The air in the backstage hall hadn’t even settled from the final applause when the venue crew started funneling the VIPs into the meet and greet lounge. What had been planned as a relaxed, private event for a few hundred ticketed superfans now looked more like a rave waiting for a lightning strike.
Thane stood just inside the door, arms crossed, watching the flow of people like he was monitoring a floodgate. “This was supposed to be small,” he muttered.
“I think ‘small’ got eaten by ‘viral’ about four weeks ago,” Mark replied, already scanning exits.
The lounge had soft lighting, velvet rope dividers, a fully stocked bar, and printed signs clearly stating: NO HUGGING THE WEREWOLVES. Those signs were completely ignored.
Cassie was immediately swarmed by fans begging her to sign body parts. Maya tried to fend off someone who insisted she was their “future alpha.” Jonah had already been tackled by three fans and had lost one of his drumsticks to a woman who claimed it had “soul vibrations.”
Gabriel, predictably, leaned into the chaos.
“HELLO, LOVELY BRITISH WOLFCUBS!” he howled, arms outstretched like a chaos god stepping into his kingdom. A wall of fans surged forward with a roar.
Someone fainted.
Another fan handed him a giant Union Jack flag with “FERAL 4 LYFE” written in marker. Gabriel wrapped it around his shoulders like a cape and began offering hugs, completely ignoring the printed warnings.
“Gabriel — boundaries,” Thane growled, stepping in to intercept a woman mid-sprint.
“She said it was for medical reasons,” Gabriel grinned. “Like emotional support contact.”
“I don’t care if she has a prescription for cuddles, you’re going to end up on another tabloid cover.”
“Too late!” Emily called from the sidelines, frantically snapping photos as fans climbed over each other to reach the band. “We’re trending again. Multiple hashtags. #PackAttackUK is number one!”
“Someone just asked if we’ll officiate their wedding,” Cassie reported, ducking behind Rico, who was fending off a fan with a framed painting of him as a centaur.
Mark was mid-autograph when a wide-eyed teen girl shoved her phone at him. “Please! Just say hi to my mum! She’s outside in the car but she’ll DIE.”
Mark stared into the phone’s camera. “Don’t die. Your daughter’s a menace.”
The girl squealed and ran off sobbing.
Security tried to regain control. They failed. The venue manager tried to cut the meet short. He was ignored. Thane finally climbed on top of one of the snack tables and let out a howl that silenced the entire room.
“This ends in ten minutes,” he said firmly, voice echoing. “Autographs, selfies, and questions about Gabriel’s shampoo brand need to wrap up.”
“I use coconut oil and dark magic,” Gabriel stage-whispered.
Thane shot him a look.
Chaos continued until the very last second. Gabriel high-fived someone dressed like a werewolf lawyer. Jonah signed a prosthetic leg. Rico talked music theory with an eleven-year-old. Maya danced briefly with a fan in a full moon costume.
Then, at last, the lounge was cleared.
They’d survived.
Barely.
Cassie dropped onto a sofa and groaned. “I need food. And not microwave backstage snacks. Real food. Fancy food.”
Rico cracked his knuckles. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Gabriel grinned. “Are we about to traumatize a fancy London pub?”
Thane rubbed his temples. “Fine. But we behave. No climbing things. No throwing bread. No unsolicited howling.”
No one made eye contact.
“Let’s go,” Thane sighed.