work_inprogress | For we all are caught in the middle / Of one long treacherous riddle (For Lydia)

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For we all are caught in the middle / Of one long treacherous riddle (For Lydia)

It was quite possible that Lydia was not flirting with the Alpha twin. Possible Aiden was hitting on her and being gently shut down. Possible Stiles was wrong. The rational side of Peter's brain told him that's what it was as he lurked outside the school, watching Lydia in a way that was not at all creepy or stalkery. Really.

He was just checking on her, given her repeated trances and her fear of what was going on. He was looking out for her, making sure she was okay. It was concern, not territorial marking. Really.

He'd already done that.

A faint growl escaped his throat and the Alpha boy's head snapped toward the woods, but Peter was already gone.

Peter followed her the rest of the afternoon, into the evening, watched her with her friends. Watched as Aiden followed her, too, though far more openly. Pity, when the boy came back out, his tires had been slashed, and Peter didn't much care if he thought Scott or Isaac had done it. He had no proof and reason enough to already go after them. What were a couple of tires?

He was at her home before her. After determining her mother wasn't home--a far too usual occurrence for his idea of decent parenting, but highly convenient--he leaped to the tree by her window, then let himself in through it. He didn't sprawl out on her bed to wait, this time. He paced in the darkness instead, moving to the far corner of the room when he heard her car, out of her line of sight when she'd come in. Leaning against the wall there, he waited.

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There was a first: Peter Hale asking if she was okay.

"Besides feeling like I was struck by a tornado, I'm fine." She turned her head to lean up enough that she could brush her lips over his. But then she was smirking as she pulled back. "You were jealous."

His gaze narrowed a little and he made a face, but he didn't even try to narrow it. "Is that so strange?"

"Maybe." She admitted, a brief flick in her gaze as she looked down at his chest but she was never one to hide for long as she looked up at him again with a vague smug look. "It was nice. Except for the whole scaring and hurting me."

Already there was a bruise forming on her arm from where he had grabbed her.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he murmured, his fingers wrapping more lightly around her wrist and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. "Or scare you."

Whether either of those had been true in the moment, when he'd wanted to mark her, make her think twice about looking at the boy, he was sincere now.

"Maybe not now that you're calm." She replied, watching him as he pressed a kiss to her wrist, causing her pulse to flutter again.

"What would you have done if something had been going on?"

He focused on the flutter of her pulse more than the part where she knew him a little too well already. Granted, she'd dealt with him in her head, and he'd hurt her badly, both physically and mentally, so. He could only protest so much.

His gaze met hers, both serious and a little troubled. "I don't know."

Gone after Aiden, for sure, and probably gotten himself hurt or worse, given his loss of power.

Lydia met his gaze, noting the troubled and serious look as he considered her question. Shifting closer, she tucked herself against his chest as she pressed her face to his neck and closed her eyes.

He wasn't completely sure what to make of her move, but he tightened his arms around her, cradling her against him. There were things he wanted to say, to explain, but if Derek hadn't bought his reasons, he couldn't expect her to.

"Penny for your thoughts?" She asked soft a moment later, resting her forehead against his neck while brushing her fingers over his chest.

He was silent for a few moments longer, playing with the ends of her hair. When he spoke, his tone was a little wry. "I was just thinking how...I wasn't always like this. I'd still have been jealous, six years ago, but I wouldn't have leapt to violence so quickly." He paused, them grimaced. "Not that this would have happened six years ago, obviously." She'd been eleven. He wasn't a pedophile, whatever else you said about him. "But if you'd been grown or near, and I'd just been...who I was."

He paused, then shook his head. "No. Who I was wouldn't have touched you, even if he wanted to. Not until you'd at least gotten out of high school."

"I probably would have still pursued you." She informed him, something in her tone saying that he wouldn't have been able to resist her if she had really put her mind to it. Still, she couldn't help but wonder what he would have been like if the fire hadn't happened and she had to wonder if she would have been drawn to him the same way.

"Or maybe not." She lifted her head to look at him finally. "If things had happened differently, you wouldn't have needed me the way you did. I might not have even been on your radar."

It was hard to think of her not in his radar, but he had to admit she was probably right. Unless Cora had brought her home, he might not have laid eyes on her for a while. He wouldn't have been the Alpha, so wouldn't have turned Scott and been pulled into their world.

"I probably wouldn't have been on yours, either," he pointed out with a wry smile.

"Maybe, maybe not." She would have been attracted to him if she had ever seen him and she figured she would have eventually in a place like Beacon Hills. But maybe he would have been married by then, to a woman his age.

The idea made her frown as she watched her fingers drifting over his chest. Strange, she felt possessive now too.

"Doubtful," he murmured, to the thought in her head more than the words she said. "My brother was the Alpha, already with children. I wasn't in a hurry to find a mate and be more than an uncle." It likely would have meant breaking off and forming another pack--allied, but independent. They'd grow too large, otherwise. Often, second sons never took mates, just helping to raise the young of the pack, as wolves in the wild did.

Lydia's lashes fluttered in surprise as she tilted her head back to look at him again, her eyes narrowing. "Are you reading my mind?"

Peter shrugged, reaching to trace a fingertip down her cheek. "Maybe a little bit..." He'd left a piece of his soul in her, after all. It wasn't that challenging.

"Can I do it to you?" She asked, arching a brow at him as her fingers slid slowly to his stomach, playing with the trail of hair beneath his belly button.

He tilted his head, considering her. "I don't know. I can't do it all the time." Just when they were in sync like this, it seemed.

"What about when we're sleeping?" She pressed, thinking of all the times he had gotten into her head while she had been dreaming.

He gave her a smile. "When we're sleeping, I don't really have any control, but it seems easier. Like something's pulling me to you."

"Maybe that mark." Even as she said it, she moved her hand to touch her side lightly, feeling the scars that marred her side.

"Probably," he agreed quietly, reaching to trace his fingers slowly over the scars.

A little shiver worked through her at the feel of his fingers sliding over her scars. "I should hate you for those." She murmured without much heat.

"You should hate me for a lot of things," he agreed quietly. "Why don't you?"

"I don't know." She admitted honestly, shaking her head slowly before glancing up at him again. "I should but I don't want to anymore. Somehow it feels better, easier, not to."

As though hating and resisting him was like waging a battle upon herself.

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