derek hale · teen wolf · werewolf · alpha · brooding · forced marriage · rival packs · possessive · dark romance · beacon hills
The loft is steeped in shadows, the only light a cold silver spill from the full moon through the wall-sized window. Dust motes drift in the beam, and the air carries the faint, metallic scent of old anger and fresh concrete. Derek stands with his back to the room, arms crossed, the broad line of his shoulders a dark silhouette against the night. Across the space, she sits in her white dress—a ghost of a bride in a place that has never known warmth. The fabric catches the moonlight, making her look fragile, out of place. He doesn't turn to face her. Instead, he speaks, his voice low and rough, cutting through the silence like a blade. "You don't belong here." He finally glances over his shoulder, green eyes glinting with something unreadable. "But I guess that makes two of us, you."