14. Chapter 14

It’s a fair fight. Peter is down to skin but sunk deep into his beta shift, claws long and growls full throated. It’s a far cry from his days as an alpha but he doesn’t miss that now, doesn’t feel any regret about losing the last of the Hale spark. As little confidence as he has in the scrappy kids who protect the nemeton’s territory (and he has more these days than he used to) he feels only gratitude for the relative freedom he gained. Freedom to just be himself. Freedom to support the pack without being weighed down by a responsibility he never wanted in the first place.

Freedom, like now, to run.

Chris, on the other hand, is loaded for bear. Literally. There was a black bear sighted north of the Hale property on the edge of the preserve, awakened from hibernation for some mysterious reason ( read: Stiles poking at the nemeton ), that the Forestry Service would really like to tag and track. Chris is wearing the formerly-Korhonen ceremonial knife that Lydia gifted them, a Glock 9mm pistol, a rifle with bear-worthy tranq shots, and a shotgun for last-line defense. Because of course the bastard wants to multi-task.

“If you hit me with the tranq I’m cancelling the honeymoon!” Peter growls from where he’s hiding on an outcrop far above where Chris is crawling up the cliffside.

Chris doesn’t respond but Peter clearly sees him roll his eyes by the light of full moon, the snarky jerk. He just keeps crawling up the embankment with all his weapons and the heavy backpack containing the radio collar the confused Forestry ranger gave him...along with other “supplies.”

“Don’t spill the lube,” Peter adds with a snap.

“If you’d just point me to where the bear is we could move on to the fun part,” Chris snaps back, a little breathless from the climb but still hauling ass.

“Why did you even promise to hunt a bear on our mate match day?”

Peter hears Chris mumble, “for fuck’s sake” but that’s all the answer he gets. Peter quietly moves off the outcropping and begins the next portion of the climb up to the small glen that has a brilliant view of the scenery down below. Peter scouted it out months earlier, the day after Chris accepted his proposal, which was the day after Chris finally got the “all clear” from his doctor to resume normal activities as long as he didn’t push himself too hard.

Ironically, they had spent that whole day in bed and there was a lot of hard pushing involved.

“You’re supposed to catch me, Argent!” Peter taunts once he’s gone up a bit more.

“Fine, fine, whatever,” Chris snarls up at him. They go at each other like this for a few more minutes until Chris has almost made it up to Peter again. Then Peter turns to start his run to the glen.

“What the everloving fuck !” Peter shouts as a rope snags his foot and springs a trap, yanking him off his feet and swinging him high up in the air. He starts coughing as dust drifts around him. The more he struggles the more dust is let loose from the rope around his foot and the more off-balance he feels. “What— what did you do?” He yells between coughs.

“You’ll live. It’s just a customized wolfsbane/mistletoe blend Lydia cooked up. Just makes you dizzy, nothing more,” Chris laughs at him as he rounds the corner and walks up to where Peter is helplessly swinging back and forth in the air.

“You poisoned me?” Peter shrieks in indignation, and starts coughing again.

“No, Lydia poisoned Scott. Twice, actually, before she got the percentages right.” Chris sets down his backpack, the rifle, and the shotgun a few paces away before turning around again. He grins as he stares up at Peter, standing with his hands on his hips and an evil glint in his eyes. This is exactly the tableau that would have given Peter nightmares, once upon a time. Right now, though, he’s just mildly annoyed at feeling too drunk to extricate himself. Because with Chris decked out in his weaponry and his cargo pants-of-many-pockets and standing there like king surveying his conquered lands….well, Peter is a bit dizzy and a lot turned on, he’s got to admit.

“Lookin’ good, Hale.” Chris’s grin goes even wider. “Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to track you when you went out on scouting runs?”

“Get me down,” Peter huffs, trying to fold himself upwards to grab at the rope. Twice. He fails both times because his fingers are numb. “Ugh.” He flops back down again.

“I will,” Chris assures him without making a move in his direction. He fiddles with a pocket and pulls out his phone.

“Don’t you dare, ” Peter hisses.

“New phone has a great camera for night shots,” he says happily, pointing up at Peter’s very naked dick swinging in the breeze.

Then his hearing dials in again, and Peter’s heart stops. “Don’t move.”

“Why? What are you gonna—”

“Shut up , Chris!” Peter hisses just as the bear hits the clearing behind them, grumbling and growling.

Chris freezes then, camera still held high. “Shit.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

“Get me down, get me down,” Peter chants softly.

“Shhh,” Chris says, very slowly lowering the camera and turning to face the bear. It is annoyed and grumpy and eyeing them speculatively.

“Chris—”

“Can’t get to the guns,” Chris sing songs the words, barely above a whisper. His scent is sour with guilt and shame, obviously from putting the weaponry aside to flirt. Peter would smack him if things were not looking quite so dire.

“If I howl for assistance there is no telling what that thing will do,” Peter whispers back.

“I guess it’s the old fashioned way then.” Chris pockets the phone as the bear starts posturing at them and growling furiously.

“Chris, what—” Peter’s heart goes into overdrive, which is not hard given he’s upside down and all the blood is rushing to his head anyway.

Chris pulls out the Glock one-handed in a smooth motion and with his other hand unsheathes the magicked knife, crouching into a fighting stance.

“Chris!” Peter yells in a panic just as the bear launches itself toward them. Peter clenches his abdominal muscles like he never has before and swings himself up to grab at the rope, slashing at it with his claws, but it only helps to release more powder and he hits the ground in a daze, not feeling a single bruise or break, if there are any. He rolls over and hears the bear give out an anguished roar, but he doesn’t see anything in front of him.

Dragging himself to his feet he shifts and sees the bear pacing back and forth, but limping, holding one back paw off the ground. How the hell Chris did that without being gutted or firing off a shot, Peter does not want to know.

“Christopher!” Peter yells again, which he realizes is a mistake when the bear twists around and starts running straight at him. He roars in its face but he’s a beta and no match for a 400 pound bear. He takes off running, zig zagging across the glen like a drunkard, his brain still fuzzy from the damn drugged powder and wondering how much damage he can take from a fully grown bear without dying and if he’s actually leading the bear back around to Chris.

He is.

“Hale! Cut right!”

Peter uses his claws like cleats and follows Chris’s order without a moment’s hesitation, launching himself to the right hard enough to fly several yards before landing. Just as his feet leave the ground he hears the puff of the air rifle shooting out a tranq and Peter lands into a full body roll, bouncing up onto his feet in a fighting crouch.

The bear is lumbering for him and Chris is shouting again, but Peter can smell the tranquilizer over the heavy, sour bear-musk scent so he knows he only has to wait it out.

Except the bear has other ideas. It rises up on his hind legs with a roar and starts lumbering toward him like a drunk toddler. Peter can hear Chris at his back but he doesn’t dare move out of the way, it goes against every instinct he has to let the bear get a clear shat at Peter’s mate.

Of course that also means his mate can’t get a clear shot at the bear.

“Get out of the fucking way!” Chris shouts at him.

“Just take the shot!”

“Fine! I will!”

Peter has a second to wonder what that means when he hears a shot from the air rifle and only has time to think “oh shit” before he blacks out to the sound of a second shot going off over his shoulder.

When he wakes up, the sunrise is cresting majestically over the mountains and birds are singing and nature is joyously alive all around him and he fucking hates everything.

“Ugh.” He smacks his mouth, which feels dry and tacky, as his brain comes back online. He’s still naked, face up, cradled in the V of Chris’s legs with his back resting against Chris’s chest. Chris has one arm slung around his waist and his other hand is holding—

“Are you seriously reading Leaves of Grass over my catatonic body?” Peter snarls as he tries to move his sluggish limbs.

“If you had moved when I told you to, I would not have had to shoot you.”

“You shot me full of bear tranquilizer !”

“Would you have ever moved aside and cleared a shot for me otherwise?” Chris asks, still pretending to read the book.

Peter opens his mouth but shuts it again. Because, no. No, he would not just step aside and let an angry bear charge at his mate. Never.

“Didn’t think so,” Chris says smugly and snaps the book closed. “Anyway, you’re fine. We’re still eight hours out from our expected return time. The bear woke up three hours ago and wandered off.”

Peter frowns. “With two tranq shots it should have been out for longer than that.”

Chris wraps his other arm around Peter’s naked waist and hauls him up closer. He leans in and whispers hotly into Peter’s ear. “We can talk about the inconsistent effectiveness of the Forestry Service’s tranq shots or we can make out, but not both.”

Peter’s body lights up. “The latter, I think.”

“Oh, I agree.” Chris grins at him and drops the book.

They have had plenty of sex by that point, but this is not about mere physical pleasure. As Chris, ever the boy scout, uses the lube he brought along and opens Peter up and slides into the most intimate part of him, they both stay silent, knowing that whatever magical spells Stiles has kick-started as part of the bonding ceremony will solidify with this connection. After a couple of seconds, Peter feels his mate mark prickling with energy, and wraps that arm up over Chris’s shoulders as they start moving together.

This is the physical part of their spiritual bonding, and along with the sex, they are both bound to bite each other at the time of completion. Peter’s actually been holding back from trying to give Chris a bite mark for weeks already, so as he sails into his orgasm he lets his teeth drop and sinks them into the meat of Chris’s bared shoulder without a moment of hesitation. Seconds later he barely feels it as Chris’s blunt human teeth work at breaking Peter’s skin, even as they cry out in pain and satisfaction.

They hold each other tight as magic races through them and down into the ground, there to feed the power of the nemeton and strengthen the overall magic that lives in the land. In return their bites begin to heal quickly, skin knitting together, a sign of approval and acceptance of the gift they have provided the land with their lovemaking.

They will both wear the scars, for mate bites don’t heal over for werewolves any better than they do for humans, even with magical, nemeton-blessed healing. Peter still has the faint, silvery marks from Amanda’s bite, faded almost to nothing by time and loss. But now, he also has the bright red mark of Chris’s teeth on his other shoulder, and finally, at last, in a way he thought would never happen again, Peter starts to feel like he is truly mending.

Chris groans after a few moments before rolling off of him and flopping onto his back. His fingers trace the outline of Peter’s bite, but he stays silent. Even Peter does not feel like breaking the quiet moment between them with words, and instead rolls into Chris’s body, using his chest as a pillow.

Eventually Chris grumbles at him and they get themselves back on two feet and set out for the next stage. As they make their way down the mountain, Chris demands that they detour to stop by a local stream in order to scrub themselves down. (Intellectually, Peter knows it's because Chris is human and has human conventions regarding what the kids might know about what they have been up too deep in the woods by the smell of them or the look of them. It's ridiculous because everyone knows what Peter and Chris have been getting up to in the woods, because that was the whole point of going into the woods in the first place . Humans have been strange about those kind of things since time began or at least since werewolves began, so Peter humors him. It's not as if Derek and the others won't be able to smell the traces of their activities, because fresh, clear springwater isn't going to erase the oils and other effluvia that will cling to their skin without the proper application of industrial-strength soap. But, they stop and rinse off anyway because Peter is already so very, very whipped.)

As Chris's strips down again, putting all his armor and weaponry to the side, Peter takes a moment to just watch the man he's fallen in love with and think about their life together, and what it will mean for both of them. It's not as if Chris isn't already estranged from his family and the hunter community at large. It's not as if Peter's reputation as a homicidal maniac who killed his own niece hasn't spread far and wide in the part of the supernatural community that likes to gossip… which if Peter remembers anything correctly, it is that the entire supernatural community loves good, juicy, ruthless gossip. Neither one of them can escape their pasts.

Being about as domestic as two men like Peter and Chris could ever be, they use their hands to scrub each other down quickly in the freezing cold water in hopes of trying to make themselves somewhat presentable to their pack. Peter hasn’t felt more like a dutiful husband in years, and he finds he likes it.

“You’re lost in thought," Chris says as he starts pulling on his clothes, despite the fact he hasn't been able to dry off properly.

“I'm just thinking about heading down the mountain and what's waiting for us there."

"Lots of cake?"

Peter smothers a laugh. One of the interesting things that Peter has learned about his mate over the last few months is that Chris has an absolutely insatiable sweet tooth, and could probably exist on bags of salted caramels and pints of ice cream if given half a chance. Which, of course, Peter is not going to give him half that chance because he wants his human mate to live as long as possible. He knows it's going to be an ongoing argument. He knows that, for once, Stiles will be on his side.

"Cake. Family. Pack," he says a little wistfully as Chris zips up his jeans, hiding all the goods.

"Well at least there’s cake," Chris says with a feral grin as he straps on his weapons, and Peter really should stop finding that as sexy as he does. Chris knows exactly what he’s thinking and laughs at him, the bastard.

Peter, still naked as the day he was born, takes Chris's hand and leads him the rest of the way down the mountain to where the pack is waiting for them. They are set up in the field far behind where the old Hale homestead used to stand. That building has been razed to the ground and, with Stiles’s erratic oversight to adjust ley lines, a young tree planted there as both memorial and, eventually, nemeton. Just for today, though, Peter steers clear of the site. He has a better place to be, now.

As they approach, Stiles wolf-whistles at him and gets cuffed by both Derek and Malia. His father, standing prim and proper in a nice suit, rolls his eyes but motions Peter and Chris toward him. The sheriff is standing under a wedding bower of twisted vines laced with flowers (the human tradition) and decorated with the teeth and antlers and bones of the animals that are currently being cooked up for the reception (the werewolf tradition). As the officiant — and Peter is aware of the irony — the sheriff is there to wed them. The pack and pack-adjacent and friends-of-pack-who-are-in-the-know are all standing in a circle around the bower. Chris once again strips off his armor and weaponry, leaving it outside of the human circle.

Scott, as alpha, moves to stand next to the Sheriff, his eyes already flipping red. He’s not going to say anything, which suits both him and Peter perfectly, but his presence there does put Peter’s wolf at ease. Scott’s approval doesn’t mean much to Peter personally, but it shows that he’s not going to have to lose his pack to keep his mate, a choice he would have gladly made if necessary. This way he gets to keep his niece and nephew, though, and that’s enough compromise for him.

It’s a simple ceremony, the last step in what has been a week-long string of events and formalities culminating in the chase, the bonding, and now the wedding.

The Sheriff gets through the opening lines of “we are gathered here etc. etc.” and then pauses, clearing his throat. He’s not using cheat cards and Peter is touched that he took the time to memorize what, to him, must be a highly unconventional ceremony.

“As bonded under the blessed power of the full moon and in the presence of your pack, your family, and your ancestors, do you, Peter McInroy Hale, take Jean Christophe Argent as your legally recognized husband and pack-bonded mate?”

“I do,” Peter says, preening a bit and unable to stop himself.

The Sheriff repeats the phrase to Chris, who only nods at first before remembering his words in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. “Yes. Yes, I mean, I do.” He coughs. “I do. ”

“Please acknowledge your mate marks.”

Chris and Peter clasp each other’s forearms, so their marks press together. This part of the ceremony is improvised, since they already have mate marks. Normally the emissary would step forward and bind their arms together with red cord or twine and cast the spell to make the marks appear. Instead, the Sheriff ties their arms together with the cord and steps back.

Peter takes a deep breath before speaking. “I bind my heart and wolf to you, as mate and bonded, here in the presence of my pack and family. If I am false or untrue in this declaration let our marks burn away to ash.”

Chris looks like he’s holding his breath as they pause for a tiny moment. It’s not like Peter expected anything to happen, but it seems he’s marrying a pessimist, and it’s such irony that he has to hold back a chuckle. He smiles at Chris and squeezes his arm in encouragement.

Chris looks up at him then, his eyes bright and crystal clear in the sunlight, sharp as diamonds. Peter holds himself completely still, as if he were the prey, and Chris the predator hunting him down. He feels stripped bare in a way far beyond the fact that he is still naked.

“I bind my heart and my soul to you, as mate and bonded, here in the presence of your family and your pack. I ask that they accept me through you, and that together we can make ourselves whole. If I am false or untrue in this declaration let our marks burn away to ash.”

There is another long pause as they both look down at their arms, and they both gasp as the red twine binding them together flashes and burns away. The smoke and ashes roil in the air the coalesce, leaving a long, gorgeously mottled-red feather to float down and rest delicately upon their arms.

“Wasn’t me!” Stiles shouts from the side.

“Uhm—” The Sheriff frowns at the feather. “That wasn’t in the script.”

Peter holds on to Chris’s arm and uses his free hand to grab the feather before it tips over and falls to the ground. Chris catches his gaze. “I thought the last of the spark was burned away?”

Peter shrugs and runs the feather softly over Chris’s cheek. He twitches and grabs Peter’s hand, so they are holding on to each other, making a full circuit with clasped arms and joined hands. There is a small buzz of electricity between their mate marks.

THe Sheriff clears his throat again and steps back into place. “With the assent of the presiding Alpha, Scott Delgado Rodriguez Mathias McCall, the endorsement of Emissary Mieczysław Lew Stilinski—” Everyone ignores Stiles’s unhappy exclamation in the background— “ And with the approval of your respective families and pack, I now pronounce you: husbands and mates. Congratulations.”

Peter lets out a long sigh as they kiss, and then nearly breaks down when Cora and Derek, as his family-blood pack, walk up together to drape a cloak of soft deerskin over his shoulders, hiding his body (his pelt ) from all but his betrothed. Derek stands behind him and sets his broad, heavy hands — so much like his father’s — on his shoulders while Chris gently kisses away the tears on Peter’s cheeks.

Of course Cora is the one who breaks the mood with a loud cheer that turns into a group howl that rings for minutes through the Preserve, even the humans warbling along. As it tapers off, everyone but the actual adults run for what has been termed “the new place.”

Chris is smiling like a loon, swinging Peter’s hand in his as if they are teenagers. The Sheriff and Melissa are walking ahead of them with their arms around each other’s waists and Parrish is escorting Lydia like a princess, so they make a slow procession down the trail to where a tent and catering van has been set up next to the foundations of a house-in-progress.

Peter and Derek had the land cleared over a month ago for a new house, a pack house that will remind them of the best parts of what they lost without forcing them to live in the ashes of the old one. Peter is looking forward to decorating the place and generally vetoing any ideas Derek has of leather sofas and steel appliances, although Lydia has claimed first right on the color scheme for the main rooms (despite the fact that she won’t be living there, simply because Derek did not have the guts to fight her on it, the coward).

The catering company (which is a family of satyrs who specialize in supernatural celebrations and had to be talked out of lacing everything with aphrodisiacs) has happily cooked up the deer and wild boar and rabbits that Peter, Derek, and Cora brought them, along with the massive bag of meatballs from Costco that Stiles donated. The place smells delicious. It’s more food then their small gathering can ever eat but it’s the principle of the thing, so Peter is ridiculously pleased. He is providing for his mate and alpha and emissary and pack. His wolf is almost purring in his chest.

This is the first Chris has seen of the new house, so he walks over to where the foundation has been poured and some framework put in place. He stops next to it, studying the construction.

“Gonna be big.”

Peter nods. “We have a lot of young pack members now, but eventually they will grow up and have pups. I don’t foresee Cora and Derek ever moving out, anyway. Talia—” He stops and takes a breath. “Talia always wanted a compound for us, she had already drafted up plans for more houses. But the pack house has to be big. It has to hold everyone, if needed.”

“Might be a good plan.” Chris pulls up their joined hands and gently draws his finger over Peter’s mate mark, his expression thoughtful. “Did I tell you I heard from Winchester?”

“Which one?” Peter wrinkles his nose. He trusts those hunters less than most, which is saying something.

“The younger. Seems...seems they came across a pack slaughter up in Wyoming.”

“Fuck.” Peter holds back a snarl.

Chris nods, confirming that it was as bad as it sounds.

“You think whomever did it is headed here?” Peter asks, his hackles already up.

“What? No. I would have mentioned that sooner. No, the brothers took care of it.” Chris pauses again, looking out over the bones of the house. “Happened last week.”

“Christopher, why are you bringing this up on our wedding day?” Peter growls.

Chris takes a deep breath. “There was an orphan. A kid — uh, a pup. One year old. Parents stashed him under the floorboards, might’ve died there if Winchester didn’t hear him scratching.”

Peter’s brain stalls. “What.”

Chris side-eyes him. “They called because they thought maybe the McCall-Hale pack could take him in. I haven’t talked to Scott about it yet, I—” He stops when Peter yanks him close and kisses him.

“Did you really get me a child as a wedding present?” Peter growls at him when they finally break apart.

Chris frowns. “Well, when you put it like that—”

“Shut up, you magnificent bastard. Just. Shut up.” Peter smiles before kissing him again.

The baby is going to be traumatized and is going to ruin their honeymoon. The house is going to take another four months of construction before it is fully ready to move in. Their alpha isn’t old enough to legally drink alcohol, Derek needs a lot more therapy, and their emissary has a tendency to explode things when he’s doing magic unsupervised. Peter and Chris have enough tragedy and grief in their lives to destroy lesser men.

Yet, Peter is looking forward to the future. Their mate-mark is perfect, he decides on a whim as he stands there making out with his husband in front of their unbuilt home. They are both rising from the ashes of their pasts and creating a better life together, for themselves and their pack and — his breath hitches — their cub .

The phoenix burns against his skin, and Peter feels whole.