The bus rumbled to a gentle stop at the edge of a green, sleepy village nestled deep in the English countryside. Centuries-old cottages lined the cobblestone streets, their ivy-covered roofs leaning slightly like they’d grown tired of standing perfectly straight after so many decades. The venue—a low, stone building that looked more like a converted chapel than a concert hall — sat beside a gently flowing creek, its old wooden sign reading The Fox & Fen Hall in weathered gold paint.
It had all the markings of a quiet, no-drama show. But Gabriel could smell trouble in the air.
The moment the pack stepped off the bus, the venue manager—a kind, silver-haired woman named Miriam with a clipboard and about six bracelets on each wrist — broke into a delighted grin. “Right on time! Oh, everyone’s so excited. The crew’s already inside setting the stage. We’ve never had a band with werewolves before!”
Thane’s brows arched just slightly.
Gabriel’s ears flattened.
Miriam turned as she led them inside. “You know, we get a fair number of paranormal guests here. Loads of local legends about werewolves and black dogs. Some say they haunt the moors, others say they guard lost treasure. Oh! And of course, silver —”
“— is complete crap,” Gabriel snapped before Thane could elbow him. “You think we’re allergic to fancy forks? You want me to go lick a candelabra for you?”
Cassie turned with a raised brow. “Gabriel.”
He held up both clawed hands. “I am calm. Calm and silver-tolerant. Just mildly offended.”
Miriam blinked but chuckled kindly. “I meant no offense, dear. I just love all the old stories.”
“Well, we are the new story,” Thane said, stepping between Gabriel and the rapidly approaching edge of the line. “But we always like hearing the old ones, too.”
He cast a glance over his shoulder at Gabriel, who grumbled and crossed his arms — but stayed quiet. For now.
Inside the hall, the venue crew was friendly and enthusiastic. A couple of them had clearly done their research, wearing homemade “Team Feral Eclipse” pins, and one guy nervously approached Thane with a sketchbook full of fan art — Thane posed for a quick pic and signed a drawing before heading back to the soundboard.
Mark was already tinkering with the lighting setup, patiently answering the venue tech’s questions while offering pointers on getting more dramatic effects with fewer fixtures. Maya and Rico tested mics while Cassie roamed the side of the stage, making mental notes for walk paths and crowd engagement.
Gabriel hovered just behind Thane, still bristling slightly, tail twitching.
“Don’t let it eat you,” Thane said without turning. “They’re just curious.”
“They assume,” Gabriel muttered. “They think they know what we are because they saw some horror movie. Bite-to-turn, silver bullets, howling at the damn moon. It’s insulting.”
Thane unplugged a cable, re-ran it, and calmly replied, “And telling them they’re idiots won’t help them understand. Showing them who we really are? That’s how we change things.”
Gabriel stared at him a moment, then finally let his shoulders drop. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
Thane smirked. “And you’re welcome.”
Load-in continued smoothly after that, with the soundcheck sounding better than any of them expected from a hall with 500-year-old stone walls. A light fog settled in outside as the sun dipped behind the hills, and locals already began gathering outside, chatting excitedly beneath the yellow glow of the venue’s porch lanterns.
Gabriel, a little more grounded, wandered back toward the green room — but not before glancing back toward Thane and giving him a small, grudging smile.
“You’re the reason I don’t shred throats when people say dumb shit, you know that?”
Thane didn’t look up. “That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”