Morning arrived shrouded in fog, a dense curtain rolling in from the cliffs of La Push, swallowing the tops of the trees and turning them into looming, ghostly shadows. Inside the cabin, the air was warm, filled with the smell of pine and old wood. Stiles stirred beneath a thick blanket on the worn-out couch, blinking groggily as the muted creak of footsteps echoed across the porch.
The door eased open with a groan, letting in a draft of chilled air and the scent of salt from the sea.
Embry stepped inside, shirtless — again — like the cold didn’t touch him, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. He moved with that effortless grace that always made Stiles feel like a gangly cartoon deer by comparison.
“You snore,” Embry said, tossing the comment like it was nothing as he handed one of the mugs over.
Stiles took it with a grateful nod, still half-asleep. “I’m a delicate sleeper,” he muttered. “It’s probably trauma-related. Very scientific.”
Embry gave a rare, crooked grin, and Stiles had to focus very hard on not staring too long at the way the light hit his collarbones. Damn were wolves and their unfair bone structure.
“ You always this jumpy after a vampire attack?” Embry asked as he settled into the armchair across from him, posture casual but alert.
“Usually I scream, cry, and make sarcastic comments until someone sedates me,” Stiles replied.
Embry raised an eyebrow. “So… yes.”
“Yeah. Basically.”
---
That afternoon, the peaceful isolation of the cabin cracked open with the arrival of someone new — tall, broad-shouldered, and with the kind of presence that turned heads without trying.
Sam Uley.
Embry stood the moment he saw him. “Alpha,” he greeted, voice formal.
Sam nodded once, then turned his eyes to Stiles. There was a long pause — not hostile, but cautious. Calculating.
“You’re the one from Beacon Hills.”
“Stiles Stilinski,” Stiles said, standing as well. “Resident sidekick, walking red flag, occasional evil vessel. At your service.”
One of Sam’s eyebrows arched slightly. “We’ve been hearing things. About vampire movement through Washington. You just confirmed it.”
Embry’s expression darkened. “The one we fought last night was scouting. They’re not alone.”
Sam nodded grimly. “We’re coordinating with other packs. We’ll need your help, Embry. And maybe…” His eyes flicked to Stiles. “The human too. If he’s anything like the stories say.”
“I’m very useful,” Stiles said brightly. “Mostly by accident.”
Sam almost smiled. Almost.
---
As the sun dipped low over the ocean, casting the cliffs in gold and shadows, Embry and Stiles walked the path along the edge. For a while, they said nothing — just the sound of waves crashing and gulls crying overhead.
“You don’t have to stay,” Embry said quietly. “You could leave with Scott. Go back before things get worse.”
“I know,” Stiles replied. “But if I left, I’d just be pacing in Beacon Hills, wondering if you got ripped apart by glittery bloodsuckers.”
Embry looked at him, surprised by the honesty in his voice.
“I’m serious,” Stiles added. “You saved my life. I’m not gonna disappear on you.”
Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them. Not quite romantic — not yet — but heavy with something real.
“Besides,” Stiles said, glancing away, “someone’s gotta keep you from brooding yourself to death.”
Embry chuckled, bumping his shoulder. “You’re really staying?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said with a grin. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”
Embry smiled. “I’ve had worse.”
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