1. Chapter 1

“Wow. What a terrible idea.” Stiles swivels on the stool next to Derek’s spartan kitchen counter, squinting at Scott, who rolls his eyes and huff’s out Stiles’s name. “No, wait, did I mention?” Stiles continues, of course, because Peter is not sure the kid knows how to shut up. “Bad idea! Bad idea pants, Scott. So bad. Like, wedgie pants bad.”

For once, though, Peter is entirely in agreement with their emissary. Sending Peter to negotiate with the Korhonen pack is perhaps not such a bad idea in and of itself, because they are the descendants of Viking berserker werewolves. They don’t give any fucks about ‘true alphas’ and are not-so-politely bidding to “claim” the Hale-McCall resident banshee for themselves, so Peter’s brand of sly, experienced, cunning diplomacy is called for. He grudgingly gives Scott a lot of credit for understanding that from the start.

But again: descendants of a very old, very traditional pack of Viking berserker werewolves. If Scott dares to send an unmated werewolf to represent him, the so-called negotiations will be over before Peter’s lifeless body hits the ground (again, and he’s over that, really, like a lot).

Peter is holding back from openly agreeing with Stiles, though, because he does not have a better idea to advance. Melissa and the Sheriff are too entertwined to believably have one or the other pose as anyone’s mate, and can’t represent the pack as a mated pair despite being what might traditionally called the “pack elders” because neither one of them is a werewolf. More’s the pity, there, and Peter once again regrets not turning Melissa when he had the chance.

That doesn’t leave a lot of other adults to take on the role of Peter’s mate, and despite his reputation, he does have standards and won’t abide coming across as some kind of cradle-robbing predator by pretending to be mated to a teenager, even one in college. Deaton beat feet out of Beacon Hills once Stiles came into his powers, and for all that Parrish is at least old enough to drink, he’s staying pack adjacent aside from canoodling with Lydia. Wise choice, if Peter’s being honest. He kind of wishes he was pack adjacent himself right now.

Did he mention, Viking berserker werewolves?

“I’m open to ideas, bro.” Scott shrugs, spreading his hands wide. Derek palms his face while the other betas all mutter to each other unhelpfully and Stiles lets out a huge breath.

“Scott asked me, and I said yes.” The statement is hard and final, the voice of mature authority ringing through the loft. The kids (they are all kids and Peter wonders what the hell he was thinking...then remembers, he wasn’t really thinking back then, and the aching sore point that will always be labeled “Laura” starts hurting so he shuts down that train of thought) all shift in minor shows of submission to Chris Argent, of all the damn people. Except Scott, who just nods like everything is reasonable. Peter sighs.

Stiles rolls his eyes as he always does when conceding defeat. “Fine. I’ll set up the bonding ceremony, but!” He points at Peter, then at Chris. “There will be no nakedness and no mashing of lips. I just ate.”

Derek groans as if in pain, the rest of the pack flees the scene, and that is how Peter MacInroy Hale, werewolf, ends up being mated to Jean Christophe Argent, hunter, in Derek’s loft with Scott McCall as witness.

The mate mark burns, and it feels like cruel irony to Peter.

---

“Korhonens are not going take well to Scott refusing their offer,” Chris says at some point in the third hour of their road trip. He is occasionally rubbing his forearm where his mate mark rests, but he does not seem aware of doing so. Peter would have guessed that their shared mark would have been some kind of play on a fleur de lis or triskele or, perhaps, both. Instead it is a hyper stylized phoenix that wraps around their forearms, which is just too close to home, literally, for Peter to want it around any longer than it needs to be.

“They are not going to take well to my ‘mate’ being the son of Gerard Argent, either. Chances are high they will not even let us through the front gate.” Peter is pointing out the obvious, but it is also fairly important. Chris was the last choice for playing at being Peter’s mate for many more reasons than the fact that Peter hates him.

Chris sighs in agreement and settles back in the passenger seat, stretching his long, rangey legs out. Peter not only hates Chris but also really, truly hates the fact that Chris is (always has been) exactly his type of man: lean, strong, angry, and fucked up.

It’s not like either one of them has mellowed out from the time they were teens and snarling at each other, but these days they have more in common than not. That’s not a good thing.

They have both lost family, wives, children. They both exist outside the Hale-Mackall pack while still being tied tightly to the heart of it, for different reasons.

They both are on their way to meet with an infamous pack of Viking berserker werewolves with high odds of being killed by them because of their sins, Peter figures.

“You seem pretty at ease with this whole charade,” Chris says, rolling his head over to look at Peter.

“Should we have sent Derek? Please.” Peter snorts at the memory of his nephew’s expression when it was explained that someone would have to go and that someone would have to be mated. It would have been a mercy killing to send him, to be honest, but Peter’s not willing to risk anymore of his pack no matter how entertaining it would be.

“Might have been the kick in the ass he needs to propose to Stilinski.” Chris grins at the thought, looking out the windshield. The expression takes years off of him.

Not that Peter notices things like that.

“He told me they are ‘friends with benefits’ while Stiles is in college.”

Chris sniggers. “I don’t think that means what he thinks it means.”

Peter can’t help but laugh, because that is the damned truth of it. He’s never seen two boys so much in love and in so much denial about it. They will never make it another three years doing a long distance relationship. He’s already caught Derek doing online searches for condominiums near Berkeley.

It’s odd to think about the fact that Derek found his mate, and so young. The little boy who sucked at basketball until Peter drilled him for an hour every night for nearly a year has become a man, a mated werewolf (whether he admits it or not, Peter’s nose doesn’t lie), and a somewhat, barely functional adult. It’s almost surreal.

“They grow up fast, don’t they?” Chris says softly. Peter glances over at him to see a far too sympathetic expression on his face.

“Well, I did miss about six of those growing up years, after all,” Peter snaps.

Chris is quiet for the rest of the trip. Peter resolutely does not feel guilty about it.