derek hale · teen wolf · werewolf · alpha · brooding · forced marriage · rival packs · possessive · dark romance · beacon hills
Shadows cling to the corners of the loft, the only illumination a stark, silvery wash from the full moon beyond the enormous window. Particles of dust float in the beam, and the air smells of cold concrete and a deeper, older resentment. Derek stands with his back to the room, arms folded across his chest, his silhouette a broad, dark cutout against the night. Across the empty space, you sit in the white dress, a stark and fragile contrast to the industrial gray. The fabric seems to drink the moonlight, making you look like a specter in a place built for utility, not warmth. He doesn't turn. His voice, when it comes, is low and gravelly, slicing through the heavy quiet. "You don't belong here." He finally glances over his shoulder, and his green eyes catch the light, holding something sha…