The morning after Feral Eclipse’s blowout show in Dallas…
The stadium was quiet now.
The roar of the crowd had faded into memory, leaving behind a hush broken only by the hum of the tour bus’s systems and the occasional distant laugh from fans still lingering by the barricades. Inside the bus, things had settled. The air smelled faintly of sweat, fog fluid, coffee, and melted stage tape.
Thane sat in the rear booth, clawed feet resting on the padded seat across from him, a half-empty bottle of diet Mountain Dew sweating in one paw. His fur was still a little damp from the night’s storm of lights, pyro, and adrenaline. Across from him, Mark leaned back with his arms crossed and eyes half-closed, radiating the dry calm of a wolf who’d seen too many of these nights to be impressed.
Gabriel breezed in from the bunk hallway, tail flicking, fur freshly brushed out, already riding a caffeine high. He leaned over and nuzzled Thane.
“Hey, my wolf. You crashin’ or ridin’ the buzz?”
Thane gave a tired smirk. “I was crashing.”
Mark grunted. “Good show. Big. Loud. Pyro hit harder than usual.”
“Woke Emily up,” Jonah shouted from his bunk.
“Totally worth it,” Cassie added from the couch, still in stage makeup and sweatpants.
Then the bus phone buzzed—rare, and never good this early. Rico answered it, brow furrowing as he listened.
“It’s The Eagle,” he announced. “That big rock station here in Dallas. They want to do a live interview with all of us this morning. Said it’s, quote, ‘gonna be a whole thing.’”
Thane’s ears perked halfway up. “A whole thing?”
Gabriel was already grinning. “I love whole things.”
Mark sighed and stood slowly. “I’m gonna need more coffee.”
Later that morning, they piled into the lobby of 97.1 The Eagle. Gabriel practically bounced on his paws, sipping his fourth espresso. Thane looked more like someone who’d rather be backstage wrangling XLR cables. Mark wore his usual expression of perpetual disinterest and fatigue.
Once inside the studio, though, the band fell into rhythm. Mics on, red light blinking. The host, a bombastic DJ known as Skully, leaned into his role with all the subtlety of a firecracker in a blender.
He threw them rapid-fire questions, and they volleyed back with practiced sarcasm and genuine laughs. Gabriel raved about the show. Cassie teased Jonah for nearly lighting his drum kit on fire. Skully zeroed in on Gabriel’s status as a werewolf, prompting a chorus of mock complaints from the rest of the band—Rico calling him loud and hairy, Maya commenting on the “pine and testosterone,” and Thane dryly adding how much grooming it took to keep the bassist camera-ready.
They bantered easily, even as Skully tried to stir the pot.
“What if your rig exploded mid-show?” he asked Thane.
“Swear internally. Check power. Growl. Fix it in ten seconds,” Thane replied without missing a beat.
“Don’t forget punching the rack,” Mark added, still staring blankly at the mixing board.
Then came the inevitable: “Okay, who’s most likely to cause a complete PR disaster?”
Everyone answered in unison. “Gabriel.”
He raised his paws, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking abou—”
The studio door burst open before he could finish.
A wall of screaming fans spilled into the room like a dam had broken. Posters waved. Phones rose. One person was already sobbing. At the front of the charge was a young woman wearing a sequined bomber jacket, holding her phone up and live-streaming like it was a sporting event.
“OMG you guys! We’re here at 97.1 with Feral Eclipse—Gabriel, Thane, get in the frame! Wait — don’t run! It’s for my followers!”
Thane and Gabriel froze.
Right behind her came the final blow: a tall, lanky guy wearing a cut black polo, ripped jeans, foam claws, and poorly applied black fur makeup. He had floppy costume ears, a swaying tail, and a laminated badge that read #BetaVibesOnly swinging from a chain around his neck.
Thane stared. “Is… is he supposed to be you?”
Gabriel took one look and whispered, horrified, “Oh no. That’s a whole cosplay.”
The fan bellowed, “GABE-RAAAAAY!” and launched toward the console.
That was all it took.
Both wolves bailed over the desk like trained athletes—fur flying, cables snapping, a studio coffee mug clattering to the floor. One camera operator from WFAA stumbled backward just in time to avoid a tangle of legs and gear. The livestreaming influencer whooped and followed them at full sprint, holding her phone up like it was the Holy Grail.
“This is EXCLUSIVE CONTENT, BABY!” she yelled. “It’s going viral!”
The Gabriel cosplayer howled and galloped after her, arms outstretched for a hug no one had asked for.
The rest of the band didn’t flinch.
Rico casually reached for the snack bowl. “We really need to sell shirts that say Beta Bros Forever.”
Cassie leaned into the mic with a grin. “We’ll be right back after this emotional support freakout.”
Mark still hadn’t looked up from his phone. “This is why I fake my own death between cities.”
Maya calmly stepped in front of Emily, planting herself like a brick wall. “No one touches our intern. I’ll throw hands.”
Eventually the WFAA crew got things under control, shepherding the fans toward a more civilized meet-and-greet. The influencer was given a soundbite. The cosplayer was given a signed setlist and a very polite warning.
Thane and Gabriel slowly peeked up from behind the console.
“I think I just saw my sleep paralysis demon,” Thane said, fur puffed and wild.
Gabriel leaned on the console, breathless and grinning. “He had my tail, Thane. He had my tail.”
“…So,” Thane said, brushing console dust from his polo. “Is that how Dallas says hi?”
Gabriel snorted, “Next city’s gotta top this.”