***STILES***

Dad knows I'm only pretending to be dead to the world when he says goodbye to me every morning. But he's okay with that. It's part of the unspoken rules of this particular ritual of ours, I guess.

Hunter, on the other hand, is a born rule-breaker.

Not to mention a heartbreaker.

Just ask Danny. He'd been seeing the new werelynx in town for a week or so after his arrival, but their relationship, mostly cultivated online, had deteriorated pretty quickly. Turns out, Hunter had been moving too fast for Danny, wanting too much too soon, and Danny was too vanilla for Hunter. A terrible combo by any stretch of the imagination, wouldn't you say?

Not long after that breakup happened, he stole away from Derek's loft (where he's been staying with Skylar) in the dead of night and found his way into my bed, the crafty SOB. All we did was sleep in each other's arms, but when I woke up the next morning, I found my phone blowing up with texts from Dad: "Enjoyed yourself last night, Stiles?" "Were you careful, at least?" "And I don't just mean vampire-werewolf-whatever infections, you know."

I mean, no way was he sending those in all seriousness. At least he didn't try to get all manly-bro on me and tell me "Congratulations" or some shit. Maybe his sheriff's sense clued him in to the fact that I was still a virgin. Still am, in fact, as of today. Hunter, it seems, has learned from his mistakes. He's not rushing to pop my cherry anytime soon. Although I think he's concerned I'm more fragile than I really am. After all, I've recently changed species and come out of the closet - that should be enough life stress for any fifteen-going-on-sixteen dude, am I right?

I won't lie, though. Hunter coming into my room, folding me into his arms and gently purring into my ear? I could do that every night. And every day, too.

Today's no exception. He comes in not long after Dad leaves - I swear, he must've been waiting for him to drive off to work - and cuddles me from behind, placing his tall, slender form between me and the sun.

"Did I tell you how much I like your new hairstyle?" he asks. I've noticed that, over time, he's been shifting his accent from English to American. I think he's been trying to copy my accent, but he's not very good at it. Points for trying, though, only because it's Hunter.

"Not much of a style," I say. "I just haven't cut it since before I was bitten." I chuckle to myself. "Long before."

"Seriously." He totally morphs into an obnoxious Valley Girl on that word, but I'll forgive him because he's starting to play with my hair. Maybe it's the feline in him, but he really likes playing with anything remotely resembling a ball of yarn. "Seriously," he says, this time in a less exaggerated accent. More Buffy than Valley Girl, but still not me, if that's what he's going for. "You should keep growing it, Stiles," he says. "No offense, but your old buzz-cut made you look gawky. You're cuter than that. Show it."

"How's this?" I say. "I'll keep growing my hair out if you stop trying to hide your accent. You're cuter than that."

He breathes a theatrical sigh of relief, then switches with ludicrous precision to his natural voice, English accent and all. "Who was it who said 'Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?'"

"Shit, I dunno. Oscar Wilde?"

Hunter nuzzles my neck. "Are you just trying to invoke his name 'cos he's an idol to our people?"

"I thought he was gay, not bi."

"Still, he was at least one letter in LGBT."

I look up and over Hunter's head to see the window on the other side of the room closed. With that in mind, I wriggle away for a second, then climb on top of him.

"Wait," he says, suddenly breathless. "What about the-"

I place one finger on his lips, and my other hand on his chest, feeling the lean, hard muscle under his shirt. I want to say I'm approaching that level of fit myself, but that's mostly because I've eaten less in the last month, and my body fat percentage has dwindled. Not too healthy, I know. "The window's closed," I say. "No sun."

"It's not completely closed," Hunter says.

"I'll worry about that later." I move my hands to his ropy upper arms and rotate them so he's holding his hands above his head. Then I lean down and tug on his lip with both of mine, gently biting it as I do every morning to see if the fangs I'm supposed to grow have finally developed. They haven't, but I quickly forget about that as I lose myself in a sweet kiss.

This is as much as I've done with Hunter so far. Sometimes, he lies on top of me, and I'm more than happy to feel his solid weight covering my body. But sometimes, I like to be on top too. I'm so new to this, but that's what he's there for, to show me the ropes. And to show me his werelynx ear tufts, which I've come to love playing with.

Sometimes, I've considered asking Hunter if he's ready to take the next step. But every time I've gotten close to it, something's killed the mood. Like the sun shining through the window and making my hand and/or forearm prickle and burn - which, every time that's happened, has made me let out a most un-sexy yelp of pain.

Or like what interrupts this morning's make-out.

I once looked on Urban Dictionary and found a very interesting Word of the Day - "texticle," which describes what happens when a guy gets a text while his phone is in his front pocket, and the vibration tickles his balls.

It's not just my balls getting tickled today.

When my phone goes off, Hunter gasps, and for a second, I'm scared it might have accidentally made him cream his pants. Then he reaches down and feels his own jeans pockets. "Shit," he groans. "Forgot my phone. But I was in a rush to get out this morning. Skylar was being...vocal with Derek."

"Sorry you had to hear that," I say as I fish my phone out and fumble it, dropping it to the floor. Thank God my dad sprang for the military-grade protective case. I roll over to the floor myself, picking my phone up and seeing the text. From Scott, of course.

"Morning dude sleep well?"

I smirk to myself. Everyone but me has been really getting some lately, and Scott (who's been rekindling his relationship with Allison) is no exception. Summer weather really gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "in heat." Especially when horny young werewolves are involved. I can only imagine how well Scott must have slept last night, but he's probably still waking up very slowly. Which would explain his unusually punctuation-light text.

"Still not fanging out," I tell him.

Hunter looms over my shoulder, reading the texts between me and Scott. "You sure you two aren't secretly an item?" he asks.

"What, a guy can't be concerned about me and not be my lover?" I laugh. "Scott's my brother, man. Not in blood, in spirit."

Hunter nods. "Wish I had someone I felt that way about. A parabatai, you know?"

I chuckle at his Mortal Instruments reference. He's a huge fan of Cassie Clare, as is Lydia, which has helped him bond with her. "What about your actual sister?"

"I only wish I could see eye to eye with her," Hunter says, "but at least she does so much better than our parents." His face clouds over. He hates talking about his parents. He all but ran away from them because he couldn't wait another year till he was a legal adult. Skylar's told me more about it, so I can understand him better - and realize how lucky I am to not have a homophobic (or, more accurately, biphobic) parent.

My phone vibrates again, and I expect it's from Scott - but nope. It's Derek. "Is Hunter with you?" he asks. Then, before I can respond, he sends another text. "Your dad just called me. He says there's been a murder. A vampire did it, he thinks."

I stiffen as I read the second message. Then I hastily type up a response. "Are we looking into this?"

"Yes," he says. "I'm bringing in everyone. Skylar thinks she knows who it is."

"Oh God, no," Hunter moans. He's still reading over my shoulder, or so I think. Turning around, I see he's looking up, away from me. But that doesn't stop him hearing my thoughts, I guess. Especially with our brains in such close proximity.

"Don't tell me," I say to Derek, my fingers shaking. "Renard Senior?"

"Yeah."

Hunter leaps off my bed and runs out the door. "He's gonna regret this!" he yells.

I trail after him, carrying the leather jacket he left behind. "We can't be sure it's your dad," I say, rushing down the stairs.

"It's him," Hunter growls. He's so angry, he's started to shift - and more than just his cute little ear tufts too. He's got his whiskers showing, and his needle-sharp teeth, and faint stripes of fur on his face too. Not to mention shiny gold cat's eyes. He swallows, bringing his appearance back to normal, then adds, "If Skylar says it's him, it's him. I trust her intuition." He turns around, reaching for the doorknob. Before he opens the door, though, he says, "You can wear my jacket if you want. It's big enough to cover you nicely."

I run back upstairs to grab the pair of sunglasses I keep in my room now, then put on his jacket along with the shades. My neck won't have much protection, but at this time of morning, the sun's rays aren't so strong anyway. I'll survive the walk to Derek's loft.

I just have to keep up with him and his long-legged stride. Not that my legs aren't long - just not as long as his.