[ Tate gets angrier, and Derek just feels the same resentment and disgust towards him that he felt towards Scott whenever he went on and on about being in love with Allison. Tate's seventeen. A child. He's walking headfirst into a dangerous situation and doesn't seem to notice. Certainly doesn't care. It's driving Derek insane.

If it wasn't the full moon, and if they weren't talking about the bite, and if Tate had just let him leave when he could feel the anger coming up, maybe he wouldn't be like this, but Derek doesn't have it in him to be patient and caring. He's a wolf. He's in charge. Tate's out of line. Tate's fucking up, not him.

He steps forward, and he shoves Tate, one hard push to the center of his chest with a splayed out hand. He pushes him again, back into his seat, and he leans over him, getting close. He bares his teeth, talking through them, low and livid. Derek could change his eyes, help Tate see his anchor, that purifying, solid red, but he won't. Because they're not pack. ]

No.

[ Derek doesn't believe him. Doesn't believe that Tate knows what he wants, beyond quick fixes and cheap highs. Can't want the bite. Derek's sure of that. This isn't real. Can't be. ]

I'm not going to share you with whatever asshole is out there helping you self-destruct. You're either mine, or you're his. Can't be both.