Derek is out sulking in the shadows around town when the lights casting his concealment begin to fade in and out, and if it weren't for the accompaniment of the beating wings and the overwhelming scent of nature in brief warning, the lack of a scent he's able to recognise is enough to catch his attention before the man appears out of no where.

He hazards a guess at angels, something he's been informed about, but that he's been reluctant to acknowledge until witnessing one for himself where he can use his abilities; he's starting to wonder, now, if he didn't bring this on by distrusting - it wouldn't be the first time.

It takes everything in him not to let go, to keep himself under control, because he can sense the power coming from him, and, here, alone, without what is admittedly a sorry excuse for a pack, he doesn't want to sign his death warrant so soon after arriving. He stands, stiff and still, ready for a fight if it comes, even though he knows he can't win, and his eyes flash red.

"What do you want?" he asks, blunt, to the point, because he's long past stopping for pleasantries, and for all that he tries to sound as if he can more than hold his own, it falls flat even to his own ears.