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People filled the ballroom of the hotel. Supernatural creatures, humans, magic users, and others mingled and talked. Their voices created a loud hum interspersed with glasses clinking. Stiles’ head had started pounding and he wondered how any of the werewolves could stand the noise. He straightened the vest he’d worn in an effort to dress up and debated which group to approach first.
This wasn’t the first time Stiles had attended the annual gathering, but it was the first time he was here on a mission. After his friend, Scott, had left Beacon Hills to become an omega, Stiles didn’t have a Pack anymore. He’d continued training to become an emissary and now, at twenty-four, he was fully trained and without a Pack.
Most Packs that attended already had an emissary, but there were always a few newer Packs made up of young wolves that were searching for someone, and the gathering was the perfect opportunity. As the night wore on, Stiles met more Alphas than he’d ever known existed but hadn’t clicked with a single one.
The night was winding down and Stiles decided he’d just have to try again tomorrow at the events that were planned to keep everyone entertained. The hotel was only a few miles from his home, but he’d decided to stay on the premises so that he could be readily available if he did meet an Alpha who wanted him. Since he wouldn’t be driving, Stiles decided to imbibe a little before heading upstairs to bed.
The bar was pretty much empty since most people in attendance couldn’t get drunk, so Stiles walked right up and smiled at the dark-haired man standing behind the bar glaring a glass into submission as he wiped it down. “Hey, what do you have on tap? Anything local?”
The guy glanced up at Stiles, then over to the taps with pretty obvious labels, and then back at Stiles. “Oh-kay. Then, what’s good?” The man flashed red eyes at Stiles before pointing to the one in the center, a brew called, “Waxing Crescent.” “I’ll try that. Tall.”
The man nodded and carefully filled the glass he’d been cleaning before setting it on a coaster in front of Stiles. Reaching for his wallet, Stiles pulled out a few bills, but the guy waved him off. “On the house,” he said, his voice much smoother than Stiles had expected from the sharp angles of and stormy expression on his face.
“Thanks, dude. I appreciate it. It’s been a hell of a night,” he said. “How come you aren’t out there mingling?”
“My bartender called in,” he said. “And it’s Derek, not dude.”
“Well, Derek, I’m Stiles. Local packless emissary,” he said. “Your pack wouldn’t be looking, would they?”
“I am my Pack,” he said, leaning both arms on the counter, bringing his face closer to Stiles, his nostrils flared. “I’m Derek Hale .”
Stiles fought the urge to gape. Of course, he’d heard of the Hale Pack and the fire that had wiped most of them out. “I thought you had a sister-”
“She was killed last year,” Derek said. “By my uncle who was power-hungry. I killed him.”
“Makes sense,” Stiles said when he realized Derek was done talking.
“You don’t think I’m a monster?” He kept his face blank, but Stiles could feel the insecurity rolling off him in waves.
“Absolutely not. I think you did what you had to, and I can’t imagine how hard it was to kill your last living relative,” Stiles told him. “I just have my dad, so…” Derek met Stiles’ eyes and nodded, his throat bobbing. “Is that why you haven’t expanded your Pack? You’re worried people think you’re a monster?”
“Perceptive, aren’t you? Why isn’t there a line of Alphas waiting to snatch you up?” Derek’s face twisted into a sneer, but Stiles wasn’t going to let it bother him. He could already feel it; Derek needed him.
Turning, Stiles leaned back on the bar, sipping at his beer and studying the crowd milling around. Gesturing with the glass towards a blonde, he said, “That’s Erica Reyes. She and I went to high school together. Her family got her the bite to cure her epilepsy. They chose the most eager Alpha, but Erica doesn’t particularly like him or his pack.” He made another gesture to a large black man, leaning against a wall, watching the crowd stoically. “Vernon Boyd.” The man’s lips twisted into a frown, and his eyes shot to Stiles. “Hates his first name. Prefers to be called Boyd. Omega. Doesn’t know who bit him.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Derek asked.
“Because they are our new Pack,” Stiles responded simply, leaving no room for argument.
“Don’t I get a say in the matter? I am the Alpha, after all,” Derek pointed out, but his lips were curving into a beatific smile.
“No. All Alphas listen to their emissary,” Stiles told him.
“Who says that you are my emissary?”
Stiles flipped over the wrist he’d been hiding since he’d approached Derek. A raw red tattoo stood out on the inside of his wrist. “I'm assuming the triskelion is your Pack symbol.”
Derek snatched Stiles’ wrist and pulled him across the bar for a better look. “What is this?”
“Spark magic is very predestined,” Stiles explained. “When a Spark meets their Alpha, the magic lets them know. I wasn’t sure how; I thought it would be a more mental thing, but I felt the burning of the tattoo as soon as we made eye contact.”
“So…”
Stiles grinned. “So, you’re stuck with me.”
Derek shook his head, running his finger around the mark. Tiny black tendrils traveled up his arm, and the burning subsided. “Oddly, I don’t even want to argue, but I have a feeling this is the only thing we won’t argue about in our future.”
Stiles fought off the shiver going up his spine at the intimate gesture. “ Our future...I like the sound of that,” Stiles said. “So, what time do you get off?”
Derek raised his eyebrows. “I close the bar at two, so I don’t know….how long will it take to get up to your room?”
Stiles narrowed his eyes in confusion until he connected the wording of his question with Derek’s answer. He felt his face flush red, relieved when Derek’s ears turned red. “Why, Alpha, was that a sexual innuendo?” Stiles teased once he’d gotten his emotions under control.
“Depends…”
“On?” Stiles asked.
“On if you’ll have breakfast with me tomorrow where we don’t discuss you being my emissary,” Derek said.
“So, a date?” Stiles asked, grinning. It wasn’t unheard of an emissary also being an Alpha Mate, but he hadn’t ever considered it for himself. When Derek nodded, his mind started planning a very different future than he’d ever expected. “Then, it’s a date.”
Another customer came up to the bar then, and Stiles could feel Derek’s anger. Reaching out, he rested a hand on his arm, pushing calm into him as he slid his extra room key over to Derek. “Do your job and come up when you’re done, and we can discuss breakfast.”
Derek smiled at him, leaning over to rub his nose against Stiles’ temple, marking him as Hale Pack. Stiles smiled and backed away when he let him go, keeping his eyes locked with Derek’s until he’d reached Boyd. Turning, he gave Boyd a bright, welcoming smile. “So, how would you like to join the Hale Pack?”