"I know you don't like the idea of staying the cage. I can smell it on you. You're terrified of it. I'd rather not use it on you," Derek says, still fully shifted. He glances at the plate of food perched on top of the cage.

Slowly he lets go of the slave, blue eyes boring into Stiles' beautiful brown. "Stay," he orders, but he doesn't walk away. He watches Stiles, waiting for the pet to do something.