowl. One might be able to find him a certain style of handsome, were he not to perform so obnoxiously. Derek was not under any such delusion, wrinkling his nose at the sheer musk of him. Honestly, Derek could have sworn Jackson had got it wrong, that instead he’d invited a skunk to summer at the manor. He’d been unable to keep the sourness off his face, and the boy just laughed, absolutely delighted at his discomfort. 

“Y’know, Jax lent me a dab or two of his fragrances, but I guess I stuck em in all the wrong places.” He winked, stepping forward to outstretch his hand in introduction. “The name is Mieczysław Stilinski, but polite company much prefers Stiles.” Derek balked at this kith’s outright bawdiness, but took his hand all the same, albeit with an uncompromised grimace. If the fox was not looking to be gentleman, he would have to make up for the shortcomings. They shook hands and rubbed at the back of his with such a familiar thumb that he had to snatch it away, even if it made him snicker. 

Jackson was entirely too pleased with himself as he watched on in sadistic glee. It was an inauspicious meeting and if Derek had been the superstitious type, he might have called the whole affair right then and there. He’d not wanted to make a new acquaintance in the first place, let alone house one, and Stiles seemed uniquely unsuited to making a case for it. If anything he had half a mind to announce that he’d be taking a leave of absence, making a trip of his own and leaving the manor to the court of jesters he found himself in the middle of. Cora, Jackson, and Stiles sure seemed compelled to a level of laughter he found near delirious as they showered him in it. 

But that wasn’t him. He was a rational person and a polite gentleman. He had a duty to uphold the reputation of the great Hale family and he was sure it would have to get better from there. This was just a rough introduction. Derek had been in a mood all day, they had just come in from a long while on the road. And truly, they had nowhere to go but up. 

He’d just let them wash, check to make sure dinner was on schedule. Full stomachs and fresh garments would no doubt set them on a better path, a greater chance to understand why this, of all things, is what Jackon decided he was going to do with himself this season. But as Derek sat across from their new acquaintance and watched him tear into his fowl with bare hands, he imagined that might be wishful thinking. 

Were grease not running down his fingers and smeared across his lips, Derek might be generous enough to think again on his appearance in this new light, without anger bleeding at the edges of his vision. There was a certain, wicked angularity to his features that belied his heritage, but there was also this accented sweetness. It seemed important— for a fox to be as fox often were— that there was something to beguile people, to soften what otherwise might be an obvious snare. 

Perhaps if you were caught up by the cherubic upturn of his cute nose you might miss the crookedness of his grin. He could, theoretically, arrest you with the sticky-warm amber of his eyes while his clever hands worked unobserved. His pale skin was dotted with beauty marks and it screamed at you that he was a delicate thing, that you ought to pamper him even though his mind was sure to ever be at work. 

Derek wondered, off hand, in some unknown part of his brain that somehow wasn’t busy with anything else, if Jackson had fallen for it. Had his cousin brought this creature here as a snide, little joke? Or had he been taken in by a wiley, wicked little kith— no doubt the idea to even invite him here seeded by the fox himself?

He remembered accounts of this creature in the letters they had been sending. He can’t quite recall how they had met, but as it usually seemed to happen with Jackson, they wildly vacillated between bitter rivals and tenuous comrades. As he waited on each new update, Derek had wondered if it would not end in terrible violence between the two, until the inevitability sunk in. As sudden as a fall they were great friends, exploring new country together. He was aware Stiles had been invited to travel along with his cousin and that they’d gotten up to… a great many things together, but he’d thought it would be obvious the connection would end there. 

Who would invite a stranger to their family estate? Someone you’d only met months ago? In a foreign land, by happenstance. Someone that you had once hated quite bitterly? Unsavory friendships were great for limited engagements, but the expiration date had surely come. His cousin was too smart not to realize how little Stiles would fit in here, was he not? Would there even be anything for his friend to do, all summer long, amongst polite society?

It would be inappropriate, even now, to ask such things in front of everyone. He would be out of line to accuse this man he barely knew of such things, when he was enjoying the ample hospitality the Hales could provide. But the temptation was true every time his long, agile tongue snaked out of his mouth to gather at juices, tarrying for much, much longer than it needed to while he watched for Derek’s twitching temple to dance. 

“So where did you two meet?” Cora, young as she was, was ignorant of Derek’s wilting temperament and wriggled in her chair with excitement. It was rare for the estate to have visitors of any kind these days. If she wanted to socialize she was encouraged to solicit invitations from friends or suitors in the city. Derek did his best to keep tabs on anyone and everyone that she regularly interacted with, but that had fallen a bit to the wayside as of late. 

It was a tough thing to manage especially when she actively worked against him, accusing him of being far too controlling. Perhaps if he’d let them come to the manor more often it would be easier to enlist the help to keep their eyes and ears open. He could take his tea with them and be able to bounce between his work and their conversations. 

He just… wasn’t fond of visitors. He knew it was rather unseemly for a wolf of his family’s stature to be so territorial, but he felt he had justification enough. The black of his clothes still reminded most in society that they were to give him a wide berth, respect his idiosyncrasies. Cora had stopped wearing hers months ago, and he didn’t have it in his heart to chastise her for it. 

If anything he was excited that she finally took interest in her fashions. Before it had been a nightmare to get her to dress like a proper lady, and even now she didn’t care much for frills or garish colors, but everything she wore was handpicked, and he rather thought she presented herself quite gracefully. 

Her inexperience only peeked out here and there, usually in moments like these where her excitement overpowered the weight of the rest of it. Jackson smirked at the question, sitting back in his chair and wiping at his mouth as though he would have to settle in to tell the story. The fox looked with eager amounts of apprehension and eagerness between the two of them— the spoon of soup half lifted to his mouth sloshing without his notice. Derek found it hard to watch anything else. 

“Well I don’t think your brother would appreciate the full story, at least not for anyone but himself,” Jackson looked to him for confirmation and when he received a steely squint in return he took the question as answered. “But the version for polite company is that he helped me out of quite the bind when it would have better benefited him to simply stand by. I might have made it back home in a far less alluring estate had he not stepped in.” He winked, ever assured of his own thin charm and Cora fed into the ego by laughing as she clearly eagerly awaited more. 

Jackson wouldn’t be the type to tell her the no doubt inappropriate details without Derek giving him the go ahead, but in doing so always centered himself as the fun one in the family and Derek as the prude that always had to say no. It was a clever tactic, though nakedly a sleight of hand for everyone to see. 

Cora let him play the game because it usually got her what she wanted. Derek was all too used to being the odd one out, ganged up on by pleading gazes and whining. Even when running this family had not been his responsibility they’d loved to paint him the dour thing. The young Hale boy with the serious face and intense vocabulary despite his buck toothed lisp. 

His front teeth were still quite prominent, but a speech therapist had helped him rid himself of that pesky impediment. He was glad his dad had seen to it now, though as a child it frustrated him to tears. He rather thought most of his associates would not take him near as seriously as they pored over contracts were he to pair his naturally thin voice with that effeminate quirk. “Yes well, we all quake to imagine you wailing more than the newborn goats over your ruined complexion.” Cora’s eyes widened at his snipe, the fox snorted, further spraying his soup across the tablecloth. Derek just raised a slow eyebrow at him, tutted as one hand wrung the napkin in his lap. “I suppose we’re just lucky there is a certain honor amongst thieves.” 

The fox’s eyes narrowed and his expression that had remained jovial this entire time melted into a soft shrewdness. “You know he made it there of his own accord, right? The first time we met was me hauling his naked ass out of a den of ill repute that knew him quite well already.” Derek’s silverware smacked harshly against the china and he had to suck at his teeth to keep himself from flashing his fangs, knowing his tail stirred angry circles just out of view.

“Language of that sort is not appreciated at this table and should you wish to scrape the rest of your dinner off the table around you, I would suggest you keep it to a minimum.” The fox’s ears flattened against his head and he at least had the decency to flush red, eyes momentarily skittering to the mess he’d made. “Besides, we’re well aware of our cousin’s proclivities. Teaching manners can only do so much to counteract questionable breeding and we don’t hold that against him in the slightest.” 

Jackson’s face immediately drained of color— his freckles standing out against the stark paleness of his skin. He set his utensils down, appetite seemingly evaporated. Derek hated to bring it up, hated to undermine him so, but sometimes he had to make the hard calls. He could feel Cora’s eyes boring into him from his side and there was something of a sliver of regret shivering along his shoulders, but he shook it off. He had to gain control of the situation before he ever let it get close to spiraling. 

It was always better to raise one’s hackles prematurely than be late to a bite. There was a tense moment of silence where it was clear dinner was over, despite the meal in front of them having only been half consumed, but no one knew quite how to break it. The fox at least took the brunt of this, throwing up his hands to give a mirthless laugh. “Well we have indeed been on the road much longer than we’d thought, so I’ll beg your pardon if we retire early this evening. Jackson, I’m loathe to pull you away from your lovely family so soon, but might you show me to my quarters?” 

It took a second for his consciousness to swim back to him, but after a beat Jackson stirred— looked at the tense table and then his companion— nodded. “We have all season to catch up, never you mind.” With a polite, deferential little bow to each of the Hales he dismissed himself from the table and led the fox further into the manor, roughly working a thumb into his palm to keep his fists from clenching. 

Cora waited until they were disappeared up the stairs before she turned to him, eyes filled to the brim with fury. “How wonderful, Derek, you’ve really shown yourself to be quite the gentleman. You know, you might be content to turn this property into a mausoleum with yourself inside, but don’t you dare close those doors on me.” She abruptly stood, gave him a fitful curtsy, and then stomped her way toward the gardens. 

The help all politely kept their gaze averted, didn’t yet move to start cleaning the meal up. So after a minute or two Derek simply snapped his fingers and asked for some music while he tucked himself back in, quietly finished his dinner. 

Over the next week he learned a great many things about their new guest. None of it came from the fox himself, but was instead information that merely seeped into his periphery no matter what he had on the schedule for that day. Derek wasn’t sure whether he was purposefully being avoided or if he was simply too busy to really catch the young kith at his active hours. 

Derek wouldn’t put it past him to simply be skulking about the property, dodging into hallways and sneaking past certain rooms all to avoid the surly lord of the house. He’d felt truly apologetic after sleeping on his words, but it seemed the damage to his reputation had been done and neither he nor Jackson were eager for Derek’s company. 

It pained him to walk into a gathering and have all conversations suddenly fall silent, all gazes cast aside when he looked around the room to ascertain why that was. But he supposed that was just part of the position. No one wanted to be the person to spoil the fun, to break the bad news, to usher everyone back to work, but it had to be done. And if that were the burden he had to bear for his family to try and flower again, well it was a trade worth making. 

Still, the thought was little comfort for times like now, when Cora would come sweeping into the office, face pleasantly flush, absolutely glowing with her enjoyment of the afternoon. “Did you know he’s Polish? I suppose I should have guess it from the formal name, but I simply didn’t give it much thought with the way he breezed past it. You should hear him speak the language, I’d have never thought it to be so lyrical.” He raised an eyebrow at her, glancing away from his work to properly assess the particular tone of her praise. He hoped not to catch a flutter of lashes, a breathy sigh. 

He supposed it would be another win to have her finally find some investment in the opposite sex— aside from competition— but he’d rather she not develop a fondness for grifters just passing through. There were plenty of respectable kith he could arrange for her to spend time with. Wolves and felines, and even the odd ursine or two had caught his attention when researching this year’s crop of suitors. All honorable creatures. 

She, herself, was a stoic, smart, well appointed woman with a generous dowry, she had no need to scrape at the bottom of the barrel. “You still enjoy learning languages, do you not? Perhaps you could find another one in common, since English seemed not to suit your communication well.” She smirked at him as she perched on the windowsill, fingers twiddling with some piece of greenery she’d brought back inside with her. 

His first instinct was to scoff at her, but he did his best to smother that, making a point to try a politer approach. Taking breakfasts in his room had gotten lonely, even for him, and he wished to become a somewhat more welcome sight over coffee. “Well I have certainly not studied Polish, so I doubt that that will happen.”

Before he’d been made too busy for it, language had been one of the primary focuses of his study. He loved almost everything about the way people expressed themselves to one another. Whether it was simply learning conjugations or studying poetry’s evolution through the years, he had a voracious appetite for it all. “Who said that was the only other language he knows?” Cora did not turn to look at him, but he could still feel the severity of her gaze. There was just enough of a pointedness to her question to let him know that despite his best efforts, he was still being rude. 

“My apologies, I’ve never quite… smelled an academic like that before.” His nose wrinkled and he blinked, wide eyed, back at her, letting her know that at least this time he was in on his own brattiness. He twirled his pen in his fingers, considering the notion that that crude man could be more than meets the eye. It was rather hard to believe. 

“He’s not an academic. You know for someone so learned as yourself, Derek, you sure do think with a remarkable narrow sightedness.” She turned her attention from her pickings back out the window and Derek followed her gaze to where Jackson was doing his level best to show off his talent for sport. The game of choice this afternoon seemed to be croquet. He was skilled in a great many of them, but there was a certain performance to this one that made it a favorite of the viper. “It seems even more remarkable to me that he had no formal study, no teacher to guide him, and he learned them anyway. He seems to simply have the ear for a great many things.”

Derek just hummed his reply, trying to make a point of tidying his papers even as he did get caught up in watching the match. To an extent he couldn’t blame her, the fox did seem to make for an… attractive package to the indiscernible eye. Fool’s gold. He’d stripped down to just his shirts and britches in the heat, and though it would be uncouth for a gentleman, there was a rakishness to the way he held himself. 

His smile was wide and easy, often broken up by a laugh so large it caused him to bend backward beneath its weight. He was long and lithe— not really muscled, but built instead for dexterity. His simple movements all held an effortless grace to them, like he didn’t even notice how he flowed between each movement. His waist was small, his fingers long, his jaw boyishly scruffy. The furry crest of his chest glowed auburn in the sun and though Derek could see it was heavy with sweat he still wondered what running his hands through that ruff would feel like. 

The idea caught him off guard and he flinched a little, though he couldn’t wrench his gaze away quite yet. If anything he stared more intensely. Like he’d tuned a set of binoculars, more small details suddenly came sharply into focus. The pink of his tongue poking out the corner of his lips in concentration. His bow-leggedness as he lowered himself into position. The way his clever hands clutched and twisted around the shaft of the mallet, claws just starting to scratch the wood. 

At some point Derek had idly scooped up a paper weight to worry at, and unbidden he dropped it. The heavy smack of it against the ground rung out through the open window and the fox whiffed his shot, head darting up to look at him. Their gazes locked for a vicious few seconds before Cora tapped at his elbow, cracked stone in her hands. “Are you alright brother?” Her lips quivered around the threat of a smile and he cleared his throat, whirling away from the window to snatch the weight from her. 

“Yes, quite,” he grunted, hating the hoarseness that took a second to clear out. “This blasted heat won’t let me alone. Even my hands are sweating.” He wiped his palms on his clothes, grimacing at the actual clamminess that had set upon them. He didn’t look at her as he tried to catch himself back up on where he was at, eyes skating across the numbers and bylines, but none of the information filtering into his brain. 

She hummed, took a small turn about the room, considering. “Perhaps you should get some fresh air. It gets so stuffy in here during the afternoon. I’m sure the boys would enjoy the extra competition.” He risked a glance back outside and the two of them had gotten back to it, but every so often the fox would stop, look over his shoulder towards the house. 

“Perhaps,” was all he afforded her before waving her away. If he were a more honest man with himself, he’d admit now that no matter how long he stared at this book keeping, he was unlikely to get much else done today. 

It feels like a ruse when Derek encounters him in the library the next day. He’d at the least taken Cora’s suggestion to get a change of scenery, bringing his work with him to the opposite side of the house where the sun was not directly steaming him through the windows. He had a favorite chaise that was usually used for relaxation amongst his fiction, but he supposed it would do just fine for rudimentary bookkeeping. 

Soon he’d have to start thinking about renegotiating the staff’s pay, as he did at the end of every year. It was the least taxing of all the wealth management he was responsible for, but he treated it with the same importance. Many of them had been with the Hales for generations and he didn’t intend to change that. Despite having to tighten their wallets in these recent years, he did his best to continue awarding them bonuses, making his mood swings worth their while. 

This year he was dangerously close to making their fortunes attain growth and he hoped that he could share that with them. He just had to make sure it was steady, that he would not frivolously waste it. It almost gave him more anxiety to see his work pay off, to know that it could succeed. There was something of substance to play for now, and he gambled with peoples’ livelihood. 

He’d been so caught up in that rumination that he’d not heard someone in his library, not noticed until he opened the door that he would not be alone. Stiles turned as he entered and Derek did his best not to scowl. He could not very well leave after having been seen, but this had meant to be something relaxing for him. He could not imagine anything less so, than having to confront the fox without a buffer. 

Every time they’d made small talk before Jackson had been tugging at his sleeve, or Cora was asking a multitude of questions. Even the help had sometimes been roped in by Derek to absorb some of his attention, give their lord an easy out of the conversation. But he hadn’t told anyone he would be here this afternoon, and indeed it seemed he’d caught Stiles on a whim of his own. 

He seemed nervous to have been spotted here, tucked himself into a corner as Derek fully entered. His sleeves were pushed above his elbow, his cravat strung across a chair. Derek had asked Jackson to help him dress a little more appropriately and though his cousin tried, the fox seemed allergic to their fine clothing. Derek always found it forgotten in the grass, half undone at dinner. He was always picking at it, like a dog with bandages. 

He had a book in his hands that he did his best to deftly hide, maneuvering it behind him in as casual a manner as he could manage. Without any other distractions and Derek having been on edge from the moment he entered, it was not very successful, but he chose not to press the issue, at least not yet. He was trying to be civil. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure, your lordship ?” Stiles’ nose scrunched on the sneer and Derek did his level best not to marvel on how it did not make him appear snide, but instead endearing. In fact, he took umbrage to that, decided it was rather insidious. He scoffed as he arranged his things on the chaise, carefully balancing them all so he would not make a mess of the ink and wax. 

He let some tension build, watching how the fox might react to it out of the corner of his eye. To Stiles’ credit, the only fidgeting was found at his fingertips, but Derek caught it all the same. “This is my estate and I use every room in it. The library is actually my favorite. I thought you would have pillaged that information by now.” He took his seat, crossing his legs and lounging against the back of it, content to play for a little bit. The fox was no great hunt, but Derek could harangue him just a little. Nip at his heels. 

Stiles’ mouth drew in a taut line, his feet slow and calculating as he started a turn about the room. Not even his gait was free from stratagem as they assessed each other. He did not pace or take a leisurely meander, he moved in elongated, unhurried scurrying. His feet would patter as he took quick, long strides as if in ballet, but then he would pause, consider. Little stutters made his claws click against the wood floors and he kept his eyes ever trained on Derek. “You don’t come up much, actually.” 

It stung. As much as a slap from Cora when she was a flailing pup. Derek smiled, smoothing out his vest and checking the security of his cufflinks. “Well yes, I am rather uninteresting. Let’s then talk about you, instead. I’ve not gotten the chance to truly make your acquaintance.” He let his smile grow to show his teeth, looking up at the fox from under his lashes. They would see how clever he could really be. 

Stiles’ eyes flashed at the challenge, his chest puffing up as he watched the first pawn break from the pack. “I’m an open book, Mr. Hale. I just hope your reading comprehension isn’t rusty.” He hummed softly and then turned his attention back to the tomes, running his fingers ever so lightly along the spines. He handled them much the way he had the mallet before, and Derek wondered if he knew he did so. 

For a moment he just watched, until Stiles looked over his shoulder to fish for his first question. “How did you and my cousin come to be friends? He wrote me about his excitement, but you know Jackson— his patience doesn’t often afford details.” He didn’t start off easy, but it was also something he’d genuinely wanted to know, even before he thought Stiles might come to stay. 

Jackson wasn’t easy to get along with. It would take a very particular kind of kith to befriend him. Or was friendship even part of the equation? Stiles smirked at him before moving to the next shelf. “We ran into each other at an… event,” there was true fondness in his recollection, or at least a good imitation of it. “Sorry louts bemoaning the state of things all alone outside while others partied. We found a way to make our own fun.” His tail swished and he softly chittered— a sound Derek was starting to get used to around the house. 

He knew foxes were mischievous things and Stiles was well on his way towards proving that assumption to be true. He was always snickering at something, his little squeals bright in the cavernous halls of the Hale estate. No matter where Derek was working, he would catch them, ears perking at the conspiratorial tone. He worried his knuckles, sat up a little straighter. “And what exactly do you constitute as fun?” 

Stiles paused, leaned back against the wall to look at him. “You remember fun, don’t you Derek? I’ve heard you used to have it.” 

“I thought you didn’t talk about me.” 

“I said rarely, not never.” Derek huffed, Stiles bit his lip. Both their hearts started beating just a little bit faster, the cadence similar to the thwack of tennis rackets. “I find fun in a great many things,” his eyes were suddenly smoky as they traveled all along his host, dark lashes sweeping across his cheeks. “Life is meant to be enjoyed, we should try and take pleasure in every little thing.” He started his walk again, voice wistful. “It is fun to watch dust motes dance in a shaft of sunlight. It is fun to listen to the bustle of the kitchen. It is fun to pull on your cousin’s tail and see how long it takes him to notice I am only jesting.” 

For a moment he had forgotten Jackson was even involved, somehow. Derek tears his gaze away, “You like my cousin, do you? He is not easy to get along with.” Stiles’ steps slow, drag for a second or two, but then he is back to his circling. 

“Well that’s the fun part about Jackson. The venom in his bite is the least of your worries.” Stiles chuckles and Derek just nods, agreeing on that matter. “There’s a lot to him. A lot more than most would guess. They see either the scales or his fine complexion and pick which to address. He is both of those things and neither.” Stiles stops now in front of a family portrait. Talia stands just off center, her husband sat in a chair next to her, grey through his coat. Laura is her spitting image to one side, Derek the most a blend of the both of them on the other. Cora is still assigned to be sat in a lap, and she looks most upset about it. Jackson is half tucked behind Derek’s elbow, his eyes had stayed in shift to slitted yellow the entire day. 

He remembers this one the best of any found around the house. He thinks it’s the last one in which he’s smiling. “And you think you know all of him?” Derek does wonder. Jackson had never brought someone to the house. He’d talked about others, at length with Derek. Childhood crushes around the village and kith he met on holiday. He’d often talked a big game, but Derek was never sure he’d actually done anything with them. He knew all the lewd words and was inventive with his recollections, but Derek could never quite parse whether his heart stuttered over titillation or a lie. Perhaps it was just to make himself feel better, but he’d always imagined them both bereft on that front.

“Of course not,” Stiles snorts as he shakes his head, moving on once again. “I don’t know if anyone can ever know all of another person. I don’t think we can even know that of ourselves.” If Derek wasn’t already aware that the fox wasn’t an academic, he would have guessed it might be so now. This lengthy sort of conjecture was the type he used to spend many an hour on. In lecture halls and drinking dens and colleagues’ family parlors. Perhaps, at least, he was well read. “But what he has shown me is more than enough. Everything from here is a gift, willfully given. A little piece for us to share.” 

Derek feels a pang, its source unknown, but it ripples throughout him nonetheless. He thought he’d gotten past the majority of aches like these. “And what is your assessment, with the pieces at hand?” He hadn’t intended to get quiet, but it comes out soft all the same. 

Stiles stops to ponder it, and Derek cannot help but appreciate that he takes his time, brow furrowed in contemplation. “He is a good man, of that there is no surprise. It seems the Hales’ reputation holds true.” he cuts a small look to Derek, who holds that to examine later. 

“And you consider him a Hale?” 

Stiles just rolls his eyes, frown unamused. “All the documents in the world can say Whittemore. His father was a Hale and he was raised by Hales in the Hale estate. We all know what he is.” Derek pockets that as well. He’s not sure how he might expect anything else, but it is rare to have anyone speak to him this plainly. It is… disarming. “He is quick to temper, easy to bruise, and hard to parse beyond his ego. But all of that begs you to give up, dares you to get close to him. Because when you do he is smart— silly, but smart. His heart is too big for his own good and he is fun. ”

It is said like a revelation and it makes Derek’s stomach do a little flip. He is not proud of it, but there is something like jealousy that he quickly sweeps away. “Then you do know him,” he murmurs, tugging at his lip without looking over at Stiles. The fox has completed his turn, ended up near the door again. He looks at Derek for a long, long time. 

“It could be fun to get to know you too.” Derek stills and then he turns to his papers, arranging them so that he might finally get to work. He hadn’t come here for a distraction. He waves Stiles away, the fox just shaking his head as he turns to leave. Derek lets him open the door, but calls for him to wait, eyes still on his work, little smile on his lips. 

“Stiles! One, last question.” Stiles stops, considers, then turns back to him, impatience playful in the jut of his hips. “What book are you borrowing?” Derek does look up then, wanting to get the full experience of his reaction. Stiles blinks quickly, taken aback for the first time in their interaction. 

His ears flatten and he turns a shade of red that garishly clashes with the copper of his coat. He scoffs, stutters, crosses his arms in front of him. And when Derek just slowly raises a brow, he presents the cover without fanfare, not even bothering to read it aloud. 

“A romance?” Derek’s surprise is genuine, his smile comes easily, true. Laura used to love them. Busy, serious, important Laura. The gaudier the bodice ripper the more intensely she would fall into it. Derek didn’t get the appeal until he was older, until she would pick out ones just for him. The novella in Stiles’ hands just so happened to be a rare favorite of both of theirs. He remembers fighting for turns with it. 

“Your theory is all outdated,” Stiles quips, unconvincing as he clutches it back close to him. “Besides it’s summer—,” 

“That one is fun,” Derek concedes. Stiles’ brows near disappear in his hairline. “Or so I’m told. My definition of such might be shaky.” Before he can garner another reply, he waves the fox off again. The library feels too quiet after he’s gone. 

He has to come up with a plan first. Derek isn’t the kind of person to simply play things by ear— at least not anymore. All it had taken was reading someone as wrong as a person effectively could and that effectively cured him of his spontaneity. It gave him hives just to think about rushing into a situation, to be unsure of how he would dodge or where he might land. He liked a dance much better when it had clear steps, when he could practice it alone in his room. 

He’d made an ass of himself at dinner, sure, but it wasn’t something you couldn’t come back from. Family was famous for snipping at each other, or at least his was. He wasn’t sure whether Cora or Laura had the sharper tongue, but he’d been cut much deeper by either of them in jest than by any human actually trying to wound. The Hales all had a certain brusqueness about them, a way of cutting to the point that left everyone else in the room a little stunned. 

It could often be helpful. His mother had won many a negotiation by sparking little stunned flashes and then steering them to agree with her before they came to their senses. She did so with a smile that let you know she was very well aware of her manipulations, but was nonetheless quite proud and pleased with her result. It held a simultaneous fondness and patronization that he’d found himself respecting more and more as he got older. 

His father, on the other hand, was all brute force. When he knocked your ears to ringing he simply kept hammering until you gave. He was the type to sweep the feet, to make sure you were totally breathless before he relented. An argument with him never made it to raised voices because he would simply set fire to whatever ground you had before he even had to present a counter point. Smooth and cool and unflinching, he felt nothing when he stripped you naked and flayed the flesh for everyone in the room to see. 

All of his children had loved him, with a true sincerity, but their respect had always been laced with fear. Derek knew very well of all the ways his father saw deep into his soul— and how he would feel nothing to rend those secrets, expose him just to remind Derek who he owed his life, this house to. And for a while he had been his father’s prime target. 

Gael had borne himself a quiet boy, a still one. Derek from a young age was content to wait and watch, to see how things were going to play out before getting himself involved. He loved to read and watch out the window, a thousand things spinning in his head as his sisters squealed and sprinted across the grounds. 

It sometimes felt as though he had known what was going to happen— prognosticated that he would have to prepare Derek for a different sort of life than they’d all imagined. He worked the boy beneath his fists like a blacksmith hammering out steel. Hot and cold, hot and cold. Laminating his brittle facets and sharpening his edges. They fought often and with an ease that spoke of how much it dominated their interactions. 

In many ways it was a test for him, to see if it was sticking, to see if Derek would learn. He wanted to be assured that Derek was with him every step along this path that he had set out for them. He carried his son through an angry, tumultuous puberty the way a parent would help them jump across river rocks. Always with his hand on Derek’s wrist, always with this veiled concern and thin lipped encouragement.

He was proud when Derek would bite back, he grinned at the flash of his child’s fang and claw. Talia would look on warily, always be close by to observe, but she never stepped in. She seemed just as curious to see if Derek would pass, if he would rise to the expectation and impress them anew. His parents communicated without any words, their expressions riding this line between severity and anxiety. 

He supposed they never had to go as hard on Cora or Laura because they never were left wanting from their daughters. Natural talents, eager to make an impression. They were equally fearless and reckless. Where Derek had to force himself to jump, they did not even look where they were going. And it was that hesitation his parents had sensed in him. 

They knew he stared off the edge of things and contemplated what it would feel like to fall. It was a weakness that they couldn’t afford, so he was always chasing after the rest of them. The girls never came to his defense in front of their parents, they knew what hells would be visited upon them then, but the second they had their time to themselves each would try to shore him up. 

Cora was so obstinate, even before she’d bloomed into her womanhood. “You let them pick on you. He gets a rise out of every time you get angry. I don’t get why you always take the bait.” It tended to only make him feel worse for how simple it seemed to her. A few years his junior and she already thought him foolish, rolled her eyes at the way he would simply turn and scowl at an empty spot on the wall. 

Laura at least would try to be constructive. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, they hate that. You’re always so concerned with whether they’re looking, just act on your own. They want you to be independent Derek.” She’d tsk at him, but ruffle his hair nonetheless, tip his head up by his chin to meet her gaze. “You’re strong enough, you’re just the only one who doesn’t believe it. It’s frustrating.” 

The worries never left his head, but he got better at holding them. He could snatch them out of the air and smother them to his chest, trying to contain their amorphous shape and keep it from slipping between his fingers. They always squirmed, roiled against him, but he could look at them up close, bare his teeth at them. And while he kept them gripped, he could project the wolf he wished to be. The man that his family needed. 

He’d let his fears slip out the other night, but he could still clean that blemish. Jackson, more often than not, was quick to forgive. He had a natural propensity for it. As much as he loved to hiss, what he craved most was to be adored. He’d been starved of it for so long that he now had a certain addiction. He’d been given to the Hales relatively young and once he’d gotten a taste of what a family could be like, he would never again settle for less. 

So Derek would need something showy, something that Jackson could look generous for accepting. After all, he’d still inherited a great many things from Peter— the chief of which being his ego. It was a bloated thing, but still reflected light. Slick and iridescent like oil, it coated him with the same viscosity, held the same scent. He threatened to always be a single spark away from setting everything around him ablaze, but in a manner that was almost alluring. 

If there was anything Derek had actually bested his sisters at, it was managing their cousin’s temperament. He took to Derek in a way that really no one else had. Derek would always consider his relationship with Laura to be his closest, but the tether he held with Jackson was assuredly the most unique. They shared a certain vulnerability, played with a fearful pit in their stomach. 

As much as Jackson was loud and conceited and silly, Derek was quiet, sympathetic to a fault, serious as the grave. Still they understood each other, would spend many an hour shut away in the library, talking in whispers. His father hated it, but by then he was usually too sick for his tirades. Instead he would glower at them over dinner, ask if perhaps Jackson wouldn’t be more comfortable sent to a boarding school, considering he’d spent so much of his life already housed by such institutions. 

Derek just held his hand under the table, didn’t flinch when claws bit into his knuckles, Jackson fighting to remain polite. He’d been much better at it than Derek, had more experience with higher stakes in keeping a parent calm. “I’m honored by the offer, your lordship, but I wouldn’t dare to put my uncle out as such. Boarding school is expensive and you already pay for a tutor for my cousins. You provide for me too generously already.” 

His father didn’t hold enough fight to cut to the quick as he once did, so he’d simply raise an eyebrow, contented by Jackson’s maneuvering for the time being. Once he was out of danger, that calm did not last. Jackson often took to destroying his property in fits of frustration. Shredded pillows, splintered art supplies. Derek had convinced him at least to contain the gouging of his claws to the underside of his bed, but if anyone else ever thought to look there they might find the frame near to hollowed out. 

He burned fast and he burnt bright, often dissolving into exhausted tears. He cried quite prettily and hated when Derek would tell him so. He had fine features that did not roughen with age, a countenance that fully expected to be regal. A princeling if ever he had seen one. Pretention and elegance and destiny all rolled into one. Derek tried to remind him of that, without inflating his head too much. 

“Father doesn’t like when he doesn’t win. You’re simply too good at the game. If you would concede more often, perhaps he would be angry with you less.” Jackson didn’t understand it then and he still couldn’t comprehend it now. His face would scrunch into pure befuddlement, as though his cousin was speaking to him in tongues. 

“Why would I ever willingly lose? That’s stupid.” At the very least it would take his mind off of his anger, redirect it at Derek as he shook off the coddling and wiped away his snot and tears. He fought so hard to make himself prim again, not knowing his eyes were red and the mucus shone on his sleeve. “That’s why he doesn’t like you. You always let the pheasant go.” They would push at each other, break into tackles and giggles and then tired sighs, knowing that the other was right, in a fashion. They were still simply too young to do much about it. 

Derek wondered if that was much the same kind of relationship he had with their foster. Or perhaps Jackson and the fox were close in a… different way. It was hard to tell with the two of them. Whenever Derek approached their conversations would suddenly switch cadence or come to a stand still. Jackson wore his nervousness plain on his sleeve, shit at playing like he was up to something normal. 

The fox melted into his play with ease. As his kind were wont to do, it barely even looked like it took him effort to start a conversation from the middle, stir up a laugh that lit up the room when no one had told a joke. He watched Derek the way prey did, gauging if he was already full. He would give the boy this at least, he was quite astute. Those amber eyes of his saw much and distilled it quickly. 

Every time he entered a room he assessed it before the door swung behind him, and put on the proper mask. They were all facets of the same persona, but Derek saw the seams of them nonetheless. All were charming, all were affable. All tried to lead you into a false sense of security by promising that he was a nothing. He saw the house where he was staying and looked at his tawny coat and was aware of the way they thought of him. 

So he reinforced it. He leaned into the bawdy simplicity. He kept his clothes a little rumpled, his hair a little dirty. He made friends with the staff and was often found sitting atop a table, illicit snack ferreted in his cheeks, crumbs tumbling to the floor. He flirted like he was in heat and swore like he was in a pub and pinned Derek with intelligent barbs as though they debated in a theatre hall. 

It… was effective. It kept him off balance. He would be scowling at the way the fox picked at his claws and then Stiles would challenge his understanding of recent theory— citing papers he hadn’t gotten to yet, authors that gave back alley lectures. He’d teased that he’d met many of the greats when their trousers were around their ankles and their conjectures seemed a lot less serious, grinning cheshire when Derek would stammer in affront. 

He seemed the type that Jackson would affix to. Attractive, disarming, self aggrandizing, too clever for his own good. He imagined they had to make quite a menace of themselves. The letters he’d been receiving slowly seemed to appear more and more sparse as Derek retreaded them with new knowledge. His cousin had been holding back large portions of this kith, and Derek fretted as to why. Immediately he’d assumed something unseemly.

The sort of language that he did use… well he had to have known that Derek of all people would read it in a certain light. And why wouldn’t he be excited to tell his cousin that sort of news? He’d always delighted in ruffling Derek’s feathers on that topic, pushing his boundaries. He was the only person Jackson had ever shared that secret with, and so when they spoke of it, he indulged . Derek might be the only one who would understand the sort of elation that would come in finding that sort of partner. But it all just felt too fast, too soon, too dangerous. 

Jackson already had enough to contend with as it is. There were things he could and couldn’t change about himself to assimilate, to make sure that the humans would give him space to flourish. His kith was set. He would always have to work around the viper inside. This other choice? It wasn’t easy to ignore, assuredly, but it was not impossible. Jackson wanted to live in the city, do business with the humans, be part of society. If he was going to accomplish all that, he could not live in certain kith traditions. 

There were things the humans liked, things they loved to play with. They would always ask to see your tail and feel the texture of your shift. They adored the athleticism— the sheer strength and agility— when it was funneled into events which they themselves had structured. The other things, the feral things, some might like to put in books. 

They might enjoy it for their art, or to extol how those histories could be cleansed. They loved to speak of the bestial things the kith could do in a way so as to still feel proud of certain taxidermy in their family home. The kith in their company were not like that, assuredly! And they would never be treated as such.  Those skins were from creatures, savages. They came from cultures far away where they practiced things beyond the pale. 

Jackson’s body contained venom. This was a fact of him that could not be rectified. But his home could be decorated the way humans liked it. Pristine floors and shuttered spaces. Fine cutlery, lethargic music. A wife and children. 

So what part did this fox have to play in that? He was not from money, he had no connections. He was dirty and uncouth and had little prospect. Derek would find him curled in beams of sun, sleeping in the middle of the floor, not caring who would come across him and how that might look. When noticed he did not rush to his feet in reticence, he did not feel shame, Languid stretches and tongue curling yawns spoke of how he was sure to be here a fair bit longer and when Derek stared he would dare to roll over, make room. 

All it ever earned him was a derisive snort, but he seemed to enjoy that, chittering to himself in pleasure as Derek brushed by. Stiles might be fun, but there were plenty of ways to enjoy oneself without a creature such as that weighing you down. Derek could find him someone equally as pretty and sharp, but far finer in craft. 

He’d studied the eligible youth for this season, he was certain there was a Lady of some repute that Jackson would be perfectly content with. He could inherit a title of his own and bat back the demeaning state of his lineage. It would take a little doing. A person who could read the opportunity of it. A sizeable investment. A promise that the Hales would make this a prosperous match for the both of them. But he knew he was up to the task. Jackson hadn’t asked for his help in this, but maybe he didn’t realize how much he needed it. 

That was so very like him. He worried little about the circumstances of how he would get by. He had ambition, sure, but it was blind. He was carried by the confidence that it would just work out, that he was just that good. He didn’t realize how many of the issues he had were self made, that he could have just taken a smarter path. 

It was easier to do things right the first time than to have to correct them after. Jackson strode forward like he hadn’t been born to any burden, and Derek was glad for him of that. He wished he had the same weightlessness. He wished he could look at his situation and feel nothing but love for himself and this world and confidence that all it took was his belief. At the least he was happy to hold that, so that Jackson might enjoy it for longer. Everyone had to have that ripped from them sooner or later. He just wanted to make it as painless as possible. If he could grant Jackson more grace than he had been, then it was all worth it. 

It didn’t seem so large a task to accomplish when he laid all the pieces out in front of himself. Arrange a courtship, get back on level footing with Jackson. Oust their little pest problem, perhaps attend to Cora’s interests while he was at it.She didn’t enjoy his meddling, but she tolerated it at the very least. 

Derek would do anything for his family and he’d save his cousin yet. 

He enlists the help of his good friend Erica Reyes as soon as she can fit him in. A wolf, like himself, she’d made quite the niche for herself within polite society. Unlike the Hales she’d chosen to shroud herself in traditional kith accoutrement, but she’d found a way to make it service her. A well renowned matchmaker within the county, she portrayed her talents as distinctly other worldly. 

It struck right at the heart of that marketability they could sometimes find. Just occult enough to get all the aunties attiter, but not so much as to be threatening. He supposed that somewhat had to do with the application in question. Supposed witchcraft in the name of love divination was a silly, entertaining little thing. Had she been using it for any purpose that could be construed as violent or seditious, well that would be another matter entirely. 

As it were, she sometimes had to toe a line. Matches were not something to be taken lightly within society. Indeed, a good deal of status and wealth and general fortune could be on the line. If you were coming to her, you were looking to accomplish something with a marriage, not just accrue a partner to help steady you. 

She worked her magic in assessing all the unsaid terms of her employment, all the little hints on how to properly find and execute an adequate love. To discuss things politely was to leave a certain amount of clarity out of the conversation. It would not do to come to the table with a list of check marks— math done and standards extolled. 

Certainly those things had been tabulated, but it would be unseemly to share them. Instead there was a back and forth, a negotiation of what could be put plainly. He must be old enough to have stable income but not so old as to lack shared interests. She must be daring but not subversive. One could not be getting a better deal than the other, but it must always look like a real catch to have been secured. 

It was tedious work— work that Derek loathed despite how much time he found himself spending on it. He didn’t have the eyes to see all the strings, as Erica did. He could not pluck at them as though he were playing a tune and orchestrate things just right. He was amature at best. Sophomoric. He knew who were the most eligible bachelors, what family they came from, who it might behoove him to align with. 

He did not know their temperaments. He could not comprehend all the minute ways they might be right or wrong for his kin. He had no patience to leverage one’s interest against the other and so draw contracts that would make the pairing eager. The finesse of such things were beyond him. 

Erica knew that and while she made sure he was aware of just how much derision that earned him, she did not hold it against him. Erica thought all men were silly things, even including the one she had married, and they possessed a great deal of love. Were Derek ever to believe in the concept of mates, it was these two that would get him there. 

Vernon Boyd was soft spoken, collected, and statuesque. His dark skin seemed to cut him out of stone and his expression was often as impassive. He was prone to long moments of achingly tense silence, but only in service of his impressively dry humor. Derek was never entirely sure whether he was in trouble with Boyd or not, despite the fact that that was rarely the case. He was so adept at playing the part that it would never not be convincing. Derek had befriended them close to a decade ago and still his resolve was tested when Boyd was up to little harm besides laughing at his expense. 

In comparison Erica was the very definition of a spitfire. There was no topic on which she did not take umbrage and she was all too happy to argue her stance with you, even when you begged off of it. That passion was backed by her brightness. She was savvy and sultry and quicker than a whip. 

If there was any one thing that readily united them, it was their intimidating nature. Even were she to not navigate her business with a deft hand, Erica always had Boyd in her back pocket. No one would dare threaten her with him looming in the background. It granted them the security to live their lives as they saw fit, and Derek had no issue with admitting it filled him with a certain envy. They knew what they wanted and they were unafraid to fight for it. 

He was so very unlike them. The state of his birth. The voracity of his fighting spirit. The truths he would tell even himself. They lived as wolves, as the purest distillation of what it meant to be true to one’s nature. No pomp. No circumstance. Just the world and their lives and their personhood as it were. In many ways, they had all the reason in the world to despise him and what kith of his ilk stood for. Yet, despite all that, they were perhaps his truest friends. 

They had known him long enough to love him despite how frustrating he could be, to see him through what he could only hope were the darkest days of his life. So it was not lightly that he crossed the lines of their relationship and brought business into it. 

Before they could even ask after how he’d been this summer, he slapped his stack of notes on the table, spreading them so their ultimate worth could be assessed as he spoke. “I aim to marry Jackson off this season. I want it done expertly, and with haste. He is the fickle sort and I know his social standing makes things difficult, so I am willing to pay twenty percent extra— forty if you make him your number one priority.”

Boyd crossed his arms in front of him, Erica had not yet even glanced at the money, instead burning through him with her intense gaze. “And why isn’t he here to tell me all about the things he would value in a mate?” Derek tries his best not to cringe at the word, but judging by the way her eyebrows start to slowly raise, he figures he was largely unsuccessful. Erica often reminded him of his mother. No one else cut as close to the quick as she. 

He sucks his teeth, looks between the two of them with the same gravity as if they all had guns pointed at each other, as though he were gauging his the odds of his survival as they wildly fluctuated from moment to moment. “He thinks he will be young forever, and so can never take this endeavor seriously. I am certain he will be pleased with the result— you are the finest matchmaker that money can buy.” At least this flattery buys him a quick flash of a smile.

He pushes the notes across the table at her, crosses a leg over his knee and rests his steepled hands there. “He has not yet reached his middle twenties. Why press the issue now when you cannot say the same?” She narrows her eyes at him, but at the least he can see her fingers twitching for the sum so close to being hers. “You are the head of your household Derek, it would be beneficial for yourself and for them to secure the Hale line.”

Derek just waves at her, as though what she had presented contained as much merit as a conjecture about livestock flying. “I am too busy to marry, let alone court. Our investments have nearly stabilized, Cora has just been introduced to society, and Jackson has brought a fox to house for the summer!” His hands fly in the air with frustration and it’s only when he’s met with more silence that he realizes how much he’d put into the air. 

Erica smirks at him, digging a finger into her dimple as the other hand starts raking up his money. “Oh we had heard about that. He’s quite the talk of the town. A handsome thing, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“I would not!” His expression twists into a sourness to rival sipping spoiled milk. 

Boyd chuffs, to him an outright bark of laughter, and Derek feels his shoulders involuntarily rise above his ears at that. “Oh anyone with eyes would agree, Derek. He’s so svelte and endearing. All those beauty marks and those eyes? The local women are surely jealous of them. Why so ever would you disagree? Unless you have some sort of… personal peculiarity.” Her heavy lashes fan her bemusement at him, hot and dry. 

He loosens his cravat a little, moves to sit less casually. “I know as little about him as I garner affection for him. The only thing I could readily remark on is his smell and that is far from pleasant.” He tugs at his lapels to straighten his jacket, huffing at the impropriety of their line of questioning. What were they even trying to suggest? Because surely they would not be so crude as to intimate anything untoward?

Erica just hums and nods at him, stacking the bills, counting and tying them before she hands them over her shoulder to Boyd. There is an uptick in the corner of his mouth and it portrays so much more joy than any toothy grin. They share a look with each other, but give him no more, simply staring at him until the silence feels like it is choking. 

“I don’t know how no one else remarks on it. They all titter on about his guile and his banter and his… lips,” Derek scowls when they both make incredulous noises, turning red from even having mentioned such a thing. “His stench is in the sheets hours after he rises. Any meals we take together, my food seems seasoned by his sweat.” Once he has started, observations that he hadn’t even realized he was making spill forward. It feels as though they leap from his mouth, like he would have to physically grab for them to try and stuff them back down.

“He lazes about the house at any hour. I am liable to find him napping in the halls during the afternoons, blocking doors in the late evenings. I trip over him should I dare to need to relieve myself in the night and cannot find a single good spot to sit and read because he is always languishing along them. He always has to have the last word, he will not afford me any peace, and acts under the delusion— which he is too smart to truly believe— that we are actually friends. He speaks to me more casually than even my cousin and pretends as though we share opinions, history, jokes! 

He is a maddening little pest and I do not understand in the slightest how anyone could dare to find him arresting, to tell the town all about it, and in doing so divulge their poor taste. Indeed perhaps I will ask you to search for Jackson abroad because everyone here seems to have gone mad! His appeal is tawdry at best and I am disappointed in my peers to have perpetuated any gossip besides.” When he finishes his chest is heaving, he hadn’t even realized how short of breath he was getting. 

He’s left staring into his lap, head spinning a little, pulse racing loud enough he knows the other two can definitely hear it. His ears tuck low, low to his head and his tail dithers in fraught patterns under his chair as he grinds a thumb into his palm. Erica, pointedly, clears her throat. “I’ve not heard a single comment on his scent. That is quite odd.” She threads her fingers and looks square at him, but he has not the courage to meet that gaze. 

“Yes, well… perhaps should you ever have the misfortune of making his acquaintance you can form your own opinion of it.” He does his best not to pout, but he’s not sure he pulls it off when Boyd and Erica share a knowing look with each other. 

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be crossing paths. I think I see it in the bones.” She cackles as she tosses her little trinkets across the table, as always taking immense pleasure in every bit of angst she can draw from him. He wonders briefly if it was a mistake involving her at all, but he’s certain the aggravation will be worth it. He can endure any measure of harassment as long as it gets Jackson’s future secured. And she’s the best person for the job. 

Cora catches onto his meddling quickly. She’s not got the full shape of it yet, but she’s the first to spot its murky mass beneath the waters. Not without cause, she imagines it’s aimed towards her. For much of her life the Hale family had been content to leave her as she was. Third born, young yet, her only responsibility was to marry responsibly. She need not even do so shrewdly. She did not have to marry for money or for position. She did not have to sire an eligible heir for their name. 

But that was not to say that she did not live without expectation. Indeed, she had felt burdened by it as soon as she was old enough to grasp such a concept. Her elder sister might have been tasked with their family’s legacy, her brother leashed to being the sole progenitor of patriarchal duties, but the task she was given was for more nebulous and arguably unattainable. 

It was up to Cora to be happy. Her siblings looked to her and called her free. That was a station she felt the most grave obligation to live up to. She was the caretaker of their unlived dreams. She was every wistful desire they’d ever had. She was the proof that there was something out there, better. She was supposed to make everything they did worth it. 

For Laura she must be cavalier, must take things on a whim. She must venture and see things unknown and make her own name in the world. She must be a great woman only secondarily to how prolific a kith they called her first. Laura could have captained ships. She might have discovered new cultures. The world asked so very little of all she had to give. 

For Derek she must harbor softness, flower all the fragile things in danger of extinction. She must allow herself romance, dare to treasure the small and domestic and quiet. She must navigate this modern world and live a sweet life in it, not let industry and ambition smother her simple happinesses. Derek’s heart was not his to value freely. Everyone else determined its worth, traded on its possession. She wasn’t even sure if he felt like he had the right to it. 

When she was truly honest with herself, Cora wasn’t sure which parts of herself belonged to them, and which she had fostered all on her own. Whether her siblings had intended to take root like that or not, it was nonetheless true that Cora had no bloom entirely her own. If there ever existed one, it had been choked out long, long ago— before any fruits might have been born to proliferate that identity. 

She was a blend of their colors, a mangling of their traits. Fragrant pollen, bitter thorns, sun shy, winter hearty. She wondered if she might be sterile, like the mule. Perhaps all she would ever do was emulate. Perhaps she would only be this idea of them, a creature made to distill utility. But how could she ever complain? How could she look at her life and all the things that it afforded her and still want more? 

She’s confident that if Derek is ready to marry her away that he will do so only with her blessing of the suitor, circumstance. What a privilege. Her brother with a docket full of fine young men, and her with the rubber stamp. He would find her someone with the money to facilitate any passion, the temperament to compliment her inclinations. If she felt no affection, he would simply fish another. For a Hale daughter the pond was teeming, and he was a master at the reel. 

She felt regret only for the young man that would be brought to her much like the music box, the pony, the presidency of a women’s club that had been gifted previously. But for Laura she giggled at the idea of him entering the estate with a large bow adorning his forehead, turning mechanical pirouettes as she commanded. For Derek she dreamed that he might be handsome, call her ‘lady’ in just the way she liked. 

When she afforded herself those little daydreams, she couldn't help but have them continue to spin. What if he had a large family that she might go and stay with? What might it be like serving as the Lady of their house? Walking into those halls and putting up her own portraits, adorning the dinner table with dishes from her childhood, playing songs into the night that they might not have heard. 

What if they were not wolves like her kin? Would they scoff at her as she mourned for the moon? Would they ask her about their blood curse? Would they forbid her brother from visiting? What if she did not miss her name? What if she started to dress in their colors? What if she spoke with their phrases? What if she left him, all on his own?

Their great estate a mausoleum. Derek Hale naught but a haunting. 

She worried her claws near down to the quick, tried to make herself busy to where he might not have time to talk with her. Jackson, luckily, was a kith that could use endless entertaining. He did not have quiet days, he cared little for stillness. His fox friend did not seem quite so inclined and so he had taken frequently to simpering about the house, in need of occasion. 

Cora’s not sure why he even brought the little scavenger to summer with them. They seemed of little compliment to each other. At least, by her estimation of their relation. They were both devious sure, wittier than was tolerable. But oh how they bickered. Worse than any old nanas at spring markets. 

It was never either’s turn to strike a task, but somehow both were fingered for being the first to take advantage of something. Stiles to finish a plate. Jackson to close out a gamble. They hissed and tussled and sheared each other to an unbecoming nakedness, and they did so seemingly for sport. Perhaps it was a thing for men. Perhaps it was just how kith like them got along. All her study and all her experience could not make hide nor tail of it. 

Still they slung arms over shoulders and reminisced on calamities and walked with twining gates that were smooth as second nature. There was a friendship there, if an odd one. She’s not sure it’s one that she would foster, but she had no taste for most of her cousin’s ventures. If Cora’s freedom from expectations were a shackle, then Jackson’s were a muzzle. 

After all, who expected anything of a bastard? He inherited no name from his father besides bastard. He had no role in society besides bastard. He had nothing to prove and nowhere to go, his breeding a predestination. He was free, so long as he didn’t bark or bite. So long as he was happy with scraps from the table, he could eat things no son of a commoner dared to even wish for. 

She did not begrudge him the way that he dealt with it. Grief was different to everyone. For him it was violent, raw. She cannot tell if he chafes more at the aspirations of his father, or the limits of his mother, but it hardly matters. What is plain is the way his skin is near to flaying, and he allows no treatment but his own licking at the wound. 

Stiles helps, she thinks. He is allowed to touch them. Perhaps even he can administer no aid, but at least he can check for infection. For her that’s enough. She doesn’t care about his late hours, his high pitched chittering. His manners are oafish and his tastes bawdy and his ambition non-existent. He belongs here as much as snow in August, but wouldn’t that be just as much of a sight? 

Derek is so beside himself that entertainment alone would almost be worth it. She hasn’t seen her brother so flustered in many a year. It’s endearing that he thinks so highly of himself as to not imagine it noticeable. The sheer volume of gossip the servants trade about it should keep them busy the rest of the year, if not for a full spread of seasons. Their stoic, stuffy, sanctimonious lord stuttering over a common carrion creature. 

For what it’s worth, he is quite handsome, abundantly rakish. If she thought she might be able to tempt him, even she would consider an illicit summer affair. Gallivanting with a commoner would have catered to both her muses, and she so would have enjoyed cataloging it in her diaries. Alas, she was far more astute than Derek, and so she’d caught onto him from the start. 

Indeed he had eyes for only one Hale, and in the fashion of his kith, he was greedy for the rarest of delicacies on the plate. The most dangerous, by far, but what kind of fox would he be to take the apple fallen to the ground, when he could sneak into a henhouse? Cora didn’t think he had the skill to pull it off, but Gods did she love to watch him try. 

Derek hadn’t been courted in an age, and she couldn’t very well blame the fine ladies of the county. Even she had thought there would be no value in trying to romance a creature so dour, but never had she been more glad to be proven wrong. The fox was just brave enough— stupid too— to make merry of Derek’s derision, frolic in his frustration. 

Her sweet, simple brother thought he had killed off his affection and so he mistook smitten for incense. Passion was passion and it was easy to funnel incorrectly. She would not press the point, not with his…. history, but she so hoped that he stoked it. A fire had died in him, those years ago, and she was terrified and delighted to see him spark. 

There was a fair bit of danger to it, half the chance he would go up like a forest, smother them all in smoke. But even that was far better than to endure him cold, dormant. Perhaps if she spent more time with her cousin they could share their findings. She was sure he’d noticed as well. 

Up until now it had been his job to pester Derek, surely he’d have some insight that they might idly let slip. If they had any luck, she could dodge her brother’s plans while making moves of her own. Derek was great at chess, but he often forgot he wasn’t playing against himself. He hadn’t been served a challenge in far too long, and she rather fancied a game. 

Derek picks the afternoon he starts his apologies with great care, making sure enough time has passed that the sting has lessened, but not so much that anything might fester between them. He’d never wished his cousin to internalize the ways others spoke of his parentage. If anything, Derek had always done his best to make sure that Jackson felt every part of the family as any one of his other siblings. Peter sired him and so they shared blood and that was all that truly mattered. He would always have a home with the Hales and he would always be loved by them. 

It was time he put actions to those words, after all it seemed that Jackson wasn’t the only one who the reassurance was for. He’d always had something of a temper, even when he was a child, but he didn’t realize words as sharp as that had simmered underneath his skin. He’d said it, and so on some unconscious level he must have been harboring those beliefs to some extent. 

Jackson had a way of wheedling you— a talent for making his home underneath your skin— but that was no excuse. Derek was just as difficult to deal with and no one had ever made to turn him away, to make him feel like his love was conditional. He arranged a hunt for them. It had always been one of Jackson’s favorite sport and Derek hadn’t indulged in quite some time. 

Perhaps all his frustrations could be expunged while he was out there. Perhaps all he needed was a more productive outlet than the vigorous red lining he’d kept himself busy with. “A hunt?” the viper scoffed, sneering at him from across morning coffee. “Are you sure you even remember how to bite?” He eyed Derek’s immaculately tight and tailored clothes, the pristine manicure of his claws, his hind legs even having them clipped to feel more comfortable against the wood and stone. 

To him they were necessary changes now that he was out of boyhood. He couldn’t very well roam around his business parlors half feral now, could he? Ruff matted from play, paws muddy, blood black along his fangs. He was a civilized kith and he ought to present himself as such. Otherwise society might mistake him for… well for a mange like Stiles. 

Derek did his best not to make a face, trying his best at politeness, but even now he cast his gaze all along the lanky fox. He had one leg pulled up on his chair to pick between his pads, totally unconscious of how his tail kicked up dirt like a broom, and every so often he chittered in his annoyed concentration. It was unseemly at best. More animal than man. 

Jackson caught him staring and narrowed his eyes, but before he could make comment, Derek plowed on. “I’ve already had them release some pheasants on the grounds. If you really don’t consider me competition then I suppose you won’t mind me getting a head start.” Derek smirked as he moved to unbutton his cuffs, starting to idly stretch his legs. Cora had left to spend the weekend with a childhood friend, so he didn’t mind making a show of it here in the dining room— pushing up his sleeves, tossing aside his cravat, shirts opened, ties on his tail loosened to let it rise and flick. 

The fox finally looked up from his fussing to eye Derek, ears twitching in an effort not to perk as he took in the lord of the house in a much different light. Derek did his best not to puff up his chest too obviously, but he did stand taller, flex the well marbled musculature he usually kept hidden. It would do for their guest to understand that his words weren’t empty, that his head was not filled with hot air. 

Derek was no simpering little lordling that had only known the silver spoon. Yes the Hales were old money, their name of well repute for centuries, but neither of his parents had been complacent. They raised their children strong, shrewd as well as socialized. Derek had many a hunting trophy in the local clubhouse, his recent turn to businessman would put no dent in that well bred physique, ingrained instinct. 

Jackson leaped from his chair immediately, never one to back down from the chance to show off. Derek’s smirk bloomed into an outright grin and for once he felt young again, watching his cousin shred his finery with an almost embarrassing eagerness. He was easy to read, at least in most aspects, and Derek knew this would do the trick. 

They raced to the door, overturning chairs as they went and cackling. The help just softly shook their heads, but he swore he saw them smile on his way out. Stiles squawked and scuffled to follow, but by the time he made it to the door, the game was already afoot and he’d been left behind. 

The two took different approaches, more suited to their kith. Jackson’s lean, compact body easily slunk through the grasses, barely displacing the blades as he moved. His tongue scented the air and his sharp tail dithered in hypnotic patterns behind him, eager to strike. He moved near silently, could break into utter stillness in a blink. 

It was arresting to watch him hunt. The way his body moved made it appear almost a dance to him— the smooth twists of his hips, the undulations that worked in smooth waves from his head to his feet. The only giveaway of trouble was the soft hiss when he opened his maw, the shiny glint of venom dripping from his teeth before he struck. 

It happened like the crack of a whip, a coil and a snap. He seemed so impossibly long as he leaped, his prey only convulsed a few times before they were totally paralyzed. It was as eerie as skillful, and Derek knew he’d never let anyone watch him feed. 

For his own part the wolf didn’t mind others witnessing the spray of blood, the way his lashes fluttered as he tore in. He supposed there was a certain, masculine appeal to it that spectators enjoyed. The rend of his teeth, the steam rising from his kill. Those who expressed any squeamishness at the stain of it down his front were often ridiculed for their weak stomach, and he’d often joined in the howling after them as they ran to upchuck their bile. 

It was another thing entirely to swallow the bird whole. He couldn’t even really imagine it in his mind’s eye. Jackson’s jaw unhinging, the shape of his kill moving down his gullet. Watching him twitch and near gag to work the muscles and start the slow process of ingestion. As much as he didn’t care to admit it, he understood the revulsion. 

There was an elegance to the wolf, a nobility. It made it easier for society to celebrate kith of his ilk. Vipers could be devilish. Fox were filthy scavengers, carrion feeders. Wolves ran in packs. They hunted with tactics. They took down beasts larger than themselves and shared the spoils. He knew he took no small amount of pride in it. 

He’d certainly always felt celebrated for it. Many of the taxidermy in the estate were kills of his. He’d even been president of an exchange organization at the club. Humans taught him how to use rifles, he showed them stalking patterns. It had made him feel… important. His generation continued to bridge the gap, to integrate themselves further and further. 

He’s sure his ancestors would have never dreamed that a progeny of theirs would be given these secrets, would be treated not just as an asset, but an ally. It was naïve of him, but he’d really believed it. Thinking of how often he would come home almost too excited to eat, extolling his parents on his accomplishments that day. 

Maybe if he were just a bit older, a bit sharper he would have read their reticence. If only he’d spent more time with his feet here on the ground instead of with his head in the clouds he’d have known better. Humans weren’t so easily impressed. Centuries of strife didn’t just evaporate. Beautiful, attentive young women could be the most fearsome hunters in a room of clawed beasts. 

He pulled up short when a shot rang out, his heart hammering in his chest, his ears ringing. “Match!” a voice rang out across the fields, and though Derek recognized it as their groundskeeper, his vision still swam. “The Master Whittemore takes it.” His hands dug trenches in the hot soil and his mouth felt impossibly dry. Jackson whooped as he leaped into the air and his grin was hard to process as cold sweat ran down Derek’s forehead. 

“Come now, cousin, don't be a sore loser!” He held the pheasant by its tails at his side, an easy slouch to his frame once he’d secured his victory. “If you wipe that sour look from your face, I’m sure the kitchen will be happy to whip you up a fowl of your own.” He turned to the house to continue his jeering, eager to soak up all the soft congratulations the help would shower down on him. 

Somehow Derek smelt gunpowder on the wind. Ash bloomed bitter on his tongue and anxious tears welled in his eyes. It wasn’t that night, he knew it wasn’t, and yet his gaze hunted for her on the horizon. She’d fled the country— not even her family’s connections enough to get her out of such a heinous crime. Still he swore he saw her frame, her beautiful, wretched smile as she called for him. “Come now, little wolf. I thought you said you wanted to play with me. ” 

He fell back on his haunches and scrabbled in the dirt, kicking up ground and doing little to get anywhere. She was towering over him, she was leaning over him. Hands cupped his face, ran through his hair and— “Hey, breathe. You’re okay, just breathe with me.” That… that wasn’t her voice. It almost tripped over its own tongue, the lilt was all wrong. It didn’t have that smooth, unaffected air. “Listen to me, focus on me, Derek.”

It took concentration to squeeze his eyes closed, shake his head to try and clear them before he dared to look again. His stomach was wrenching, his hands shaking, His tail was tucked tight to him, his ears so flat they ached. When he let the light filter back into his eyes they burned for a moment before coalescing the image of a fox in front of him. 

His brows were knitted together in concern, his lips pulled into a sympathetic hurt. His thumbs brushed over and over against Derek’s sideburns and he exaggerated his breaths so Derek could see the full performance of them, blindly imitate it. “There you are, it’s alright.” Derek wondered if his voice had always been this soft, if this was what he’d been tuning out. It was hard to pay attention to any one thing. The adrenaline coursing through him hadn’t yet drained out. “I— I can send for your sister.”

Derek shook his head, sure of at least one thing. He didn’t want to burden Cora with this. He was mortified anyone in the house at all witnessed it. He’d thought this kind of thing only happened in his dreams, when he could thrash his bedding to pieces and politely ignore the looks of the maids as he gave them coin to replace it. “I’m alright,” he croaked out, making an effort to sit up. It took a minute longer for him to reach up and pull the fox’s hands away from his face, but he did so gently, with a tremulous smile and nod. “I’m alright.”

Stiles didn’t look convinced, but he sat back on his heels, letting the lord have his space. After a long moment of sharing some look that Derek couldn’t quite describe, he turned to the house, waved someone on. Derek resolutely didn’t watch him leave, steeled himself for when servants came with wet rags, some broth. He only let himself be coddled a moment, stood on his own. 

At least Jackson had raced inside, overjoyed at his decisive win. If he didn’t look at himself as he hobbled inside, he’d consider the hunt a success. He’d made up for his earlier rudeness, and that’s what mattered. 

Derek doesn’t let himself stew on the events of the afternoon long. It doesn’t do anyone any good and besides, he is a busy man. What kind of steward of their house would let waking nightmares get to him? Shake in his boots at nothing more than memories? He’s grateful that no one noticed, at least. No one who would judge him of such a thing. 

For all the derisiveness he’d served the fox prior, he had to afford the kith at least this compliment. Unlike other noblemen and women, he seemed to hold no affection for propriety or manners. Where that was bawdy at the dinner table and grotesquely endearing during sport, it felt a true kindness in times such as these. He hadn’t immediately found Derek embarrassing, leaped on him like a limping gazelle. He didn’t think less of Derek, didn’t look at him differently. 

At least, not in a patronizing way. But the looks they shared did take on a different timbre. Where once Derek had only been the subject of snide cutaways or stolen fits of confusion, he now found the fox glancing after him. Checking in on him. Pondering at what Derek got up to when the room’s attention was held elsewhere. 

Whenever he was caught staring he would hurriedly snap the other way, brows high and ears flitting in poorly restrained nervousness. A small fortune that he would never catch the little smile it elicited, the way Derek would have to smother that with a handkerchief. He himself could feel the heat from his gaze fading. 

The longer Stiles stayed the more accustomed he was to having a fox in his home. There was more of an effort made not to drag mud across the rugs, stay quiet at certain hours, respect space. But just as much, Derek found those things that once drove him mad only earned a roll of his eyes, the shake of his head. He would find the tawny creature half falling out of a window seat, napping in the sun, and he’d lift a boot to push his shoulders back atop the cushioning, push the pane open a little wider so he didn’t get overheated. 

It wasn’t affection, but instead an insurance that that musk only Derek seemed to be bothered by wouldn’t be quite as potent by dinner. Assuredly. And then he would be on his way as usual, finding some other space to read. The outcome was the same, but now he did not unduly ruin his own afternoon, work himself into too much of a tizzy to taste the rest of his meals. 

It’s just the relief that he needs to make sure the rest of his tasks stay on schedule. Without having to worry over the little scavenger skulking about the property, he and Erica settle on Jackson’s first courting. The Lady Lydia Martin is quite obviously a reach for a kith of his stature. Well appointed and well looked after, she would not have any reason to accept his interest except for manners of true affection, but they’d reasoned that such a thing was not beyond belief. 

The two were quite alike in temperament. Barbed tongues, shrewd eyes, a penchant for the dramatic flair. He respected her intensely and would consider it a sincere, stalwart favor were she to take his cousin off of his hands. She’d be busy this season— she always was— but he knew if he leveraged the correct parameters that she’d make time for him in her busy schedule. 

Arrange a party. Invite artists of her favor. Promise that they might find time for business discussions that evening. Dangle their ward in front of her, an exotic little mystery that she might want to investigate. It felt a little off color to speak of him in such ways to others, even if those were the words Derek used in his own head, but they had been just for him and his family up until now. 

The fox had not seemed to mind it, or at least enjoyed chastising Derek for their tone more than he would discourage not being discussed thusly in the first place. But Derek did rankle at the idea of others in society looking at him that way, telling Derek that his company was unbecoming of a Hale. Humans were always eager for the chance to make such remarks. To them any sort of kith might be an oddity. Something to gossip about and satirize, to make perform for them. 

They barely had restraint when it came to venerable members of society. He shuddered to imagine how they might treat a commoner such as him. What words they might use. How they would poke at him. Tug at his tail and search for his fangs, ask him to yowl so they might clap and titter their laughter. 

He didn’t see any way to avoid it, not with the entire county of eligible families needing to be invited to entice Lydia to make an appearance. There would inevitably be the sort that only showed up to try and push him further beneath their thumbs, make sure he still felt the weight of their expectations. There were those that had never and would never respect his family, even as the rest of society moved on, and he would have to grit his teeth as he penned their invitations. 

He hoped against hope the Argents would feel no desire to make an appearance. Only the young Lady Alison and her father had stayed in the country after— after their families had fallen out. It was quite the scandal that they split at all. No formal decoupling had ever been announced, but the rest of their clan hadn’t been seen since. 

Most took to simply treating Chris as a widower. It was easier that way. His daughter had yet to marry and so there was no doubt that she would want to show up at an event such as this. She was a fine young woman, of great skill and adornment. He should be honored that she would want to attend. Once he would have even said that they were friends. 

He was ashamed that he could no longer stomach the sight of her. It was no fault of her own. She’d even said some truly touching words at the services, or so he’d heard. He doesn’t quite remember that time. There’s the shape of a memory there, but it’s like looking at his reflection in agitated waters to remember it. He only gets colors, intimations of where things might go. He hasn’t seen her since. Always had reasons to be in another room, conversations that were more important. 

He doesn’t think she holds it against him. Indeed they are still recipients on one another’s holiday mailing lists. Cora picked her up something lovely for her birthday. It’s as cordial as he can make it, as he has the capacity for. He includes her on the guest list, but murmurs to the help that he would not be upset should her invitation accidentally arrive later than everyone else’s. Perhaps in the meantime she would make other plans, plans it would be rude to cancel for just one party during the height of the courting season. 

He has Cora choose the florals, sits down with the cook to find what’s in season, what puts young romantics in the affectionate mood. An orchestra is hired, rooms are aired, china cleaned. So little of their estate gets put to use when it is just the three of them that it takes something like a militia to get it into running shape again. 

He lets Jackson know that under no uncertain circumstances he is expected to spend the night making acquaintances. There will be no scurrying out to bars. No hiding in the library, pouting. He will not play pranks on guests as they arrive, he must dance instead of stand sullenly at the drinks table. 

He’s none too happy with the implications of being handed these ultimatums, but agrees to them nonetheless. It seems his prior gambit worked and he’s been in much better spirits as of late. Derek often catches his lamps still on late at night, hears the murmurs of his cousin’s scheming with the fox. The unfortunate truth about Jackson is that he is often at his most irritating when he is happy. 

His pride and pomp swells and he becomes nigh insufferable. He lives to be a braggart of sorts and so when is most at home he is often pecking away at whoever will let him. Derek is sure that he’s been crowing about his victory nonstop since the hunt, and he’s sure everyone at the party is going to get a thorough reenactment. 

He doesn’t think it’s likely to impress the Lady Martin, but if that’s the case, the two of them have little to do with marrying each other. He’s going to do his best to set things up just right for the two of them, but in the end, he’s not going to script the words he intends his cousin to use. He still wants the poor sod to end up with someone he might actually have an affinity for. 

Were he the type to just ship his family off to the highest bidders, he would have done that by now. He could have Cora and Jackson accounted for within a week, if he put his mind to it. Instead he hoped to just nudge them along. They were more than old enough for such things and he knew it was in their hearts to want a partner. It’s just if they had their way of it, the both of them would wait until they were grey and be upset at the lack of offerings. 

So he simply set the stage, made for the right mood. He would make sure the light was amorously low, but not so shaded as to be scandalous. He would make the drinks light and fun, but not so effortless to down that there might be embarrassments to come. He would make sure the strings swelled at just the right time and that there would be no question as to whether a next meeting would be on the docket. 

With Erica’s help, it was a breeze. She knew all the right people to bring to the table, invited plenty of secondary options. She had notes on which foods they liked and what dances they excelled at. She familiarized Derek with their countenances, schooled him on their family histories, and arranged for him to bump into aunts and grandfathers, so he might make a certain kind of impression in town. 

He had to shake the dust off of certain skills of his, but he knew the conversations went well. Even without his extra senses it was easy to read their glances, the performance of their body language. Gossips were easy to mark and even easier to bait. He was certain they would be heading home that evening to extol the virtues of the Hales to his family, inquire whether any of the youngun’s might me eligible. 

It had come together with such ease, he was surprised to find himself with free time. Enough of it that he might take a turn about the gardens. He’d not seen them this season, and walking the trails was a mixture of familiar layouts with new arrangements. His mother had been very involved with their upkeep. She often lectured them on how the grounds were the first thing anyone might see of their great estate, how it would make their first impression for them. 

She had known the hidden language of every bloom— kith or human lexicon— and was prone to leaving secret messages about the house with them. Derek never had much of a mind for it, but as he passed by foliage he recognized he would try to recall their words, make polite conversation with them. 

He’d just been in the middle of asking a bush of rhododendrons how’d they’d been doing as of late when a certain fox rounded the corner. His eyes disappeared in the fullness of his smile and his chittering laugh rung high and sweet in the outdoors. Derek shook his head at the kith, as though Stiles were the one acting foolish. He stayed in his bend at the waist, examining the petals and murmuring to them. 

“Have they gotten themselves in trouble?” he wondered, taking his time to saunter along the path towards Derek. Stiles tutted at the bushes, gesticulating a disappointed finger in their direction. “Don’t you all know it’s best behavior at the Hale estate this week? Our Lord is making a grand gesture and we mustn’t ruin the moment.” 

Derek snorted, straightened up to put them at level gaze. Stiles looked as effortlessly uncouth as ever. It seemed no matter what he got up to, there was an air of sedition he couldn’t help but enshroud himself in. His jacket and shirts were expertly structured and tailored, cutting him a smart figure, but both appeared made for him just a year or two before he finished growing. A long band of his ruddy skin peeking out between them and his britches. “And what would you know about behaving?” he mused. 

He was gifted a snicker before Stiles took his turn to lean into the flowers, holding them to the fae-flick of his nose letting his eyes flutter closed as he breathed them in. Derek did his best to keep his eyes modest, but the long line of Stiles’ figure led his gaze along it, beckoning him to observe the way sweat clung like dew to the dimples of his lower back. He chewed his lips and Stiles stood out of it slow and sweet for him. “Well they say you learn best from failure, don’t they? Perhaps I need to fumble my manners just a few more times.” 

Derek flushed, his hands clasped behind his back fretting at his cuffs. “I think that only applies when you’re trying to succeed in the first place.” Stiles nods sagely, hums his agreement. When Derek walks past him, he takes up stride alongside, studying his walk and then pantomiming it with near instant perfection. “Indeed it seems to me there’s quite a bit off kilter about your statement.” 

Stiles narrows his eyes, bares his teeth in a jester grin. “Oh, you’ll have to do better than that to throw me off your scent, m’lord.” They wound deeper and deeper into the garden, passing groundskeepers shaping the topiary, fountains only barely burbling in this heat. Everything here was delicately weathered, had the fine patina of inheritance, but not degradation. “You’ve got your eye on a match, and for our good friend, I’d wager.” 

Derek raises a brow in consideration, gives nothing away with the soft answering hum. “And were I to indulge this line of deduction, what causes you to shirk the prospects of my young sister? She is newer to the market, easier to accommodate, more chief of my concerns. She has caught the eye of many a fine bachelor already and she has not yet made a formal appearance.” 

Stiles’ grin slowly melts into something more genuine as he listens to Derek’s bragging, and his eyes take on that shine that makes them rival polished stone. “You’ve made your own case,” he sighs, only after breaking the silent catch of their gaze that hung for several moments. “Cora needs your intervention about as much as Jackson needs his second coffee every morning.” They both smother a conspiratorial twitch of their lips, well aware of the… eager jitter of Jackson after breakfast. 

“And what reason might I have to marry him off now? Of all the years I’ve had the opportunity, why go all in on this hand?” He hopes that his fishing is not too obvious, but stealth was never what Hales were prided for. He does not let his gaze drift this time, keeps his eyes on the path, following its meandering guidance to nowhere in particular. “He’s done well enough these past years, keeping himself occupied outside of courting season.”

Stiles pulls in front of him, begins walking backwards with just his hind legs in view. Derek idly wonders how he gets the auburn so muddy when they are walking the same grounds. “Why indeed? What is different this year from all the others?” Derek’s ears flatten. Subtle as is usual then. “Don’t worry, I’m used to that response.” 

Derek ducks his head, pulls to a stop to occupy himself examining the running fissure on a stone bench that could use his attentions. “I’ve allowed him every flight of fancy that’s crossed his path, but I know that Cora will challenge me just as fiercely and I don’t imagine I can juggle them both successfully. Until now I’ve been able to keep my eye on them, keep them safe. I would never forgive myself if I let my attention lapse and have all this work he’s put in dashed across the rocks. Better to secure his future when I can give it my full focus, ensure he gets everything that he so deserves.”

Stiles takes a deep breath next to him, lets him finish his evaluation of the state of the bench in silence. When they start their walk back up, he gently jostles their shoulders. “I don’t think either of them would wish to burden you with such ideas. Their lives are their own to make or muddle. Your job is not to steer them, but give them safe harbor should they need it.” Derek knows that to be true, but that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant to swallow. “Besides, who then is caring after you?” 

The question is just soft enough Derek isn’t able to find a shred of accusation in it, try as he might. He works his jaw on this particular gristle, doesn’t manage to make it go down. “That’s unimportant.” It sounds ridiculous, even in his ears, but he doesn’t have the words to say anything else. His tongue simply does not make other shapes. 

“If your duty is truly to your family and its legacy first, is your own health not part of that?” Stiles pulls in front of him again, but this time he does not keep walking. He draws up short, forces Derek to halt and address him. “The best way to secure their futures is to do everything in your power to make sure that includes you. They will always need their brother.” 

Pain lances through Derek’s heart, an equal measure of sharp convulsion and dull throb. New pathways through old scar tissue. For a moment he cannot breathe and his eyes wet. He clears his throat, scrubs his face against his sleeve. “And what would you know about such? I see no family here, have heard not a single mention of it.” 

The fox takes his lash on the chin, his tail stiffening but little else. Derek wishes to snarl, but try as he might, his lips refuse to curl over teeth. “Again you’ve found the point all on your own.” He takes Derek’s full measure, lets his shoulders relax, softens to a certain form of supplication. “Our circumstances might exist oceans apart, but our world is just the same. 

My mother was of my kith, my father human. He gave everything up for her. His standing, his family. So when she passed, nothing was all he felt he had left. I begged for him to stay by me, but his grief was too steep a price for my happiness. He would not live for me, and I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him for it. You are capable of better. Your family deserves better. It’s a selfish thing to imagine yourself unimportant. If you assign yourself no worth, you cannot contribute what you are capable of to better the world around you. And I won’t suffer such stupidity.” 

Silent tears had made tracks down his face, but by the end of it, the moisture burned off with his fury. For the first time Derek feels this moroseness unlatch from him, shrinking back under the scrutiny. Is that what Cora thought of him, all shut up in his office? Did Jackson pity his disinterest in all their old games? Would even the help look at their Lord and shake their heads, wondering when they would put a sheet over him like all the other purposeless furnishings in the manor? 

Derek bites on the inside of his cheek, searches his pockets for a handkerchief, tobacco, anything that might try and pull his focus before his mind spiraled. He finds nothing, and so he simply stands, face pale and clammy. 

The fox shakes his head, bitterly disappointed. “I’ve overstepped my bounds,” he murmurs, pulling into a critique of a bow. “Excuse me, Lord Hale. I shan't waste any more of your precious time.” Derek woodenly nods his deference and with that, Stiles takes his leave. 

It takes a moment for Derek to come back to himself after that. His fingers twitch and his feet worry divots into the ground, his breath coming to him in a gasp he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. For all the ferocity he’d been touting these past years, he realizes now that it’s been ages since another last drew blood. He’s sick with the realization that perhaps they’d all been holding back, that his family members and business partners and society at large had been viewing him as this limping thing. Too pitiful to bite. 

His body aches to stalk the source of his pain, but there is no one else to hunt. Derek loses his afternoon in the gardens, unmoored. 

Time marches on, whether he’s ready for it or not, and soon Derek finds himself dressing for the event. He’d done everything he possibly could to assure that it would go smoothly, and now he can only trust that the individuals responsible for the minutia would pull through. He had never had any doubt about the stalwart help under his employ, but it was just in his nature to fret over every possible outcome. 

This was the first event the Hales were hosting in what felt like a lifetime. Strangers had not roamed these halls since their family had taken an entirely new face. He not only had to live up to his parents and their family legacy, but to whatever expectation society had invented for him. The mysterious son, an unwilling usurper. Recluse and dour and shrewd. Yet here he was, with half the county being welcomed into his halls, all the most eligible on display. 

The evening was unusually hot and the pomade he’d had combed through his fur felt heavier than river mud. Cora assured him over and over the sheen of his coat was immaculate, but he fussed with the strands, felt sweat at his temples, rankled every time he ran into someone scuttling to get an item exactly where he’d requested it. 

The heady scent of florals felt thick alongside the deluge of candle wax dripping down fixtures to keep the rooms bright. Crickets made their own symphony outside and the clack of claws on the wood floor was more imperious than any boot heel. He knew he’d made all the right decisions and still he felt a heavy pit of dread in his stomach. 

There was some ill portent on the wind, some superstition that fought its way past his logic and hounded his animal instincts. He’d not felt so harassed by them since he was a boy, back when territorialism between his siblings could earn any of them a permanent notch in their ear. Perhaps it was the same now. Perhaps he was merely in knots over the idea of having to share his safe spaces with people actively looking to make plays. 

But it didn’t quite feel like that. He’d become overly familiar with that particular anxiety. After everything had gone wrong, they’d all lived with the Derek that watched his family in the night, that locked them in the untouched wings of the manor, that cut the bridges out from under them with every new acquaintance. Derek still felt the itch of that beast from time to time. Reading Jackson’s letters from faraway and the places he’d take refuge in. Watching Cora sport with the young men of the county, testing their mettle. But it was a collared thing, even if it would tug at the lead from time to time. 

This was new. Or changed enough that he found it unfamiliar. He worried for himself, his performance. He worried how he might be seen and internalized. He wanted attention, but chafed beneath it. And he— well he was eager for an evaluation. An evaluation from one individual in particular. 

Sure, the impression he would make with his peers weighed on him, but that was not the one that had his chest tight, his ears whickering. He knew their stance before they ever set foot on his grounds, it was the one they would always have. Kith were tolerable as long as they followed the rules. Their esteem was paid for, a mortgage that would forever accrue more interest than they could ever afford. He knew his contract there, was always in a state of making peace with it, in some manner or another. 

This old, but different fear felt like it had much greater stakes and he was in turmoil over whether he even wanted to acknowledge it. A silly thing. A useless thing. One that he thought he’d packed away forever. And now here it was again, unbidden and eerie. If he’d wanted any part of it, he would have gone and dug it up, but now that it was here anyway, and taunting… 

It left him irritable. Enough so that even Cora elbowed at him as they started welcoming the guests. “They will think you overcome with indigestion should that smile get any tighter,” she mused in between curtsies. He clucked his tongue at her brass, sure that she didn’t used to talk to him like this until a certain bawdy individual made such statements the norm at their estate. 

Still, he did his best to loosen his cravat a little, speak without his teeth clenched. He recognized many of the families making their introductions from Erica’s pickings. Each young kith that twirled before him was more stunning than the last, and he knew that he would be pleased with a proposal to any of them. Even for himself he was enamored by the stock of the women that had deigned to arrive here, each of them unique and beautiful and wild. 

Yet he worried that he had seen not a one which his cousin would settle for. As alike as they were, there were differences in their inclinations. Where Derek simply found himself… impartial to the variety of a partner, Jackson had tried time and again to want for a woman the way he did other men. Indeed even on his latest trip he’d admitted to attempting to share companionship with their fox friend and a lady warming beds for coin, and he’d found he could not perform without Stiles in the middle. 

It was a sordid story that Derek had half a mind to burn in the fireplace on the spot, but instead folded and folded and folded until he could fit it in a snuff box beneath his floor boards. He’d not thought to revisit it until recently and felt a great deal of shame at the way his interest piqued now that he could envision that fox in full. He’d read over it enough times to now have the exact words in his mind, should the account ever be destroyed. 

Deep, unrelenting envy had settled behind his heart, taking him by surprise. He’d had his dalliances as a boy, at an age where such experimentation was acceptable and before he’d been taught the extents of how unseemly such relationships were. Catching the stable boy pleasuring himself, and as a lordling commanding him to finish while Derek watched on. Stealing away onto the grounds with childhood friends and trading techniques. Tackling a sparring partner and having their wrestling take on an edge that left them both soiling their underclothes as they tried to complete a pin. 

It had never gone further than that. Just idle play. Youthful exuberance. His boyhood bucking and writhing as it bloomed into full fecundity. He had thought he was perfectly happy with it. Those urges he felt had been explored. Perhaps they were not mined, but that was for the better. So he’d thought. So he’d been telling himself over and over again as he brushed his thumbs over ink and snarled at his hardness that refused to relent. 

As many chains as his bastard nature had affixed to him, it still afforded certain freedoms to his cousin that Derek silently admonished him for not treasuring. That certain lack of expectation meant he’d never felt the compunction to leave his interests untouched, as Derek had. The moment Jackson knew that was what he wanted, he’d chased after it, delighted in it. The more Derek had seen him interact with his fox this season, the more he believed those tawdry tales Jackson told about it to be true.

Even its taboo nature seemed to be part of the appeal for him. Taking other kith to back alleys, having them leave out his window at all times of the night. Making payments in brothels and going to foreign lands to partake with friends. He luxuriated in this part of himself with such decadence that Derek had thought it hedonistic. Jackson fucked men like others consumed opioids and he’d been thankful he never indulged the taste. 

Until now. Until he imagined that he never would. Until he saw the way that it would be most enjoyable for him. He would not have to buy some boy’s silence. It was not always a business exchange. He didn’t have to have it upon pillows so saturated with others’ lust that there was no room for anything else. 

There was the possibility to enjoy someone as Derek had always wanted— in his home, with his affections. They would know each other before and have conversations after. He would feel safe, naked, comfortable even. The afternoon stretching on before them with no rush to be anywhere else. He wouldn’t be scurrying to make a getaway, horrified at the parts of himself he’d given away. Indeed he’d be left with equal measure in his hands, happily placed there, fingers folded over it with a kiss. 

Once that image entered his mind, it haunted him. A musky coat beneath his fingers, glowing coppery in the sun. Wicked, teasing chittering like music in his ears. A playful, gentle challenge to his every move. He felt stifled by it. Affronted that he might end up with anything else. Bereft that it would forever exist only in his mind. 

As a child he thought it so unfair that the worlds in his books were forever trapped there. He could see them so clearly behind his closed eyes. He could taste the air and hear the throngs of the people. He knew what the ground would feel like beneath his feet. They were real, real enough that he ached for them. 

It was a heartbreak that had tickled him as an adult. Silly and idle and soft. Only a tender boy could whine over such things. Naïve enough not to realize how fanciful that was. And yet, it was here again. He was weathered and years beyond such ignorance. He felt the weight of the world heavy in his bones. He knew how life worked and yet. Yet he felt homesick for a love that wasn’t his, that he’d never even experienced. 

Jackson had lain with him. Had traveled the world with him. Had brought him home and only felt the interest to call him friend. To play croquet on the lawn. Left him alone with strangers to smoke with old friends. A treasured toy, but a toy all the same. Something he would pick up and put down at his leisure. Maybe even lose in the tall grasses one day. 

Didn’t he know? How could he not realize what it was that he found himself bored by? Perhaps that was what made Derek so sick with his jealousy. Beyond just seeing what he could not have, he had to know that others tossed it away, left it unfinished on a plate, juices running, flesh oxidizing. He’d only wanted a bite. Ate for the pleasure of the flavor. Had no idea that others were starving. 

In some vicious part of himself that scared even him, Derek felt a certain delight in marrying Jackson off after this affront. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right and he knew deep down that it was not the impetus behind his decision, but it was there all the same. He knew that no matter their beauty or their talent or their station, they could not pull love from him like blood from a stone. 

He hoped only that there could be a mutual respect had. Many a fantastic partnership had been made off of that alone. No relationship could stand on solid ground without it, passion or not. Jackson could stoke his lust elsewhere. As long as he married and sired children, he would be fulfilling his duties. Derek did not think to kill that part of him, to steal that joy from him forever. It just could no longer exist as it currently did, completely unfettered. 

He had already brought a fox home, already totally destabilized his cousin without a single forethought. What might continue from here? What storms might brew that Derek could not weather? He shook beneath these winds as it were. It was at once the greatest pain and relief knowing that Mr. Stilinski would have to make his way home soon, wherever that might be. Derek dare not ask. That knowledge would only burrow beneath his skin and eat at him always, threatening that he might make use of it one day. 

He would allow himself his small delights in the time that was left, but that would be all. It would remain a tasting, less even than that. By the time the majority of guests had made it and the Hales had moved into the main hall, he had properly shored himself up. He was ready for this night and he was determined to make the most of it. 

His cousin made his entrance, late as ever, but at least it led to a fashionable murmuring from the crowd. He looked sharp as ever, nearly alien with his movements. His eyes flit across his gathered prey, his tongue could not help but to scent the air. His fine clothes were cut from a sanguine velour and his tail twisted with idle, irrefutable strength. His freckling was stark from the summer sun, the only bit of softness on his features, but it accomplished much to make him endearing. He was a boyish viper, thrilling in his danger. 

The crowd parted for him when he hit the bottom of the stairs and Derek could see the delight as a sheen across his eyes. There were equal parts fear and awe in the way they let him glide through. Derek could feel the static of nerves effervescing through the families that had come to try and court him. Worry over whether it was the right decision, whether they could execute it. The tension ratcheted high and higher and Jackson reveled in it. 

He’d made waves with just his birth. It was the talent that he didn’t have to work at. It simply permeated every inch of his being, hung off him like a shroud. Everywhere he went the whispers followed, eyes trained on him. For all the words they had about bastards, he held more rapt with attention than almost any lord Derek knew. His venomous smile let the whole county know that he was aware of it, and as he settled into the event, he dared them to take their chances. 

The whole room turned with him, folding in on him, and so it seemed as though it was Derek alone that noticed another entrant. Following just far enough behind so as not to steal any thunder, another man made his debut. Tall and dark, but glimmering, like the rich amber of whiskey catching shafts of light.

The fox is barely recognizable. His face is smooth, his hair slicked back. His ruff has been treated with oils to make it thick and shiny and Derek can barely smell him from beneath the herbaceous, peppery cling of it. Fine clothes seal tight to his form and he walks with an accompanying stiffness. They’re a rich, plum purple and Derek wants to run his hands over the supple skin, feel the swollen, but tender ripeness beneath. Smell the summer warm juices and imagine them bursting across his tongue, running down his chin. The heat in the room threatens to smother him and he does his best not to dance in place, pull at his jacket too often.

Stiles has the same elegance he always did, but it seems practiced now. Derek can see the form in his steps, the management of his smile. He is handsome, still, there is no muddying that, but— it does not look like him. When they lock eyes Derek finds that he misses the uneven scruff, the wild splay of his hair. The clothes don’t flatter him as much as Derek had imagined they would. They make his lithe frame fragile, don’t give the rakishness room to breathe. Derek finds him arresting regardless, but it were as though he did take his bite and instead found sour apple inside. He does his best not to let the confusion and displeasure tighten his face.

When Stiles approaches he bends at the waist, a sweeping bow that Jackson must have insisted he enact. It plays to the back of the crowd, as though Derek were viewing him from a balcony, causing his eyebrows to raise. “My lord,” the fox snickers, just a little bit, but by the time he is standing straight again he has worked his face back into utter seriousness. He seems not to have noticed his affect, dropping into their usual dynamic. To him there seems no difference between this and when they trade barbs in the library. He reaches around Derek to get at an hors d'oeuvres’, eyes sparking as he leans in for conversation. “What do you think?” 

After popping the entire pastry into his mouth, flicking the crumbs to the floor, he smooths down his lapels, puts on a pose. He stands straight and tall, tucks his tail between his legs. His ears sweep back in sternness and he screws his face into a dour consideration. It’s all very gallant. Derek blinks and gives a befuddled smile, opening his mouth for what he thinks will be easy, light compliments, but nothing comes. Instead a silence yawns between them which he has to cover with an ill executed laugh, his ears flattening with the emptiness of it. 

Stiles’ feet scamper, but he does his best to keep still, hold it for Derek’s evaluation. There is another beat. “You don’t like it?” His posing falters and Derek watches the practice of his form wilt. His shoulders slump and his tail starts flitting back and forth, a concerned swish between his legs. Derek sees a mortified blush bloom across his pale cheeks and suddenly his bravado evaporates before his eyes. “Ah,” Stiles winces, and Derek feels a pang of regret at the hurt he swears he sees flicker there. “I know it’s silly, but I thought you’d much prefer it to my usual state.” 

“I don’t.” In his rush to get it out, it falls like a stone and Stiles shakes his head, closing and opening his eyes slowly as though he were struck. “I mean, that’s not the right wording.” Derek panics and lets himself step forward, standing close enough that any onlookers might deduce they know each other— well enough there is no discomfort in this lack of spacing. He can feel his inexperience buzzing in his body, coupled with the sickly trembling at the memory of the last time he made flirtations. Stiles tries to softly back out of the intimacy, but Derek just advances again. “It doesn’t suit you— all of this.” 

He gestures around at the occupied ballroom and Stiles follows his hands, a certain defeat making itself at home on his face. Derek’s breath leaves and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to catch it. He hadn’t meant— that’s not what he wanted—. “I know that, Mr. Hale.” Stiles again stepped back and this time Derek did not surge after him. He looks ill, hands hovering over his vulnerable belly. 

For the first time ever, he does not bat back. He does not wriggle with the enjoyment of the chase. Derek’s arm reaches impotently in the gap between them, but neither of them step to let it touch. “I’ve fumbled my words, please forgive me—” Derek swallows and it feels like he has to force it down, but Stiles does not look back up at him. 

“You speak clearly, your lordship, as you always have. You are… quite precise with your words. Languages are your chief talent, are they not?” Stiles wraps his arms around his midsection, hands clutching so tightly at his elbows that it scrunches the fabric beneath. “It is I who has made the misjudgement. I thought I had the ear for it, but I’ve been arrogant. Do forgive my vain attempts, I will leave you to more befitting company. I hope I do not dampen the rest of the night too harshly.” He gives a curt nod and before Derek can drum up another attempt at his meeting, the fox scampers off into the party, shoulders hunched. Derek feels his stomach drop out, but he does not move from his perch. 

It would be unseemly to chase after the young man, obscene to yell his name. And beside, what would he be hoping to accomplish? Should everything go according to his plan, Jackson will be announcing engagement soon. His friend will have to make his way home. Derek has, at best, mere weeks left with the fox beneath his roof and will likely never see him again after that. 

Bachelor friends as such rarely stick around after a mating. They simply no longer fit the lifestyle. And it’s not like he’s here for the Hales. It doesn’t make sense to want to comfort him, to continually try and salvage their interactions. Shouldn’t it speak volumes that they continue to grate against one another like this? 

He’d had the shape of it right the first time. A fox didn’t belong in a wolf’s den. It was a hard lesson to learn, but it was one that they ought stick to. Even if it hurt. He clenched his hands tight enough that his claws nearly drew blood, swallowed the entirety of his drink in a single swig before snapping his fingers for another. 

He needed to focus. There was only one matter of import happening this evening and it had nothing to do with him. 

“Your brother is a fool,” Jackson hissed during one of his brief reprieves from the dance floor. He’d thought this would be a victory lap, that all he had to do to secure his preferred future was play nice for the rest of the evening. He’d dutifully filled his dance card, been polite to his every partner, let the other lords make their snide comments at him. It was all supposed to be worth it, all in payment towards their ultimate goal of breathing life back into Derek. 

Only they’d underestimated what a stubborn ass he could be. Cora scowled at him from over a champagne flute, waving away guests looking to make pleasantries before they could even get out their hello’s. “Obviously. We wouldn’t be here in the first place if that wasn’t true.” She roughly threaded her arm through her cousin’s proffered elbow and together they took a turn about the room, attempting to earn some measure of privacy through the sheer virtue of mobility. 

Jackson stole a look across the floor for his crestfallen kin, feeling a pang of momentary sympathy overtake his anger at the sight of Derek sullen in the corner. Despite enough lighting in the room to raise the temperature a good ten degrees, a dark cloud hung over him that was plain for anyone to see. Guests gave him a wide berth and already the murmuring had started. It was pathetic, but in a way that still made Jackson want to bring him in from the cold. 

“We’re running out of time to fix this. I fear if this night ends on a setback, we will never gain enough ground to secure a victory.” Cora chewed at her lips as they nodded to passersby, stopped every few steps to give deferential bows. “It took so much to get him out of his seclusion, he’ll sink right back in it if all he’s awarded for the effort is pain.” Her hand clung tight enough to him to threaten bruising, but he was not the sort to take it without a hiss. 

She rolled her eyes, but loosened her grip. “Yes, well we’re quite past the point of gentle nudging. At this point I’m all but carrying him to Stiles’ bed. I’m not sure what else can be done that he wouldn’t immediately catch on to.” Cora wrinkled her nose at him, but he just shrugged. If he had it his way and didn’t have to behave within these arbitrary, ridiculous rules, he would have just stripped them entirely and locked them in a closet. He’s sure they would have been yowling like cats in heat together within the hour. Unfortunately that option wasn’t available to him. 

They hold a moment of silence as they both consider their moves, the pieces still on the board. It was much harder to play against an opponent that wasn’t making logical moves. Derek threw away pieces so haphazardly it was hard to read any of his intentions. He might not even know them himself. They both made a noise of surprise as they were abruptly stopped by a group of kith determined to hold audience with them. 

Derek’s… insistent friends stood confidently in last year’s designs, grinning like jackals. Between them the Lady Martin imperiously swayed in place. Even without speaking, her siren nature was on full display. Doll like features so large and soft that they almost appeared alien. A slight iridescent sheen to her skin. Her clothes were of no fashion but her own, as always. A trend that she would no doubt set for others to pantomime in the coming months. “Might we join you?” her voice was sweet, but her eyes brooked no negotiation. 

Cora and Jackson shared a look, eyes a little wide, but ultimately acquiesced. Jackson was loathe to admit when he bumped up against his limitations, but contrary to popular belief, he was well aware of where they started and ended. It’s simply that he was also aware of which ones he could climb over with little care, and which ones he would regret getting stuck upon. He should be pleased to even be in the Lady’s presence, let alone have her company. For Cora this would be a great boon as well. If the county saw them making friends? She would surely be one of the most widely prized jewels of the courting season. 

Her smile was wide and wondrous as she cut between them, taking each with one of her arms. The matchmakers fell in line behind them, snickering and murmuring to each other like true lackeys. Jackson did his best not to pay them any mind, instead straightening his posture and allowing himself a bit of preening as eyes alit on their grouping. The Lady Martin tutted at him, but continued on nonetheless, speaking as soon as they started walking again. 

“I believe we all find ourselves assailed by similar complications,” she looked to each of them for confirmation, but neither felt brave enough to follow her blindly. She pursed her lips and raised a brow, clearing her throat a little before putting it more plainly for them. “There is but one reason we are all in attendance at this party and the nuances of arranging proper pairings must be handled just so. It is a wicked web to weave and I do not imagine any of us could accomplish it alone.” 

She peered out into the crowd and from a certain angle Jackson saw her eyes flash reflective light, flattening to predatory pools. It was a marker for near all of them, a sure way to pick any kith out of the crowd. With her breeding he imagined it easy to assimilate with the humans. There was so little about her to find disagreeable. Indeed he rather imagined that many who knew her would be jealous. All of her animalistic traits only served her beauty, made her ethereal. But that sheen gave her away. Still a hunter in the night like the rest of them. “And what, praytell, are the proper pairings in your vision?” he queried, earning a surprised inhale from Cora and an amused snort from Ms. Martin. 

She hummed a little to herself, considering the exact words she would use before she let them out. “I believe the Lord of your great house is more kith than he would care to admit and is deserving of a partner that properly waters and prunes such a nature as to make it flower,” she eyes them each without turning her head, assessing their reactions before she continues. They confer silently with each other over her shoulder— certainly tickling her if her small smile is anything to go by— before nodding. “And he is not the only of us with such… inclinations.” 

Jackson is used to hearing such references made in front of him, in all manner of company, but it still causes him to go on edge. It is no secret to those aware of his reputation, it is not as though he had made great pains to hide it. Unlike his stiff upper lipped cousin, he has never held any interest in denying himself pleasures. The world does enough of that for him. Still, he knows the pall that can cast, knows how humans currently see such things, despite their own histories. 

His tail works in smooth undulations, always available to help funnel his nerves. There is no use in denying such things, it would only due to insult the Lady, who apparently is interested in assisting them. It is a risk, assuredly, but he takes many of those. Gambling comes easy when you’ve been doing it your entire life. “No he is not,” he says so with great ease, as though he were confirming that he too enjoyed spending the afternoon riding. And in a way he supposes he was. He just wasn’t speaking of horses. He grinned at his own unsaid joke, mouth only splitting wider when he imagined how it was being received. As though the happiness came from his confession. 

Ms. Martin was only taken aback for a brief second before her usual confidence bled back through. She smiled back, studied her skirts a moment. “I do believe, for him, such a thing could be made trivial. I know not the depth of his ambitions, but from what I understand I do not imagine he would be cutting them at the knee. Your family businesses have been righted, your stability secured. There is a wealth of good reputation and good will at your disposal. He is afraid to spend it, but he is often too conservative with his plays. 

If his desire is truly just to do right by his family, then this matching is most auspicious. It will take work, work he might have to continue throughout his life, but he is more than capable. For others of us, that is not quite so. I have set my sights far higher than most would imagine for a woman of my status. There are a great many things which I wish to accomplish, things I can only do with a husband at my side. While I do not agree with the rules humans set out, currently they are the ones in control of the board. 

For now, I abide by them. But that doesn’t mean I cannot interpret the letter of the law. So perhaps there is another of us in a similar state. Someone conniving and cutthroat and capable of helping me get where I wish to go,” at this she tightens her grip on Jackson’s forearm. At the moment he has no idea how to react to such an offer, but he’s aware that it’s not one made lightly. He never would have imagined her to be in… such a way, but he supposes that’s one of their strengths. They could be anybody. He feels naked and raw for being seen so easily, but she bared herself in equal measure. 

He has to clear his throat to get the words to come out smooth, but all eyes from their party are on him. He stretches his neck, uncomfortable in his clothes for a moment, but ultimately settles. “It would be something of a scandal. Not so much so as to ruin your reputation, but I am a bastard, and though they know not the details, many find me queer by nature. Are you sure that’s truly the play you want to make for yourself?” 

For the first time since they started talking her softness appears genuine. She considers her skirts with a sad smile, takes a deep breath. “My chief ambition is my happiness. It has been hard fought for many a year to bring it to fruition and I am now so close that I can taste it. Society will have much to say of our pairing, but they will move on in time. We will accomplish much together to overshadow it, and they will be so busy with that gossip they will not notice where our true hearts make their home. Sometimes you have to sacrifice the queen to take the king. You just have to know when that’s the right call.” 

Her vulnerability is a thing to be in awe of and Jackson feels it steal his breath. Even if he could not love her in that way, he is amazed and endeared by her all the same. They are of many kins, and even just knowing this little of her, he is aware of how well matched they would be. Sex and romance are only parts of life, parts that he treasures, but parts that weigh equal to a great many others. Lydia Martin would be bountiful on his scales and he is honored to be afforded her companionship. 

He swallows around a lump in his throat and there is fragile, but amiable silence between them all. They give it room to breath, huddling in each other’s company as they circle this room of predators and the kith that they hound. Cora is the one to break it first, giving a fond if frustrated sigh. “So then we come back to my brother, the most difficult piece in all of this. I have been at my wit’s end with him for quite some time. This fox has brought parts of him back to us all, but he cannot do it alone. Derek has to want more for himself before he can accept what is being given.” 

They stop near to the spot where they have started, little runway left for their plotting. Stiles is stuck near a window, looking very much like he is ready to break out into the grounds and make a run for it. Derek has all but announced his defeat, taking a chair to watch others dance. Jackson turns them over and over in his mind, never so frustrated as with the people he loves. He’s startled when Mrs. Reyes taps on his shoulder, bemused with them all. 

“You polite society folk over complicate every issue. We are at an event expressly designed to pull courters together, force their affections into the light. Just treat them as everyone else, their hearts will do the rest.” Her only further elaboration is to take her husband by hand and lead him out onto the floor. The two of them paint quite the image amongst all the other dancers. They move to their own time, with their own steps. She openly cackles her delight and he lifts her with ease, soaring her over the crowds. 

Rude, but not unfair. Jackson turns to his potential new partner, gives her a slight bow. “My Lady, if you would afford me one last trespass, I think I might know just the thing.” She returns him a curtsy, already pleased with how he’s taken to her. “Cora, if you might direct our Lord’s attention for me, you’ll know just what to look for.” 

With that he takes off across the elaborately parqueted floor, hurrying to make it to his friend before the next song starts. Stiles had been a good friend to him, good enough that Jackson would imagine him a great pairing for his much treasured cousin. The fox was a kind man, a smart man, a talented man. Jackson would never say so to his face, he would never hear the end of it, but sometimes he found himself wishing their romance had borne fruit. 

He was handsome and dastardly and fun and oh how they had so tried to be more than wanton lovers. It was quite pleasurable to fail, but more painful than he would admit. If it were up to Stiles, Jackson would have never come home. They would have run away together and forgotten their surnames and made love in the open fields they tended to. If it were up to Jackson he would have forged documents of lineage for his fox, introduced him as a foreign dignitary to society, waged social war against these simpletons and easily conquered them together. 

They were incompatible ideas. Desires that made their bed cold no matter how they writhed together in it. Still, he could not be sour that Derek would perhaps get to enjoy that which he could not capture. Perhaps even, he was not deserving of it and that was why it had gone to a better suitor. This he would never tell his cousin—Derek was a truly great man, the kind that only came around every few generations. There was not a kith on this earth Jackson favored over him. He would burn the world to make his cousin happy. 

And so he approached Stiles in front of the entire assembly, tapped on his shoulder. His friend’s face was melancholy but for a moment, but he schooled it into playfulness with practiced ease. It would be unsettling were Jackson not about to try and wipe that from him forever. “May I have this dance?” he said, in a tone so soft no one would have believed it came from him. He tucked one arm behind him, proffered the other as he bent at the waist. 

Stiles’ eyes went wide and his tail stood stark, ruffled to full volume. His eyes darted all over the crowd, as one by one, attention started to turn. His ears tucked in mortification and he hissed a whisper down to his friend. “Jax, what are you doing? We’re in polite company, at your cousin’s graces. We will make a mockery of them!” 

Jackson just grinned, calling for an answer to his feral glee. “Won’t we just? I had thought that was your favorite thing?” Jackson glanced behind him and as if on queue he caught Cora nudging at Derek, turning him to look at them. His cousin’s face went deathly pale, and even from this distance Jackson could see him wringing a kerchief with such ferocity it was a miracle the fabric did not split. Stiles followed his eyes and after a beat Jackson saw a certain resolve settle through him. 

He took Jackson’s hand, allowed himself to be lead out onto the dance floor just as the strings started to swell into the open space. The crowd parted before them and Jackson felt great, true pride at shirking their scowls. He put his hand to his friend’s waist, looked deep into his lovely eyes. A 6/4 measure set their pace and the two started turning, instant grace and familiarity making it a dance to watch. Stiles’ eyes shone wetly and slow at first, but then all at once a joyous grin broke out on his face. He tipped his head in a chittering laugh and Jackson felt his heart swell. Even if they did not succeed, he would rest well knowing he had played as skilled as he was able, with an adoring heart. 

Derek can’t hear what his sister is saying, none of her words can fight past the ringing in his ears. The world goes pale for a moment and then all he is seeing is red. He jumps to his feet without realizing it, snarling as he stalks across the room. His teeth are bared and his hackles raised. He practically feels saliva dripping down his chops. 

Ungrateful whelp. Greedy viper. Wanton flatterer. The words feel bitter on his tongue, but they still spring to his mind. Intrusive ugliness that he cannot tamp down as his heart is incandescent with pain. He half expects to be in frustrated tears by the time he makes it to them on the dance floor. The couples had already become sparse when the two took to it, but more flee as they see him on approach. 

Under the eye of the entire county, Jackson betrayed him. How could he do this? Why would he do this? Derek did all of this for him! Paid for the food and the musicians and the flowers. Addressed the invitations and vetted the courters. He put his neck on the line bringing Lydia Martin out of her city apartment and all of it was to end in abject humiliation?

He did not want the fox. He— he couldn’t have him. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair! They laughed and the sound of it made Derek’s ears flatten, a mortified flush break out on his face. What if this had always been a joke to them? What if he had been played all this time? What if the fox was staying up late at night with his cousin, naked bodies leisurely twined, trading stories of his blind besottedness? Had Stiles only ever meant to tease him to make him feel the fool? 

Derek didn’t have it left in him to care if he was giving over the ultimate win. The fox had been terrifyingly successful. He should get to feast upon his victory. So Derek reached out to his cousin, gripped him harshly by the shoulder and tore him away. “What are you doing?” He couldn’t believe the heartbreak that gushed from those words. All the feral anger had amounted to little. He was practically whimpering before them. 

And after hearing that, all Jackson had for him was a pout. His cousin looked delighted to see him here, to have Derek howling out in pain. “Cutting in, my Lord?” he snickered, stepping back with a bow. “Only from you will I allow such a slight. But you must return me the favor one day.” Derek blinked rapidly in shock, not understanding what was happening even as Jackson hurriedly skittered away. 

Even Stiles looked baffled, hissing after his friend who appeared not to listen. The two kith stared dumbfounded at one another for a moment, but slowly began to realize just how many eyes were on them. The music had not stopped, but the couples around them had slowed. Those at the drinking tables were whispering behind hands. Many eyes looked them both up and down. 

Derek felt a certain panic begin to rise in his chest, but then his hand was being taken, his waist held. He whirled around and Stiles’ face swam into vision, nodding at him as he tried to usher Derek into time. His feet were clumsy, but the muscle memory big him to move before his brain could catch up. Stiles looked unsure of himself in a way that Derek had never before witnessed, but he focused it into a tremulous smile. “It’s okay, just focus on me.” 

Derek nodded, shaky, but let him take the lead. They caught up to the time signature and moved into the throng of couples, Stiles expertly weaving them in and out. It wouldn’t stop the gathered gossippers from staring, but it at least lessened the feeling of being in a spotlight on stage. Derek’s heart was still racing, his mouth felt dry, but the overwhelming deluge of anguish and confusion and anger at his own ineptitude abated. “I’ll never hear the end of this,” he muttered, trying his best to put on an air of disgruntlement. 

Stiles just snickered at him, but allowed it, played along. “Come now, is that really so bad? Derek Hale, upstanding citizen and beloved patriarch gone wild. Seen dancing politely with his ravishing house guest.” Stiles’ words were as sharp as ever, but his delivery was quavering. He ducked his head after it, as though waiting for Derek to chastise him. Had he really been so affected by Derek’s misplaced words? Surely a foot in the mouth could not bruise his confidences this badly. 

“I don’t think it’s the dancing they will note,” Derek admitted, words rushing out of him. The truth was almost too much to bear, but it was far easier to carry than this, than the idea of Stiles leaving thinking that Derek hated him when nothing could be further from the truth. Better to make one terrible evening of it and then be done with this forever. Why drag out the awkwardness, the ache that would split at him? Seamlessly he took over, switching Stiles into the more submissive form. He dipped his fox friend and then languidly pulled him back up, faces almost indecently close. “Derek Hale, they will read, seen fawning over a trickster, too far gone to notice his foot in the trap.” 

It came out in a breath, light and quiet. Stiles’ eyes were wide and his mouth jittered at a loss for words. Derek twirled him to give him reprieve. A portion of the dance arrived where they had to trade partners and their fingers scrabbled to stay together for as long as possible before they were passed off. Stiles was gathered up by the Lady Martin, Derek turned into his cousin. He tried his best not to just stare after the fox, but it was hard not to when he was clearly getting an earful from the finest woman in the county. 

Jackson snorted at him, drawing at least half of his notice. “You’ll be back with him soon, cousin. Don’t be greedy.” Derek flushed, but denied nothing. He would only look worse if he tried. “Did you really think even I would be so mean as to take him from you?” He chuffed, shaking his head. “Besides, he was never mine to have. Not for longer than a night. It was instant between you, if you were only able to see it plain. Everyone in the room knew.” Derek felt his shoulders rise in cowering embarrassment at that, having imagined himself all this time as obviously put upon by Stiles’ company. “Mates!” Jackson hissed, excitement and elation clear in his voice. “True mates if ever I have seen it. Do not throw this gift away. It is one in a lifetime.” 

It’s time already to switch back, but again Derek fumbles for just a second more, a lifeline to hang on to. He’s not ready. He’s not capable. Jackson whirls him out, twines their fingers before letting him slip through. He is smiling. And then Stiles stumbles into his front, hands on Derek’s chest to stop himself. The music and the dancers move on, but the two of them stay still. They stare at each other and Stiles chews his lips. “Walk me through the gardens?” he murmurs, so gentle only Derek can hear. “I think I need air.” 

He nods, bows like the gentleman he knows himself to be, then takes his guest by the hand. The muttering of the crowd crescendos as they leave, but Derek cares little for the waves of it crashing against him. He will deal with that later. What matters now is before him, tenuous and tender. It is like a fawn, still wet, standing on its own. They do not speak until they are out of the humid interior, amongst the rustle of the leaves. 

Derek cannot see them, but there must be clouds overhead, for the moon is gone from the sky and every so often he hears the rumble of thunder. In the distance, petrichor filters into the air and soon he knows he will taste it on his tongue. The humidity is brutal still, but there is the possibility for it to dissipate, for the frisson of lightning to evaporate it. He is anxious, but Stiles has not let go of his hand, pulls him deeper and deeper into the grounds. 

When they finally come to a stand still it feels as though they are in a bubble apart from the rest of the world, some other time and space. Stiles licks his lips, but still keeps a space between them. Derek cannot help but recall all the other times he let that happen. Watching the stable boy from a distance. Sitting in circles with the local boys. Keeping his face from his sparring partner despite the urgent grind of their bodies. He could not do that again, even if he wanted to. And he realizes that he doesn’t. 

A low burr starts between them, some animal noise he does not think he could make consciously. Stiles again puts his hand to Derek’s chest, but he keeps it there, even when Derek covers it with his own. “Your Lordship,” he starts, but Derek immediately interjects. 

“Derek. Please , call me Derek.” 

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek, but looks up at him and nods. “Derek,” it falls off his tongue and Derek thinks it sweeter than any summer fruit. “I do nothing in half measures. I simply cannot. If you mean to stoke passion in me, I warn you it will be a wildfire.” His hand turns from flat to clutching, working beneath Derek’s clothes to grip at his ruff. “Whether you embrace or spurn me, if you start this I will not stop. You will know no peace—” 

Derek cuts him off by surging forward, taking his mouth with such ferocity and hunger that it is though he were trying to devour the smaller kith. Their tongues lash and their teeth bite and spittle runs down their chins. Stiles yipes and Derek pulls at the back of his head, tipping it up further so that he might lick deeper. He crushes their bodies together, lifting Stiles with a single arm lashed around his back, smothering his hardness against the fox’s thigh so that he might know the full extent of Derek’s desire. 

When they pull apart it is with a gasp. Even with the light as limited as it is, Derek can see the sheen of his saliva marking the boy. He growls, low and possessive, lets his hand travel low to grab at the answering, throbbing sex of his partner. Stiles whines when he touches it, scampers on his feet to push into it. “Is that a promise?” Derek breathes, brows knit tightly together, speaking so closely Stiles might swallow the words. “I cannot fathom a day without your harassment.” 

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, backs him into a hedge so that he can bat away his hand. Instead he lines up their hips, hitches their shirts so their naked, sweaty stomachs flutter against each other. He rolls, smooth and unhurried, and drags every inch of their eagerness together. He makes Derek aware that not only were Jackson’s letters true, but that they were woefully inept at capturing the true essence of his skill. He fucks them against each other, bites at the wolf’s chin with a devilish chitter. “Then let me see how a lord makes a sire, and perhaps I will show you how clever a fox can truly be.” 

Derek groans and Stiles bites at his throat. Lightning cracks in the sky and thunder rumbles across the fields. Rain showers all at once and it is a deluge of relief. They do not stop. They do not chase each other inside. They tear at their sodden garments and toss them aside. They tumble to the muddy ground with utter glee. Their coats soak through, their claws dig gouges in the earth. Stiles yipes and Derek howls and somewhere in the back of his mind he prays the hammering of water covers their decadence, but even if it doesn’t he holds nothing back. They bray their pleasure to the open, wild air and smother each other in unkempt affection. 

The heat breaks. 

Derek ‘takes ill’ the next two weeks. A terrible cold from getting caught out in a storm that turned out to be the worst of the year. He was so sickly, in fact, that he just had to send his kin out of the manor, not wanting to infect them too. The Lady Martin was gracious enough to let them visit her in town, though it came as little surprise to anyone at the party. After all, it seemed she was much taken with the young bastard of the Hale family. An odd, but enticing turn that no gossiper had predicted. 

It was near enough news to quell the murmurs of Lord Hale seen hand in hand with another gentleman, and one of no standing no less. Derek kept his ear to the ground for it, expressly told the help not to hide it from him. If society were going to be speaking of him, better to know the full shape of it rather than bury his head in the sand. 

Some claimed to have known his deviance all along, others said something had clearly turned wrong in him after his great accident. Others still refused to believe such a great man could be laid so low as to fornicate in such a repulsive manner. A stalwart few were known to quash the talk wherever it arrived, waving away such nonsense. Let the man lie with whomever he pleased. A fine lord and an upstanding citizen. Was it not more lurid to take great interest in his bed partners than to leave it alone? 

He would not say they breezed on by him, but at present they were not able to hold much of his attention. Indeed he was very, very sickly and he needed much concentrated attention from their honorable guest. The fox had volunteered to be left behind, to help keep watch over the lord. And he was very, very attentive. Derek rolled his eyes every time he was shushed, pushed into bed, harried by cool, wet towels pressed to his forehead. “I am not sick,” he would grumble through a smile, trying his best to shrug his dourness back onto his frame. But these days it did not fit as well as it once did. Indeed it was rather uncomfortable. 

“Don’t speak!” Stiles would tut, stroking at his face. Derek narrowed his eyes, but acquiesced all the same. Stiles’ hands were ever gentle, affectionate where they stroked his skin. “You must save your strength, dear wolf. I will have need of it later.” His grin was salacious enough to have Derek redder than a raspberry, one that Stiles so enjoyed to suck the juices from. But it always melted into something sweeter, softer. Derek found as they got to know each other more and more that there was a great gentility to the fox that he rarely let others see. “You work too much,” he murmured, carding fingers through Derek’s ruff. Recently he’d stopped slicking it, let it fluff wild and warm. 

The fox, when not performing, was quite contemplative and quiet. He loved to sip tea at the window and nuzzle their temples in the afternoon sun. He would hum foreign tunes as Derek breathed in his scent and just held him, sometimes mutter the words Derek loved the sound of more and more. “Will you teach me it?” he asked, running his fingers along Stiles’ lips. 

“You really wish to learn?” Stiles asked, gentle, but true surprise in his voice. “It’s not the prettiest language. Quite harsh even. Besides, who would you speak it to?” Derek kissed his chest, his fingers, the tip of his nose. 

“You,” he answered, plain. 

Stiles looked smitten for a moment, then snorted, shoving at his face. “You are ridiculous.” 

They took a great many walks in the countryside around the property, visited the family graves. Derek introduced him to his parents, to Laura, and Stiles sat to talk with them the whole afternoon. Leaves were starting to change and Derek knew there would be a chill on the air soon. He was excited for winter pies and warm drinks and to sit by the fire again. 

He would not miss the buzz of the insects or the stink of hot manure or the yawning pit of overstretched evenings, begging for the sun to hit the horizon. But when he walked barefoot in the grass, hand in hand with his fox, he thought he better understood why Laura so loved the summer. It would never be his favorite season, but he grew fond of it anew, in a way that was different than all the others. 

He wondered what next year’s might bring.