Teen Wolf: Sun Hill Pack

—(Markus)—

It's been about 2 weeks since Michael talked to me about what it means to be part of the pack.

I didn't need the wheelchair anymore, though I still had to take breaks when walking around the house. When I asked Michael if he thought my progress was slow, he didn't sugarcoat it. He said yes—apparently, a werewolf would have already been up and running by now. The reason I was healing slower than usual, he explained, was because I hadn't shifted yet. On top of that, I had been gravely injured when he gave me the bite, so my body had a lot more to recover from.

Still, I'd started noticing changes. I'd grown taller—shooting up from 5'6" to just over six feet in the span of two weeks. I was leaner, but my muscles were more defined. My senses were sharper, too. Conversations in other rooms, scents from across the yard—it was all crystal clear. The intensity was disorienting at times, but Michael said it was normal. My body was adapting, preparing for the shift.

That's what he kept calling it: the shift.

On the night of the full moon, Michael decided it was time. He told me we'd be heading into the woods—away from the house, away from Calvin—to ensure the pack's safety.

I wasn't thrilled about it. "Can't we just do this here? In the basement or something?"

Michael gave me a look, his expression unreadable. "No. The woods are safer. Trust me."

Calvin overheard and immediately volunteered to join us. "If Markus loses it, you'll need backup," he argued.

Michael hesitated, but eventually agreed. "Fine. But you do exactly as I say, Calvin."

So that's how the three of us ended up deep in the forest under the light of the full moon.

The air was thick with tension as we stood in a clearing, the moonlight casting an eerie glow over the trees. Michael circled me slowly, his presence steady and grounding. Calvin stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching intently.

"Alright, Markus," Michael said. "This is it. Your first shift. Let it come naturally—don't fight it."

I nodded, though my chest was tight with apprehension. My body already felt different, like every cell was vibrating just beneath the surface.

At first, the change came slowly—a burning sensation in my chest, spreading outward. My muscles tensed, my skin tingled, and my breath came in shallow gasps. Then the pain hit.

It was like my bones were being shattered and reassembled all at once. I doubled over, clawing at the dirt as my body contorted.

"Stay with it, Markus!" Michael urged, his voice steady.

But it was too much. The pain, the power—it was overwhelming. My senses exploded, and I felt myself slipping into something primal, something uncontrollable.

The transformation wasn't slow or graceful—it was brutal. My muscles swelled, my frame expanded, and my hands morphed into claws. When I finally looked up, I saw my reflection in a small pool of water nearby.

I was monstrous—towering, heavily muscled, with glowing red eyes with black scleras and claws that felt sharp enough to tear through steel.

But then came the rage.

It hit like a tidal wave, drowning out every thought. A guttural snarl ripped from my throat, and before I could stop myself, I lunged at Michael.

He was ready. He shifted in an instant, his wolf form sleek and powerful. He dodged my first attack, then growled, "Markus! Stand down!"

But I couldn't hear him. The rage had taken over, and all I could think about was destruction.

Calvin jumped in, trying to flank me. "Markus, stop!" he shouted.

I spun around, letting out a deafening roar that shook the trees. Calvin froze for a split second, but then he charged, tackling me from the side. His strength was impressive, but I barely felt it. With a single swipe, I sent him flying into a nearby tree.

"Calvin!" Michael yelled, his voice tinged with panic.

Calvin groaned, pulling himself to his feet. "I'm fine," he said, though his movements were slower now.

Michael didn't waste any more time. He lunged at me, his claws sinking into my shoulders as he tried to wrestle me to the ground. Calvin joined in moments later, grabbing my legs and pinning them with all his strength.

It took both of them working together to hold me down. Michael barked commands, his Alpha authority cutting through the chaos. "Markus! Enough! Stand down!"

For a moment, I fought against them, the primal rage refusing to yield. But Michael's voice, steady and commanding, finally broke through the haze.

"Markus," he said, his tone softer now. "It's over. You're in control. Breathe."

The red haze in my vision began to fade, and the fire in my veins ebbed away. My breathing slowed, my muscles relaxing as I realized they were no longer restraining me.

Back at the house, after I'd shifted back to human form, Michael sat me down in the living room.

"What the fuck happened?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

Michael's expression was serious. "You're what's known as a brute."

"A brute?" I frowned.

"It's a rare genetic trait," he explained. "Brutes are predisposed to incredible strength, even among werewolves. But with that strength comes anger—uncontrolled, primal rage."

I swallowed hard. "So, what does that mean for me?"

"It means you had a potential to be an Alpha," Michael said. "But you lack the temperament. Brutes aren't natural leaders. Your anger makes it hard for you to think clearly in stressful situations."

"So, what? I'm just a ticking time bomb?"

"No," Michael said firmly. "It means you'll need to work harder to control your emotions. You've got the strength to protect the pack, Markus. But strength without control is dangerous. That's what we'll focus on next. When you wake up tomorrow you'll be a different person with a different temperament. In a way you shed the more human part of yourself."

Calvin, who had been listening quietly, added, "You're not alone in this, Markus. We'll figure it out together."

Despite everything, I felt a flicker of hope. It wasn't going to be easy, but for the first time, I believed that maybe, just maybe, I could find my place in the pack. The old me had died when I was attacked that night.

The morning after my second shift, I woke up feeling like I was buzzing with energy I couldn't contain. Every movement felt charged, my body strung tight like a bowstring.

When I caught my reflection in the mirror, the shock hit me again. I was huge—towering at 6'5, with shoulders so broad I barely fit in the doorway. My muscles were more defined, veins popping under my skin like cords of steel. I didn't just look stronger; I felt it in every fiber of my being.

But there was something else beneath the surface, something I couldn't quite control.

Anger.

It simmered just under the surface, waiting for the slightest spark to ignite it.

When I walked out onto the porch, Calvin was already there, tossing a football in the air. He caught sight of me and grinned, but his grin faltered as he got a better look.

"Well, someone's been hitting the supernatural steroids," he joked.

I didn't laugh. "You got something to say, Calvin?"

His eyebrows shot up, clearly taken aback by the sharpness in my tone. "Relax, Markus. It's a joke."

"I'm relaxed," I snapped, though my clenched fists said otherwise.

Before he could respond, Michael stepped out of the cabin. His eyes flicked between us, instantly picking up on the tension.

"Everything okay here?" he asked.

"Yeah," I muttered, shoving past Calvin and heading toward the woods. "Just peachy."

—(Calvin)—

Markus had always been fiery, but this was different. The bite had amplified everything about him—his strength, his speed, his instincts. But it had also turned his temper into a ticking time bomb.

"Markus is on edge," I said to dad later that day as we prepped for training.

Dad sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not surprising. The bite can do that, especially for someone with brute genetics. Their emotions are heightened, harder to control."

"Well, he's snapping at me like I'm the enemy," I said, crossing my arms. "And you know I'm not one to back down if he keeps pushing."

Dad gave me a hard look. "You're not helping him by challenging him, Calvin. Markus needs grounding, not more fuel for the fire."

I grumbled under my breath but nodded.

—(Michael)—

Markus's anger was becoming an issue, but it wasn't unexpected. He had the markings of a brute—a rare type of werewolf born with Alpha-level power but an inability to harness it fully. Brutes were raw strength and fury incarnate, prone to violence when unchecked.

"Markus," I said after training that evening, pulling him aside. "We need to talk."

His jaw tightened, and I could see the tension radiating off him. "What now?"

I stayed calm, keeping my voice steady. "You're angry all the time. It's affecting your focus."

He scoffed. "Maybe I have a reason to be angry. Or are you gonna tell me I shouldn't feel anything?"

"I'm not telling you to ignore it," I said, stepping closer. "I'm telling you to control it before it controls you."

His nostrils flared, and for a moment, I thought he might snap at me. But then he exhaled sharply, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

"What's wrong with me?" he muttered.

"There's nothing wrong with you," I said firmly.

He looked at me, his eyes blazing. "So what, I'm just supposed to accept that I'm a ticking time bomb? That I'll hurt someone the second I lose control?"

"No," I said. "You're supposed to learn how to channel it. Your strength, your anger—they're tools. But tools can be dangerous if you don't know how to use them. That's why you have me and Calvin. We'll help you."

Markus didn't respond right away, his gaze dropping to the ground. "What if I can't control it?"

"You can," I said without hesitation. "But it's going to take work. You've got more power than most wolves could dream of, Markus. But power without control is a curse. You have to want to control it."

He nodded slowly, though his fists were still clenched at his sides. "I'll try."

"That's all I'm asking," I said. "One step at a time."

—(Markus)— 

Control. It sounded so simple when Michael said it, but it felt impossible in practice.

Every little thing seemed to set me off. If Calvin made a snarky comment, if I stumbled during training, if the food wasn't ready when I was hungry—it didn't matter. The anger boiled up before I could stop it.

One night, during a sparring session with Calvin, I finally lost it.

He caught me with a quick jab to the ribs, and something inside me snapped. I lunged at him, slamming him into the ground harder than I intended. He grunted in pain, but before he could recover, I was on him, my claws out and teeth bared.

"Markus!" Michael's voice cut through the haze like a blade.

I froze, my claws inches from Calvin's throat. My chest heaved, my heart pounding in my ears as I stared down at him.

Calvin's eyes were wide, but he didn't look scared—he looked angry.

"What the hell, Markus?" he snapped, shoving me off him.

I stumbled back, my hands trembling as I realized what I'd almost done.

"I—I didn't mean to," I stammered, my voice barely audible. Looking at my hands.

Michael stepped between us, his expression unreadable. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. You have to control yourself, Markus. That could've gone a lot worse."

I nodded numbly, my stomach churning with guilt.

Calvin stood, brushing himself off. "You've got the strength," he said, his tone sharp. "But strength doesn't mean crap if you can't control it."

He walked off, leaving me alone with Michael.

Michael's gaze softened slightly. "We'll figure this out," he said quietly. "But you need to trust us. Trust me."

I nodded again, swallowing hard. "I'll try."

"Good," he said. "Because this isn't just about you anymore. The pack's counting on you, Markus."

I didn't respond, but his words stayed with me long after he walked away.

Control. It wasn't just about me—it was about protecting the people I cared about. And if I couldn't figure out how to master this anger, I wasn't just a danger to myself. I was a danger to everyone around me.

The weight of Michael's words lingered long after he left. The pack's counting on you. Part of something bigger now.

But the only thing I could feel was the shame curling in my gut like a snake.

When I looked down at my hands—bigger now, clawed, and capable of tearing through flesh—I didn't see anything familiar. They weren't my hands anymore. They were the tools of a monster.

I spent the rest of the night pacing in the woods, the cool air doing little to calm the storm inside me. My breath came in sharp, shallow bursts, and my claws twitched with every gust of wind that rustled the trees.

A monster. That's what I was. That's what I'd become.

The memory of Calvin's eyes—wide, staring up at me from the ground—played over and over in my head. I'd almost hurt him. I'd almost torn him apart. What did my face look like that day? Was it similar to his?

Wasn't that what monsters did?

—(Calvin)—

By the time I cooled off enough to check on Markus, it was past midnight. Michael had said to give him space, but leaving him alone when he was this volatile didn't sit right with me.

I found him deep in the woods, standing in the middle of a clearing, his back to me. His massive frame seemed to take up the whole space, the moonlight catching on the sharp angles of his shoulders and the messy tangle of his hair.

He didn't turn around when I stepped closer.

"You planning on sulking out here all night?" I asked, keeping my tone light.

For a moment, I thought he wasn't going to answer. Then, his voice came, low and rough.

"Maybe."

I sighed, stepping up beside him. "Look, I get it. You lost control. It happens. You didn't actually hurt me, Markus."

"That's not the point," he snapped, his voice suddenly sharp. He looked down at me, his blazing eyes catching the moonlight. "I could have. Don't you get that? I'm not safe. Not for you, not for Michael, not for anyone."

"You're being dramatic," I said, crossing my arms. "You've got power, sure, but that doesn't mean you're a lost cause. You just have to learn to—"

"To what?" he interrupted, his voice rising. "To control it? That's all anyone keeps saying, but what if I can't? What if this anger, this… thing inside me, is who I am now?"

I frowned, trying to find the right words.

Markus shook his head, stepping away from me. "You don't get it, Calvin. You don't feel what I feel. Every second, it's like something's clawing at the inside of my skull, begging to be let out. And when I lose control, people get hurt."

His voice cracked on the last word, and for the first time, I saw something other than anger in his eyes. Fear.

"You're not a monster, Markus," I said quietly. "You're just a guy who's been dealt a rough hand. But you don't have to do this alone."

He let out a bitter laugh. "Don't I?"

"No," I said firmly. "You've got me. You've got Michael. Hell, you've even got Noah rooting for you from the sidelines. You're not alone, Markus. Stop acting like you are."

He didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the trees ahead.

"Come back to the cabin," I said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

For a moment, I thought he might shake me off. But then he sighed, his shoulders slumping.

"Fine," he muttered.

—(Markus)—

Even after we got back to the cabin, I couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't belong there.

While Calvin and Michael talked quietly in the other room, I stood by the window, staring out at the dark woods.

I used to feel safe out there. The woods were my escape, my sanctuary. Now, they felt like a prison, a reminder of what I'd become.

The monster in the woods.

That's what I was now, wasn't it? The thing parents told their kids about to keep them from wandering too far.

I clenched my fists, the sharp tips of my claws biting into my palms drawing blood. I didn't want to be this. I didn't want to be feared.

But no matter how much I wanted to change, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was already too late.