The McCall House (Invitation)
Rory stumbled back a step, her spine peeling off the rough bark, her jeans tugged into place but clinging loosely on her hips. Warm wetness slid down her inner thigh, soaking into the cotton of her panties. She stiffened at the sensation, mortified and trembling all at once. Hope's cum. Still inside her. Still marking her.
The girl who had just fucked her senseless stood only a foot away, chest heaving, gold flickering in her eyes like embers that refused to die out.
For the first time since the collision, silence pressed between them.
Awkward. Too raw. Too heavy.
Rory's gaze dropped, then snapped up again, refusing to let herself cower. "We don't even—" Her voice cracked, her throat raw. "We don't even know each other's names."
The other girl swallowed, lips parting. "Hope," she said, voice low, a little unsteady, like even speaking it out loud felt dangerous.
Hope.
Rory's stomach clenched. Somehow it fit. Strong, stubborn, inevitable.
"...Rory," she whispered back, and hearing her own name fall between them felt strange. Intimate. Like giving a piece of herself away after everything they'd already taken.
Silence again. Too long. Both of them caught staring. Both of them are unsure what the hell to do now.
Rory finally broke it, crossing her arms like armor. "You should come with me. To my place. We—" she faltered, searching for words. "We need to talk about... whatever the hell that was. And who the hell are you?"
Hope blinked, then nodded once, sharp, like she didn't trust her voice enough to speak.
The tension stretched taut between them, so thick Rory swore she could feel it pressing on her skin.
Then a shrill sound shattered the quiet.
Both of them jumped.
Hope fumbled into her jacket pocket, pulling out a buzzing phone. Alaric's name glowed on the screen. She sucked in a breath, her lips pressing thin, then thumbed it to answer.
"Hope?" Alaric's voice was tight, already suspicious. "Where the hell did you disappear to?"
Hope's gaze flicked to Rory before she spoke. "I—found something. A werewolf shifter." Her voice steadied with practiced authority. "I'm going over to her house. I think I can convince her to come to the school."
There was a pause. Too long.
Alaric exhaled sharply. "Hope... what aren't you telling me?"
Her jaw clenched. She swallowed hard. "Nothing. —trust me."
Another pause. Then, reluctantly: "Fine. But don't forget why we're here. I expect details when you get back."
The line clicked dead.
Hope shoved the phone into her pocket, her jaw tight, shoulders rigid. Rory shifted against the tree, feeling the slick drip between her thighs again. Every step she took would smear Hope's cum deeper into her panties. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she hated that she couldn't tell if it was from shame or need.
"Your place, then," Hope said at last, her voice low, husky from the call, from everything.
Rory nodded sharply. "It's not far. McCall house. Just... follow me."
She started walking, boots crunching over the forest floor. Hope fell into step beside her, close enough that Rory could feel her body heat, but not touching. Every brush of air between them felt like it might catch fire.
They walked in silence at first, both stealing glances at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking. Rory's mind buzzed with too many thoughts at once: Allison's betrayal, the hollow ache of every meaningless hook-up since, and now this stranger—this girl who had torn control from her hands and fucked her against a tree until her soul had split wide open.
Her thighs pressed together as she walked, trying to hide the wetness soaking through. She wondered if Hope could smell it. Probably. Wolves always could.
Hope's golden gaze flicked toward her, unreadable, but her nostrils flared. Rory's stomach tightened.
But beneath all of that, something terrifyingly new: she felt sated. The gnawing hunger that had clawed at her for weeks was now quiet. Whatever else lived inside her, whatever darkness coiled under her skin, it was calm. Fed. Purring.
The realization made her chest tighten. If one stranger could silence it so easily, what did that make her? Dependent? Weak? Or worse—bonded?
Her jaw clenched. No. She wouldn't let herself fall into that trap again, not after Allison.
So she walked faster, shoulders squared, eyes fixed ahead, trying to put distance between herself and the girl at her side. A stranger. That's all she was. A stranger with gold eyes and cum still dripping out of her, soaking her panties, but still—a stranger.
Rory forced her walls back up, brick by jagged brick. Don't look at her. Don't think about the heat in her gaze. Don't think about how full, how safe, how whole she had felt in those moments.
Hope matched her pace easily, silent but steady, her presence a weight Rory couldn't shake. Every time Rory shoved the walls higher, she could feel Hope's gaze pressing against them, testing their strength, not pushing and not prying, just being there.
It made it worse.
They walked another few minutes in taut silence before Rory's nerves snapped.
"So... I know you're a wolf," she said suddenly, her voice low, biting. "But what else are you?"
Hope glanced at her, lips twitching like she almost smiled. "Complicated."
"That's not an answer," Rory muttered.
"Neither was yours," Hope countered, her tone even, not cruel. "But I can feel it. You're not just a wolf."
Rory's steps faltered, her chest tightening. She didn't want to admit it—hell, she didn't even know what she was. All she knew was the hunger, the gnawing emptiness that never quieted. Except now. Except with Hope.
She clenched her fists, staring straight ahead. "You don't know me."
"I know enough," Hope said softly, but there was steel in it.
The words lodged in Rory's chest. She wanted to argue, to shove her away, but the weight of Hope's gaze made her feel naked, seen in a way that scared her more than claws or teeth ever could.
Neither spoke again, but the silence wasn't empty. It was heavy, humming, every step pulling them closer together even when they tried to keep apart.
The trees thinned, and the warm glow of the McCall house peeked through the branches ahead.
Rory swallowed, pulse racing.
What the hell was she about to do?
---
Rory pushed open the door, the familiar creak of the McCall house greeting her like a ghost. She stepped inside first, the warmth of the living room washing over her skin. For once, it didn't comfort. She felt raw, exposed, like every wall she tried to build outside had already cracked the moment Hope followed her in.
Hope shut the door behind them with quiet finality. The sound echoed.
"Nice place," she said softly, her voice carrying a weight that made it sound less like an observation and more like a warning. Her eyes roamed the living room — the framed photos on the mantle, the scent of lingering wolf all over the furniture — but they kept circling back to Rory. Always back to Rory.
Rory dropped her jacket onto the couch, refusing to meet her gaze. "Don't get comfortable. You're not staying."
Hope's mouth quirked, but her eyes stayed serious. "Funny. Didn't feel like you wanted me gone a few minutes ago."
Rory spun, glaring, pulse spiking at the reminder. Her body betrayed her, a sharp pulse between her thighs making her shift her weight. "That—" she snapped, then faltered. "That was a mistake."
Hope stepped forward slowly and deliberately. "Did it feel like one?"
Rory's stomach clenched, heat curling low, spreading up her spine like wildfire. She hated that her body answered before her mouth could. She hated the ache, the dampness between her legs that only grew stronger under Hope's gaze.
"Stop," she said, sharper than she meant, backing up until her calves hit the coffee table. "Don't—don't look at me like that."
Hope froze, but the intensity didn't fade. If anything, it deepened. "Like what?"
"Like you already own me," Rory hissed.
The words slipped out before she could stop them, and the second they hung in the air, she felt her skin burn because it was true. That look. That steady, unyielding gaze. It made her feel claimed.
Hope's jaw flexed, a shadow of guilt flickering in her eyes, but the hunger there only sharpened. "Maybe because I do."
Rory's breath caught. Her nails dug into her palms. Her thighs pressed together, tight, trying to fight the ache building with every heartbeat.
Silence stretched, heavy, humming like a live wire between them.
Finally, Hope dragged in a breath, tearing her gaze away, forcing her hands into her pockets like she needed to pin them there. "I don't want to hurt you, Rory. I came here to bring a girl to the school, not—" she broke off, jaw clenching. "Not this."
Rory's laugh came bitter, but it shook at the edges. "Too late for that."
Hope's eyes snapped back to her, glowing faintly gold now, her body taut as if she were fighting something feral inside. "What are you?" she whispered, not accusing, but aching.
Rory swallowed hard. Her throat was too dry. "I told you. I don't know." Her voice cracked, softer now. "Wolf. And... something else."
Hope's nostrils flared, and the air between them thickened. Every second she spent looking at Rory, the arousal she tried to fight only burned hotter. She could smell Rory's desire now — sharp, sweet, intoxicating — curling around her like smoke.
Rory shifted, thighs pressing tighter together, heat flooding her core until she swore her skin was glowing. She hated it. She needed it.
"I can't—" Rory started, shaking her head, voice thin. "Not again. I can't just—"
"You're burning up," Hope said quietly, almost to herself, her voice husky now.
Rory's chest heaved. She tore her gaze away, crossing her arms over her chest like she could hold herself together. "Stay away from me."
Hope didn't move closer. But she didn't push back either. Her whole body vibrated with restraint, her nails biting into her palms inside her pockets. "You know I can't."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It pulsed, alive, their breaths shallow, their hearts pounding like they were still back in the woods, pressed together against bark and shadows.
Rory's skin prickled. Her body screamed for Hope, her hunger roaring awake. But her mind clung desperately to the walls, to control, to the fear of what giving in again would mean.
Hope's eyes glowed brighter. She looked like she was at war with herself — predator and protector colliding in her chest.
And Rory, trembling, caught between shame and need, knew this was only the beginning.
"So..." she rasped, voice rough, pretending she didn't notice the tremor. "That call. You said something about a school?"
Hope blinked, the question cutting through the haze, but only barely. Her lips parted, her chest rising and falling heavily. "The Salvatore School. For the Young and Gifted. My... home." She exhaled slowly, as if the word itself was foreign on her tongue. "It's where I'm supposed to take kids like us. Witches. Wolves. People with... more."
Rory clung to the words like a lifeline. "And what—you just scoop up strays in the woods? Offer them a dorm room and call it charity?" Her voice was sharp, defensive, but it was easier to be biting than admit how her body shook.
Hope's gaze slid over her, slow, deliberate, like she could see right through the armor. "It's not charity. It's survival. Without it..." She hesitated, her jaw flexing. "Most of us don't make it."
Rory's stomach twisted. She knew it was true. Every sleepless night, every time she clenched her thighs until they bruised to fight the hunger clawing inside her, she knew it. Still, she snapped, "I don't need saving."
Hope stepped closer. Too close. The warmth of her body reached out like a hand on Rory's skin. "Maybe not." Her voice dropped low, velvet-edged with steel. "But I think you need me."
The words hit harder than claws. Rory's breath hitched, heat surging through her like wildfire. She staggered back, hitting the arm of the couch, her knees buckling until she sank onto the cushions.
"Stop," she whispered, but her body betrayed her. Her back arched, her chest heaved, and she squeezed her thighs together so tight it only made the throbbing worse.
Hope hovered, fists balled in her pockets, trembling with restraint. Her nostrils flared, catching Rory's scent, and her eyes glowed faint gold. "God, I can smell you," she breathed, her voice ragged.
Rory's face flamed crimson, shame and want crashing together until her vision blurred. "Don't—" she choked out, but the word died on her tongue as her body heated, burning alive under Hope's gaze.
Hope growled low in her chest, turning away, pacing like a caged animal. "I shouldn't. I can't." Her voice was shredded, feral. "I came here to bring you to the school, not—"
"Not what?" Rory snapped, springing to her feet, anger and arousal fusing in her chest like dynamite. "Not fuck me? It doesn't make me feel whole for the first time in weeks. You already did that, Hope. You already—" Her voice broke, and she shook, trembling in every limb.
Hope's eyes snapped back to her, glowing full gold now, the predator barely chained. "Say it," she growled, stepping forward.
Rory's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her body answered instead, every inch of her trembling, begging, burning.
And then the silence between them shattered.
Hope surged forward, hands seizing Rory's face, her mouth crashing onto hers in a kiss that was fire and teeth and desperation. Rory gasped into it, her fists bunching in Hope's shirt, yanking her closer, because fighting was pointless now.
Every wall she had built crumbled.
The snap had come.
Rory tore her mouth free, gasping, her forehead pressed to Hope's. "Upstairs," she panted, voice husky, demanding. "Now."
Hope didn't hesitate. She nodded once, sharp, her eyes molten gold, and let Rory yank her toward the staircase.
They moved like fire down dry timber — fast, unstoppable, consuming everything in their path.
Clothes came off in desperate tugs and furious pulls. Rory's shirt was yanked over her head, flung to the floor halfway up the stairs. Hope's jacket slid off her shoulders, tumbling onto the railing. A boot thudded against a step, then the other, socks abandoned without thought.
By the landing, Hope had Rory pinned against the wall, her hands under Rory's bra, mouth latched to her throat, sucking until her pulse thundered. Rory moaned, hips grinding, then shoved her away just enough to growl, "Room. Keep going."
They stumbled down the hall, half-dressed, half-naked, leaving a trail of fabric in their wake — Hope's shirt ripped open, buttons scattering; Rory's jeans shoved down to her knees before Hope dragged them the rest of the way off and tossed them aside.
By the time they burst into Rory's room, neither of them had much left to strip. Rory kicked the door shut hard enough that it rattled the frame, then shoved Hope onto the bed. Hope went willingly, falling back on her elbows, her chest rising and falling, her cock already straining against her boxers.
Rory stood there, panting, her hair wild, her body flushed and trembling. The sight of Hope sprawled on her bed made her stomach twist, her core clench, her hunger roar back to life.
She climbed onto the bed, straddling Hope's hips, her fingers digging into her shoulders. "This doesn't mean anything," she hissed, but the lie cracked on her tongue.
Hope smirked, her hands sliding down Rory's bare back, tugging her closer. "Keep telling yourself that."
Then Rory ground down against her, the heat of Hope's cock pressed to her soaked panties, and both of them groaned in unison, the sound filling the room.
Rory kissed her hard, teeth clashing, trying to take control. She yanked at Hope's wrists, pushing them into the mattress, grinding down harder, desperate to prove she wasn't just being claimed.
Hope let her for a breath. Then slid her hand down, pressing between Rory's thighs. One finger slipped into her soaked heat, and Rory moaned, her grip faltering.
Hope's mouth curved against her throat. "That's it. Open up for me."
Rory snarled, trying to roll them, to push Hope down, but she couldn't budge her.
Rory's body arched under Hope's hand, every thrust of her fingers unraveling her more. She clawed at Hope's shoulders, trying to flip them, to ride, to dominate—but Hope didn't budge. The second finger slid in deep, curling against that spot that made Rory's breath shatter into moans.
Her vision blurred, and her eyes flared.
First green. Then the alpha-red of her wolf, glowing fierce. Then—something else. That impossible, luminous blue, burning bright as a star.
Her head snapped forward, locking onto Hope's face.
Hope's eyes glowed too, not gold now, not feral—but their natural blue. Piercing. Endless.
Rory froze. For one wild heartbeat, she was lost in them. Not the hunger, not the power—her. The girl who held her down, who refused to let her fall apart alone, who claimed every side of her like it was sacred.
The world disappeared. It was just that impossible blue tethering her, pulling her in.
Her breath caught, her chest heaving. Her hips ground down against Hope's fingers without thought, chasing release, but her gaze—her gaze clung desperately to those eyes.
"Fuck," Rory whimpered, trembling. "I can't—"
Hope's voice rumbled low, steady, protective even as her fingers drove her closer to the edge. "Yes, you can. Stay with me. Look at me."
Rory did. Even as her body convulsed, even as her orgasm tore through her like wildfire, she never looked away. Her glowing eyes flickered and stuttered, green-red-blue, but her focus stayed locked to Hope's natural blue until the climax ripped her apart.
She cried out, body bowing, thighs clenching around Hope's hand. The sound cracked through the room, desperate and raw, before she collapsed against Hope's chest, trembling.
Hope wrapped her tight, fingers still buried deep inside, murmuring into her hair. "Mine," she whispered again, a promise, a brand.
And Rory—panting, shaking, still lost in those eyes—didn't fight it. Couldn't fight it.
---
Round Two – The Feeding
Hope had barely rolled off her before Rory yanked her back, lips crashing hungrily against hers. The kiss was wild, teeth and tongue, desperate. She was already grinding up against her again, wet and wanting, the bond thrumming in her chest like a drumbeat.
"Again," Rory whispered, voice hoarse, needy, trembling. "Don't stop. Please, Hope—I need you again."
Hope groaned, forehead pressing to hers, cock already hardening between them, slick with both their cum. "You're insatiable."
Rory's laugh broke into a whimper. "Then feed me."
Hope froze, eyes flashing gold. "Feed you?"
Rory's eyes glowed luminous blue, her succubus nature finally clawing to the surface. "Yes. I don't know what I am, but I know I can take it from you. Please give it to me. Let me have you."
The growl that tore from Hope's chest was half wolf, half vampire, all hunger. She grabbed Rory's hips and flipped her onto her stomach, pressing her chest to the sheets, spreading her thighs wide. "Mine," she snarled, cock pressing into her soaked pussy again.
Rory cried out as Hope slammed into her, hard, deep, raw. The stretch burned, delicious, her cunt already greedy for her. And this time, she felt it—power flooding into her with every thrust, her succubus side drinking down Hope's essence, devouring the pleasure, the life-force tangled in her cum.
Rory moaned, gasping, trembling under the rush of it. "Oh fuck—yes—Hope—keep going—"
Hope's hips snapped faster, harder, her nails biting into Rory's hips, dragging her back onto her cock. She could feel herself being drained, fed upon, but instead of weakening her, it only made her hunger spike. Her tribrid blood howled to give, to claim, to fill Rory until she couldn't take anymore.
"Take it," Hope growled, fangs flashing, eyes burning molten. "Take everything. It's yours."
Rory screamed as her orgasm crashed, pussy clamping down tight, milking her cock, feeding deeper, harder. The hunger inside her purred, satisfied at last, her whole body glowing faintly blue.
Hope's climax followed in a savage roar. She buried herself deep and came, hot spurts filling Rory again, pumping her full. The golden pulse flared brighter than ever, rippling across the bond and tightening.
And then instinct overtook them both.
Hope's fangs sank into the juncture of Rory's neck. At the same time, Rory's wolf snapped, her glowing teeth sinking into Hope's shoulder. Blood flooded their mouths, hot, metallic, intoxicating.
They cried out against each other's skin, cumming again together, harder, deeper, bodies convulsing as the bite sealed what the bond had started.
A golden light erupted around them, pulsing outward, shaking the walls, rattling the bedframe. It faded into silence, but the bond remained—tight, unbreakable, eternal.
Hope pulled out slowly, cum spilling warm down Rory's thighs. She collapsed against her back, kissing the wound she'd made, licking the blood, soothing it. Rory panted, trembling, glowing faintly, eyes fluttering shut.
"You're mine," Hope whispered raggedly.
Rory's voice was hoarse, broken, but sure. "Always."
---
Downstairs...
The front door creaked open.
Scott slipped in first, shoulders tense, nostrils flaring. He shouldn't even be here. None of them wanted him here—not Stiles, not Lydia, not Derek. The pack wasn't his anymore. Rory had seen to that. She was the Alpha now, and Scott had been shoved out, his place in Beacon Hills fractured beyond repair.
"Allison," he muttered under his breath, already regretting this. "We shouldn't be here. You know damn well we're not welcome."
"I just want to see her," Allison whispered back, her voice tight, guilty but unyielding. "She's still—" Her throat closed on the word mine.
Scott's jaw clenched. He didn't push it, just shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped further inside.
Then he froze.
The smell hit him first. Thick, heady, unmistakable—sweat, sex, wolf, vampire, and something else that prickled the edges of his senses. His stomach twisted.
His gaze snapped upward and landed on the staircase. Clothes littered the steps, scattered like breadcrumbs. Rory's jacket. Her jeans. Hope's shirt was ripped clean in half. Socks, boots, and underwear tangled together.
Scott's lips pulled back in a grimace. "Shit."
Allison's breath caught as she followed his gaze. Her face went pale, her chest tightening until it hurt. The images hit too fast, too sharp—Rory's skin, Rory's moans, Rory's nails digging into her back. She hadn't been able to forget, no matter how many times she tried. And now—someone else was touching her like that.
Scott turned to leave immediately, shaking his head. "Nope. Not doing this. She made her choice."
But Allison didn't move. Her eyes were locked on the clothes, on the trail leading up the stairs. Her fists clenched so hard her knuckles went white.
"Allison," Scott said again, sharper this time, clipped with warning.
She ignored him. Her feet carried her toward the stairs like she was possessed, every nerve screaming to see. To know.
"Allison." Scott's voice followed, low, strained. "Don't."
Allison ignored Scott's warning and crept up the stairs, each step softer than the last. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
With every rise of the staircase, memories clawed their way back. Rory's lips pressed to hers, Rory's nails dragging down her back, Rory's voice breaking as she begged, Allison, please—don't stop.
Her chest ached. Her thighs pressed together without permission. The air seemed thicker, heavier, and then—
A sound.
A moan.
Rory's moan.
Allison froze, breath hitching, her stomach dropping. For a heartbeat, she thought it was memory again, her own guilt replaying the past. But then it came again—louder, sharper, rawer. Not memory. Now.
Her hand trembled as she reached the landing. The door to Rory's room was cracked open just an inch.
She leaned forward, her breath shallow, and peeked through.
Her heart stopped.
Rory was sprawled across the bed, sheets twisted beneath her, her hair plastered to her flushed face. Her body arched with every thrust, trembling, her lips parted in a moan that shook Allison to her core. Her eyes glowed faintly—not red, not wolf, but luminous blue, otherworldly, beautiful, or else flickering back to their natural green, glassy with pleasure.
And above her—another girl. Dark hair spilling as her mouth dragged across Rory's throat, strong hands gripping her thighs. But it wasn't a strap Allison saw driving into Rory—it was flesh. A cock. Thick and glistening, sliding raw into her, filling her over and over again.
Allison's vision tunneled. She saw it clearly: the way the girl's abdomen flexed with every thrust, the way Rory's body stretched around her, and the obscene spill of cum leaking back out, glistening down her thighs. No condom. No barrier. Just reckless, messy possession—and Rory taking it, begging for more, moaning like she'd never done even for Allison.
Rage ripped through Allison's chest, so sharp she thought she might be sick. Her nails dug crescent moons into her palms until they bled. She'd fucked Rory until she screamed, used toys, straps, everything to own her—but this? This stranger was breeding her, spilling inside her like she belonged to her.
And the worst part: Rory didn't care. Neither of them did. Rory was glowing, sated, smiling faintly through her moans, her body trembling as she clung to the girl, wanting every drop.
Allison's breath came in ragged gasps, tears burning her eyes, her chest heaving with fury she couldn't contain. She staggered back from the door, hand clamped over her mouth to keep from sobbing or screaming.
Downstairs, Scott looked up as she descended, her face pale and her eyes wild.
"You shouldn't have gone up there," he muttered.
Allison swallowed hard, her voice shaking but edged in steel. "She's with someone."
Scott's jaw tightened, but his tone was sharp. "Yeah. And it's not you."
Allison clenched her fists so tight her nails bit deeper into her palms until fresh blood welled. Her thoughts twisted into a single refrain, dark, poisonous, obsessive.
She's mine. She'll remember that. One way or another, she'll remember.
The words echoed in her skull, sharp as knives. And then another followed, darker still, sealing itself in her chest like a vow:
She will be mine again.
Her gaze cut sideways, landing on Scott, and it burned—hatred flashing across her face.
Scott stiffened, jaw tight, his chest heaving. For years, he had told himself he'd won, that he had Allison, that stealing her from Rory had been worth it. But standing here, reading the storm in Allison's eyes, the truth was as bitter as ash: he had never really had her.
Even now, after everything, she still wanted Rory.
Jealousy coiled inside him, sharp and suffocating, but he said nothing. He just turned toward the door, shoving it open hard enough to rattle the frame, his silence heavier than any words.
Allison followed, her expression cold, her eyes still burning with something fierce and twisted. Her body walked out of the McCall house, but her heart stayed upstairs, tangled in moans and glowing blue eyes, wrapped around Rory in ways she couldn't stand to watch, and couldn't let go of.