keeper (d. Hale)

rag doll.

The slam of the bedroom door seemed to echo through the otherwise silent room as Derek kept his hands firmly on Delilah. He refused to put her down. Not even when he removed the hand holding the back of her head to take off her shoes and not when he used a cloth to remove the tears and dirt from her face.

He was silent and Delilah let him do as he pleased. There was no use in fighting it, not when his chest rumbled with an ever present growl that grew to a snarl if she moved against his will.

The rest of her soiled clothes, which included her jacket and the sweater underneath, were pulled from body and replaced with the thick duvet from the bed. Derek tucked it around the two of them as he sat in her reading chair in front of the window where the still dark sky kept the tops of the trees from their view.

Derek's clawed hand returned to the back of her head, threading through the loosening french braids, keeping her pressed against his neck. Her cold breath fanned against his skin, raising goose bumps in its wake.

Even though he previously paid no mind, the cold seemed to now add to the rage bubbling just below his skin. It felt wild and untamed as he tried to stamp down the myriad of conflicting thoughts snapping through his mind faster than he had the ability to process.

Delilah was threatened.

Delilah was scared.

Delilah was crying.

He breathed deeply into her hair, feeling the soft curls escaping the top of her braid brush lightly against his cheek and let out a slight grunt as he adjusted his position to wrap tighter around her. The tighter he held her, the more secure she would be. The more secure she was, the less chance of danger, sinking her black claws of destruction into her soft skin. And the safer she was, the less chance of his nightmares spilling from the deep corners of his head and into their reality.

He wouldn't let that happen and pressed his nose further into her hair to inhale again.

Violets.

He was not going to let her go.

Delilah knew that much and frankly she did not care if he didn't. There was something stirring violently inside of her.

She felt it when Peter was knocked down beside her and Delilah was taken into the loft. The grip on her arm was tight enough to leave a bruise that wrapped around her bone like an imprint. It ached now and she belt fortunate that Derek hadn't yet discovered that injury.

Delilah cradled her arm against Derek's chest and relaxed as best she could.

Derek scrapped his nails gently against her skin as a second warning to not move.

She didn't want to test him by doing so. Instead, she let the weight of her head fully rest in the junction of his neck and try not focus on the smell of blood slowly drip from his wound on his back.

Derek's growls slowly ebbed until it no longer rumbled beneath Delilah's ear as it slipped down from his neck to press against his chest.

She let out a shiver.

Even from this position, she could fell the tick in his jaw before hearing the grind of his teeth.

He stood from the chair, Delilah still tucked into his arms and headed to the closest. Delilah heard him move through the clothes on the hangers as he selected what he wanted.

"Put this on," Derek instructed with a hard tick to his voice. Delilah lifted her head and accepted the sweater he pushed into her arms. It was one he had been wearing before they turned the heat up in the house. In fact it was the one he wore before they lite the fire in the living room and it smelt strongly of both him and burning wood.