The morning after Roman's late night visit to his apartment Dean had ventured going back to get his bike, finding his mattress torn open and on the opposite side of the bedroom. Impulsively he rubbed at the back of his neck, ill at ease with the apparent invasion of his personal space. Not wanting to stick around he grabbed his leathers, a small duffel-bag and helmet then headed down to the underground parking lot.

Within moments he was on the road, weaving through the mid-morning traffic as he headed back. Pulling up at a red light he glanced around the intersection as he waited and a tiny store tucked away between the larger, more commercial façades of steel and glass caught his eye. Pulling up around the corner he decided to go in and check it out.

As soon as he walked in Dean was hit with the heady scent of burning incense as he glanced around the dim interior, there was all sorts of things for sale revolving around what some considered pure fantasy, others the occult. Up until the past few days he would have firmly placed himself in the camp of the former, but after seeing the things he had it was hard not to at least give some consideration to a bit of the latter.

"Can I help you, sir?"

He turned around finding an older woman who appeared to be somewhere in her mid fifties if he had to take a guess. Raven black hair was streaked with greying silver and, if he were to be blunt about it, the way she was dressed reminded him vaguely of a gypsy. Around her neck was a golden pentagram, her fingers adorned with a variety of rings studded with an assortment of gemstones. She peered at him with clear eyes, waiting patiently for an answer.

"Uhh, yeah," he replied, again absently rubbing the back of his neck. He felt like an ass, unable to shake the feeling of how crazy this was, "I'm wondering if you had anything dealing with a... loup garou."

She studied him for a moment before leading him through the displays to where a large selection of books were kept. Some looked like something you could find in any book-store while others appeared surprisingly old.

"Just what about the loup garou do you want to know?"

"Origins, myths, sightings," he answered slowly, watching the gypsy woman as she picked up a book here, another there as he ticked things off his on the fly mental list, "...How to kill them."

Her hand paused and she looked at him intently, as if gauging his sincerity. Over the years she had many types of people come through her humble business; those who believed as she did about the wonders and creatures that shared this world with that had long since been dismissed by the modern world, those who were merely curious about such things and even those who would sometimes think that the 'other side', as she liked to call it sometimes, was merely something to be ridiculed and made fun of. This man seemed like none of those; he had seen something but was having a hard time trying to reconcile this new truth with what he perceived to be real about the world.

With a slim finger she pointed to an old tome out of her reach, "That is the one you'd be most interested in."

Reaching up Dean tugged it off the shelf, it was a nondescript looking thing bound in leather. Handing it over he followed her over to the counter and pulled out a credit card as she rung up his purchases, he seriously doubted Mackenzie would care that he was using her Visa for these. It had been her idea to begin with after all. She carefully packed them into his duffel and took the card, handing it back to him a moment later with an unreadable expression.

"Thank you for your patronage, come back again."

He simply nodded and walked out. Pulling out a pen and notepad she jotted down the name that had been on the card he had used, an M.A. Evans. She had a feeling it would someday be significant...

It was three in the morning and Mackenzie couldn't sleep, watching as water from a late night rain shower slithered down the window. It had been damn near impossible to do during the night, knowing that roaming around out there was a monster hiding under the skin of a man she loved.

She had all but consumed the books he had bought back with him the other day, finding some of the so called remedies for lycanthropy were completely ridiculous. Like scolding Roman as if he were a bad dog was going to achieve something, and she was pretty certain she said his name more than three times, begging him to stop when he had lost himself to the beast that night. Wolfsbane, surgical procedures, nails through the hands, exorcism... was any this supposed to actually work?

"Always fire I guess," she muttered quietly to herself.

She, Dean and Loki had been holed up in some nondescript hotel room for the past three days, not really venturing out much unless it was necessary. They had seen the local coverage on the mystery animal's latest victims, six young men had been torn apart in the same area as Dean's apartment block. The night after that a third killing took place not far from the fire house Dean had been assigned to and tonight yet another murder in the same neighbourhood as the small restaurant that was the usual hang out for the two friends. It was too much to be mere coincidence, it was Roman; he was slowly tearing the city apart until he finally found them. While they were hiding other people were paying the price. It wasn't right.

Silently she stood up and looked over at the bed. Dean was fast asleep, his forearm draped over his eyes. He didn't deserve to be dragged into all of this. She had no idea about the validity of these cures had in stopping Roman, but she knew one thing that would. Careful not to make a sound she slipped on his riding jacket and took his helmet and headed for the door, stopping when Loki softly whined.

"Be a good boy," she whispered, crouching down and petting him softly, "Keep Dean safe for me."

As the dog settled down on a rug at the foot of the bed Mack slipped out the door and down a flight of stairs to reach the parking lot below. Pushing up the kickstand with her boot she wheeled the motorbike a good distance before climbing on and starting it up, not wanting to take the chance in waking Ambrose up. If he knew what she was doing there was no way she'd get away with it. The machine came to life smoothly and was on it's way down the lonely, empty, rain slicked road.

The Honda came to a stop and Mack killed the engine. Flicking the visor up she watched the darkened house for almost a good ten minutes before finally dismounting the bike and pulled Dean's jacket a little tighter around her before crossing the road, soft soles of her boots making little noise across the wet surface and reached the door. It felt strange sneaking around her own house, like she was breaking in. Common sense was screaming at her to turn and run but her conscience was just as loud. This killing had to stop, one way or another. Taking a deep breath Mack opened the door, cringing a little as it's hinges creaked slightly. She stood on the threshold and listened intently for a moment, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

Nothing. It was so quiet it was nerve racking.

Habitually she reached for the light switch before suddenly thinking the better of it, if Roman came back and saw the light on she may as well be cramming the entirety of Mardi Gras in here. Moving to the left she felt around for a small cabinet, finding the latch and pulled it open to retrieve the torch inside. The small Maglite fit snugly in the palm of her hand, its bright LED beam cutting a path through the darkness and revealing the result of Roman's destructive behaviour.

It took a moment for the damage to sink in, keeping Mackenzie rooted to the spot as the light slowly panned over the living room; he had trashed damn near everything. Large holes and gouges ran the length of the walls, furniture upturned destroyed, glass scattered around everywhere. Carefully she picked her way through the mess through the living room and towards the end of the hall, taking in the violent redecorating Roman had been doing. Approaching the threshold of the bedroom and she stopped, vivid recollection slapping her across the face and brought with it a brief wave of nausea. She had been through a few physical assaults while on the job, no EMT was immune to a random attack by people who were blinded by panic or stoned out of their mind on something, but it all paled in comparison with what happened on the bed in front of her.

Fighting down rising anxiety she cautiously stepped forward, finding it just as trashed as the rest of the house. Pulling open the wardrobe she stretched, feeling around on the top shelf until she found the shape of a box and slid it forward. It was made from metal and a little dented, painted the distinct green associated with the army; an old ammunition tin. Holding the small torch between her teeth, Mack pulled at the latch and opened it up, hesitating a second before reaching inside the can. Fingers wrapped around the grip of a handgun, the light reflecting off the stainless steel slide. She hated the damn thing, having seen first hand the destruction they could cause, but it had been something Roman insisted on in the name of 'home security'. It was one of the few things they had a major fight about until she had eventually caved in and let him have his way. Making sure the safety was on she tucked it under her belt then stuffed the spare clip and small box of .45 calibre rounds in the jacket's pockets. Lying at the bottom of the tin was another small box, square in shape covered in a fuzzy black material.

A jewellery box?

With curiosity getting the better of her Mack eased open the stiff lid, the bedroom becoming lit up briefly as lightning flashed outside and once again it began to rain. Inside was a silver pendant in the shape of a sea turtle on the end of a delicate chain, a five petalled flower filled the inside of the shell with a small gemstone in its centre. The design was something she instantly recognised, Roman had the exact same turtle tattooed on the inside of his wrist.

Before she could give it much thought and with no more warning than a low growl there was a blur of movement before she was pinned hard against the wall and the sudden smell of blood assaulted her senses. A hand wrapped around the back of her neck while the other yanked off the familiar jacket she wore. Mackenzie swallowed hard, body tense as a drawn bow string at the feel of warm, ragged breath against the shell of her ear and the feel of Roman's body pressed up against her own. He caught one of her wrists in an iron grip, the pressure making her wince, and spun her around so they were facing each other.

She smelled like Ambrose, absolutely reeked of him, causing Roman to snarl possessively and watched as his mate flinched, her eyes squeezing shut tightly. With only inches between them he could actually hear the pounding beat of her heart and the scent of fear was unmistakable. He was angry that Mack had left but at the same time was satisfied, almost relieved, with her return. His fingers brushed across her face, pushing the loose hair away that had escaped the confining hair tie, leaving a smearing trail of blood and water in their wake. The gentle gesture was entirely contradictory to the otherwise aggressive behaviour.

Daring to take a peek she saw his face was again that strange familiar yet foreign appearance. It was Roman but someone, something else entirely at the same time. Animalistic, piercing eyes were unmoving through the wild, tangled curtain of black hair. That alone was disturbing enough, but the fact that he was completely naked and seemed to be covered in blood that clearly wasn't his made it down right terrifying. Had he really been running around like that for three days now?

"Mine..."

He leaned in, teeth grazing down her neck, when something cold and hard pressed against his sternum with a soft but distinct click. He stopped and looked down, the desperate struggle of human realisation trying to claw it's way through the hazy miasma of the beast's primal instincts.

"Don't... please... Just don't."

He heard conflict warring with conviction that she could actually pull the trigger. But he also heard fear, something that could lead to all sorts of unpredictable outcomes. He felt the sporadic tremor of the steel against his skin and the shaking of her frame. After a long, agonising moment Roman finally took a step back and his hold around her wrist became less crushing but refused to let go entirely. His free hand rubbed at his temples in frustration and confusion as his two personalities collided yet again. What was he doing? It was so hard to think...

"You should have stayed away," he finally said quietly, "Dean was supposed to keep you away from me."

"Look at yourself, Roman. Look what you're covered in. Did you honestly think I wouldn't be able to connect the dots over the past couple of days after-"

No, she wasn't willing to go there. It wouldn't help anything anyway.

Suck it up, princess.

"Go have a shower. I won't go anywhere, there wouldn't be any point in trying."

Defeat. Submission. The beast had what it finally wanted, but all the man felt was guilt and shame, she couldn't even look him in the eye for fear of some sort of reprisal. Maybe they would both be better off if she just shot him here and now. He wanted to say something, anything, that would somehow magically fix the broken bonds they now had to live with, but there was nothing. No phrases, no impassioned statements or declarations.

He finally let go of her completely and slowly backed away. Only when it was clear that she really was staying and not just telling Roman what he wanted to hear so he would drop his guard, did he head for the bathroom, taking some clothes with him. The sound of the running water mingled with that of the rain drumming down on the roof as Mackenzie didn't move for a couple of minutes. After absently stuffing the necklace into her pocket she dragged a suitcase from out of the closet and began to pick through some clothes. They couldn't stay here, it would be foolish to think otherwise, and there was only one place isolated enough to go.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

While waiting for Roman to finish up she looked around the room, to say it was a complete mess would be an understatement. With nothing else to do and needing something to distract herself with, Mackenzie began picking up the pieces strewn about the floor. Occasionally she would come across a ring or bracelet, noticing the small jewellery box she owned had been sent across to the other side of the room, broken and useless. Without thinking much of it she slipped them on as she found them and would find something to put them all in when she was done.

After a while she sat down on the end of the bed, there really didn't seem to be much point in tidying up. A despondent, hollow feeling settled like an uncomfortable weight in the pit of her stomach as implications of her decision slowly began to sink in. She was, in pretty much every sense of the word, screwed. She could admit to herself that the idea of staying with Roman scared the shit out of her, but what other choice did she have? If Mackenzie left he'd just go back on another killing spree. How she rued the day Maddox showed up on their doorstep with that godforsaken inheritance.

With a heavy sigh Mack ran her hands over her face, she could only imagine how Dean was going to react when he woke up to find her gone. A pang of guilt hit her at simply deserting him the way she was but in the end it was for his own sake. Even though rationality knew better it was no match nor comfort for emotional woe, she had felt like she had failed them both. She had failed Roman by not knowing anything about her own family history and this stupid legend-cum-reality. She had failed Dean by dragging him into this mess, knowing that he would have followed her to the ends of the earth. Hell, she even felt like she had failed Loki by abandoning him into the care of someone else.

A cold wet nose nuzzling against her hand interrupted the increasing melancholy, Loki's deep brown eyes staring at her from a damp, furry face.

No. Not here. Not now.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Dean watched as Mack fought the urge to physically flinch at his hissed disbelief. If Roman was losing his grip on his sanity, then she must have completely lost her mind. Crossing the room in a few strides he grabbed her hand and pulled her up, surprised at the resistance she gave him when he headed for the door.

"I can't go, Dean. If I do he's got a whole city to tear through looking for me. If I stay, get him out of here..." They stared at each other, realisation dawning for one and hopeless acceptance in the other, "At least no-one else will get hurt."

"No," he shot back, "I am not leaving you here. I don't gave a damn if he burns the world down, we're leaving. Now."

He pulled her toward the door again but again she wouldn't budge. He couldn't understand it; she didn't owe anyone anything, sure as hell didn't owe that asshole in the shower any favours, but she was deliberately putting herself in harms way regardless. Ever since they were kids she had always been there for him, putting up with all his mistakes and drama without judgement or reservation. She was the one constant in his life, a reliable stability when things got bad and he wouldn't let anyone drag her down into a living hell if he had a say in it. He owed her that much. He swallowed hard at the rising, uneasy coil worming its way through his chest, desperate for something to change her mind.

To say the move surprised her would be an understatement. His hands cupped her face as he kissed her fiercely, something borne of suppressed longing and need. There was a reason he was a serial womaniser, denying himself for years the one he actually wanted, afraid it would ruin the only stable long term relationship he had with another person. But right now it was his only card left to play and the only way to get her to understand. He took her hand in his again and she didn't fight him this time as he turned to lead the way.

Right into a man beast who looked primed to kill.

That last part? Yeah, totally wasn't where I was originally going, but I doubt I'm going to hear any complaints. Huzzah for an on-the-fly plot! Feels good to update something at any rate, I've been going through a creative dry spell lately, so please bear with me with the sporadic updates to pretty much everything on the go at the moment.

Remember, #ReviewingIsMagic. Yeah, that's my thing lately. I have no shame.