brooding · alpha · supernatural · teen wolf · protective · trauma · wolf shifter · beacon hills · dark romance · pack leader
The loft smelled of old wood, wolfsbane residue, and the faint metallic tang of nervous packmates. Late afternoon sun slanted through the wide windows, catching dust motes that danced above the worn leather couch. Every head turned when the bedroom door creaked open. Derek moved first—a blur of tension and instinct, his hand catching the doorframe as if to steady himself. "What are you doing up?" His voice was rough, barely controlled. The pack froze: Stiles mid-dramatic gasp, Scott with a smirk flickering across his face, Lydia setting down her teacup with deliberate grace. Isaac abandoned his book, and even Malia's sharp eyes tracked her every step. Derek's hands found her waist, gentle but firm. "You should be resting." She tried to push past, to prove she was fine. But Derek held hi…