The Full Moon had come and come, different from the last. Smaller scale— but all the more eerie with everything that had happened.
Marco kept Lydia away from home. She wasn't human— and she was irritable. He took her to Deaton's clinic under the Full Moon and let her live amongst the cats and dogs inside.
He wasn't a therapist. He had nothing to say to her, and it was a Full Moon. He needed to run. To think— to understand what she was and what the future held. It seemed some of the skeletons in Derek and Scott's closet had tried to return. This was why Marco preferred cremation.
Or maybe he didn't….
***
Somewhere in the distance— under the freshly risen sun, an animalistic neighing howl shook the mountains. Birds took to the navy blue and orange sky in retreat. Snakes slithered in the sands. Bugs flocked to the smells of death.
It didn't take long at all for Scott, Derek, Stiles and the others to strip the mountain goat of all its meat and intestines. Not long at all.
And with the descent of the Moon, the feral tension in the air slowly lowered like the fleeing tides of an ocean.
Marco stood at the top of the small mountain watching them. Feline yellow eyes like flashlights aiming down at them. The winds blew his dreads and the fur covering his massive shoulders. It felt wrong.
Scott looked up at him from a ways down the mountain. He was shorter than the others— but they didn't mess with him during Full Moons like the runts were treated in other packs.
Then again this wasn't any other pack. Was it even a pa—
Stiles in all his lanky brown furred glory bounded up the mountain. His wiry movements only became more so as he grew closer to Full Synthesis. His legs— suited for bipedal and quadrupedal movement, were like springboards catapulting him up level after level.
Erica chased after him, causing Isaac to follow. Eventually they all stood next to him.
"What's wrong?" He said.
Even though he transformed the least of them all, Marco couldn't help but notice Stiles looked normal for the first time since the Warlocks.
No more giddy celebratory Stiles.
Just what remained. Quick witted, nervous and intelligent stiles. Full of fear for everything he could comprehend.
He crouched down low next to Marco. His sharpened ears flickered at the wind and bugs in the air. The fur covering his muscles stood tall. Like every part of him was alert. Uncommon after a Full Moons hunt.
"I never took you for a happy person. But you haven't changed….. even after we got rid of the Warlocks— who took your family. You're still…. You. And now here, in the middle of nowhere, you're watching for something."
Erica and Isaac caught onto reason and squatted down with them at the top of the mountain.
Stiles looked over at Marco, his bulked jaw and extended fangs did nothing to hide the wariness on his face.
"Marco, what's out there that still worries you?"
Suddenly he noticed everyone looking at him. All for varying reasons. But reasons none the less.
"Something in the air feels wrong." Was all he said.
"Can't you connect to the area and find out?" Erica asked after remembering what he did to the Argent home.
"You can't just do that wherever you go. Marking areas makes you drawn to them— connecting in more than a physical sense. You can fray your mind and senses if you overdo it. Plus, our real problems are beyond this area."
Stiles swallowed, "What do you mean?"
Scott still stared. It pissed him off.
"We got a sign at the Vet Clinic." Marco started.
Scott growled and slashed at a boulder letting off sparks into the darkness.
"What sign?" Stiles asked as Derek and Isaac focused in.
"Deaton won't say for fucks sake. Whatever it is, it's not good."
"And what's why he's been missing?" Stiles pieced together.
"He said he had to go somewhere for a few days." Marco shrugged.
"So…. Something else is coming. When did the sign show up?" Derek asked from the lower portion of the mountain beside Scott.
"Over a week ago….. and if it's there that means they've been here in some way for a while." Marco explained.
Stiles shook and the sands fell from his furred frame, "How does that connect to what you feel right n—"
A somber howl split the silence. Not an animal in its final moments— and definitely not a wolf. Wolves didn't exist in California. Werewolves did, though.
Everyone was on their feet and facing the sound instantly, senses alert as if the Full Moon had returned to the sky.
No more than a mile away in the desert plains, a single man stood. The cold air showed the faintest bits of steam flowing from his mouth. He ran there by the looks of it. In nothing….. but a black t-shirt and pants.
His blue eyes looked like winter jewels in the night.
"Who is that…?" Marco dropped down from the mountain top.
The others followed, started with a hesitant walk before breaking into a group sprint.
The man never moved, even as his scent of fear blossomed into a putrid release of urine.
Marco skidded to a stop so close to him he could feel his warmth as he looked down his nose at the WereWolf. You never approach the unknown in such a way, but Marco knew.
His nostrils flared as he studied him.
No metals. Meaning no weapons. No plastics, meaning no identification. No wooden manufactured papery scents or inks. He was completely unidentifiable. Aside from the hideous scars on his face that made his beard look like stripes on his jawline. He'd lived through battles. He looked like the Elder Grey Lions back home.
The man lowered his head as Scott and Derek stepped forward. Slowly he backed away a few steps.
"Who are you?"
"I am nobody of importance to many. A messenger…" His buzzed head glimmered with sweat beads under the steadily rising sun. He spoke so quietly the sounds of early morning engines starting almost drowned him out.
Marco raised an eyebrow at him as his mind worked. He lifted his foot and dragged his claws through the sand until the sign they'd seen before was made.
"AH! NO PLEASE!" He jumped backward with his hands raised, cowering like a child.
He hadn't seen battle in the way Marco knew. He'd been abused.
"What do you know about this?" Marco questioned. "Who are they!?"
"P-pl—"
"Speak now!" Marco took a step forward.
"Ok! The Alpha's... t-they wish to tame the Beasts of Beacon…."
Marco calmed in his confusion.
Stiles stepped forward beside him, "The Alpha's…. As in more than one?"
The blue eyed WereWolf whined, "Oh god…. So many more than one…"
"Beasts of Beacon…."
The WereWolf nodded, "The Wolf…. The Coyote …. And The Grey Lion."
"The Alpha's want…. Us?" Stiles confirmed.
"Join….or die…" The WereWolf lunged at Marco with his claws extended, reaching for his throat in a sudden explosive movement.
Marco smacked his arm out of the way and caught him by the throat, lifting him with one arm.
His feet flailed as he fought for air on instinct.
"Marco wait!" Scott started.
His words fell on deaf ears as the WereWolf looked at Marco.
"Please…"
His neck snapped like a toothpick.
Marco dropped him in the sand.
They all surrounded him.
"He was sent to die here." Stiles said suddenly.
Marco nodded, "If we let him go, he would've been killed anyway by them. And he wasn't going back to them."
"What does that say about them?" Isaac started, "That he would rather die by us than risk going back where he came?"
"It says a lot." Derek started. "But what it doesn't say is why they want you three…"
Marco looked down at the sign in the sand next to the dead werewolf. "I think we'll find out soon."