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4llmywr1tings · 5 years

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Mark of the Wolf Part 7 (Derek Hale x Reader)

Catch up here!

A/N: So I take major liberties with the lore of transferring memories between werewolves in this chapter, but it’s still bordering the line of the established lore in the series so… But now I can happily say that the mystery of who the Order are and what they want is slowly unravelling. Now about that slow burn… (Also when you read the dream state part where the reader’s eyes change colour, that’s just the eye colour of her inner wolf).

Note: I had previously described Derek’s eye’s as being Hazel but I was corrected and was informed that they are in fact Green, so I edited the eye colour descriptions.

Words: 3660 (this chapter was long!)

Warnings: Violence, Past Trauma??? That’s it I guess.

(gif isn’t mine)

“I’m like you. I’m a werewolf.”

The words rang through the room as all four sets of eyes were on you.

Scott’s face was scrunched up in thought, he had found your reveal to be quite the shocker. You guessed he was probably unsettled by the fact he had never sensed the werewolf in you. Not that many could. Even your own family had a hard time sensing your other half. They had said it was because the wolf had remained buried, never once surfacing to take to its own unique scent and feel.

Stiles and Liam seemed the least shocked. If anything Stiles seemed to find some credibility in your being a werewolf. After all, just as Liam put it, the Order hunts other supernatural creatures, not humans.

Derek, however, had an unreadable expression on his face. It bothered you somewhat. You didn’t want him to look at you with that same level of distrust and caution as he used to. You had hoped things would be different after the attack on the clinic.

You waited in deafening silence as the boys mulled over your words. Until finally Derek spoke.

“How did you know the sage would work?” Derek asked, to your delight he regarded you no difference on account of your secret being made known. You felt more at ease for some reason.

“I’m not sure. I just knew,” You told him, surprised by his choice in question.

“How come we couldn’t sense you?” Liam asked, bringing the focus back to your newly revealed secret.

“You and I both know the wolf form and the human form can have two very distinct scents. Also, I’m what you call an ‘afflicted,’” You said in a hushed voice, the word afflicted rolled off your tongue with a slight sting to it. You always hated that word.

“What is that?” Scott asked, finally breaking from his stupor.

Derek’s brow was drawn together as he wore his signature scowl whenever he was deep in thought.

“I thought they were a myth. My mother told me stories as a kid… the Afflicted are pure born shape-shifters who can’t shift,” Derek looked at you with what you assumed was pity in his eyes.

“Yahtzee,” you said sardonically, “give this man a prize.”

“That’s a thing?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, my mother would tell me these stories about werewolves being cursed to stay in their human form forever. To be honest, I always thought it was just a scary story to keep me from turning outside a full moon,” Derek had a fond look on his face, the memory brought about a bitter-sweet touch to his chiselled features.

“It’s actually a recessive gene. My family are one of the last few remaining carriers. It only runs in pure-blooded werewolf families. My brothers and sisters can shift, my mother is the carrier and I’m the one with the genetic predisposition, that is, assuming lycanthropy works the same way as gene expression,” You said brazenly, a solemn smile gracing your lips.

Stiles’ eyes went wide as he flailed about trying to open one of the leather bound books he had in his possession. His actions caused quite the ruckus and you had to stop yourself from laughing at his goofy behaviour.

“Okay so on my way here, I started thinking about the name they gave the hunted: Ex Alia, right. And it’s an odd phrase because combined Ex Alia actually means 'from the other’ and that can also mean 'apart from’, right.”

“Stiles, we’ve been over this,” Derek said running his fingers over his thick eyebrows.

Stiles mimed Derek’s words back at him in a comical way, “If you would just let me finish!”

Derek held up his hands and folded them over his chest, eyeing Stiles intensely for the loud tone he had shouted at him with.

“Thank you,” Stiles said condescendingly, “Now, what if it’s in reference to werewolves who are apart from their kin. Like for example…”

“Werewolves or other shapeshifters who can’t shift,” Scott finished Stiles’ thought.

Even though Stiles argument made sense to you, you couldn’t help but fight against his logic, “Even if that were true, they still went after Alex, and he could shift,” you rebutted.

“Yes, but you said it’s genetic. So what if Alex was a carrier?” Stiles rebuffed.

You went silent. Stiles had a point.

You knew Alex since childhood, he was a third generation werewolf. Your family had a close relationship with other legacy families, that’s how you met. It was completely plausible for Alex to be a carrier for the same recessive gene you expressed.

You were startled from your lamentation when you heard a booming knock come from the bunker door. Everyone in the room exchanged questioning glances as they silently asked each other if they knew who it could be.

Stiles drew the short straw and offered himself up to go and see who it was. You were still standing there, numb from everything that had transpired.

You heard Stiles pull open the heavy metal door of the bunker, mutter a quick “Nope,” like he was rejecting Girl Scout cookies and shut it behind him before he came to re-join the half circle again.

“Who was it?” Liam asked.

“No one important,” Stiles said coolly as he waved the question away and wore an upturned frown. It was certainly a dubious look. Derek wasn’t convinced as he raised a brow at him.

A second later, Derek and Scott’s heads snapped to the doors direction just as the door flew off its hinges. Their claws and fangs protruding outwards, their wolfish features taking shape.

Liam was already fully shifted, his nostrils flaring as he let out snarls for breaths. The energy coming off him was powerful and angry, making you instinctively take a few steps back.

All three of them lined up in front of you and Stiles, their eyes creating a gradient from red to yellow to blue. Their animalistic growls echoing through the room.

A set of footsteps descended the steps in a relaxed, languid manner. They belonged to a handsome faced man, slightly older than everyone else in the room, with the same dramatic streak as Derek. He smiled wickedly as he opened his arms in a warm mocking embrace, his head held up high like some entitled prince. His own blue eyes glowing with the same intensity as Derek.

Derek, Liam and Scott retracted their fangs and claws and dropped their defensive stances as soon as they registered who it was that had just punched the door in.

Apparently, the man making the needlessly dramatic entrance wasn’t a threat.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to shut the door in people’s faces?” The man asked Stiles in a low threatening voice. His clawed fingers dusting off none existent dust from his leather jacket.

“Yeah, well I was also told not to invite homicidal maniacs into any enclosed spaces with me, so…” Stiles shot back.

“Peter, what are you doing here?” Derek asked with a hint of familiarity.

“Why dear nephew, I heard your call.”

“Okay who called the homicidal maniac?” Stiles said as he looked over at Derek, Scott and Liam with exasperation.

“He meant the howl,” Liam told Stiles.

“Oh, this is just great,” you sighed, plopping yourself down on the stool where Liam had previously sat. “More werewolves.”

Stiles just patted you back and gave a weak, “There, there,” in place of consolation.

“So what have I missed?” Peter said with a large smirk on his clean-shaven face.

The next hour was spent catching Peter upon what was currently plaguing Beacon Hills and your life.

Peter stopped Scott from talking with a single look when he heard you had repressed the memories from the night Alex died. He had an idea, you could read it on his face.

He came and stood a few inches away from you, looking down at you like you were some mathematical theorem to be solved. He held up one finger after much silence and ushered Derek closer to you.

“Derek, come here a second,” he said. Derek obliged but made sure to drag his feet a little so Peter didn’t think Derek was open to being summoned.

“I hear you have amnesia,” Peter directed the statement to you, you just stared up at him and didn’t reply. “You’re a werewolf, right? So that means even though you can’t shift, the same rules apply to you?”

“In a way. I can heal faster than humans, my sense of smell is better and in some cases, I can hear better, but without the ability to shift those powers are significantly weaker to that of actual shapeshifters. But… yes, the same rules apply. Wolf’s-bane is still toxic to me, I still feel the pull of the moon, and my abilities are magnified when I’m in a pack. Why do you ask?” You were curious as to where Peter was going with this.

“Just making sure this won’t kill you,” Peter just gave an innocent smile before he extended his claws and dug them into yours and Derek’s neck, linking you to one another, using himself as a conduit. Before you were lost in the spiral of memory and shared consciousness, you heard Stiles say “Oh my God!” in shock and Scott shout Peter’s name in an alpha male voice.

It was too late though, you and Derek were already linked and pulling you out now would just cause more harm than good.

***

It felt like you were free falling through an endless white space. Incoherent chattering and sounds playing all at once like someone had overlapped several songs onto a single track.

You were lost in the cacophony of your mind in disarray, until you felt Derek’s hands link with yours, pulling you from your confusion.

“Where are we?” You asked him.

Derek looked around at the white empty space, it was like staring at a blank canvas that had no end. His brows knit together for a moment before he realised what was going on.

“We’re in your mind, Peter linked us in a shared dream state. Werewolves can sometimes share memories by a bite or a scratch. I think in this case he figured you couldn’t grow out your claws or fangs, so he used himself as a proverbial telephone cord.”

You were familiar with how the sharing of memories worked. Your father had done something similar with your older brother Markus when he had passed on the mantle of Alpha to him.

Just as you were reliving the memory, the blank canvas of your mind bled through with colour and voices and suddenly a clear image of that day began to replay as though you had just stepped back in time.

Your brother was lying in the centre of a field by the meadow you had spent much of your childhood watching your sibling’s roughhousing.

Markus was writhing in pain as his eyes shimmered between his former vibrant gold to the frightful red they were now. Your mother, sister and younger brother were standing alongside you as you all watched your father transfer his powers onto Markus.

“What is this?” Derek asked

“The Markolf tradition,” you said with a hint of pride at your legacy and sorrow for the pain your brother was enduring.

Your brother let out a howling scream, you winced. so did Derek.

You continued, “We differ from most werewolf families because we have the ability to pass on the mantle of alpha when we are no longer fit enough to carry it. That’s partially where we got our name from. Markolf is old High German, it combines the words ‘border’ and ‘wolf’ because we aren’t like most werewolf families. The transferral is painful and can only be done during a full moon. If none of the pack contests, and if the progeny is strong enough, then passing on of the mantle is usually successful.”

“I’ve never heard of this…” Derek was perplexed and in awe of what he saw unfolding.

“My great-grandfather was what you call a True Alpha, he discovered it was possible to pass on the gift by focusing his power through a bite. However, in doing so, you also relinquish most of your strength, making you considerably weaker.”

Derek shook himself of his astonishment and tugged at your hand to make you face him, “I think I know why Peter did what he did. If you can’t remember what happened to you, then maybe I can. Earlier, you were having a nightmare, I think it was about the night Alex dies.”

You squinted your eyes at him, not having any memory of having had a nightmare earlier, “I don’t remember having a nightmare.”

“It must be your subconscious protecting you from the trauma. All I need you to do is just think about that night. Close your eyes and picture it, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

You closed your eyes and let your mind wander.

***

Derek kept his eyes on you while yours stayed shut. He held onto your hand to be your anchor, your guide. He watched silently as the canvas began to bleed through with new colours and images and sounds again.

It started with a laugh.

A sweet, sing-song laugh that tugged at Derek’s heartstrings. He turned in the direction of the laugh and saw a younger version of you. A version from the past. He couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked with a bright eye-creasing smile and a glow to your skin from the beams of light falling against your body from the moon.

Derek’s breath hitched in his throat as he saw the younger version of you wrapped in another man’s arms. A strong man’s arms. Alex, no doubt.

Alex tucked a strand of your longer hair behind an ear. There were accents of playful red streaks hidden amongst the darker parts of your hair. He enjoyed your vibrancy and so did Derek.

You had seemed a different person in the memory. More carefree and easier with a smile, it had managed to coax an unexpected smile from Derek too.

Alex whispered sweet nothings in your ear as the camp sight materialised behind you, and soon so did the trees and the speckled night sky.

Derek couldn’t help it when his jaw tightened and his eyes filled with what held the familiar tang of jealousy. He didn’t understand where this feeling was coming from, but he was sure it had to do with the fact the younger, longer-haired version of you was looking longingly into the eyes of another man.

Was Derek jealous of a dead man?

Derek grew annoyed at his boyish behaviour, he was here to help you uncover your memories, not be yearning after a version of the woman whose hand he held.

Once the memory had been constructed it was time for Derek to relive it for you while you kept your eyes shut.

The memory shifted from its pleasant sweetness into a slightly more darkened tone. Derek saw the younger version of you having an argument with Alex. Your face frowned and your eyes held a stubborn conviction, Alex appeared more worn out, as though he was slowly realising he was losing the fight:

“I just don’t understand why you would take the job in Vancouver without talking with me about it…” Alex said with gloom.

“Alex, I don’t want to fight about this again. It’s not every day that someone gets offered such a desirable job straight out of university!” The younger version of you shouted, tired of arguing about the same thing for the past month with Alex. “You know I couldn’t pass it up.”

“But you did so without talking it over with me first. It’s like you’re using the job as an excuse to end things with me. I know we haven’t been ourselves in a while now, I know we fight a lot but–”

“Alex, please stop. We can talk about this when we get back home.”

Derek noticed that your smile began to falter as you heard the words the younger version of you shouted at Alex. He squeezed your hand slightly to let you know he was still with you. That you weren’t alone.

The memory grew darker still.

The night was less illuminated and the moon was obscured by rain clouds. In the memory, you were holding a hand over your mouth to keep your ragged pants as inaudible as possible, hunkered behind a sage bush as Alex slowly bled out a stone’s throw away from you.

Alyster -the man in the green robe from before- was scanning the forest, he was searching for you. His eagle eyes still every bit as disconcerting as before. The compass around his neck slowly losing its green glow.

The blonde archer from before came to his side, “Alyster,” she called out, “the girl, can you sense her?”

Alyster shook his head, his red hair weightless against the howling wind, “Her aura has been shielded from the Oculus,” his bony fingers clasped the compass around his neck, “its ability is being obscured.” Alyster pointed at a burning cluster of sage close by.

The archer grabbed a hand full of sage growing on one of the many bushes closest to her and crumpled it in her hands with distaste, “And the boy?” the archer asked, glancing down at a slowly dying Alex.

“He carries the magic in him as well, but the girl’s was stronger. She is the one we need if we hope to keep the Mother Tree fuelled. I fear, she may be the last.” Alyster glanced down at his arm. A tattoo made up of a strange marking etched onto his forearm, previously hidden under his green robe.

When Alex finally drew his last breath, a green mist came into view around his body, the mist was drawn towards the tattoo, embedding itself into it. The tattoo glowed the same shade as the Oculus for a brief minute before it returned back to normal. Alyster let out a pained growl.

“The rest of the pack have scurried off, do we make with the chase?”

“No. They do not possess the magic. Leave them be, tell the others to return. Daybreak is upon us.”

Derek noticed tears streaming down your face.

Your hand had clutched his in a death grip as the memory began to unravel and spiral into chaos. It played over and over again: the lone arrow whistling through the tree line, embedding itself into Alex’s chest after your argument; Alex shouting for you to hide as another arrow flew out; you scurrying behind the bushes and holding your breath as you listened to Alyster and the female archer converse; Alex losing the light in his eyes; the eagle eyes that scanned the forest belonging to Alyster and the green tendrils that felt out for you emerging from the Oculus.

It just kept repeating.

“Y/N, snap out of it,” Derek shook your shoulders. You didn’t budge, your eyes shut tight, refusing to open.

“Y/N, wake up, listen to my voice,” Derek tried to reassure you, “I’m here, I’m right here, don’t lose yourself in the memory. Stay with me!”

He was shaking you violently but you were lost in the chaos. Derek watched as the memory replayed itself, getting corrupted and altered the longer it stayed in its loop.

Derek couldn’t think of anything else to do, he needed to draw your senses to him, to pull you out of your hell.

In desperation, he gripped your face between his hands and drew you in for a kiss. Your lips were stiff and unmoving at first, but soon enough he felt you loosen in his arms as you began to instinctively kiss him back.

In the background, the horrific memory dissipated into blackness and the dark canvas mutated into a beautiful rendition of a romanticised full moon and starry sky.

Derek felt himself let go of all senses and logic as he deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms around your waist. He felt your fingers grace his jawline as his tongue practically serenaded you into a peaceful quiet.

You were drowning in each other.

When Derek pulled back, he was utterly thrown by what he saw. Your eyes, they weren’t their normal colour, they glowed a magnificent silver, like the moon itself. And your body was surrounded by a shimmering green aura.

If the moon were personified as a woman, Derek imagined she would not be able to hold a candle up to your spellbinding beauty.

You had taken the very air from his lungs.

His eyes turned their werewolf blue, but it wasn’t from being on the defensive or from anger. They were blue for another reason.

“Why did you–” you couldn’t finish your question, a deep flush colouring your neck and cheeks.

“It was the only thing I could think of to snap you out of your… daze,” Derek explained, his chest heaving up and down.

Without any warning, just as you were mere moments from placing your hand back on his face, to feel if he was real even in the dream state, the dream melted away. Derek and you were pulled apart in opposite directions as reality bombarded your senses again.

***

“Welcome back,” Peter said in between ragged pants as his head was coated in sweat and he was hunched over, holding onto his knees to keep him upright.

Your neck bled from the claw marks, staining your clothes red. Your eyes struggling to open.

You gasped out loud as you almost toppled over from the stool. Derek caught you before you touched the ground, his arms struggling to hold you up, Liam rushed to help him.

As you lost consciousness, the last thing you saw was his soothing green eyes looking down at you with worry and Liam’s own panic riddled expression contrasting deeply with the calm that was settling over you.

Part 8 is Here!

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