Peter rolls his eyes and disappears down the hall, leaving Stiles alone in the kitchen with the wolf eel. “Yes, so you’ve said,” he replies, feigning a whine to add, “‘ It’s the eyes,’ wasn’t it?” Peter glares, probably because Stiles is splattering seawater across the tile floor, both from his bare limbs and from the fish he’s still holding. “Well, you’re not worth killing a deer for.” Stiles scowls, slamming the door shut behind him. Edible things.” Peter steps back, causing Stiles to stumble forward and into the house. “You know, some werewolves give each other normal gifts. (And okay, the eel does kinda have a face only a mother could love.) Peter’s staring at it with revulsion, still blocking the door from opening despite Stiles’s insistent pushes. I’m thinking grilled, but I’m open to suggestions.” “Anyway, this bad boy is gonna be so awesome for dinner later. That’s a good one, you have to admit.” Without giving an inch in the battle for the door, Stiles bends down to haul the fish up. “Aw, c’mon! Wolf eel for my favorite wolf. Stiles gets his foot over the threshold just in time. Peter, still looking a little bleary-eyed, starts to shut the door in his face. Behind him, the ocean waves roar in the distance, the surf wild and rough and carrying the briny scent of salt his wolf nose loves so much. He’s still dripping wet, fresh from his morning swim. Stiles’s face is caught between a scowl and a smirk. Its natural coloring, with dark flecks scattered across its long body, make it look sort of pitted. Here in the rosy dawn light, it looks less appetizing than it did when Stiles first snagged it from the water ten minutes ago. “The hell is that?” Peter asks in disgust, leaning away from the bloated gray fish oozing on their doorstep.

Wolf eel edible