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Summary
He’s got it really bad for Dara Hale. He knows this, okay?
He wishes he could protect her, which is stupid, because she’s got an inch of height and twenty-five pounds of sheer muscle on him, not to mention the supernatural strength and speed and healing.
“What do you want, Stiles?” she says, voice breaking. She finally opens her eyes, and they’re bright and wet, eyelashes spiky with tears.
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Dara Hale, Stiles Stilinski, a dark alley, and a question of trust.