Tyler forgets, sometimes. He thinks it’s fair. Chase slipped into his world as a heartbroken child, and even with the years that passed since then, years that feel like forever and never enough—sometimes he forgets that Chase is more. He’s Pack and he’s human, so Tyler wants to protect him, but more than anything, it’s because he’s Chase and he’s his.

So sometimes he forgets that this fragile human boy is power wrapped up in pale skin, sarcastic smiles, and gentle, perfect hands. But in moments like this, while Chase braces his feet as the forest shakes and he breathes, power rippling off of him in almost visible waves—

Moments like this, it’s impossible to forget.

“The wards are holding,” he murmurs, “I need—we should go to the Stones.”

“Chase,” Tyler starts, panicked, “We need to protect—”

Chase turns, his smile dark and fierce, and it makes the wolf in him whine anxiously. “The land will protect us, but we need to go to the Standing Stones.”

Lucas moves first, and Tyler watches him, watches Chase patiently waiting, and he nods.

“Ok.”

~*~

It’s a Pack, made up of an Alpha pair and three green eyed betas.

The forest feels wrong, like the sharp edge of violence before a storm. Tyler wants to press into Chase, hold him safe and hide behind him all at once. He does neither, just stands tall and strong at Chase's shoulder with Lucas nearby.

“This is the mighty Reid Pack?” one of the betas laughs.

One of the alphas snarls at him. “It does seem that our...information...regarding this pack and this land might be....mistaken,” the Alpha, a tall man with a disconcerting gaze and drawling Southern accent, says. “Tell me—where is your Alpha?”

“Too busy to meet with you,” Chase says cheerfully. “Why don’t you tell us what you want, so we can tell you ‘no’, everyone can snarl and snap, and then you’ll leave. We don’t have to waste time on pleasantries.”

“But they’re so fun,” Lucas says mournfully, and Chase’s grin flicks wider.

“I’m Luther, of the Southwest Pack. My Alpha heirs, June and her mate Warren. Our betas, Kevin and Kelsey,” Luther says, indicating to each of his wolves.

Chase sighs and points. “Lucas and Tyler, betas. I’m the Shaman. Now, what the hell do you want?”

“No name, little Shaman?” June says, honey sweet through sharp fangs, and Tyler growls, low and furious.

Chase touches him, a soothing press of fingers against Tyler’s wrist. It feels electric and hot, a caress that burns through him to settle in his groin, and he has to fight to keep his eyes open, to keep his groan behind his teeth.

“It’s not important. Why are you here?” Chase bites out, the question a sharp demand.

Luther smiles then, and it’s all teeth and threats. “Why, dear boy, we’re here to take the territory.”

~*~

Harrisburg belonged to the Reids.

Before the accident, they were a sprawling family that kept to themselves, even as they were doted on by the city.

After, Chelsea ran, too scared, traumatized, and angry to stay, and she dragged Tyler with her until he was old enough to leave. It broke something in him, leaving his Alpha. But leaving his family’s land, leaving the home that they had protected and run for over a hundred years—that broke something, too.

It’s a matter of living with the damage, he thinks. What kind of brokenness is something you can carry, something you can breathe through?

He stares at Luther—at his strong, unified Pack—and feels the Shift prickle over him. He roars.

~*~

“This land belongs to the Reid Pack,” Chase says, while the echoes of Tyler’s roar still reverberate through the air. “It belongs to me,” he says, grinning.

Luther huffs a sigh and June snarls, charging forward. Tyler moves to meet her, lunging, claws extended.

Power flares up, a white-hot burst of it that wraps around him, holds him still while it throws June back. The she-wolf yelps when she slams into a tree, collapsing.

Luther looks back at his fallen packmate, then back at Chase, and a smile ticks up the corners of his lips.

“Get out,” Chase snaps, “This is the only warning you’ll get.”

“We’ll go,” Luther murmurs, “For now.”

~*~

Chase sways a little, after they vanish into the woods, and Tyler catches him before he crumples. He whines as he holds the boy close, and Lucas looks at him.

“His tattoos, Lucas. They’re burning.”

~*~

Tyler refuses to leave Chase. He can see the way it grates on the boy’s nerves, being constantly in his space, but Chase doesn’t protest.

The rival pack doesn’t actually leave Harrisburg. He thinks that’s the only reason Chase doesn’t order Tyler away and ward the house against him. Instead, he sleeps like the dead for almost twenty-four hours, and when he wakes up, curls sleepily on the couch and eats three bowls of soup before he finally says he’s had enough.

“What happened?” Tyler asks, and Chase laughs, sounding a little nervous. Tyler’s stomach sinks. He won’t like this.

“The wards—they’re defensive. The forest works to keep any threats out—Caitlyn didn’t think I could twist the wards to do that, but I mean, I was pretty motivated and changing spells is something I’ve been doing almost since I started learning magic, and it’s actually really cool. It’s kinda like in Sleeping Beauty when the castle is surrounded by briar patch to keep the Prince out, except this is mistletoe and aconite and belladonna—werewolves like avoiding that, right? So it funnels them where I want. And it’s dangerous, ok—that’s partly why Caitlyn didn’t think I could do it, I think? Because that kind of magic takes a lot, more than a shaman or a druid should be able to channel, but I don’t fuel the spell—my magic doesn’t. It’s the Standing Stones. I’m just the middleman, but it’s still a lot, you know?”

“Chase,” Tyler says tightly.

The boy sighs. “I had to, Ty. We’re too small to hold the land, but we have to. Not just because it’s Reid land. I’m tied to the Standing Stones and that means the Pack is, too. We have to protect it.”

~*~

Tyler is at the grocery store waiting for Chase in the frozen aisle when he meets her. She’s pretty, startlingly so, and he stares at her, holding a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream in one hand.

“Hello,” she says, a smile bright on her lips. He wants, almost desperately, to taste those lips, wants to spend hours lost in her, wants to drag her to his bed and claim her.

“Hi,” he breathes, and her smile is shy and sweet, and she’s fucking perfect.

“Any good?” she asks, nodding at his ice cream.

He blinks at it. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. She laughs and it’s the best thing he’s ever heard. A whine builds in his throat and she glances at him as she selects a box of Dove bars.

“Do you want to—”

“Tyler,” a sharp voice barks, and he flinches. That voice, he knows it, knows it’s safe. Who—

“Stay,” she murmurs, and his thoughts drift, fading as he leans into the touch on his arm.

Fury rips through him, and it’s so strong, so achingly protective and familiar that it makes him whine. A hand clamps down on the back of his neck and Chase snarls, “Get the fuck away from him.”

She falls back a step and it makes him whimper, makes him take a step toward her before Chase’s grip goes tight, holding him still, and Tyler turns into his boy, because he doesn’t know why he wants her, but he knows Chase.

“It would be easy,” she says, taunting. “I could take him from you with nothing more than a few words.”

Chase laughs. Power ripples around him and the fog, the want, is dissipating, leaving only startling confusion, a furious shaman, and a woman he doesn’t know, doesn't want.

“Bitch, he’s been mine since I was fourteen. I could die and you still couldn’t take him from me.”

A dark smile curves her lips, nearly covers the anger still lurking in her gaze.

There is a tendril of want now, tugging at him, drawing him to her. Gentle, familiar fingers are on his jaw, turning him down and away, tucking him into the curve of Chase's throat, his voice a crooning murmur. Tyler shudders as the foggy want melts away. He doesn’t look up, though, doesn’t move away from Chase until long after her heels clack her retreat and Chase murmurs, “C’mon, big guy. Let’s go home.”

~*~

Tyler knows that Lucas is angry, and he knows that Chase is too warm, laying curled protectively around him. He thinks he should probably talk, figure out what the hell she wanted—why him— and what they’re going to do about it. But he feels safe here in Chase’s embrace, his brother’s fury buffeting the warm little cocoon he’s tucked himself into, comforting and right, so he doesn’t let himself think.

“He doesn’t need our anger, Lucas. Not yet,” Chase says, and Lucas snarls but slides into the bed, pressing against Tyler, pressing his scent into him.

“You’re safe,” Chase murmurs, and Tyler closes his eyes.

~*~

Chase is watching him when he jerks out of a nightmare, and Tyler stares at him. For a moment, he isn’t sure what he was dreaming—Mia or the woman in the store, and suddenly, it’s burning against his throat, everything he hasn’t told Chase about Mia and the accident. And Chase is still there, patient, whiskey-gold eyed acceptance.

“She was a librarian,” Tyler says hoarsely. “I was seventeen and she—she was a librarian, Chase.”

Chase pets a hand through his hair and Tyler whines. “She kept checking on me, after I broke up with my girlfriend. She said she was worried about me, said I looked sad and lonely, said that I could trust her. And I was a fucking idiot. I did, Chase, I trusted her. I knew she was from the Drake coven, and she used me. I fucked her and she killed them.”

“Hey,” Chase says softly, drawing Tyler up, forcing him to meet his eyes—eyes that are soft, sad, and loving. “She was psychotic, Ty. She was always going to kill them. She used you—”

“I loved her,” Tyler whimpers.

“You love the lie that she created,” Chase says, “That person? The one who listened and cared about your mental wellbeing, who kissed you and flirted with you? The one you thought you were sleeping with? None of that was real. It’s what she wanted you to believe. You were a kid who trusted the wrong person, but there is nothing wrong with trusting, Tyler. You didn’t do this.”

“I feel like I did,” Tyler whispers.

Chase nods. “I know, baby. I know you do.”

He’s quiet for a long time, then quietly asks, “Why—why did she do that today? Why do they always try to hurt my family through me?”

He can hear the uneven beat of Chase’s heart and it occurs to him how wrong it is, putting this on Chase’s shoulders, but he can’t pull away.

Not yet.

“I don’t know,” Chase admits softly.

~*~

The pack doesn’t leave.

Chase burns hot to the touch and remains grumpy, but after that night in Tyler’s bed, he’s gentle with Tyler. He wants to snap at Chase for it, but he’s too selfish to.

The other werewolves in Reid territory itch like a threat, a splinter under the skin, and Tyler hates it, wants it over. Lucas spends more and more time away from them, coming back snarling or silent.

Luther is playing least in sight, but his betas and alphas flaunt their presence, and once, Tyler sees the dark-haired woman from the grocery store.

“We can’t attack them,” Chase says simply, “The magic—the Standing Stones will defend itself and us, but it won’t if we attack first.”

~*~

In the end, it doesn’t matter.

~*~

He feels the rage washing through him through the bond that ties him to Chase, and he shouts for Lucas, stumbling out of bed and reaching for his pants.

“Hurry,” he snarls, then darts into the woods, only distantly aware of his brother cursing behind him. He can feel the rage still, a band of heat on his tongue.

The Chief lives close, a fifteen-minute trek through the forest. Tyler makes it in eight, skidding into the familiar backyard and hearing three heartbeats, one pounding, one familiar, and one sluggish.

Tyler bursts through the back door and Warren snarls, ripping his gaze away from Chase. He’s got the Chief pinned to the wall, claws deep in his shoulder, a savage grin on his face.

But he looks away. For just a second, as Tyler lunges at him, as Lucas howls in the forest, he looks away.

Chase has been training with werewolves since he was fourteen and weaving spells since he was seventeen. He doesn’t hesitate at all. He flicks his fingers and crackling witchlight slams into the Alpha. John makes a pained noise as the werewolf collapses, his claws dragging through fragile flesh, and Chase snarls, leaping on Warren as he writhes in witchlight and crackling electricity.

His expression is blank, cold, when he shoves his runed dagger into Warren’s heart and gives it a savage twist.

~*~

“Chase,” Harper says, and the boy shakes his head. “Chase, you can’t—”

“Take care of my dad,” Chase orders. John grimaces at him from the exam table.

The druid watches him, intent and concerned. “Chase, I warned you—”

“I’m fine,” Chase snarls, and Tyler fidgets, because that was a lie.

“You’ll burn yourself to ash,” Harper murmurs, “You’ll kill yourself, and then who will protect them?”

Chase glares at him for a long moment, and then says stiffly, “Fix my Dad.”

He leaves without a word, and Tyler wants to ask. He wants to demand answers from the druid staring after Chase with something like regret in his gaze.

He doesn’t.

He follows his Shaman.