Discoveries, History museum Friday night
When Matty hadn't called to check in right on time, Logan hadn't worried, but when an hour had passed and his cellphone had remained silent he started to get the nagging feeling something wasn't right, especially when she didn't answer her phone. He got her voicemail and her cheerfully snarky voice and he didn't listen to the whole recording; there was no way she wouldn't hear the ringer or feel the vibration if it was on silent.
His stomach damn near dropped out of his body when he pulled up outside the history museum, his motorcycle idling as he watched a uniformed police officer milling about outside, his presence telling Logan something was wrong even before his nose picked up the scent of something burnt. He drew air in sharply, making the scent stronger, and he knew it came from inside the museum. He killed the bike and stalked past the officer, only having to glare once to quell any protest, and he followed his nose while he tried to shut off the part of his brain that was heading toward rage.
He went straight for where the fire had been. That had to be Pyro, he could still smell the tiniest bit of butane and then the scent of scorched flesh, wrinkling his nose against something he'd never expected to smell ever again; it was a scent out of his nightmares. The scorch marks were contained to a room and a hallway and he could tell John had fought hard.
Another scent was pulling at him so he moved on. He had to go down a floor to get it full force and for a moment he thought his vision had gone red, but no, that was just a lot of blood. Under the copper penny scent was Matty and he knew she'd gone ballistic, likely over someone hurting 'her' kids, he knew she'd have fought like a lioness. None of the blood was hers but it was small consolation as he felt his own beast rising to the surface and he couldn't control it, the slide of claws bursting from his hands and a roar of anger and agony that someone could hurt his pack like this.
How long he remained the animal, he wasn't sure. At some point he found himself on hands and knees outside the back of the museum, losing everything he'd eaten that day. Under the anger was the realization he hadn't caught any scents except the ones he was familiar with, nothing that could point him in the right direction, and he knew fear.
He collapsed against the building and tried go get his breathing under control, tried to stop seeing horrible images that his brain conjured up for what they were doing to his friends, his lover, his children. Matty, Kitty, Marie ... He said their names in his head like a mantra, over and over, promising he'd get them back, he wouldn't let them be hurt anymore.
When he could see straight again he dug his phone out of his pocket and speed-dialed Tony Stark. He wanted Iron Man at his back and Tony's ability to ferret out information.