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A Deal With the Devil


Chapter 2: Revertere


Tonight, I’m going back to the beginning.


All day, I had been making preparations. Every move I made was meticulous and well calculated. If anyone months ago had saw me now, they would scoff with a little shake of their head and say ‘Stiles? I know my kid, and if there is anything I’ve learned, it’s that never, for the life of him, can sit his ass down.’ Or ‘Stiles, that spaz (chuckles)... yeah, ok. ’ Boyd would probably just look never really showing what he thought other than the joining in on the teasing smirks and disbelief that encompassed the room. It’s only now that I’ve had the chance to really sit down and write. Derek having gone on his afternoon run shouldn’t be back for some time.

After what happened with Matt and the whole Kanima situation with Gerard that ended in my kidnapping, I had been seeing Ms. Morrell for weekly counseling sessions in school. The thing is, I never really trust her or Deaton, for that matter. They always rubbed me the wrong way with how much they seemed to omit and give information at the perfect times. How, no matter what they told you, somehow, later down the line, something comes crashing down in your face because of something that they failed to mention at that time. I hated the way that we, the pack, managed to get into so much danger, but, somehow, they were never targeted. From the very beginning, Deaton had found himself in the perfect position to manipulate us, because what did we know? For all we knew, he was the old Hale Pack Emissary; he knew all things Hale territory. After Scott was turned, we had become hugely dependant on the info Deaton supplied.

Scott scoffed at my distrust for Deaton writing it off as my jealousy of him being a wolf and not having time for me because of his work and Allison. Alison, Allison, Allison. Every single fucking conversation always went back to her. Apparently, Scott couldn’t separate his stupid dick from his own morals and ego for a goddamn second. Of course, like always, I submerged my own disgusted disbelief, because I knew he didn’t mean it that way, but Scott could be so damn clueless sometimes that I just want to hit him upside his head a few times. Knowing me, I actually did a few times. Yep, I didn’t regret a thing; my hand on the other hand was something else.

Thinking back, I’m upset I didn’t forgo Scott’s ego and knock him down a few pegs. I’m so damn frustrated that I didn’t put an end to his unhealthy codependence on Allison. Even after what they did-

It wasn’t until my words were becoming smeared and my vision blurred that I realize how much I had let my thoughts consume me. Closing my journal, I lock it in the drawer of my desk shaking at the very thoughts. My tears weren’t those of anguish but those of anger, anger at myself, anger at the Argents, anger at Deaton...at Scott. And that’s how Derek found me, curled in on myself on the floor of my childhood room. Recently, I have been a whirlwind of emotions, and looking up at Derek and seeing the utter despair and pain in his eyes set off a whole new round for me. Only recently have I actually confronted what occurred that night. No one else knows what really happened but me. I mean Deaton knew or could have guessed parts of it based his knowledge of Beacon Hills, my parents and my personality changes that led up to the devastation, but he wasn’t necessarily part of the equation anymore. When that light overwhelmed me and the darkness overpowered and consumed me, I was long gone, just along for the ride. I blacked out, came to with Deaton’s bloody corps on the floor, and Derek passed out in my arms. What scared me the most about Deaton’s death was the way that he died. When I say bloody, I don’t mean a body littered with gashed and open wounds bleeding out on the floor. Deaton died with tears of blood dripping down his face, blood undulating down from his ears, with hands clutching his head. He died in a way that left me haunted and almost filled with pity.

It’s been months since everything happened. Earlier this morning, I said that the pack was destroyed by the Argents I meant that in every way not just death. Scott manipulated by Allison, Derek manipulated by Kate, Derek’s Uncle murdered while in a coma by Kate, Isaac, Boyd and Erica tortured by Gerard. I never actually got to meet his uncle, but I knew he didn’t deserve what happened to him. The thing is I can’t even piece together how it all happened. That entire year was filled with memory/time lapses. One minute I’m going to bed for school tomorrow, the next I come to while walking to my car from the Argent house days later. The only reason Derek survived was because we mated that night. Sure we were together before then, but after losing his pack, he was feral, the only think that could save him was to please his wolf, redirect its focus. To mate. I never told the pack what was happening to me, but outside the pack, Deaton must’ve known or figured it out that night.

I spent months after that trying to pick up the pieces. Derek moved in to my childhood home to watch over me. Even though he tried to hide it, I knew how much guilt that night held over him.

At some point after Derek found me, we migrated onto the couch where we sat cuddled up to one another offering little comfort in soft affectionate kisses and silent whispered promises. I can’t even imagine what kind of future we could possibly have with this holding over on us. That’s how we fell asleep, me lying barricaded in his arms, my head on his and his against my chest. It always ended like this. Whenever Derek found me like that, it was always a trigger for him and it turned from him comforting me to falling into hysterics himself.

Turning to press a kiss to his head, I breathe in the scent on home and safe. My nose turns up when it gets a whiff of the underlying scent of grief, depression and hurt. Pulling his shirt, I expose the tail end if the scar of the wolfsbane entry wound. He hasn’t been able to heal much since then. He lost nearly everything that night short of losing his mate, short of losing me. The thing is, I’m not Derek’s true mate. Wolves can have multiple mates, but they only have one true mate. When we reach a stage of maturity, our true mate’s name reveals itself to us on the most vulnerable and intimate spot, just below the right side of your neck where the mate bite is to go. It’s not much for me to just refocus my attention upwards and read the name that will forever be a reminder of our fate. I read the name with grief. Grief for the pain Derek went through as a child because of the Argents. In beautiful print reads the name Paige Krasikeva. Pulling back with a final kiss to his head, I go to get up when arms pull me back.

“Sti” Sleep ridden; Derek looks into me with heavy lids. “Wha-

I shush him as I gently lift his head into a kiss. I run my hand through his hair as I run my right thumb across his lips. Pressing into me, Derek runs his nose across the surface of my neck soaking in as much as possible. Sighing in contentment, he presses a single kiss to the mating bite just above my right collar. I couldn’t let him claim me on the left side knowing what I was going to do. Leaning back, a soft smile on my face, I press another kiss head, breathing in before releasing a whisper into his hair. “Come on Der lets go to bed.”

I stayed there as long as I could, but I knew I would have to get up at some point to do what I needed to do. Waiting until Derek’s breathing and heartbeat found a low even rhythm. Looking at the clock, I realize that it’s almost midnight. As I go to get up, I am welcomed by unconscious whimpers as the werewolf beside me burls deeper into me, pressing his nose into my chest. Releasing his unrelenting grip, I press a kiss to his hands as I settle them in the cradle left in my absence. Placing a final kiss, I say one final thing, a whisper on his skin. I make my way out of the house and towards the Nemeton.

"Żegnaj, moja miłość, moje serce. Kocham Cię. Możemy zobaczyć siebie nawzajem ponownie."

Goodbye my love, my heart. I love you. May we see eachother again.

Sitting there, at the center of the Nemeton, at the center of Beacon Hills, I close my eyes and the thrum of power flow through the earth, through me. I can hear the whistle of the wind flow throughout the forest, almost playing the tune of a song. I can feel the pull of the moon as its light beats down onto my skin. I can feel the creatures of the night, their power connected to the Nemeton thus creating an indirect connection to me. Releasing a collected breath, my eyes shoot open as I let that power consume me, that power that I fought so hard to forget of that night. The power that killed my pack will be the power that saves them. My eyes emit a brilliant scarlet hue filtering the once beautiful surroundings into an angry red. Darkness encompasses my soul. That darkness flows from me as the haze consumes me once more. The words I seek forcefully flows from my mouth echoing in the abandoned woodland. A satisfying smirk descends onto my face as I welcome the darkness that’ll bring me to my family.

Meus est orbis, perdidit. Deleantur innocents. Ego vadam revertar. ad initium.
Et salvabit eosRevertere. Reverte ut in praeteritis Revertere. Revertere. Revertere!

My world was destroyed

Slaughtered innocents

I will go back

To save them all.

To the beginning


Return to the past

Just when I thought I was home free, a thunderous storm of lightning strikes down around me just before a figure appears before my eyes. Before I even have time to react, a handsome man with dark hair flashes to me with an almost angelic grace before he presses a hand to my head. The last thing I hear is ”Protect them Guardian" before my vision is consumed by an overpowering white light. The last thing that flashes through my mind is who is this guy and why is he wearing a trench coat. Really, Lydia would so not approve.

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