After what literally felt like hours, her body finally calmed down. Every nerve tense, every muscle tender.
Derek's body sags against the floor, exhaustion hitting him so hard he's almost tempted to stay right there on the cold floor forever. His breathing is ragged, but it slowly begins to even out... slowly... very... slowly.
As his breathing returns to normal, however, a new feeling hits him... soft and aching in his chest like a bruise.
Confusion.
Shame.
Regret, perhaps?
He stretched his tired and overwhelmed limps out on the cool wooden floors. Finding it difficult to not shift into his wolf form.
The ache in Derek's chest only grows as he forces himself to sit up, breath still coming rough.
He runs a hand over his face, grimacing at a sharp smell wafting from it… the same sweet, heady scent from before.
He looks down, realizing he's drenched in a mess he should hate. But instead—
"Jesus Christ... I feel like a goddamn teenager, on a hormonal boat ride, all over again..."
He mutters, half in disbelief and half disgusted with himself.
"What the hell just happened to me…?"
...but as soon as he thinks of Aria, and it's not even necessary to go into depth, his cock willingly begins to twitch.
Derek lets out another, broken laugh, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.
Un-fucking-believable...
He shakes his head, pushing himself to his feet. He has to move—to do something to stop the thoughts still spinning through his mind like a tempest… to calm the hunger still running roughshod through his veins. Or he's going to do something he might regret later on.
Like screw an animal on heat, in my wolf form, Derek nearly growls in frustration as the thought echoes through his mind.
"No. No, no, no..." He shoves a hand through his hair again, turning towards the back door. "I need... a drink or a cold shower. Hell, even a goddamn punch to the face would be preferable... Anything to get that goddamn girl out of my goddamn head."
Derek took a cold shower firstly and afterwards he threw himself a shot of tequila and drank it straight before pouring himself another. Not knowing that it's the key to the worst possible fate imaginable.
The alcohol burns as it slides down his throat, but Derek welcomes the sting. It helps distract him, if only a little. He pours another and another, watching how the bottle slowly becomes empty.
I will not go to her.
I will not want her.
He pours himself another straight and slams it back.
I will not think of her touch. Of her voice.
He pours another.
Of her scent…
Her skin…
Her heat…
Temporarily her head started swirling, as a wave of giddiness took over all of her senses. Her insides are throbbing, and it feels completely like another orgasm is taking over her body. Puppeteering her. Her breathing quick and labored.
Derek is sitting in a chair, staring blankly at the bottle of clear liquid, as the horizon slowly becomes a hue lighter. He's lost track of time, and of how many shots it's been since he started drinking. His body is still humming with the echoes of what'd happened, and just when he thinks he's managed to calm down—
God damn it...
"No... No, no, no... God dammit... Not this again!"
In his buzzed stated he stripped down to his birthday suit, unable to avoid the boner that's standing on attention, throbbing painfully. Derek groans aloud, dropping his head in his hands. "This is fucking ridiculous."
He forces himself to stand, but the room spins a little. He stumbles forward.
"Maybe I drank too much…" He grabs the edge of the table, trying to ground himself. Still his head spun, more than alcohol ever had his head spinning. "Is it affecting her too? Is she actually intoxicated?" Derek wondered out loud. His breath hitches—not from the alcohol, but from a sudden wave of warmth flooding through him again. A familiar pull, low and insistent in his gut.
His eyes widen as he realizes—that the connection isn't fading. It's growing stronger. The more he fights it, the more violently their souls sync—like Anima Cantat refuses to be ignored.
No... she couldn't possibly be intoxicated. It has to be something else. She can not be reacting to my usage of alcohol… But how could she even be reacting to my touch—when I haven't laid a hand on her, and I'm not referring to the handshake.
And right now?
She's drowning in sensation… just like he is.
Derek staggers toward the sink, gripping the counter so hard the metal groans under the pressure.
"Shit... I can't keep doing this... I can't keep hurting her like this... without even meaning to..." He turns on the faucet and splashes cold water on his face—trying to shock himself back into control—but when he looks up at his reflection… His eyes are red-rimmed, pupils dilated with need.
And for one terrifying second—he doesn't see Derek Hale staring back at him. He sees an Alpha who has found his mate…
Who will stop at nothing to claim her.
***
The next morning Aria was sitting at the kitchen isle, with a strong cup of coffee and a pair of black sunglasses on, when Stiles entered the kitchen. Stiles strolls into the kitchen, yawning and reaching for the coffee pot—only to freeze when he sees Aria already sitting there.
"Oh. You're up early." He eyes her suspiciously over the rim of his mug as he pours coffee. "Sunglasses at dawn? Not normal at all. Everything okay?" He takes a sip, then squints at her. "You look like you'd fought a werewolf and lost your dignity."
She stiffens slightly behind the shades, fingers tightening around her coffee cup. "Just didn't sleep well last night. Weird dreams… that's all."
Too casual. Too quick with an excuse.
Stiles raises an eyebrow, setting his mug down slowly. "Weird dreams, huh? Because from where I'm standing—wearing blackout curtains on your face before noon—that sounds less 'weird dream' and more 'something-saw-the-light-of-day-and-ran-screaming.'" He leans in, lowering his voice: "Come on, Aria. We both know weird doesn't even begin to cover what counts as normal around this town. Now are you gonna tell me it was just bad pizza… Or are we finally admitting something supernatural messed with your head?"
Aria stays quiet—for too long—her knuckles white against ceramic.
"That's what I thought," he mutters, turning away to grab some cereal like nothing happened—even though everything just did. "But mark my words— If someone—or something—is messing with my... I mean you... I'll make sure it regrets being born."
The two of them shared the moment in silence. Sure she feels like she had an overdose of sexual stimulation and yeah it feels like her head is about to explode, but that isn't the main reason behind the mask.
After a while she excused herself and made for the bathroom. She locked the door behind her before turning to the mirror. Aria took a deep intake of air before removing the shades. But the eyes staring back at her, is not her own. Flecks of golden confetti and a golden shadow along the rim. Reminds her of Derek's peculiar eyes.
Aria leans forward, pressing her palms flat against the sink to steady herself as she stares at her reflection in horror. Her once-clear blue eyes—innocent, bright—are now threaded with gold. Not fully changed… but altered.
Touched.
Like something had reached inside and left its mark without permission.
"No…" she whispers, "No, no—it's... it's not possible."
But it is. And deep down—where fear meets truth—she knows that last night wasn't just a fever dream. It wasn't lust or loneliness or an overactive imagination.
That connection... those sensations...
It was him.
Derek Hale—and whatever force pulled them together—is already changing her. Rewriting parts of who she is without either of them meaning for it to happen.