Thursday, March 9th. Beacon Hills High-school.
Lydia never had much trouble with boys. Not since Elementary school. She'd even formed the power couple of scholastic legend with Beacon Hills very own triathlete. That wasn't going well….
Nothing was going well. Her best friend was keeping secrets from her. She couldn't sleep. Portions of her memories felt blank— or missing. Her grades plummeted.
And boys. Well, boy in particular. The same boy that seemed to erupt out of nowhere and choose to try and woo her with otherworldly mysteriousness.
Not that it wasn't working. No, not that it was. She wouldn't be swayed so easily and so soon after Jackson. There was still hope.
"You still haven't told me what your brand of psychosis is." The young teen said as he sat beside her in the waiting room for all people in desperate need of therapy. And medication.
His spread legs and slouched position gave off the air of carelessness. But his eyes. His eyes screamed at her with an intensity she didn't understand.
"Actually, I did tell you. I become homicidal in the presence of nosy teenage boys. So scoot." Lydia said casually before getting back to her thrilling activities of staring at the far wall across the room. Pure white. Unlike the boys messy hair. Clean and odorless. Unlike his cold scent. Natural musk, earthen scents. Wolfsbane. Blood…?
"It seems you aren't the only homicidal one then." The boy explained as he pointed up at the television mounted high on the corner wall.
She couldn't even remember hearing a tv until he pointed it out. He had a tendency to do that. As if he expertly played the incorrectly tuned instrument that was her mind for a living.
She glanced at the tv despite everything her body told her.
The news was playing. As always, murder. Murder and maiming broadcasted and reported on endlessly. If it wasn't shootings or the random deaths of blue collar workers, it was—
"The-Blue Eyed Beast strikes again. Police reports say there's evidence of it being more than one. Or else he isn't sleeping. Beacon Hills is becoming more dangerous than I remember. A killer that never sleeps is a killer without breaks."
Lydia looked at the boy, sweeping her strawberry blonde locks behind her ears to show him her disappointed expression.
"You look much more dark and mysterious than you sound. Talking isn't your strong suit."
The boy smirked. Innocently devilish.
"Oh but isn't it? All I've wanted is for you to talk to me, and here you are. Telling me what I am and what I'm not."
Lydia's spine tingled as he stared at her. Eyes so intense they couldn't have been human. Couldn't have been safe.
"Who are y—"
"Lydia Martin!?" A high pitched feminine voice called out into the room as a door behind her opened.
Lydia jumped as if a livewire was connected to her skin. Furiously she wiped the water from her eyes upon noticing the people seated in the waiting area with her staring.
One of which being someone that stared often.
The new guy. Marco.
He wore his dreads out of his face and held into a bun at the back of his head. He was so large he looked ready to rip out of the seat. And his clothes.
"What are you looking at, steroid junky?" She snapped before standing up and following the therapist into her office.
Marco watched her enter the office, the thick muscles in his jaw flexing madly as the news blared over his head. Were humans in America really so hard of hearing?
The person seated next to him suddenly lowered their magazine and leaned over to speak to him, getting as close as she could while aiming all of her newly attained sexual appeal in his direction.
"Did you like what you saw, Marco?" Erica asked, the added lilt in her voice made the question impossible to mistake for anything other than inappropriate.
"No. I don't like anything I see here. Including you." Marco spoke and everyone in the room scooted outward.
Erica giggled and sat back into her seat, "Your so grumpy. It's cute."
"Call me cute again and I'll break your legs."
Erica sighed carelessly— despite how afraid she smelled, and spoke. "So…. When will you tell Lydia that whoever she's talking to doesn't exist? It's been days."
Marco tapped the arm of his undersized chair with his fingers. "Not yet. She's experiencing something, it would be unwise to interrupt….. or linger."
And with that, Marco got up with his guitar case and left. He could hear the students collective sighs as he exited the room. Far behind, Boyd and Erica followed.
***
Marco's morning afterward went as usual. Classes, boring and lacking in substance— in soul. They felt physically taxing to get through. A mockery of what he knew of teaching. What he experienced as a boy in the plains with his sisters, learning how to protect their lands, their animals, and to Fully Synthesize.
So, he didn't pay attention. He had his focuses split too many times over anyways. And he was beyond the teachings of modern high schools years ago. What he needed to focus on now was war, and his soldiers.
Training with the WereWolves of the North was abysmal. But the sparks of potential lit that darkness enough times to light a metaphorical path. A path Marco could follow. Then again, even if there was no potential— no spark, Cats had good eyes in the dark.
He'd make it work.
Derek as an Alpha was currently his greatest asset. He was strong, he was direct— willing to work. But most importantly, he had history with the Argents. Bad history. He was the closest to Fully Synthesizing with his beast. The complete transformation was just beneath his skin.
Stiles was sharp in mind but hesitant in battle. He used his wits to escape more then offend. Marco could tell he wouldn't stay that way.
Isaac had nothing but this. He was young. He looked up to Scott and Derek despite his aloof presenting attitude. Possibly a lacking father figure.
Scott was a mystery. Strong as all hell and equally as stubborn over things he didn't understand. He was a pain in the ass but if he could get Scott to understand, he could be something. His hand though….
Alison would only be able to prove beneficial in time. Informants could make or break a battle fought in the shadows. Especially when those shadows held magically empowered monsters, shapeshifters, hunters and girls speaking to things unseen.
He had a lot of work to do…
The bell rung suddenly signifying the end of his physics class. The sound still melted his brain, but he'd learned to ignore it at least passively. He got up and left in a rush to get the day over and begin the night.
The hallway was crowded. For most people. Marco wasn't most people, so he glided down the halls casually and without bumping shoulders with anyone amidst the chaos. While walking he thought over drills and training concepts from home that he could use on the WereWolves.
Speaking of WereWolves. Their collective smell filled the hall. As if they'd been walking in a jumbled mess. The odor was strong it made Marco's eyes water.
It ran down the hall and up the stairs, stopping at a bathroom door hidden away from the main hallway. Behind the door he could hear snarls suddenly, followed by slamming and shoes squeaking over wet tile floors.
"Fuck."
Marco entered the bathroom to find Stiles with blood dripping from his claws. Scott held him back from Isaac who stood with his back to the wall and slash marks on his face.
"Have you all lost your minds? Hunters watch this school from everywhere!" Marco snarled.
"And that's EXACTLY why you don't test to see if a girl can change into a giant werelizard thingy in broad daylight!" Stiles added, pointing a clawed finger at Isaac.
"What?" Marco questioned.
"Lydia. They think she's a Kanima—" Stiles began.
"She isn't paralyzed by its poison!" Isaac snapped.
"What poison? How did you get Kanima poison?"
Isaac looked at Marco with confusion, "Derek fought it a while back and got some. You don't know do you?"
Marco's eyebrows furrowed, "Know what?"
"There's two Kanima's. One is in this school…. And it's Lydia. This is a war isn't it? We need to lower their numbers or they'll kill us." Isaac said. Stiles growled.
"Bullshit." Marco spat. "There may be two Kanima…..but none of them are Lydia. She's something else. Kanima don't see incoming death or speak to things unseen. You wasted your time and resources on her when you could've done more research."
Isaac shrunk physically, "Well…. Well who else could it be? She was bitten by a WereWolf!"
"Quiet!" Marco growled as he eyed the door.
Everyone closed their mouths as the shadows of footsteps shone through the bottom crack of the door.
When it was gone Stiles spoke.
"Can a scratch change someone?"
Marco raised an eyebrow. Sharp as always.
"Who is it, Stiles?"
"It's Jackson. He's the second Kanima."