"How long could they control fate..."

Peace.

Hope felt true, unfiltered peace. A delicately soft smile curved her lips as she opened her eyes, greeted by the smoldering embers in the hearth. For the first time in so long, Hope felt whole. Like, the worries she had before no longer mattered.

Rolling onto her stomach, she absentmindedly traced her fingers down the ribbed fabric of the pillow that cradled her head—lost in thought. How long had she been asleep? It couldn't have been long, considering the shadows that bathed the living room.

Sighing softly, Hope snuggled into the couch and let her eyes close. She was just on the verge of sleep, that fine line between two worlds, when her eyes snapped open. Sitting up abruptly, she scanned the living room, confused. The room hadn't changed in the time she'd been asleep, but she was alone.

Derek was gone.

Exhaling, she shifted to a sitting position and rested her chin on her knees. He must not have stayed long; she thought as her eyes adjusted to the room.

Hope could still feel the sensation of his warm fingers caressing the small of her back. She had fallen asleep with her head on his chest, listening to his solid heartbeat. It had felt so right in the moment, at least, it did to her. Maybe he didn't feel the same.

She tried to shove the vivid memories from her thoughts. Then, shaking her head, she stood from the couch and dug her toes into the squishy carpet. Her gaze settled on the wood pile next to the brick platform of the fireplace. She debated for a moment. Either put on another log or call it a night. Would it matter if she couldn't sleep anyway?

Hope didn't have the chance to decide.

Without warning, a truck horn blared. Hope whipped her head to the side and stared out the living room window wide-eyed. The green pickup truck was on the lawn facing the house.

The noise was so loud she could see the glass of the window tremble. Then, a sudden bright light lit the entire living room, blinding her. After that, she could see nothing but stars and strangely colored circles.

She froze in fearful surprise.

Her immediate instinct was to duck, to get away from the window and out of the line of fire, but she couldn't move her limbs. It was as if an electric current had paralyzed her, making her muscles rigid and uncooperative.

Move, Hope, move!

But she couldn't. She could only stare in blank horror as the light shut off, leaving her with spotted vision. Then, finally, the driver's door opened, and he stepped out. The man with the tattooed knuckles held something in his hand, a glinting object constructed of silver.

Then she noticed he wasn't alone. They forced a man with a dark head of hair and a muscular build to his knees.

Her heart stopped.

"...Derek."

Dick placed the nose of the pistol against the back of Derek's head.

He pulled the trigger.

Hope inhaled a sharp breath as her eyes snapped open. Her heart hammered painfully against her ribcage. Sweat dewed along her hairline; wisps of baby hair clinging to the nape of her neck.

A burst of warm, buttery sunshine streamed through her bedroom window and greeted her. Watching the dancing dust particles, she eased her rigid muscles into a comfortable position.

Rolling onto her back, she rested her arms above her head and stretched. Her jumbled thoughts trampled over each other while she stared at the white swirl-patterned ceiling.

"It was just a dream," she murmured to herself, "A very horrible, terrifying dream."

Derek must have carried her to bed late last night, or had that all been a dream too? Still, her stomach fluttered from the idea of being cradled in his arms. With a soft sigh, she sat up and rolled out of bed. She was wearing the same outfit the night before and decided a shower was in order.

After a quick warm shower, she dressed in a pair of black leggings and a pink Just Do It Nike tank-top. Then, she gathered her long damp hair into a tight ponytail. The pressure would surely give her a headache by the end of the day. But, at least, it would distract her from her crushing inner thoughts.

Descending the stairs with the intent of making herself a cup of coffee, Hope heard shuffling from the kitchen. The scent of coffee, eggs, and bacon greeted her warmly.

"Hello?" Hope called from the foot of the stairs before rounding the corner, stopping in her tracks.

Derek stood above the stove, flipping sizzling bacon that popped grease at his bare forearms. He wore a plain white t-shirt – it complimented his large biceps – and a pair of dark gray jeans. Dry mud caked his combat boots.

Hope didn't care much; she'd been known to track dirt here and there.

Derek glanced her way, making her heart skip an unusual beat. He offered a crooked smile, obviously in a cheerful mood. The thought crossed her mind that the reason he was so cheery, eagerly making her breakfast because she'd done something last night she didn't recall.

"You're here?" she asked, evident surprise in her voice.

He responded with a slight nod, setting a plate of bacon on the counter. "Don't worry. I brought my own food...."

Hope pursed her lips, "That's actually the least of my curiosities right now." She took a small breath, walked toward the cabinet above the coffee maker next to the sink, and removed two mugs. "I'm sorry. I guess I just didn't expect to see you this morning."

Derek was silent for a long moment. "We have a lot to discuss. So I thought it might be best not to wait."

She cleared her throat a bit awkwardly. "How do you take it?" she asked, pouring the pots' dark and bitter contents into the two mugs.

"Black is fine."

Hope added a bit of cream to her coffee and brought them to the small table in front of the kitchen window. She preferred a view when she ate.

Derek joined her, and soon they sat across from each other, avoiding eye contact. Despite the food smelling delicious, she couldn't seem to pick up her fork to take the first bite.

"You know there's not going to be an easy way to discuss this, right?" she asked, finally meeting his eyes. His hands were folded under his chin, watching her now.

"I know," he murmured, "But this isn't something I can just...brush off. I can't ignore this." His eyes were such a soft shade of moss green, yet so intense they created goosebumps over her arms.

Reaching for her coffee, she took a sip, letting the taste wash over her tongue. "Where would you like me to begin?"

Derek nodded. "I want to know exactly why you came here. You said you came here for me, but what exactly does that mean?" His concentrated eyes searched hers with curious interest.

How could she explain this without sounding utterly insane? She wasn't sure she could.

Chewing on her lower lip, she traced her pinkie finger along the rim of her coffee mug. "You're a Werewolf, and I'm a Werewolf, but we're not the same. At least, the way I understand it," she paused, searching for the right words, "In my society, with my pack, there's a certain time where a Werewolf feels the need to find a mate...." Her eyes flitted over to him, measuring his expression, "For obvious reasons. The bigger the pack, the stronger the pack. The more powerful a pack can be. I think that's universal, but I always thought that whenever I felt ready to find someone, it would be someone within my pack. Not a male Alpha from across the country."

"I grew up in New Orleans. My father's a hybrid, a mix between vampire and werewolf. How he became what he is, is a story for another time," she bit her lip and took another sip of coffee, "My mother was a werewolf when she gave birth, and since my father had a witch heritage, I was born with those powers. But, to make a long story short, while I was in New Orleans, I felt like I needed something. Constantly. Something that no one could seem to satisfy," her brows knitted together, remembering searching the streets of the Quarter, trying to find anything to quench her instincts. Something that could scratch that itch she couldn't quite reach. "This tugging kept pulling me in a certain direction. It pulled me here. It pulled-it dragged me to you...."

She met his eyes with a wide gaze. "It makes sense. I mean, from an instinctual point of view. You're an Alpha; I'm an Alpha. Or I'm meant to be one, anyway. You're strong and capable, but you're completely different. You have your own pack rules, I'm sure," she took a deep breath to bring her pitch down and sighed softly, "If I had known my instincts wanted me to make you my mate, I wouldn't have come. That's not something I'd ever want someone to feel like is forced on them."

Hope grew quiet, waiting for his response as a flush of heat rose in her cheeks.

"Please say something." She murmured.

Derek shook his head slowly. "I know you're afraid of scaring me away, but I must be honest. I don't think you're insane, and I don't think you're trying to force anything on me. Instincts for a Werewolf are natural, and I'd be lying if I said my own instincts weren't telling me I need to find someone too," his dark brows furrowed, "I just – I can't right now. It's not the best time for me..." he trailed off in a soft tone, thoughts seeming distant.

Hope had a strange cocktail of emotions. Part of her was unbelievably relieved by his words. She wouldn't have to settle into some instinctually forced relationship.

Yet, she felt a small wave of disappointment. A part of her wanted to be whole with her other half. Another part said, "Not yet."

"I think I'd like to stay a little longer. Here, in Beacon Hills, I mean." Was it odd for her to be close to him even if she didn't want to be with him? Probably.

Derek gave a light chuckle and nodded. "I think I'd like you to stay too. I'm not sure what that means, but I don't feel like arguing with it."

With a smile, Hope picked up a piece of bacon. "Let's just go with it then. We can see where it takes us."

How long could they control fate?

Breakfast ended, and Derek left to deal with business. Hope didn't ask what his business was, but she had a feeling it involved his pack. In his absence, the afternoon rolled around, leaving Hope plenty of time to dwell on her nightmare from last night.

Thanks to Elijah's many psychology lessons, she understood she feared Derek getting involved with her enemies. She'd never forgive herself if they hurt him – or worse, killed him. Yes, Derek was a capable man, and he could keep himself from harm, but the image of seeing him die so gruesomely had instilled her with a horrible dread.

Hope would make sure that never happened. She wouldn't hold her power back if they laid a hand on him.

To occupy her thoughts, Hope busied herself with chores. She washed the laundry, scrubbed the shower, and dusted every nook and cranny. Task after task, she worked until there was nothing left to clean or rearrange. Everything was spotless.

She was suddenly aware she was in desperate need of a hobby.

She may as well start preparing for dinner. Spicy Gumbo, she thought, her mouth already watering. It sounded delicious, and she could use a taste of home. Not to mention, if Derek returned, they'd have plenty to share. He learned earlier from breakfast that she was a girl with an appetite.

Hope scanned the cupboards and retrieved the ingredients one by one, setting them on the counter. The recipe required a lot, but she knew it would be worth it in the end. Back in New Orleans, she could spend hours by the fire in the bayou. Then, a pack member – whoever oversaw the meal that night – would stir a pot of authentic Gumbo. That meal could easily feed the entire pack.

She loved those nights. Where she held a steaming bowl in her lap, taking occasional bites as she listened to mystical stories of the past.

Those were the memories she loved most.

Deciding to play a bit of music, Hope hooked her speaker to the Bluetooth and pressed play. It blared, "There is a house in New Orleans. They call the rising sun."

"Fitting," Hope said with a sly smile, turning the stove on low.

Hope bobbed her head side to side, moving with the rhythm and occasionally mouthing the lyrics. Distracted by the music, she lost track of time while she cooked. Song after song, she became livelier with her dance moves, moving her hips back and forth as she sang along to Livin' On A Prayer.

"Bon Jovi?" A voice came from behind.

Hope spun around and dropped the wooden spoon she'd used as a microphone to stir her pot.

Derek stood in the kitchen doorway with his hands in his front pockets, grinning from ear to ear. His eyes filled with laughter.

Oh, God, how long had he been standing there? Putting a hand to her forehead, Hope felt a heated blush creep up her neck. She put a finger up. "Don't judge. Bon Jovi is classic."

"No, no. I'm not judging," Derek said, pursing his lips, obviously fighting a laugh.

"Haha." Hope rolled her eyes playfully and picked up the wooden spoon from the floor, tossing it into the sink. "How was 'business'?" She asked, turning to face him while leaning against the sink.

Derek huffed a soft sigh and shook his head, frowning slightly. "I'd much rather take my mind off of it."

With a nod, she placed a lid on the pot while it simmered. "Well, dinner will take a while to cook. Do you like movies?"

He arched an eyebrow and nodded, "It depends on the movie...." Then, with a slight cringe, he said, "It won't be a chick flick, will it?"

His worried expression made her laugh. "Hey, if we're going to be friends, you have to watch what I like too." She smiled and grabbed ahold of his bicep. Her hands were unable to wrap around the muscle entirely. Damn, she thought.

Hope led him into the living room and plopped down on the couch, pulling him with her. "How about..." She started scanning the selection of movies on the screen, "Have you ever seen Die Hard?" She asked, looking over at him, reminding herself not to glance down at her lips. His mouthwatering scent was making it difficult to concentrate.

Derek gave her a skeptical look. "You want to watch Die Hard?"

"You seem surprised."

"I mean, it's just not what I expected." He leaned his head back and smiled slightly, watching her.

"I'm never what anyone expects," Hope tried to suppress a sudden giggle, "That sounded so much better in my head."

His chuckle was light, laced with amusement. "Just start the movie," he said, shaking his head at her.

Pulling her legs up underneath her, she did as he asked and pressed play. Hope absentmindedly squished her throw blanket between her fingers, a habit of hers, as she watched the movie's beginning.

Fifteen minutes passed, and a sudden craving for caffeine slammed her. Hope turned her head to look at him, prepared to ask him if he might like a cup. But, before she could utter a word, fierce green eyes met hers. He had been watching her.

Derek's eyes swam with intense sexual desire. An icy shiver shot down Hope's spine, her entire body throbbing for his attention.

Perhaps it wasn't coffee she craved.

Movements smooth and swift, Derek lifted Hope from her position on the couch and pressed her down against her back. To be pinned to the sofa by him was like pure adrenaline. Her head whirled dizzily. She threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling at the roots, pleased to hear him groan softly. Then, catching his lips in a deeply passionate kiss, she eagerly let her tongue dance and tangle with his.

"Derek..."

A low growl rumbled in his chest.

She gasped softly, closing her eyes as his calloused fingers skimmed the skin under her tank top.

Could she resist him?