CHPT 13: Violence, History, Urgency.

The morning Sun welcomed Marco in its usual warm and all encompassing embrace. His muscles heated and awakened pleasantly under its golden rays, his skin felt like it was being laid in velvet sheets as thin as air.

Despite the coolish March weather, he stayed in his thin blue hoodie and black jeans. No need for any extra layers or gloves. The sun would provide everything he needed as the Moon did in spades. Partners. Brothers in the sky. Violence and Peace. Fear and Fortune.

"You will always follow…..as will I if you continue to guide me….but even then." His voice turned into a sharp hiss towards the end.

Following his words, his ears twitched at sound of a car with an engine that sounded like it needed to be burned at the stake. The mechanical geriatric beast came rolling down the forested streets and practically ran him over as it came to a drift so the passenger seat of the blue jeep could face him.

Scott sat in the seat, watching him with an uncanny focus as Stiles leaned over in the driver seat to speak to him.

"Heyyyyy cat man. You're going to be late. Hop in." Stiles started, seemingly more centered than before.

"I'd rather not enter your death trap on wheels." Marco retorted.

"I spend a lot of money keeping this car functional." Stiles sounded hurt.

"Not enough. Now move."

"Marco. If you become truant, you'll get held back and forced to stay in school longer. Something tells me that place drains you. I don't think you want that." Stiles commented.

"Trust me. I would know." Scott added, still eyeing him seriously.

"What makes you think I can't run?" Marco snapped.

"The limp in your leg. What happened to you by the way? Did you have a rough Night?" Stiles asked, stretching and moving in the seat to look at Marco's legs that seemed to be trying to burst out of his jeans.

"Welcome to the club." Scott said, "We may be Shifters but we aren't invincible. We also aren't very knowledgeable in this world and we have questions. Questions that Derek and Deaton can't or won't answer."

Marco stayed silent.

The silence spread, making the two canine shifters uncomfortable under his gaze.

"Marco…" Scott started, eyes slowly beginning to glow.

"Scott." Marco replied as he approached the window to face him down.

"Get in the car."

More silence.

Stiles suddenly honked the horn, stunning them both.

"Oh shoot…sorry. We're you two about to …you know, smash face? I didn't want to ruin the moment. Please continue— I was invested." Stiles said.

The two looked away from him.

"Come on." Scott said.

"If this back seat smells like wolf piss I'm going to rip your throats out." Marco growled before he gripped the back door and gracefully slid his massive

frame inside.

To their surprise, the vehicle dropped lower to the streets under his weight and creeked with effort as if an anvil had just been placed on the hood.

"I'm regretting this already." Stiles said in a worried tone.

"Drive."

The cars ignition roared to life soon after as they roared down the street in the direction of Beacon Hills High.

***

The bulk of the ride had been spent in silence. They never considered how having Marco placed so close behind them would affect their mental states.

It felt like they were driving with a trunk full of land mines….or a truck bed full of poisonous snakes. Danger loomed. And silenced their questioning minds.

But. Stiles rarely stayed silent. And Scott was determined like no other.

"So you are a feline based shifter….right? You can't be a WereWolf. You don't even smell right…..you kind of do— what does that mean?"

Marco groaned in the back seat, "Yes. I am a Feline Shifter Variant."

Stiles and Scott looked between eachother in shock, "Variant….as in there's more? Than Canine and Feline?"

Marco shrugged, "I think it's idiotic to think that Wolves are the only predator to blend and intermingle with mankind. Not in a world so large and long lived. Yes. There are others. Some stronger and faster than us…well, most of us....blessed with things out of our worst nightmares….what we are is a fluid existence. Our survival demands it because the hunt doesn't end."

"Fluid existence? Nightmares? What are you implying?"

"Exactly what I'm saying. WereWolves aren't all there is. They are just the most numerous. But they weren't always."

"So….others." Scott said.

"Like the Werepather cousins you were talking about?" Stiles said.

"Sure. But you know what isn't an other?" Marco said, asking his own question for the first time.

"What?" Scott and Stiles jumped at the question.

"WereDragons— you absolute swineheaded idiots." Marco stated.

Scott and Stiles went serious. "We know what we saw."

"That's the problem. You don't. You don't know what you saw, you don't know what you are— and you don't know where you're going."

"Wait what?" Stiles said as they continued rocketing down another street, now lined by buildings instead of forestry.

"You passed the School." Marco stated flatly.

Stiles spun the steering wheel like a maniac, gaining angered growls from Scott and Marco as he drifted and swerved them into Beacon Hills High.

They found a parking spot soon after, driving slowly down the smooth tar roads through the sea of students heading towards the School. Despite the look, classes had already begun.

So much for being on time.

Marco sighed and exited the vehicle, shutting the crappy door in unison with Scott and Stiles as they took to the streets, immediately noticing how the sea of students parted in their approach as if Moses walked among them.

"Dude, turn that off." Scott whispered.

"I appreciate my space. Space that you're invading."

"You always so awnry, catman?" Stiles pressed.

Marco turned to face the coyote, aiming his thick index finger at him, "I tell you one thi—"

He trailed off. The two also lost interest in the convo as their eyes glowed and teeth clattered as they growled and shook for a span of seconds like they were being tased.

It was over in a flash with the passing students watching them in discomfort. They didn't feel it.

Only the three of them did. And felt was putting it lightly. The jolt to their nervous systems was jarring enough to knock the three injured shifters unconscious in the middle of the street.

They rose warily.

"What the hell was that?" Scott asked.

"What the hell is this?" Stiles corrected as he raised his hand that still vibrated violently.

Marco straightened and clenched his fists, fighting the shake as he spoke, "Someone in Beacon Hills is having a…..a seizure. They're dying...and no one is there to help them."

"Erica…"