Derek stood at the edge of the woods, his posture tense, eyes narrowed as he scanned the darkness. He could sense it—the unmistakable chill that always seemed to linger in the air whenever you were near. It was subtle, but his werewolf senses never missed it.

It was a faint, cold edge to the night that had been haunting Beacon Hills for weeks. And tonight, he was done waiting.

He wasn't an Alpha anymore, but that didn't mean he couldn't stop you.

You emerged from the trees, barely a whisper of movement, wearing a smirk that never quite seemed to leave your lips. You’d sensed him too; you always did. He had been stalking you for days, and it was starting to get tiresome, like a persistent itch you couldn't scratch.

"Still following me, Hale? Don’t you have better things to do?" you taunted, your tone laced with amusement.

Derek’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. He’d caught you once, fangs bared as you fed on a stray hiker, without a care in the world.

Since then, he’d made it his mission to stop you from taking another life.

He knew what you were: a vampire. Fast, deadly, and impossible to pin down. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but your scent was undeniable.

“I’m not letting you hurt anyone else,” he said, his voice firm, though you could hear the frustration simmering beneath it. “You can't feed on anyone else. It stops now.”