Chapter 1: Pistanthrophobia {Fear of Trusting People Due to Negative Past Experience}

The Preserve was always a place that Peter felt safe. The dense trees protected their secret from ever being seen by those on the outside, the rich dirt always made the wolf within chuff with satisfaction as his bare feet sunk into it. The Preserve was a paradise! Or it had been when his pack – his old pack – had protected it.

Now, the dense trees protected those who would harm them from being found and the dirt was no longer rich, instead it was coarse and rough, like all of the nutrients had been removed. His paradise had transformed into an Abyss of darkness and he knew who was responsible for such an oversight. Scott McCall.

Even in his mind the name was spat with a growl. His first, and only, beta – now Alpha – had practically abandoned the territory! He had no idea what he was doing when it came to holding territory and yet wouldn't seek instruction from anyone other than Deaton in fear of his 'black and white world' turning grey. Of course, Derek, too, had been responsible for the way the preserve was now but Peter's nephew had only been Alpha for a few weeks before the Alpha spark had been taken from him to save Cora's life.

Cinnamon and Ash…

Stiles! Thought Peter, his eyes glowing blue as he slowed his pace. What is he doing out here?

Focusing his senses, Peter looked around, discovering a light grey scent trail that lead towards Malia's old Coyote den. He assumed Stiles must have followed him on foot – since he hadn't heard the Jeep on his drive over to the Preserve – and prepared himself to scold the boy as he bent down to enter the den.

Imagine his surprise when Peter didn't find Stiles… no, instead he found a young girl – the same age as Stiles – wearing a red hoodie and curled up in the corner of the den. She was incredibly sickly from what he could see in the dark. He blinked and she was standing, growling at him like a wild animal while holding a tattered – and empty – gun right at him.

Inhaling again, Peter was once again confronted with the smell of Cinnamon and Ash. Confused, he gently raised his hands and bent down, making himself as small as he could as to not startle her too much.

"Hello," said Peter. "I mean you no harm, please put your weapon down."

She didn't respond, still growling. He could tell she'd heard and understood him – her eyes had darted to the gun and back to him – but it was obvious that she didn't want to get rid of her only protection.

"I understand you're afraid," he continued, soothingly, "but I promise I mean you no harm. I'm friends with the Sheriff. I can take you to him."

The girl released a whimper upon hearing the word Sheriff. Peter could only assume that she hadn't had the best experience with Sheriff's before and silently berated himself for it – until she put the gun down. He didn't dare push his luck by reaching for it and instead slowly stood up – wincing as his bones cracked and clicked in protest – making sure his hands didn't move. Inhaling again, his eyes widened.

Copper…

She was hurt and bleeding. The red hoodie she was hiding in had hidden it from his Supernatural eyes and he had been too focused on the gun to notice it over the overwhelming smell of his mate. It was now that he fully took her in and noticed how her left harm was cradling her ribs – which were bandaged rather poorly using some of her black shirt.

"You should go to a hospital," said Peter. "That wound could be infected."

"No."

One word. One word and Peter was almost whimpering with sympathy. Her voice was small, barely above a whisper, if he hadn't had enhanced senses, he probably wouldn't have heard it, and full of concealed pain. It was also firm, determined and Peter instantly knew that he wouldn't be able to force her to go to a hospital without a fight – which he defiantly didn't want to do without first assessing all of her injuries.

"Okay, no hospital. What about the sheriff?"

It appeared that one word was all she was willing to say as instead of verballing answering, she chose to simply nod and begin moving towards him. The gun was still clutched tightly in her hand, but Peter didn't mind as he knew that he was faster than she was.

Peter was the first one out of the den, turning to help her only to find she was already out. He made sure that he was in front of her, not too far as to appear to be running away but not close enough for her to worry if he needed to turn around. She was limping, hardly strong enough to stand, and yet she kept his pace – like she was used to the pain.

They walked in silence towards Peter's car, which he was glad that he had parked so close by. She flinched when he pulled out his keys but was otherwise fine as he unlocked the car door and opened it for her. Eyeing him suspiciously, she climbed into the car – wincing as she settled into the passenger's seat – and watched as he got in and began driving.

In the light of the car, Peter could now see her perfectly. She had long brown hair that appeared to have not been washed or brushed in several years, her skin was paler than the moon but was also rather pink – as if she had a permanent blush all over her body. Her hands were covered in calluses – much like Chris' – but also covered in scars – much like her face. The rest of her was concealed behind her, obviously stolen, clothing and the red hoodie, which was at least three sizes too small and yet she still managed to fit into it.

She was watching the town with a look of awe and curiosity as he drove towards the Sheriff's house. Peter noted there was something else in her amber eyes which gave him pause, familiarity.

Arriving outside of the Stilinski Household, Peter quickly got out and waited for her to do the same.

"I'm going to go in for a few seconds and then I'll come back out for you, okay?" said Peter.

She nodded.

Entering the house, using the key he'd been given a few weeks ago, Peter was thankful – though he'd never admit it – to find Chris Argent sipping his coffee in front of the TV. Chris looked up when he entered and rolled his eyes at the werewolf he fully looked at him.

"What happened?" asked Chris, standing up and putting his coffee down.

"I'll explain later, just get the first aid kit and possibly Stiles," ordered Peter.

Chris nodded, to which Peter was thankful. He then moved back towards the door where the girl was waiting. Peter ushered her inside with a soft look and watched as familiarity once again filled her eyes.

He was just about to help her to the couch when Stiles and Chris entered the room. Upon seeing the girl Peter was helping, Stiles gasped. Tears filled his eyes and in an instant he was wrapping his arms around her and hugging her like there was no tomorrow.

"Eris!" he whimpered.

"Mieczyslaw!" 'Eris' cried, hugging him to her.

"Stiles?" Peter prodded, breaking up the reunion. "Who is she?"

"She's my twin sister!"