An aggravated sigh escaped Derek Hale's mouth as he waited in the blazing heat at a red light. He tapped his thumb against the steering wheel, eyes glaring at the unresponsive, mocking, red light. In all his time in Beacon Hills, Derek had made it his business to avoid this one particular light. The damn thing was known for being the longest light in all of Beacon Hills. No matter how far out of the way, any detour was worth it, if only to avoid the agony of the longest light. A light that hardly had any traffic to require a light even. A stop sign would have been more appropriate. A stop sign would even be faster than the damn light and save everyone stuck behind him the aggravation they were feeling now.

Sweat rolled down the side of his face beneath the bands of his sunglasses. It slowly worked down the back of his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt. Derek gave a low growl and turned up the AC. He had a decent tolerance to heat and cold, but even a werewolf bod had its limits. He adjusted the vents, redirecting the cold air directly over his face. He sighed, momentarily revealed from the heat. He leaned back in his seat and let his eyes drift back to the, still red, light ahead. Just above the light was a brightly colored banner, and the reason why most of Beacon Hills traffic was stuck at the worst light; Beacon's hill's first Gypsy Festival.

One week of main street blocked off for traveling gypsy's to entertain the people for money. Fake palm readers, overpriced trinkets, provocative dancers, all for their entertainment. The main street was already bustling with the set up form the caravan's arrival last night. Derek had driven past and witnessed the large group set up their stands, some even used smaller wagons, authentic looking gypsy wagons, made of wood and painted in vibrant colors. One glance was enough to suffice his brief moment of curiosity, whatever happened down town this week, he wasn't going to be a part of it.

A honk echoed behind Derek. He glanced into his rear mirror, watching the furious, no doubt hot, driver angrily gesture at him. Derek rolled his eyes and leaned against his arm, propped against his door. His thumb twitched anxiously against the wheel. "You can honk at me till that stick falls out of your ass, but it's not going to change any faster."

The driver, however, had other ideas. He honked his horn again, louder. The horn echoed through Derek's ears, making him cringe. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as his shift began slipping through his control. The heat had shortened his already short temper. Derek took a deep breath and opened his eyes. In the mirror, he watched his blue eyes slowly shift back to green. He loosened his grip on the wheel as he regained control. He glanced down the empty road, wondering if the ticket he would receive was worth it to escape the asshole behind him. Another horn was slowly proving the ticket would be worth it. Derek gripped the wheel with both hands and prepared to run the red light.

The sound of the horn was suddenly cut off by the familiar sound of a motorcycle engine pulling up along side the Camaro. Curious, Derek looked out his passenger mirror. To say that he was impressed who be a mild understatement. A pristine, white Honda VFR1200F DCT rolled to a stop on his right. The bike was a work of art, completely custom designed off the base model, and well maintained. The V-4 engine roared under the rider, who wore a dark crimson leather jacket. Their face was completely concealed beneath the white visor helmet. Derek had opted out of his leather jacket because of the heat, but he could imagine how the biker felt wearing the helmet, gloves, boots, jacket, and jeans in the heat. But he couldn't bring himself to pity them. The rider revved the engine once more, pulling ahead just a fraction. Derek cocked one of his brows curiously. There was no way this rider was asking. Another rev told him otherwise; they wanted to race.

Derek turned his head to look back down the street. It was still empty and the damn light was still red. Not to mention the anal driver behind his car was beyond furious with the biker cutting him. Any other time, any other day, Derek would have ignored the taunt. He couldn't afford another confrontation with the Sheriff. But the revving of the motorcycle, the heat scorching against the pavement in front of him, the aggravating driver behind; Derek suddenly didn't give a damn about a ticket, or getting arrested for racing. He shut off the AC and rolled down both windows. Derek turned to face the biker and revved his engine to match. The biker nodded and turned toward the street light. Game on. Derek watched the red light, gripping the wheel tightly. He inhaled deeply, letting himself slip into focus. The battling roar of their engines spurred both vehicles a fraction ahead, drowning out the horn aggravated driver behind them.

The light changes, igniting the race. Both vehicles burned rubber as they tore from their spot, racing through the barren streets toward the outskirts of town, and leaving the aggravated driver in their wake. Derek easily shifted gears, spurring his car on. The RPM shot up with the speed, flooding the interior of the car with a gust of wind. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the red and white blur of the biker keeping up with him. They tore off through the street, leaving a trail of dust in their wake. Derek shifted again, increasing the gas further. To his right, the biker pulled ahead of him, tossing a glance in his direction. Derek smirked to himself and floored it. He pulled out ahead of the biker, guiding his car in front, and cutting them off. He watched through the rear mirror as the biker tried to maneuver around him, but every time Derek countered by moving with them. He caught the tilt of the white helmet in the mirror. Derek arched his brow curiously, clearing the biker wasn't having fun anymore, so what was he about to do? The biker headed left, causing Derek to follow suit. But as he veered to the left, the biker quickly veered right and gunned the bike. A flash of white sped back the passenger window as the biker pulled ahead.

"Sneaky." he chuckled to himself. He increased his speed and tried to pass, but taking a hint from Derek, the biker blocked each side from him. Derek eased up off the gas, trying not to rear end the biker. It wasn't a race anymore, but the last thing they needed was an accident three times over the speed limit.

They came upon the bend, nearly reaching the town limits. The white bike still holding the lead over Derek, weaving from side to side. Derek watched the weaving bike, waiting for his moment to move. As the bike veered to the right. Derek gunned it to the left. He shifted forward, catching the biker off guard. They reached the bend, both easing off the gas as they rounded the nearly blind corner. They cleared the corner as the biker pulled out in front again. Derek honked as he cleared, trying to signal the biker to stop. The biker waved in acknowledgment and began slowing down.

Suddenly a buck sprinted across the street, directly into the bikers path. Derek caught sight of the buck, but it was already too late. The buck bolted into the bikers path, catching the riders attention. The rider swerved to miss the buck, overshooting it dangerously. The bike veered in front of Derek while simultaneously breaking. The high pitch shrill of the Honda's break echoed through his ear. Derek quickly released the gas and moved for the brake, but his reflexes were too slow. The rear of the Honda and the front of the Camaro collided. The force spurred the bike ahead of the car and out of its continuing path, but the force launched the rider from the bike and onto the hood of Derek's car. Derek watched as the riders back slid up the hood to the windshield, trying to catching hold of anything. He moved quickly, flicking off his seat belt, and reached out the window. He caught hold of the riders gloved hand, stopping them from completely rolling off his car. The riders body turned along the hood, lying across it horizontally, blocking the windshield.

"HOLD ON!" Derek yelled. The wind whipped against his face and he leaned out the window.

The rider took hold of Derek's hand with their free hand, clutching tightly with both hands. Derek eased on the break, trying to slow down without tossing the rider. The car jutted forward, nearly doing just what he wanted to avoid. The rider slid forward, legs first, toward the front of the car, but Derek held on tight to the rider.

"Hold on!" He tried again, easing the speed down. Once more, the car jutted, but not as violently as before. Again he applied the break, easing the car to a steady stop. Slowly, the Camaro came to a stop in the middle of the road. Derek put the car into gear and shut the engine off. He released the riders arm and slid back into his seat. For a moment, neither Derek, nor the rider moved. His heart hammered wildly in his chest. He stared down at the wheel. That was too close. Way too close. His hands were shaking and his claws had shifted at some point during the event. Derek checked the mirror, but his face hadn't shifted, thankfully. What made him nervous was not knowing when, or if the biker had noticed at all. His eyes stayed on the rider, still lying on his hood. He watched as their chest quickly rise and fell, nearly matching his own breathing.

The biker suddenly sat up from the hood and kicked their legs over the side. Derek opened his door, keeping his eyes on the rider. They didn't seem injured or too shaken up. He pulled his aviator glasses from his face and tossed them aside. He climbed out, still breathing heavily. "You alright?"

The biker looked up at him. They reached for the helmet, pulling it from their head. A cascade of golden brown curls emerged from the confines of the helmet, falling down to the middle of the riders back, revealing a young woman no older than himself. The lightly tanned skin of her oval face was coated in a light sheen of sweat. Whether from the heat or the adrenaline of what had just occurred, Derek wasn't sure but he could see the droplets rolling down her distinct high cheekbones. She pushed back the long locks behind her ears, revealing numerous piercing trailing from her lobes up the cartilage. The variety ranged from studs, to hoops, and in industrial bar. Golden Honey eyes met his own, not betraying fear, or anger, or any emotion he would have suspected. She lowered her helmet onto the hood of his car, gently-he noted, before finally answering him.

"I'm fine." came the smooth accented voice. Australian, or British. Derek couldn't decipher which, but judging by the tan, he opted for the down under. "Thanks to you. You've got some impressive reflexes."

Derek shook his head. "Just the fight or flight response."

"Lucky for me you're not a 'flight' response." she replied with a slight smirk, folding her arms across her chest. "Or I'd be a good distance behind you with my bike."

Derek looked over his shoulder, for the first time seeing her bike behind them. Down the road, nearly one hundred yards, was her motorcycle. It was lying on its side, the front tire was still spinning. The engine had died to a low hum. There wasn't a sign of any broken parts of pieces from the crash littering the road, or any unusual sounds from the humming engine. As he stared at the toppled Honda, relief that the rider hadn't met with the same fate flooded through him. Seeing her body broken on the side of the road was not something he could live. He was already living with too much. "Think it'll still run?"

To his surprise, the woman gave a soft snort. "Oh sure. It's fine."

Derek looked back at the woman, giving her a questionable glance.

Her lips turned into a small smile. "Believe it or not, that bikes been through worse than this."

Derek gave a snort and looked back at the bike. He folded his arms in front of his chest and leaned against his door. As he stared at the bike, and back to the woman, he felt the notion to believe her. He shook his head and turned back to face her, shifting his body. "You make it a point to crash your bike?"

She arched a slender brow, giving him a condescending look. "Not intentionally."

Derek shrugged. "Well the way you talk about crashing, you make it sound like it happens quite a bit."

"It doesn't." she replied, picking her helmet up from the hood. "Despite the statistics of women and driving, I've only been in three accidents, and walked away from all." She walked past him toward her bike. Her boots echoed with each step across the road. Derek followed behind her, keeping a few feet of distance between them. He watched as the woman easily lifted her motorcycle and dropped the kickstand. She eased her bike to the side and knelt beside it.

Derek could sense he was approaching a touchy subject, not that he was surprise, most people believed they were good drivers; especially people who were not good drivers. This woman, was a good driver. She had handled her bike like a pro, maneuvering around each bend and his car with precision. The deer was just dumb luck.

"You need me to call anyone?" he offered.

The woman shook her head, sending her hair into tiny waves across her back. "Thanks, but no. I can manage back to town." She looked up at him from her bike, slowly rising to her feet. "I'm more worried about your car. Be a shame to have any dents or scratches in a car like yours."

Derek turned to his car and walked back. Truthfully, he hadn't been worried about his car. Yes the Camaro was the one procession he truly took care of, but her safety at the time had pushed back his concerns for his car in the moment. Derek walked around to the front of the hood and knelt down. His eyes scanned along every inch of the hood, searching for the tiniest scratch or dent. To his surprise, he couldn't find a hint of either.

"What do I owe you for damages?" she asked, coming up on the drivers door.

Derek stood up and placed his hands on the hood, meeting her gaze. He stared at her intense eyes, filled with concern. He felt a smile play at his lips. "It's not good."

Her facial expression grew apologetic.

Derek had to control his own expression as he continued. "The emotional damage from the crash alone isn't gonna come cheap."

Her brows arched. "Emotional damage?"

Derek nodded. "It's not everyday I have a rider slide across my car."

The woman stepped toward him. "Well it's not everyday a Camaro knocks me onto its hood., Her eyes drifted down to the hood, letting her eyes run over the undamaged metal. "and the car survives."

Derek let himself smirk at her.

Her eyes narrowed playfully. "You're an ass."

"I've been called worse." Derek replied with a smile.

"I believe it." She laughed, pushing herself off his car. She turned toward her bike and started back. She was only a few steps away when she turned around. "Although, I should say 'thank you'."

Derek arched his brow. "For what?"

She continued walking backward to her bike. "For saving me. And for showing a girl a good time."

"If you feel the need for another round, you can find me around." Derek smirked.

The woman mounted her bike. She picked up her helmet and turned to him with a seductive smirk. "I intend to." Her helmet slid over her face, containing her hair once more. She gripped the handles and kicked up the stand. With a quick rev, she took off back down the road toward Beacon Hills.

Derek watched the bike and rider until they vanished around the closest bend. The roar of the engine echoed around him, slowly growing fainter with the passing seconds. He pushed himself off the hood of his car, still smirking to himself, and walked around to his door. Derek climbed into his car and picked up his sunglasses. The engine roared to life beneath him, drowning out the fading sounds of the Honda. Derek shifted into gear and sped back toward town. As he rounded the first bend, his phone buzzed in his pocket. With a heavy sigh, he reached into his jeans and fished out his phone. His good mood quickly damped at the name on the screen

"Yeah?"

"Where have you been?" It was Stiles. "I've been calling for, like, twenty minutes!"

"I was busy." Derek snapped at the hyper teen. "What do you want?"

"Busy?" Stiles repeated. "What the hell could possibly-no. You know what, don't answer that. I don't wanna know the details."

"What do you want?" Derek repeated.

"We got pack business tonight." Stiles explained. "Something about the gypsy's wanting to talk with the pack about being in the territory. I don't know. Deaton set up the meeting."

"When?"

"Tonight. Nine at the Lacrosse field."

"Fine. I'll be there." Derek answered. He quickly ended the call before Stiles could waste anymore of his time. The kid had his moments, Derek wouldn't deny it, but his hyper active tendencies overruled the others. Derek shifted gears again and stepped on the gas, a small smile playing at his lips again.

okay so this is my first TW fanfic, so go easy. plus my editing skills suck.