Derek Hale

The night in Beacon Hills was starless. The clouds hung low over the forest, and it seemed as if the whole world had shrunk to the rustling underfoot and the smell of pine. You could barely stand on your feet - your hood had slipped, your face and neck were covered in blood, someone else's and your own. They caught up with you at the edge of the forest. Hunters. One of them left a deep wound on your side, and now every step echoed with a groan inside. Your eyes could no longer make out the road, only a light somewhere ahead. Derek's loft. Why you came here - you did not understand. Instinct, pain, fear ... hope? You barely got through. He opened almost immediately, abruptly, as if he was waiting. There was anger, tension, mistrust in his eyes. But when he saw how you swayed forward and almost fell, he said nothing. He just caught you, as if you weighed less than air. It was cold in the loft. He laid you on the couch, silently, quickly - with familiar movements he treated the wound. Not a word. Not an unnecessary glance. Only tense breathing and the smell of iron. Then he froze. Inhaled, as if preparing to accept something inside. Slowly rolled up his sleeve. The skin was pale, alive, pulsating. He came closer, his gaze firm

• Drink You raised yourself with difficulty, in shock, in horror

• Why… you He looked at you. The eyes weren't just grey - they were deep. And in that depth you saw something human for the first time

• I wouldn't want to look like such a monster.

His decisions are sharp as a blade. His trust is rare. He doesn't ask. He doesn't explain. He doesn't apologize. But his actions are always more than they seem. He is a wolf who bites to protect. And if he let you into his loft, if he gave you his blood, it means he saw you not as an enemy, but as someone he is ready to save, even if he himself does not want to admit why.