The Wolf had gone looking for Red again after his prey had been denied to him. He hoped that the Witch would be with her-he could vent his anger on her. Somehow he felt that things would go in his favor this time around, conveniently forgetting that she could still slam him into walls if she so chose.
He didn't catch a fresh trail of Red's scent until he reached the first floor and came off the stairs close to the elevator. Then, there it was, leading into 104. He nudged the door open with his nose, peering inside, stepping over fallen police tape on his way in.
The Witch had been here, but she wasn't anymore. The scent was a few hours old and mingled with Red's, and he had tracked it to a closet door when the sun finally peeked over the horizon.
Per usual, he was transforming before he even knew what was happening. The change hurt by itself, but it wasn't helped by being covered in rapidly darkening bruises, which only made the his stretching skin hurt more. He screamed into the floor as soon as he had voice to do so, not caring who heard.
When claws had finally receded into nails and his spine, at last, sank into place with a bone-shattering crack, he lay face down on the floor. It took a long, long minute to convince his muscles to move, and when he got up, just to his knees at first, he winced. Everything hurt. There was blood matted in his hair, he was naked, and he was covered in bruises, but the fact that Boyd might be behind the closet door in front of him took priority over everything else. He took hold of the door frame to pull himself up, then pulled the door open, trying not to dread what he'd find inside.