Expanded version now up on AO3!
Stiles had been traveling for weeks, thankfully successfully avoiding being recognized, but he was growing tired of being alone. Growing up in a castle, there was always someone around to talk to, or play a game with; apparently, being on the run was a lonely existence.
He was starting to wonder, in his more desperate moments, if perhaps being forced into marriage wouldn't be so bad after all; at least he'd have people around him again.
The train wasn't due to leave for another hour, and he was sitting in the station half hiding behind a magazine while he indulged in some quality people watching when he saw them. There were five of them, all wearing coordinated leather jackets and boots, and giving off serious "don't mess with us" vibes, and all unfairly beautiful. The one who seemed to be in charge was probably the most attractive man he'd ever seen, all confident stance and precisely trimmed beard, mischief glittering in his eyes.
He tried not to stare too obviously, but it was hard to look away.
When one of the group, a gorgeous blonde with soft curls and a predatory grin, turned towards one of her companions enough to reveal an intricate patch on the back of her jacket--a wolf in profile, howling at a full moon--Stiles couldn't help but gasp a little too loudly. He didn't know he'd gone far enough from home to reach the territory of the famous criminal gang known as The Wolves.