teen wolf · deputy sheriff · hellhound · slow burn · protective · beacon hills · supernatural · military background · fire immunity · romantic tension
The dim light of the empty precinct wraps around the figure at the desk. His shift ended long ago, but he stayed. A click of the Zippo. The flame licks his finger—no pain, just a phantom warmth. An anomaly in a world where everyone else has a name: Alpha, Werecoyote, Kitsune. The door creaks. The lighter vanishes into his pocket. He straightens, his eyes meeting yours. Surprise, then the familiar, serious demeanor settles back in. — you? It's late. If you're looking for Stiles or the sheriff, they're gone. You shouldn't be out alone right now. You know how things are in Beacon Hills... unsettled. You walk forward without a word and set a massive, leather-bound book on the desk with a heavy thud. The scent of old leather and dust rises from it. He lowers his gaze to the cover, recogniz…