Dean came home and heard the muted sounds of running water coming from his bathroom and checked the time where the clock hung nearby, he had been gone for barely an hour. With a grimace he gingerly wrapped an arm around his left side where it had taken the brunt of the impact with the wall when Roman had tossed him like a rag doll. He was still having a hard time wrapping his head around that. Sure, Roman had always been as strong as an ox, but to do something like that? Crazy...

Putting the bat back where he got it from Dean slumped into one of the kitchen chairs and stared absently out of the window as he got lost in his own thoughts. Just what in the hell was he supposed to do now? Even if Roman hadn't told him to keep Mack away it was something he had planned to do regardless. But what if he came searching for them? Whatever was lurking inside the Samoan was unlikely to simply give up and no doubt his place would be the first stop to come knocking. He didn't really want to know what the 'and worse' part of this dangerous new side Roman had developed meant but couldn't help thinking about it. Rubbing the back of his neck Dean felt a dampness on his skin, seeing small traces of blood on his fingers when he pulled his hand back and felt the phantom sensation of something akin to claws.

Oh... shit.

It suddenly clicked. The four men in the park, they were what Roman meant. The report said that all evidence pointed to the killings as done by some large, powerful animal. Roman had pretty much covered all three traits personally less than thirty minutes a go. The only thing that probably saved Dean's hide was the idea of Mack vanishing if he was killed.

Before he could delve any further into what the particular implications could be his bathroom door opened. Loki immediately sat up from his spot just a foot or two in front of it, tail wagging slightly as Mackenzie absently pat his head on her way past. There was no kind way to say it, she looked like hell. Her usually bright green eyes were dull and bloodshot, the skin around them red and taut. She had been crying again, he realised, while he had been out unsuccessfully trying to introduce a bat to her lover's head. She knew it too, all it took was one look at his roughed up appearance, but it was something he would not be put into a guilt trip over. Given the same chance he'd do it again.

She walked into the open plan kitchen and rummaged around in one of the higher cupboards, pulling out a small white tin with a green cross on it and set it down on the table. Without objection Dean bowed his head forward a little, exposing the scratches and abrasions on the back of his neck.

"So... what now?"

Dean played with Loki's ears as the dog rested its head on his knee for a moment before simply opting for the truth, ignoring the dull burning bite of the antiseptic, "He's told me to keep you away from him."

His voice wasn't sounding quite like his own as he bought a hand up to try and soothe the scratching pain in his throat. Apparently having his entire body weight suspended in mid air and the life half choked out of him wasn't that great on the vocal chords.

Noticing the change Mack moved to stand in front of him, hooking a finger under his chin and he lifted his head up; the skin was angry and red, more than likely going to bruise at some point within the next few hours. She refrained from sighing, she had seen him looking a lot worse through the years no thanks to running his mouth or going off half cocked at one point or another, and at least he was in one piece. A sudden chill slithered down her spine at the thought of how easily he could have not come back at all, losing Dean would be like... she wasn't quite sure, words really couldn't express it. Not wanting to dwell on the idea she left the idea alone, going to such a dark corner wouldn't help anything. She needed to think, to keep her brain occupied, so trying to figure out what exactly was going on with Roman and how to potentially stop it was a good place to start.

"I know that look," Dean said, breaking Mackenzie from her thoughts, "You're about to go all Sherlock on me, aren't you?"

"Well we can't sit around doing nothing," she replied, "He's just going to get worse otherwise."

"You're not going near him, Mack," he argued, "Even if he hadn't of said it I wouldn't let you."

"Do you really think fucking words are going to stop him from coming to me?!" she fired back, "Because I don't know about you, but having a god damned... man beast growling 'mine' into my ear for half the damned night did not paint the picture of something that just changes its mind on a fucking whim!"

Heavy silence reigned as they stared awkwardly at one another before Mackenzie was the first to look away, slowly sinking into the chair next to him. She hadn't meant to say that and she didn't want to bring up any of it. For his part Dean tried to cover up his surprised shock at her sudden outburst by running his fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to push it out of his face.

"I'm not quite sure what the hell is going on," she began quietly, "But that... whatever it is, it's not Roman. He's still in there somewhere."

Dean sighed heavily and scrubbed at his eyes, this was such a bad idea, "If you're that insistent on going through with this craziness, do you have any idea on where we start then?"

"Loup Garou," Mack answered after a moment, recalling what the old man had said, "It's french for warewolf."

When Roman woke up his whole body ached painfully, feeling like he had been through a grinder of some sort. The sun had long since gone down, the house dark and silently still. Getting up from the remnants of the sofa he swayed a little, closing his eyes and brought a hand up to the side of his head as a wave of pain made him feel nauseous. Staggering into the kitchen he filed through several draws trying to find anything that would help him but came up empty handed. He stumbled down the hallway, oblivious to the dilapidated state he had left the house in before passing out, and headed into the bathroom to rummage through the cabinet.

No such luck.

He stared into the small mirror, trying to work through the aching fog in his mind. Everything was so quiet, it wasn't normal; by now the television would be going for quiet background noise as Mackenzie did one thing or another, or Loki would have checked on him after hearing Roman move around. That's when he realised he was all alone. Impulsively he sniffed at the air, it was faint but the traces of their scents were still there; Mack, Loki and...

Ambrose.

A primal growl rumbled in the back of his throat as his fist shot out and shattered the reflection staring back. It was an unacceptable encroachment onto his territory. He followed the scent until it was strongest, the damage both he and Dean had caused registering. They had been fighting and for some reason he had let the other man leave. Absently he half heartedly sifted through the ruined possessions, pulling his hand back when it brushed against something causing a sharp burning sensation. Crouching down he picked around it, finding one of Mackenzie's silver rings lying on top of the smashed dresser; curiously he touched it again with the same result. With an annoyed snarl he left it alone, he'd have to make her get rid of it. But Mack was gone and he could smell Ambrose, it didn't take much for him to join the dots on where his mate would be.

Crossing the window he actually felt the moonlight on his skin, causing him to stop and go back to it. It felt... good. He wanted more. Suddenly he had an overwhelming urge to be outside and flicked the latch then pulled the window up, jumping straight out the window. Looking up he noted the silvery disk was almost full and for some reason the knowledge made him extremely restless. He stalked across the yard and vaulted over the fence into the quiet lane way beyond. A cat that had been minding its own business hissed in startled surprise before running off. His pace started off at a brisk walk but before long the internal call to just run was too strong to ignore. He cleared fences, passed silently through back and front yards and was little more than a shadow to the few who thought they might have seen a glimpse of something. The faster he could move the more it worked out the aches in his stiff joints before finally coming to a stop in an alleyway next to a very familiar apartment block.

Looking up at the fire escape Roman backed up a few steps before taking a small running jump at it, easily reaching the bottom rung of the ladder and it slid down under his weight as he climbed up, scaling up the stairs until he had reached the seventh floor. Digging his nails under the window he shoved it up with no effort, the locking mechanism breaking under the force and he slipped inside. She had definitely been here, Mackenzie's scent hanging in the air like a taunting spectre. He stalked around the darkened flat trying to find any sort of clue as to where they could have gone. Dean's helmet rested on its usual place on a hook behind the door, so they were obviously travelling by car. Heading to the kitchen he checked a few of the cupboards and noticed the first aid box was gone. As he moved on he saw Dean's laptop had also been taken and then headed into the bedroom. Some clothes were strewn about the floor, waiting to be picked up and put in the nearby hamper. Draws had been opened and clean clothes removed, the nearby closet open and a small suitcase was missing.

That feral growl erupted again as he neared the bed, it smelled like both his mate and Ambrose.

Possessive anger rose up as he lashed out, tearing huge gouges through the sheets and mattress before picking it up and throwing it across the room. He had already laid claim to his mate, she was his and his alone.

He continued to search for anything that could give him any idea on where to start his search when there was a knock on the door followed by a muffled voice of a concerned neighbour. Quickly he headed out the window and headed back down to the street. Stalking through the half dark Roman's frustrated anger grew, the occasional snarl or growl escaping him as he did so. Where would they run to? Somewhere that felt safe and secure would be the best bet. Perhaps somewhere familiar.

"Hey, look at this guy, it must be laundry night."

"That or his old lady kicked him out for doing someone he wasn't supposed to."

Roman's head snapped to the left from where the comments had come from to find a small group of street punks loitering around a loading bay. Lowering his head a little he growled and went to move on, not in the mood to deal with the drama. The punks had different ideas, it wasn't every night this sort of entertainment just strolled right on in. They continued to harass Roman until one made the mistake of trying to touch him to get his attention. As soon as the hand touched his shoulder with intentions of shoving him around his arm swung back, sending the young man crashing into the nearest wall. The atmosphere suddenly became tense and Roman could smell blood in the air; the call to violence rapidly surging through him.

"Matt? You guys... You guys, he's not moving!" one yelled as he moved to where his friend had been thrown before sudden realisation kicked in, "This mother fucker just killed him!"

"You're gonna pay for that, asshole!" the biggest of the five remaining punks snarled as they circled around him, "We were just going to have some fun with you, but now we gonna have ourselves some old testament eye for an eye."

Roman stood stock still a feral grin peering out from the mane of wild black hair. Running his tongue over his teeth he just wanted to lash out and bite, to rip and tear until there was nothing left. These fools were getting in the way of him finding his mate and they had to pay the price. The one who gave him the little speech was the first to take the shot but to Roman it was like he moved in slow motion. With a snarling roar he went on the attack, teeth and claws ripping through the hapless wannabe gangsters, filling the night with screams and blood.

Well, at least this story is moving again... Hurray for progress!