Teleportation wasn't an ability known or commanded by the Grey Lions, but that might as well have been what Marco just accomplished. That or he was a deranged as he currently felt.
He didn't remember running. He didn't remember moving out of Scott's room and back home. He only remembered one thing.
His mother.
The WereWolf slave the Alpha Pack sent months ago gave them a message. The Alphas wanted the Wolf, Coyote and Grey Lion.
Scott….. Stiles ….. Marco.
That's what they assumed. Foolish. Of course they'd go after the defenseless. Defenseless because Marco wasn't there.
He failed.
He knew it for sure as he stood in the living room of his home.
There were no signs of forced entry to human eyes or noses. But with every fiber of Marco's being, he could feel the intrusion.
Their…. Musk. It lingered in the air— as dominant and resistant in fading from the home as they were as Alphas. That very thing gave them a lasting presence wherever they went.
The dust settled on the wood floors. Avoiding the areas where they stepped through his territory. The very environment bowed and shied away from them.
Massive heavy feet remained at the doorway. He sniffed in the dark silence. Familiar. The Alpha WereWolf he'd splayed only hours ago. He wasn't strong enough to invade lands claimed by Marco.
The others were.
A woman with clawed feet…. Heels raised. She traveled on all fours. Two other sets of feet surrounded her own.
Mundane. Regular.
He followed them through the house.
Past the kitchen where they left the fridge open. Rotting out the meats and drying the herbs. Through the basement where they fondled and tugged at the chains.
Through his bedroom. They flipped through and discarded his books as if they were nothing instead of age old knowledge. Meaning they had their own or the power to not give a f—
His black sheets laid across the floor like spilled oil. Part of him awaited the fire.
He shut his eyes— cutting off his better senses to endure the end.
Scenting, feeling, listening. His bare foot stepped out into the hallway. His big toe landed on a droplet of saliva. Still hot with invasive alpha magic like poison in his garden.
Immediately his muscles tended and his vision returned. This time from the eyes of something lower to the ground.
Something with honed senses and muscles like iron. Shifting and brushing against smooth skin. The view rose as whatever he viewed the world through stood.
"Here we are." A British accented voice said. Again— like the footprints, mundane. Now followed by a tapping sound. Like someone had a stick. He sounded like nothing more than a man. Maybe that made it all the more horrifying as he was calmly surrounded by monsters.
Marco couldn't see him from whoever he took in the world through.
He wouldn't have looked anyway as the eyes fastened on his sleeping mother.
A light flashed through the window behind his mothers bed and knocked him out of the vision, leaving him standing in the doorway to the empty room.
The statues of Anhur and Bastet watched him with disdain.
The bed mocked him in its emptiness, as if telling him to vegetate himself viscerally and fill the emptiness since he couldn't do his current job well enough.
He approached the bed. His lungs shrank. His eyes welled as the smells of his mother— for the first time, were old.
It was almost funny. He stood at the bedside table hoping they'd taken the fresh wrappings for her wounds and eyepatch. As if they were some kind of shapeshifter care service.
Maybe it was funny. He laughed. Maybe he'd gone insane. The laughs continued as his vision blurred from tears, sizzling against his hot skin as he transformed and—
"FUCK!"
The house shook and the windows cracked from the roar. He kicked the bed and its wooden framing shattered against the far walls. He head butted the wall in front of him so hard he could taste the outside air. When he pulled his head out the statues faced him.
He snarled and slashed at the faces in a humiliated rage. They fell and hit the floor, somehow louder than his own roars.
He stayed that way for a while. Standing in the ruins. Somewhere jammed between sorrow, panic and insurmountable levels of rage.
The silence was de—
Footsteps.
They entered the house. Through the front door. Confident— but hesitant. Followed by a tapping sound.
His blood turned to ice.
The tapping and footsteps grew closer until he turned and found a walking stick lead someone into the doorway.
"M-Marco?"
Kat stood in the doorway wearing pajama pants and a tank top. Her glasses hid her eyes in the dark room. Her brown hair sat atop her head in a messy crown.
She looked a mess. A hot mess as certain american coming of age movies coined it.
She was very close to being a dead mess.
Too close, Marco thought as he held his clawed hands inches away from her face. Once again, he didn't remember moving.
He backed away slowly.
"What brings you to my home, Kat?"
"Marco…!? Oh my god, Marco someone was here— they….. they broke things and …. And…." She trailed off as her walking stick hit a busted portion of the bed frame.
"How do you know people were here?"
Kat pulled out her phone. "I know I got them because one of them cursed at the flash."
Marco snatched the phone— probably too aggressively, and studied the photo.
It was dark— blurry. But he could make out three people. A massive shirtless man that looked like a barely synthesized werewolf. A lithe and slim bodied monster with black skin. A woman. And a man wearing glasses. He was the one Marco heard speaking. He didn't know why but it had to be him.
"I called the police, but…." She sniffled, "I wish I could've done something before they took her. I mean why?— why the hell would anyone do that?"
"Power….. prestige."
Kat wiped the tears from her cloudy white eyes and made a confused expression as she eyed the wall behind him, "What?"
Marco remembered she knew little. He ran a hand through his dreads. The silver bands made them jingle in the silence.
"I need to go. Do not tell the police where i am." Marco headed out of the door. "Stay safe, Kat. Don't come back to this house. I'll come to you, and when the moon is out lock up everything."
Kat took a panicked step after him, "WAIT— where are you going? Why wont you talk to the police."
Marco slid into a new shirt and pants, picking up his guitar case and spear.
"Because I'm a black man in America. And I'll handle it myself."
In perfect timing, Scott texted his phone….
Followed by Stiles.
And Erica.
And Alison.
"There's an Alpha in the school. Twins."