"AHHHHCK!" Marco flew upright, swiping at the air hard enough to ruffle blinds. Sunlight played a game of peekaboo with him as his fractured mind absorbed every aspect of the space. The prison.
Stale sheets. Blood. Carpeted floor. Musty books and sports equipment strewn about— failing to overpower the smell of alcohol and antiseptic in the air. Dirty air. He could see the dust failing to settle under the slim rays of sunlight. That same thing shined on the childish posters on the walls.
Scott and Stiles tumbled into the room. Not his mother.
Marco suddenly heard Erica calling out to him. He turned and found himself holding her against the wall by the throat as she tore up his forearm in an attempt to free herself.
Reflexively he dropped her. On the floor he found Isaac laying nearby. Unbothered by the sudden chaos.
His ears still rang. Or maybe he was just tired of hearing Stiles and Scott speak. Unlikely.
He turned to face them, a wall of steam roiled across his vision and the burn of many suddenly settled on his mind.
"Marco, heads up." Stiles replied before throwing a black torn t-shirt at him.
Marco lunged at the object, grabbing hold of it and wrapping it around his marked arm immediately in a rush to regain control of himself. The grainy sand-like feel of the mountain ash stuck to his burning markings like they were made of something sweet and sugary instead of cold and brutal. Like honey instead of shaped ice or frozen metal.
His mind collected, losing its split and indecipherable feel in seconds. The voices died down— no longer raging at him for all the hideous murder he hadn't yet dealt out to those that wronged his kind. The wolf and the lion within gave a final howlish roar before he got to his feet. Marco remained.
"Ughhhh THIS is why I hate babysitting. Unaccounted for bullshit!" Erica said with a huff as she stood up after him.
"That's kind of just life in general." Stiles replied.
"Only for a nihilist." Erica flipped him off.
"Guys relax." Scott cut in.
"What happened….. why are we in your home?" Marco pressed. "And where are my clothes."
He only wore boxers. Though they fit like briefs. His black skin shined under the scarce amount of sunlight. Visible scaring and scabs dripped with new blood from his pumped muscles ripping open newly healed wounds.
"You don't remember?" Scott asked.
"I remember the hunt. We fought off the Alphas and I took you and Derek with me to run them down and finish it." Marco said.
"Nothing after….?"
Marco snarled, "Obviously not or I would've remembered! Tell me."
"You were bleeding a lot…. Some of your wounds had visible bone showing through— I don't get how you were running. Me and Derek had just woken up— we were disoriented. You kept saying they took something from you….. your m—"
Marco stiffened, remembering exactly why his mind raged as it did. Why his markings burned and he thirsted for the taste of the old blood in his mouth.
"My mother.."
Marco moved in a blur, jumping out of the nearest window. He soared and landed on the rooftop of the next house, skipping across the black asphalt top before flipping off and landing on the street below. From there he took off in a sprint barefooted, heading straight for the forest.
Stiles and the others rushed for the window to watch him leave.
"How the hell is he running after having a car thrown at him?"
"Grey Lions are tough." Erica said before grumbling, "Supposedly…. I think he sprained my neck."
"Right…. That makes sense." Stiles replied.
Scott shuttered, "What doesn't make sense is who threw it. WereWolves aren't supposed to be that strong."
"Whatever it is, it's still out there. I'll call Derick and Victoria to keep an eye on him. Hopefully he'll come to school and we can move from there." Stiles said before the alarm at Scott's bedside went off.
They all jumped with animalistic growls at the sudden sound.