Earth, stone, mildew, moss, wet, cold, still, stale. These are the smells Peter focuses on to stop himself from ravaging Lydia Martin.

To try to stop himself, really. His success is turning out to be relative, which is to say marginally effective. He hasn't done anything rash. Yet.

It's possible he's contemplating several ill-advised courses of action, though, even as she's contemplating the drawings, eyes roving hungrily over his family's secrets. Once, Peter might've been subject to harsh punishment for bringing someone here without the permission of his Alpha. Killed, even, if the offense was great enough.

For Lydia, his sister would've made him run the gauntlet. It was her favorite punishment.

Derek probably doesn't even remember where this place is. Realizing that makes his chest ache a little, resonates in a way that feels like regret, but it's not something he can change, and it's definitely not something he can use.

Like so many other things in what's left of his life, he lets it go.

She doesn't jump when Peter starts speaking, just glances at him over her shoulder, eyes bright and fingers deft as she traces the face of a woman who's been dead for centuries.

He wonders if she hasn't been waiting for his voice the whole time.

"Her name was Huata, according to our history. A great leader, Alpha of her pack while she lived. Her sister, Taipa," Peter cups his hand around Lydia's to aim the flashlight towards the proper illustration, "was human, and she was immune."

He can feel Lydia's eyes on him but he doesn't allow himself to look. Instead he stares at the woman on the wall, her body bowed in supplication but her face upturned to the moon.

"Huata and Taipa were twins, one wolf and one human. Born on different sides of the moon, we say, but despite it they were close. They loved each other very much." He still hasn't dropped her hand and moves the beam back to Huata. "One day the Alpha of another pack came to visit and decided he wanted Huata for a mate. She refused. Her reasons vary depending on who's telling the story. My mother used to say she was a good judge of character."

Lydia laughs and Peter can feel it in his chest.

"But whatever her reason, Huata refused and he, in a fit of pique, gave her sister the bite." He shifts their hands to focus on a bloody tableau. Taipa collapsed on the ground, her stomach red with blood, her sister with arms outstretched, and a red eyed Alpha standing above. "Taipa never wanted to be a wolf, never desired the bite, and so the sisters went to the den to pray.

"You've read about the den? Then you know that the den is where the sacred rituals were kept for wolf kind. Where they went to honor the moon. Taipa and Huata prayed to the moon to save her from becoming a wolf. They prayed for two weeks without food or rest; prayed for the moon to spare Taipa from a fate she never wanted until the moon, moved by their love, stopped the change."

"Immunity," Lydia whispers.

"Immunity," he agrees. "The moon stopped Taipa from changing, but she warned that this was permanent. Taipa could not ever take the bite now, or change, or be anything other than what she was. She had rejected that life and everything that came with it.

"When the Alpha came back to claim Taipa for his pack, they killed him together." The last illustration shows Taipa and Huata standing over the Alpha holding his heart between them. Huata's eyes are red.

Lydia turns her head incrementally, her hair tickling his chin and her scent assailing him anew. "What happened to them?" She's standing now with her back only a few inches from his chest, their hands the only point of direct contact but the promise of it hovering in the small space between.

Peter tilts his head for a better view of her throat, leans in to nose at her hair. "They ruled together over both packs, Alphas in their own right."

"Is this why the Hales settled here? This cave?" She's whispering again, realizing how close they're standing for the first time. Goosebumps break out on her skin and her scent spikes with fear. But not just fear. There's want there, too, dark and heady. He pauses, savoring the moment. The vulnerability of her and how she doesn't retreat.

His brave girl.

It takes all his self control to release her hand and step away, but he does. Certain kinds of lies and certain kinds of truths, he reminds himself. This has to be her choice. He can't force it. He can't pin her down in the dirt and take. Not now. Not yet. And is it his imagination or does she look disappointed?

He looks at Taipa on the wall and says, "This cave is part of our history. It has to be protected. Take your time. I'll be outside." Because if I stay in this cave smelling you I can't be held responsible for my actions. If his voice is a touch hoarse, well.

The fresh air is sharp in his lungs, crisp and clean. Autumn air shading into winter. Decay from the forest floor, old musk from the deer trail nearby. A rabbit to the east freezes sensing a predator.

Peter can't help but grin. If it only knew. The temptation to shift is strong, to lope off through the trees and let instinct guide him. To catch the rabbit and crack the bones for the marrow. It's exhausting, sometimes, being a man. Being a wolf is easier. Much less complex.

It's nearly an hour later when she emerges strangely subdued, her mind clearly turning something over. Fitting new information in with old, maybe. Connecting the dots.

He leaves her to her thoughts, helping her pick her way along the trail. Now that she's seen what she came to see, there's no haste.

It suits him just fine. The curiously peaceful air between them gives him hope. His plans won't succeed unless she's a willing participant. She'll have to trust him. The irony of it does not escape him.

She pauses before getting in the car. The thousand yard stare is gone and she's very present when she meets his gaze. "Did you know I was immune when you bit me?"

This is a turning point. He can feel the future poised delicately on this fulcrum and knows that he's come to the crux of this before he's ready. Their foundation may not be strong enough to withstand this truth.

His only choice - his only chance - is to trust her.

"No." Such a little word for such a heavy moment. Her face is nearly blank, inscrutable. "I only knew I wanted you." He lets the longing seep into his voice, doesn't have to fake the sincerity. "It wasn't until later that I knew what you were, after I was dead."

She looks away, her heart pumping slow and heavy and for one awful moment he thinks he's lost her. Too much truth too soon and his mind is racing as she walks around the car. Can this be salvaged if he's overplayed his hand?

But she stops in front of him, her face still inscrutable. She holds up his flashlight and for a moment he's fairly certain he gapes at her like an idiot because she tosses it into the woods. The only sound is the rattle of branches and the sound of hard plastic cracking against a rock.

Her voice is a husky mess and her eyes are dark with old hurts, but she smiles at him and the knowledge blazes through him that he's won. There's still so much work ahead of him but this, this is a certainty. His gamble paid off. She's his.

"I seem to have lost your flashlig-"

He cuts her off with a kiss, his mouth slotting over hers with bruising force, his arms wrapped around her waist lifting her up, pulling her flush. And her arms winding around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair pulling hard at the roots. A violent, desperate sort of kiss that calls to the wild heart of him.

He's chosen wisely in Lydia Martin. He always did like a little pain.

A/N: For anyone who's interested in the mythology I used names from the Miwok language because the Miwok tribes are based in the Northern California area. In my world, werewolves have coexisted with humans for a very long time and werewolf mythology is separate from human mythology. My immunity myth isn't based on any existing Miwok myth (that I know of) and isn't representative of their culture, but is based on fictional Miwok werewolves.