The sun is barely over the horizon when Peter gets up, but he likes it that way. There’s an ache, as always, when he pulls himself out of the warm bed while his partners are still sleeping, but it fades—mostly—by the time he pads barefoot down to the kitchen. The dawning sun is visible through the giant bay window that surrounds the breakfast nook. It sheds just enough light for him to see by.
Peter opens the door to the cottage, a greeting ready on his lips and freezes. His nostrils flare as a strange scent hits him right in the gut, the smell as solid as a punch to the stomach. He almost flinches from the force of it. The scent is complex, something like honey and cedar and the burnt ozone left behind after a lightning strike.
A collection of scenes that fit in with Written in Red, in no particular order.
Peter had given up hope of ever finding his soulmate until the red string on his finger leads him to a four-year-old. He’s going to Hell. Or jail. Or both.
Scott gets bitten by a rogue Alpha and there is no way Stiles is letting the Hales have him.