“We can kill them,” Lucas suggests quietly while Chase paces. The tattoo on his arm is writhing, the air around him crackling.

“I don’t want to kill them, and you can’t,” Chase dismisses. He flicks a look at Lucas, sees the stubborn argument building there, and sighs. “I’m the Reid Shaman, Lucas,” Chase says gently.

Lucas stares at him for a long enough time that Tyler shuffles anxiously. “You—you bound yourself to her.”

“I bound myself to the Reid Pack because you are my Pack. You and Tyler.”

Lucas takes a deep breath, settling his fury for later, and nods. “What do you want to do?”

Chase goes still and a smile tilts up his lips, dark and vicious. “Let’s give them a present.”

~*~

There’s no scent on the box, and June has no idea how it even ended up there—but she carries it to Luther and watches while he slits it open.

She roars, a noise that breaks into a moaning cry as she stares at it.

“That is interesting,” Luther murmurs. He turns to the Pack. “I don’t want anyone approaching them.”

“We have to do something,” June snarls.

Luther gives her a patient smile. “We will.”

Then he walks away, leaving Warren’s head on the table behind him.

~*~

Tyler dreams. He dreams of the preserve, of Lucas howling and Chase watching him, of running, the feel of the ground sure and steady under his fleet feet, the Standing Stones’ magic a familiar hum ruffling through his fur.

He dream of a sticky sweet voice from a red mouth, dark hair, and darker eyes vanishing into the foggy woods. He chases her and she murmurs in his ear when he lays beside her, panting happily, her fingers stroking his big head.

Distantly, he can hear howling and he thinks he should care, but all he cares about is her, all he wants is to press closer and rub his scent into her, get covered up in hers.

She laughs and murmurs, Silly wolf.

She says, Show me where it is.

She tells him, Stay.

He lets the fog roll over him and her words tug at him, and he wonders what she wants him to show her.

~*~

“Tyler!” Chase is screaming and Lucas’s claws are digging into his arms, and Tyler growls, fighting them until—

He goes limp.

“Chase?” he asks, voice small. “Lucas? What happened?”

Chase stares at him, face so pale it makes Tyler whine and press into the boy, gathering him into his bleeding arms and curling around him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“It’s not your fault,” Chase says thinly.

He looks at Lucas and says quietly, “You can’t kill the alphas, but you can kill their witch bitch.”

~*~

“Trust me?” Chase asks.

He’s holding a little bowl that smells of ash, blood, and aconite that makes him want to sneeze. Chase is watching him like everything hinges on this one question, on Tyler trusting him.

Tyler nods. Even with the cloudy disconnect he’s been feeling all day, he knows this is true—he trusts Chase with his life.

Chase rewards him with a tiny smile and lifts a metal tube. “This is going to hurt,” he murmurs.

Tyler nods and stretches, exposing the curve of his ribs. He feels the quick, light press of Chase’s fingers, followed by the cool wet touch of silver. Then the needle punches in, and his vision goes grey.

~*~

He’s sweaty and shivering when it’s done, and Chase wipes it clean, movements nearly desperate. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Tyler, I’m so sorry.”

He can feel it, the way Chase’s blood, the mistletoe ash, and aconite is keeping him from healing.

It’ll scar. The ink will hold. She won’t be able to touch his dreams anymore. Already he can feel the fog of her spell burning away, the sigil on his side claiming and protecting.

He hates her for invading his dreams. Those are Chase’s, and Lucas’s, and not hers.

“‘M not sorry,” he grits out, “I’m glad.”

Chase laughs and says, voice still weak, “Yeah, well, I haven’t burnt it in yet.”

Oh. Right.

Shit.

~*~

Chase sits awake while Tyler sleeps, his head on Chase’s thigh. He’s still and peaceful, the tattoo on his ribs curling beautifully and protectively.

He can feel it, the magic she’s throwing. Chase pets his hand through Tyler’s hair and closes his eyes.

“I told you. He’s mine,” he whispers furiously, and the spell falters. “You can’t have him, you bitch.”

~*~

Chase sighs and shakes his head, juggling his takeout and keys as he brushes past Andre Drake.

“Should I be concerned?”

“I dunno, Andre, should you?” Chase snarks.

Andre’s lips thin. “Four werewolves just swept into Harrisburg—”

“Five,” Chase corrects, “There were five. I killed one, trying to protect my dad.”

Andre’s mouth opens, then closes, and he squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Chase, we’re allies. You have to tell me when rogue supernaturals wander into Harrisburg.”

“We aren’t allies,” Chase snorts, “You just can’t figure out how to kill me and get away with it, so we play nice at family dinners and no one talks about how much they want to kill the other. I’m not stupid, Drake.” Chase pauses. “And I don’t have to do shit. Harrisburg belongs to the Reids, not the Drakes.”

He dumps his dinner in the passenger seat.

“The Pack—”

“I’m dealing with it,” Chase interrupts.

Andre stares for a long time before he nods. “Tell me if you need any assistance.”

Chase snorts and drives away.

~*~

Lucas calls Aurora three weeks after the Alpha Pack arrives.

“He’s keeping us safe—he even warded Tyler against their Shaman’s dreamspell,” he tells her.

“But?”

Lucas smiles. Beautiful brilliant girl. “But he’s exhausted. He’s burning himself out—he’s using too much magic.” Since they arrived Chase has lost weight he never had to lose, going from lean to almost skeletal, his bright eyes shadowed and bruised, dimmed.

She hums thoughtfully. “And he won’t attack, or allow you to?” He’s silent, letting her think, and then she says softly, “Fine. We’ll do this, then.”

~*~

The fragile peace—if it can be called a peace—shatters on the new moon.

It’s unsurprising to any involved that June is the one to break, to lunge across the carefully maintained distance between the Reids and their Shaman to attack Chase while Luther presents his demands and the twins rumble threats.

It’s vaguely surprising when Lacey Masters, the lovely dark-haired witch who’d tried so hard to get into Tyler’s head, screams in loss and rage as June falls.

Lucas watches it in slow motion—the molotov cocktail laced with belladonna that brings the raging she-wolf to her knees, the way Chase stands panting as the woods whisper around him, he bolt of electricity Lacey throws, the one that none of them are looking for, the one that slams into him and throws him spinning through the air, slamming into a tree and crumpling there, unmoving.

None of them—none of them—expect the power that screams to life, bursting from the ground, alive and furious.

It tastes like ozone and lightning and tiny new growth, like the magic that’s clung to Chase since that damn Solstice.

~*~

Chase told them—

But Tyler didn’t understand. Not really.

He watches as the Standing Stones rip apart the twins, watches vines burrowing into June’s body, twisting and ripping until she’s an unrecognizable lump of meat. He watches as Luther stumbles back and trips, as the Standing Stones pin him there—

“Wait!” Tyler shouts.

There’s a sharp edge of fury, but the vines and the trees, the writhing roots—they all go still. They wait.

The Stones are sentient. It protects us if we protect it, little wolf.

His mother’s words, a lifetime ago.

I bound myself to it, Tyler.

He’s always thought of Chase as his, his to love and protect and care for, but he just watched a Stone circle kill for him, for Chase, and he thinks maybe he had no fucking clue what he was talking about.

Maybe he never did, or ever will.

“Don’t—don’t kill him.”

The leaves rustle and he can feel the fury in it, as Lucas rolls over, groaning.

“Let him leave. Let him tell the rest of the world what will happen if our Shaman is crossed.”

The vines rattle a little, furious and threatening, but they retreat.

When he looks around, there are only the dead betas and June’s remains, and Luther, sitting in a patch of mistletoe, ashen and shaking.

Lacey is gone.

Tyler doesn’t want to think about what the Standing Stones will exact in recompense for hurting its scion.

“Chase told you to get out of our territory,” Tyler growls, “Now I suggest you listen.”

~*~

“Take him home, brother,” Lucas says, watching the Alpha limping away from them. “I’ll make sure that he leaves.”

“Don’t—Chase would kill you, Lucas.”

“I won’t,” Lucas says, “I have no desire to be Alpha. But I will ensure he’s gone, and no longer our problem.”

He vanishes into the trees, following Luther, and Tyler turns to where Chase is still crumpled and still. He’s a barely-there weight in Tyler’s arms, smelling of burnt flesh and hair, and it makes the wolf in him whine in fear.

He was so fucking close to losing Chase.

He remembers the first time he held this brilliant boy in his arms, when he ran away and collapsed into him, sobbing and afraid.

“I’m gonna take care of you, Chase,” he whispers, and hitches him higher in his arms.

He doesn’t look back, but he can smell morning glory blooming behind him, all the way home.

~*~

They call John after Chase wakes up and blinks at them, gives them an almost drunken smile and says, “Did we win?”

“Idiot,” Tyler says fondly.

Lucas smirks. He’s making soup, listening to the quiet, steady rhythm of Chase’s breathing and Tyler’s heartbeat, when the cruiser rattles down their drive and John bursts in, wide-eyed and pale.

“You’ll wake him,” Lucas says simply, and the other man goes still. “Go and look. Quietly. He’s exhausted.”

“But he’s ok?”

Lucas stirs the soup, a savory potato chowder Chase had frozen last week, and considers how to answer this. The frustrating, frightening truth is that he doesn’t know. He has no idea how the Standing Stones’ power affected him. “He’s alive and whole. The rest is just window dressing. The rest we can fix with time and care.”

John falls into the chair at the table. Lucas eyes him for a moment, then pours a tumbler of whiskey and pushes it at him.

“I hate this,” he says hoarsely. “I know I can’t keep him out of it—Chase has been knee deep in the supernatural since he hit puberty—but I hate it when he ends up hurt.”

“Believe it or not,” Lucas says softly, “I do, too. I would remove him from this world completely to keep him from it, if I could.”

“Even though—”

Lucas looks at him. “Even though.”

~*~

It takes time.

For weeks, Chase is too tired to even spend much time out of bed. He sleeps and spends hours complaining about the fact that he’s stuck in bed.

Lucas and Tyler take the time to lavish him with attention, almost shameless in it. He explains to his professors his medical leave of absence, and after two weeks of sleeping and watching trashy TV with Lucas, he’s finally allowed to start classwork again, and that helps immensely.

But it takes time for him to not be exhausted by walking downstairs, for the burns of his tattoos to heal, for him to stop shaking when he tries to cook.

It takes time for him to have the strength to walk from his father’s house to the pack den.

“I hate this,” he mutters, when John brings him water and painkillers for his sore muscles.

“I know,” John answers easily.

“It’s ridiculous,” he grumbles, when Lucas steers him to a chair and finishes making dinner.

“Of course it is, pup.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” he whispers into Tyler’s throat, when he’s almost crying in bed.

“Never. You could never be,” Tyler vows, pressing a kiss to his hair.

~*~

The first time he finishes his dinner without complaining or coaxing, the first time he makes it all the way through his slow jog through the forest, the first time he puts Tyler on his back, he grins, wild and bright, and thinks it’s going to be ok.

~*~

“I heard a rumor,” Aurora says, her voice honey sweet in his ear.

“Rumors are such silly things, darling girl,” Lucas says. She’s been on the phone for an hour, her voice dipping lower and huskier, softened with sweetness, and he’s half hard just listening to her.

He doesn’t know when he became the person Aurora called—he thinks maybe after he sent her a very special obit—but he can’t say he minds.

“It’s about a tiny pack in northern California. A pack that destroyed a united pack, a pack whose shaman is the strongest druid alive. A pack whose Left Hand is bloodless and terrifying.”

Lucas smiles and reaches for himself, lets her voice wrap around him like a caress.

“Sweet girl. Don’t you know better than to listen to rumors?”

~*~

Lucas gets restless. Sometimes Chase will look at him and see the rage in his eyes, and when he does, he nudges travel plans at the other man.

He never asks, and Lucas never says, but more than once, someone will go missing while Lucas is traveling, and always, Chase can look at it and see someone responsible for the accident—one of the many Drake cousins, one of the pretty boys Mia used.

He doesn’t let himself think about why Lucas is killing them and how it will lead, inevitably, to Mia Drake. He doesn’t let himself think about how that will change the balance in Harrisburg with the Drakes. He only lets himself think about the relaxed peace in Lucas’s eyes when he comes home with blood on his hands.

Chase knows he’s morally grey, knows that he isn’t a good person, but he doesn’t care. He thinks that if this is what buys Lucas’s happiness and peace of mind—the world is better without murderers anyway.

~*~

After two months, Tyler and Lucas have both relented enough to leave Chase alone sometimes, trusting that he won’t collapse while they’re working. Still, occasionally they’ll pop back in, surprise him by checking on him during the day. It’s as endearing as it is infuriating.

He’s reading his psychology textbook, making notes while Aurora studies by Skype, when the door opens, and he grins, looking up.

He expects Tyler. He’s startled when he sees a woman—tall, willowy with dark hair, a stern face, and Tyler’s eyebrows. He feels the air in the room still as she looks at him, and he’s torn between fear and rage, that she is here.

“So I guess you’re Chase,” she says.

“I think,” Chase says cheerfully, clearly, so Aurora can’t miss it, “that makes you Chelsea.”