Author: Thane Page 10 of 22

It was a rare, quiet afternoon as the van coasted into San Francisco. No press. No fans swarming the van. Just a quick stop at a local music store so Gabriel could restock strings before soundcheck.

The place had charm — old wood floors, vintage posters curling at the corners, a little bell that jingled when the door opened. Gabriel stepped in with Thane right behind him, claws casually clicking as he scanned the aisles.

As Gabriel rounded the amp display, he heard it—his own riff. Slower. Slightly off-tempo. But it was his.

Near the practice corner stood a kid, maybe eleven, maybe younger, tall for his age with oversized glasses and a look of pure focus. He was gripping a cheap bass, concentrating like the world depended on it. Across from him, a tired-looking mom juggled a baby in one arm and a phone in the other.

On the wall behind the counter, high up, hung an unmistakable red Ernie Ball DarkRay 5 with a black pickguard and a laminated “NOT FOR SALE” tag dangling from one tuning peg.

Gabriel walked up slow and knelt beside the kid, keeping his voice low. “Hey. That’s one of our songs.”

The boy blinked and looked up.

Then froze.

Gabriel smiled. “You’re doing awesome. What’s your name?”

“Leo,” he whispered. “Wait… are you…?”

“I am,” Gabriel said with a grin, then looked at the mom. “This your son?”

She nodded, eyes wide. “He loves your band. He’s been coming in here every weekend just to mess with that bass.”

“Can’t afford it,” Leo added quietly, like he hated admitting it.

Gabriel stood up and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Well, Leo… I think you and your family should come to the show tonight. VIP passes. Backstage. Merch. The whole experience.”

The kid’s jaw dropped.

“You serious?”

Gabriel winked. “Would I joke about something like that?”

---

That night, the San Francisco crowd was at full frenzy, the floor shaking as Feral Eclipse lit up the stage. Halfway through the set, Gabriel stepped to the mic and raised one clawed hand to quiet the crowd.

“I want to introduce you to someone,” he said. “This kid’s name is Leo. I met him today in a little music shop around the corner. And he was playing my song. On bass.”

He looked toward the wings. “Leo—come here, buddy.”

Spotlight hit the edge of the stage.

Leo appeared, wide-eyed, nervous, clutching his all-access badge like it was sacred.

The crowd went wild.

Gabriel crouched and motioned him closer. “Now, you weren’t expecting this part,” he said into the mic, “but I want you to help me play the next song. Right here. With my bass.”

He slung the red DarkRay off his shoulder and handed it gently to Leo, who stared like it was Excalibur.

The arena hushed.

Gabriel leaned in, nose-to-nose, and whispered, “You’ve got this. Don’t think. Just feel it. You’re a wolf now.”

Leo’s fingers trembled against the strings.

Then the lights shifted. The beat dropped. Jonah hit the drums.

And Leo played.

At first, shaky. But Gabriel stayed right behind him, nodding to the rhythm, tail flicking in time. The crowd cheered louder with every note. When Leo hit the bridge perfectly, the entire arena erupted.

When the song ended, Gabriel raised Leo’s arm like a champion.

Then he knelt down, pulled a silver pen from his pocket, and signed the back of the bass.

“You’re keeping this,” he said, voice soft but firm.

Leo’s mouth dropped open again.

“I mean it,” Gabriel added with a grin. “It belongs with you now.”

---

Backstage, after the show, the boy’s mother was crying. Leo was cradling the signed bass like it was alive, and the baby was chewing on a tour lanyard like it was the best teething ring in history.

Thane knelt beside them and ruffled Leo’s hair. “You did good out there.”

Gabriel crouched next to him for a photo, his arm around Leo’s shoulder.

“Best night ever,” Leo whispered.

Gabriel smiled, cheek to cheek. “Told you, kid. You’re one of us now.”

he black tour van cruised down the Pacific Coast Highway like it belonged there—sunlight bouncing off its glossy wrap, windows cracked to let in the salt air, the roar of the ocean competing with whatever chaotic playlist Jonah had synced to the van speakers. Spirits were high. The West Coast stretch of the tour was already shaping up to be a victory lap, and the van practically vibrated with anticipation.

“Next stop: Long Beach,” Cassie called from the passenger seat, holding her phone up triumphantly. “Sold out. Again.”

Gabriel gave a delighted whoop from the middle row and kicked his clawed feet up onto the back of Thane’s seat. “Dude. Four in a row. I told you this coast would hit different.”

Thane glanced back at him with a knowing smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just hope Vandal Saints didn’t follow us all the way here to throw another tantrum.”

“They did,” Maya said flatly, not even looking up from her phone. “They’re opening tonight. Again.”

Mark, from the back row, groaned. “I swear if that frontman tries to flirt with the merch girl again I’m lighting something on fire.”

The van erupted in laughter.

---

Backstage at Long Beach Arena, the atmosphere was tense and electric. Crews buzzed around with cables and clipboards, lights pulsed in time with the bass during soundcheck, and down the corridor… Vandal Saints strutted in like they owned the place.

Their frontman wore the same faux-leather jacket and resting “I’m the main act” face he always did—despite once again being the warm-up show. The rest of the band looked like they knew it, too.

They spotted Gabriel and Thane near the stage-left loading ramp. The singer gave a mock-salute.

“Don’t worry,” he sneered, “we’ll leave the crowd warmed up for your little dog and pony show.”

Gabriel didn’t even look up from his phone. “Do your best, man. I’m sure someone out there remembers who you are.”

Mark choked on his soda.

Thane stepped forward, slow and steady. “Here’s a tip — when the crowd leaves halfway through your set, don’t assume they’re going to the bathroom. They’re just bored.”

The frontman muttered something under his breath and stalked off, the rest of the band trailing behind with the energy of men walking toward their own funeral.

---

When the lights went down for the opening act, Vandal Saints took the stage to scattered cheers and polite applause. They hit their first few songs hard—visibly trying to command the crowd—but it wasn’t working. The pit barely moved. Phones stayed down. One by one, fans drifted out for drinks, merch, or to find their seats.

The final nail came during their last track, when a group near the front started a slow chant:

“FE-RAL! FE-RAL! FE-RAL!”

And it caught.

The Saints tried to play louder. It didn’t help. By the time their last chord hit, over half the arena was either at the merch tables or chanting for the headliners.

---

Then came the wolves.

Feral Eclipse hit the stage like a thunderclap. The light show was blistering. The first chord nearly knocked the roof off the place. Cassie’s voice was raw power and fire. Maya and Rico danced their solos across the stage with effortless precision. Jonah’s drumming hit like an earthquake.

And Gabriel? He owned the stage.

He howled into the mic during the first breakdown of “Run With Me,” and the crowd howled back—ten thousand strong. Fans waved homemade flags and foam claws. A giant sign near the front read:

“OPENING ACT? NEVER HEARD OF ‘EM.”

From his position near the mixing rig, Thane caught it and smirked. He didn’t even need to look at Gabriel to know the grin on his face.

---

After the show, the band crashed in the green room—sweaty, hoarse, and high on adrenaline. Gabriel scrolled through his phone, laughing uncontrollably.

“You guys. Someone filmed the Saints walking off stage early. They were so mad.”

He flipped the phone around. A TikTok showed the Saints trudging offstage to light boos and scattered applause.

Thane leaned against the doorframe, claws casually folded over his arms. “They thought they were lions. Turns out they’re just housecats in eyeliner.”

Gabriel licked Thane’s cheek without looking away from his phone. “C’mon, let’s go make the next city cry.”

Mark grumbled from the couch. “Can we at least stop for tacos first?”

The whole room cracked up. Outside, the crowd still hadn’t left the parking lot.

The wolves were rising.

And the road ahead was wide open.

The sun had barely risen above the skyline when the big black tour van rolled into the quiet neighborhood of Gabriel’s childhood home. It was still. Peaceful. Nothing like the chaos of the past two days.

The van was packed. Gear stowed. Coffee in every cupholder. The band was inside—buzzing gently with excitement and exhaustion.

Gabriel stepped out alone at first, just needing a few seconds to soak in the street he once walked daily. The cracked sidewalk. The tree he used to climb. The front porch where he first tuned his secondhand bass.

Thane came out after him, quiet and steady, joining Gabriel by the open back doors.

A moment later, Gabriel’s family stepped out from the house. His dad gave him a long look, then walked over, arms open.

They hugged tight. No words at first. Just the kind of silence that meant something.

“I’m proud of you,” his dad finally said, voice low, right next to Gabriel’s ear. “I was proud before the music. Now? I’m in awe.”

Gabriel swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t be who I am without you.”

“You were always that person,” his dad said. “I just made sure you had strings and power cables.”

They both laughed softly, and Gabriel handed him a signed setlist from the show, folded and laminated.

Gabriel said. “I thought you deserved one of mine.”

His dad nodded, eyes misty. “This one’s going in a frame.”

Gabriel turned next to his grandparents, who each took his clawed hand in theirs like nothing in the world was strange about it.

“You’re a very good boy,” his grandmother said. “And a fine musician. Your grandfather cried during that solo. He won’t admit it, but I saw it.”

Gabriel grinned. “Thank you. For coming. Really.”

They kissed his cheeks and shuffled off toward the porch, warm smiles still lighting their faces.

Last came his mother and Nathan.

They stood a bit apart from the others. Gabriel nodded politely. No more. No less.

Thane stood behind him, arms crossed.

His mother opened her mouth like she might say something, but Thane’s eyes locked onto hers with a gaze so icy it could’ve frozen asphalt. He didn’t growl. Didn’t move. Just… watched.

She closed her mouth.

Nathan made eye contact for half a second.

Thane didn’t blink.

Nathan looked at the ground.

Gabriel didn’t speak to them. Didn’t need to. He just turned and climbed back into the van.

Thane followed and slid the side door shut behind him with a quiet click that felt like a period at the end of a sentence.

As the van pulled away, Gabriel looked back once—just once—then turned toward the front, resting his head on Thane’s shoulder.

“Well,” he said with a quiet smile. “Let’s go be legends again.”

Thane nuzzled the top of his head and whispered, “Already are.”

And with that… the van rolled west.

The road was calling.

The morning after the sold-out TD Garden show, the crew rolled into Café Sauvage in Boston’s Back Bay—a stylish little brunch spot with warm lighting, glassy windows, and the best French toast brûlée in the city. Gabriel had reserved a large table for the full crew: Thane, Mark, Cassie, Maya, Rico… and his family.

Even his mom and Nathan had shown up—likely still riding the shock of Thane’s verbal body slam from the night before.

The mood was surprisingly calm. Gabriel’s dad chatted about stage lighting with Mark. His grandparents quietly sipped coffee and nibbled pastry. Fans who’d followed the band to brunch were doing their best to act casual at nearby tables—phones in hand, hoodies zipped halfway to hide Feral Eclipse logos. The place was packed with polite obsession.

And then Nathan broke the spell.

Slouching in his seat, chewing his toast like it offended him, he muttered just loud enough for surrounding tables (and unfortunately, the band) to hear:

“I still don’t get how people think he’s actually talented. Just flailing around on stage like he’s auditioning for some furry rave.”

The table went silent.

Gabriel’s head tilted slightly, but he didn’t turn.

Thane put down his coffee very slowly.

Cassie blinked. “Oh no he didn’t.”

And then it happened.

From two tables over, a young woman in a worn denim jacket and a “FERAL FANGIRL” enamel pin stood up with the kind of energy usually reserved for courtroom mic drops. She wasn’t yelling—but her voice cut.

“Wow. Imagine getting comped to one of the greatest shows Boston has ever seen… and still managing to sound like a Reddit comment section.”

Nathan’s head jerked toward her, stunned. “What the hell —”

She stepped forward, gesturing with her mimosa like it was a mic. “Gabriel built this with talent, discipline, and more soul than you’ll ever have in your whole designer-bro wardrobe. And he did it while being a literal werewolf. What have you done? Lose arguments on Twitter?”

Mark snorted so hard he dropped his fork.

Rico leaned back, whispering, “This is the best breakfast of my life.”

The fan wasn’t done.

“You should be down on your knees thanking him for letting you bask in his spotlight. But instead you’re out here throwing shade like some jealous side character from a CW drama.”

Nathan blinked, visibly shrinking.

“And FYI?” she added. “You don’t deserve the toast, never mind the VIP tickets!”

That was it.

The whole restaurant erupted.

Applause. Laughter. One guy at the bar raised his coffee like a toast. Even Gabriel’s mom tried to hide a laugh behind her menu.

Nathan slumped in his chair, red-faced and silent, his ego toasted harder than his sourdough.

Gabriel leaned against Thane’s shoulder, tears in his eyes from laughing. “She’s amazing.”

Thane gave the fan a subtle thumbs-up. “I think she just earned a backstage pass.”

Gabriel’s dad wiped a tear and nodded, completely straight-faced. “Best roast I’ve ever seen.”

The waitress arrived with a tray of fresh cinnamon rolls and said, “Courtesy of the kitchen. And also… damn.”

The chaos of the meet-and-greet was winding down. Staff were stacking chairs, the velvet ropes were being gathered, and the energy in the room had shifted from wild electricity to a soft, glowing warmth. Fans were still outside chanting under the arena lights, but backstage… it was quieter.

Gabriel stood near the edge of the stage ramp, bass still strapped over his shoulder, the weight of the night finally catching up with him in a deep, satisfied breath.

“Hell of a show.”

The voice came from behind — calm, warm, unmistakable.

Gabriel turned.

His dad stood there, wearing an old flannel shirt over a tour tee from some ancient band, jeans worn but clean, and a look in his eyes that could only be described as proud.

“Hey, Dad,” Gabriel said, and for the first time all night, he looked just a little bit like a kid again.

His father stepped closer, eyes roaming over the rig, the lights, the crowd still visible through the back tunnel screen.

“I used to sit right up there,” he said, pointing toward the 300-level seats. “Watched Megadeth, Anthrax, even Slayer once. All those nights, I never imagined I’d be standing here… looking at my own son from the wings.”

Gabriel’s breath hitched, just a little.

“You were on fire out there, kid. Every note. Every stomp. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Gabriel chuckled and looked away, tail swaying gently. “I kept thinking about you. You’re the one who taught me to love this. Even before I picked up my first bass.”

His dad tilted his head, smiling. “You didn’t pick up your first bass. You hunted it down. I just got out of the way and gave you the ammo.”

He nodded toward the instrument still slung across Gabriel’s chest.

“You play with your whole soul. I see pieces of every lesson we ever shared in your hands. But most of all? I see you.”

Gabriel looked down at his claws on the strings, then back up at the man who had never once tried to change him — even after the fur, the eyes, the claws.

“Thanks, Dad. For not freaking out when I became a werewolf. Or a bassist.”

His father barked a laugh. “Hell, I’m a bassist. You just got the better claws.”

They both laughed — a quiet, warm, shared joy that only two bassists could understand.

Then his father reached into his back pocket and pulled out something small — a folded slip of paper.

“I was gonna mail this to you one day,” he said. “But tonight felt right.”

Gabriel opened it. It was a setlist.

From twenty-five years ago.

His dad’s first show at a tiny dive bar in Cape Cod. Handwritten, dog-eared, and taped together in the corners. At the bottom was a scribbled note:

“One day, we’ll both take a bow.”

Gabriel blinked hard.

“Well,” his dad said, clearing his throat. “I guess tonight was that night.”

They embraced — not a brief hug, but a long, soul-settling one. No words. No need.

When they pulled apart, Thane stood a few steps away, arms crossed, quietly watching.

His dad glanced at him, smiled knowingly, then back at Gabriel.

“You’ve got a good pack, son.”

Gabriel looked back at Thane — his anchor, his wolf.

“Yeah,” he said, “I really do.”

The meet-and-greet lounge backstage at TD Garden had been transformed into a temple of controlled chaos. Velvet ropes curved around fan photo zones, signed vinyl was stacked on a merch table, and the scent of fresh pretzels and cheap champagne mingled in the air.

Fans had been cycled through in groups of ten. Some cried. Some brought hand-drawn art. One kid proposed to Jonah with a ring pop. Cassie fist-bumped three generations of a family in matching “FERAL MOM / FERAL DAD / FERAL KID” tees. Gabriel was glowing — hugging, laughing, radiating warmth like a wildfire that loved too hard to burn.

That’s when the next “VIP group” arrived.

Gabriel’s mother walked in first, immediately looking annoyed that the room wasn’t more glamorous. His grandparents followed, wide-eyed but smiling. Gabriel’s father beamed and opened his arms for a hug, which Gabriel gave without hesitation.

And then Nathan swaggered in.

Still wearing those mirrored sunglasses and filthy crocs. Still looking like someone doing a very poor impression of someone famous.

Gabriel stepped back and said, politely, “Glad you came.”

Nathan smirked. “Nice of you to finally play a real venue.”

Cassie turned her head. Rico narrowed his eyes.

“Oh?” Gabriel said, trying to keep the peace. “Well, it’s kind of a dream come true —”

Nathan cut him off. “Yeah, and you’re just lucky the whole werewolf gimmick blew up. You weren’t half this good when you lived at home.”

The silence hit like a dropped amp.

Gabriel froze, ears flicking back.

Thane stood slowly from where he’d been chatting with Mark — the full Alpha rise to his full height, muscles shifting under his black polo, claws catching the light just enough to say: don’t.

He walked straight toward Nathan.

The room went dead silent.

Even the venue staff stopped moving.

Thane didn’t growl. He didn’t snarl. He didn’t bare his teeth.

He just got very, very close.

“You ever say something like that to him again,” he said, voice low and terrifyingly calm, “and I’ll take you on a walk down memory lane — to every moment he kept you fed, covered your mess, and paid for things you couldn’t be bothered to earn.”

Nathan blinked, suddenly aware of just how tall Thane was. “Look, I didn’t mean—”

“You meant every word,” Thane said, stepping in another inch. “But here’s what you don’t mean anymore: anything.”

Thane tilted his head just slightly, eyes glowing ice blue now, the wolf in him present — not growling, just there.

Nathan flinched. He looked down.

“That’s what I thought,” Thane murmured. “Now stand there, shut your mouth, and enjoy the fact that you’re only in this room because of him.”

Gabriel was staring — wide-eyed, lips parted. And for the first time in maybe forever, his mother didn’t say a word.

Then came a small voice from the crowd — a teenage fan, holding a phone.

“I got that on video.”

The room erupted in whispers. Cameras lifted. Jonah full-on howled.

Within minutes, the clip was everywhere.

@EclipseForever: “Thane just disassembled Gabriel’s trash brother without even blinking. I need this man to run my life.”
#AlphaEnergy
#ProtectGabrielAtAllCosts
#NathanGotHowledOn

Gabriel pulled Thane aside after.

“You didn’t have to…”

Thane leaned in, gently brushing their foreheads together.

“Yes, I did.”

Gabriel laughed softly — just a little.

“Then next time, let me film it too.”

The house lights dimmed.

A single spotlight swept across the crowd, igniting a wave of screams as 19,000 people surged to their feet. The huge screen above the stage lit up with the jagged silver logo of Feral Eclipse, claw marks slashing across a rising moon. Fog hissed up from the floor vents. The first low hum of feedback rang out like a warning.

And then—

BOOM.

The drum hit cracked like thunder. The first note of No Chains Left ripped through the air, and the entire arena erupted.

Gabriel stepped into the spotlight, bass slung low, claws gleaming in the stage strobes. His face was locked in pure focus — but behind his icy blue eyes was a storm of memory and defiance. He had been in this building before — up in the nosebleeds, lost in the shadows of rock legends. But tonight?

Tonight, he was the legend.

Cassie’s voice cut through the mix like a blade. Maya and Rico flanked the stage, twin storms of rhythm and power. Jonah lit up the risers with every strike. Thane stood at side-stage, directing cues and fader rides with the calm precision of a general mid-siege. And Mark controlled the rig like a puppeteer, every light pulse synced perfectly to the band’s fury.

The floor was shaking — literally.

The entire lower bowl was howling.

Somewhere in the VIP row, Gabriel’s father stood beaming, clapping in rhythm. His grandparents were visibly stunned, clutching each other and staring in awe.

Gabriel’s mother… looked mildly confused, though distinctly less smug.

Nathan was hunched in his seat, arms crossed — trying not to look impressed.

Too late.

---

They burned through their set like a wildfire:

• “Chainbreaker” had the crowd stomping the risers like a war march.
• “Wolves Run Cold” dropped into a pit breakdown so loud, security guards were headbanging.
• Cassie paused before “Ashes and Iron” to dedicate it to “anyone who ever had to claw their way out from someone else’s shadow.”

When “Howl With Me” kicked off, the crowd didn’t just scream — they transformed. Thousands of fans raised their arms, voices, and cell phone lights in synchronized fury.

And Gabriel? He owned every inch of that stage.

At the peak of the final chorus, he stepped to the edge, staring directly toward the VIP section. He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t need to.

He just stood tall, one clawed hand gripping the mic stand, a small grin curling across his lips.

The lights blasted white.

The band dropped the final chord.

And TD Garden lost its collective mind.

---

Backstage, as the roar still echoed through the tunnels and the arena crew scrambled to reset the barricades for the meet-and-greet, Thane found Gabriel sitting alone just offstage, bathed in the fading glow of the house lights. He looked breathless, wild, proud.

He turned when Thane approached. “Was it as good as I thought it was?”

Thane leaned in, brushing their muzzles together in a soft, private nuzzle.

“You became the roar.”

Gabriel laughed, hoarse and happy. “They saw me, didn’t they?”

Thane nodded. “They saw everything.”

VIP check-in at TD Garden was buzzing — not from the usual corporate suits or sports fans, but from fans in leather, fur-lined jackets, and “NO CHAINS LEFT” tees, crowding the velvet ropes. Inside, the arena pulsed with pre-show electricity. Backstage, Gabriel, Mark and Thane were already preparing for soundcheck, the stage lights being dialed in, final EQ passes humming in the background.

At the front of the VIP line, a sour-faced woman stepped up to the counter, designer purse hanging from her elbow like it was allergic to public surfaces.

“Name?” asked the check-in rep, smiling despite the chaos.

“Gabriel,” the woman said, flatly. “I’m his mother.”

Behind her stood a sullen, skinny young man in mirrored sunglasses and a too-tight button-down: Nathan, Gabriel’s younger brother. He was texting with one hand, the other holding the VIP pass he clearly felt entitled to.

Also with them: Gabriel’s father, calm and warm, clearly proud. And his grandparents, slow-moving but dressed up, eyes wide as they stared around the gleaming concourse with cautious excitement.

The check-in staff tapped quickly, then smiled. “Yes, we’ve got six comped VIPs under Gabriel’s list. Wristbands, pre-show lounge access, and premium lower bowl seating.”

Gabriel’s mom sniffed. “Not suite level?”

The check-in person hesitated. “No, ma’am. Just what was requested.”

Nathan muttered, “Figures.”

Gabriel’s father stepped in, trying to keep it light. “It’s an honor to be here. I haven’t seen this place from the floor since a Dream Theater show in the ‘90s.”

His ex-wife rolled her eyes. “At least that was music.”

The rep smiled nervously and handed over the passes. “Enjoy the show.”

As they moved toward the lounge, Nathan grumbled, “This place smells like fried onions and sweat.”

“You’re not wrong,” Gabriel’s mom added, waving a hand in front of her face. “He couldn’t even give us a private box? He’s got the nerve to headline and treat us like fans.”

“You are fans,” came a voice behind them.

They turned.

Thane.

He’d just come up from backstage — unseen until now, silent as shadow and twice as sharp. He wasn’t growling. He didn’t need to.

He looked first at Nathan. “You came here because Gabriel invited you.”

Then to their mother. “You’re standing in the biggest arena in Boston because of him. You wouldn’t be here at all if he didn’t still believe — for some reason — that you deserved to see him shine.”

Thane stepped closer, his voice quiet and unmistakably firm. “If that’s not enough for you… leave.”

Gabriel’s father cleared his throat awkwardly. “We’re proud of him. All of us.”

The grandparents nodded in agreement. His mom opened her mouth, but something about Thane’s eyes made her think twice.

Thane turned without another word and walked calmly back toward the tunnels.

Behind him, Nathan muttered, “Freakin’ wolfboy.”

Thane didn’t even flinch.

The skyline of Boston shimmered in the windshield as the van rolled east on I-90, the buildings like jagged silhouettes against a pale orange sunset. The Atlantic wasn’t visible yet, but Gabriel could smell the salt air — feel it. Like a sixth sense calling him home.

He was practically bouncing in the front passenger seat, tail slapping the dashboard every few seconds.

“We’re almost there,” he said for the fifth time in thirty minutes.

Thane smiled faintly behind the wheel. “So I’ve heard.”

“This is it,” Gabriel murmured, staring ahead like he was watching a dream come to life. “TD Garden. I used to sit way up in the nosebleeds and swear I’d stand on that stage one day. Every show I ever saw there? I took notes.”

Cassie leaned forward from the middle row, grinning. “So you’re saying this is your revenge arc?”

“Oh, this is way beyond revenge,” Gabriel said, his voice practically glowing. “This is my victory lap.”

They passed Fenway. Then North End. Then a familiar curve on Storrow Drive made Gabriel sit bolt upright.

“Okay, okay! First detour. I’m playing tour guide. Left at the lights!”

Thane raised a brow but turned.

Over the next hour, the van hit every meaningful landmark in Gabriel’s memory:

• His high school, still covered in the same busted banners.
• The music shop where he bought his first bass.
• The park where he played acoustic sets in college just to get seen.
• And finally, the blocky brick building of his childhood home, wedged into a quiet neighborhood of white siding and overgrown sidewalks.

He grew quiet there. Just for a second.

“I used to stare out that upstairs window and imagine what it’d be like to leave this place,” he said softly. “Now I get to come back… headlining.”

Thane reached over and took his paw, gently squeezing. “You earned every bit of this.”

Gabriel looked back at him with those wild blue eyes, then grinned — full fang, full joy.

“Damn right I did.”

The show was over.

Not just done — over in the way a lightning storm ends: thunder still echoing, the crowd still stunned, and the static clinging to everything. Feral Eclipse had walked offstage thirty minutes ago to a wall of sound so thick, the house audio guy forgot to mute the board and blew a monitor.

Backstage, the band was drenched in sweat, flushed with adrenaline, and barely able to string together sentences. Jonah was lying flat on the floor, clutching a bottle of Gatorade like it owed him rent. Cassie had her boots off and her legs up on an amp case, humming under her breath. Rico and Maya were high-fiving every stagehand in sight.

Gabriel had one arm draped over Thane’s shoulder, panting, grinning, claws twitching like they weren’t done yet.

That’s when the chant started.

From out in the crowd — not fading, but rising. Louder. Unified.

“ONE MORE SONG! ONE MORE SONG! ONE MORE SONG!”

Thane looked at the others. “We already did three encores.”

Cassie raised a brow. “Yeah, but we’ve never done four.”

Gabriel’s eyes lit up. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Oh hell no,” Mark said from across the room, already sensing the chaos.

“Oh hell yes,” Gabriel answered.

---

Five minutes later, security was trying to hold back two hundred fans still gathered outside the venue in the back alley parking lot — crowding under a flickering streetlight, some standing on crates, others hanging out of car windows, still chanting.

And then…

The van door slid open.

Gabriel emerged first, bass slung low, followed by Maya with an unplugged guitar, Jonah with a single snare drum and a cracked hi-hat, Cassie with a mic taped to a battery-powered speaker, and Thane holding a tablet running a mobile mix interface.

“YOU ASKED FOR IT!” Gabriel shouted.

The crowd erupted.

No stage. No lights. No fog. Just the pavement, the moonlight, and pure werewolf-powered rock.

They launched into a stripped-down, fire-bright acoustic version of “Ashes and Iron,” the fans singing every line like their lives depended on it. One guy collapsed to his knees mid-chorus, hands over his heart. A girl near the front actually fainted and was gently caught by a stranger who screamed the rest of the song over her unconscious form.

Phones were everywhere. People were going live on every platform. Comments were flying.

“Is this really happening??”
“They’re doing a parking lot encore?!”
“NO OTHER BAND WOULD EVER.”
“I was there. I was THERE.”

As the last chorus hit, Thane triggered a soft delay effect that bounced Cassie’s voice into the night. Gabriel lifted his bass over his head like a trophy. Jonah flung a drumstick skyward that never came down (rumors later said a fan caught it with their teeth).

When it ended, the crowd howled.

The venue manager peeked out the side door, stunned, phone in hand, whispering “We’re already on TikTok’s front page…”

---

Later that night, sitting on top of the van with Gabriel, Thane scrolled through the feeds. One post had already hit half a million likes. It was a grainy photo of the band surrounded by fans, Gabriel mid-howl, the caption reading:

“This isn’t a band. This is a movement.”

Gabriel leaned over and bumped Thane’s shoulder.

“You think Vandal Saints are still here?”

Thane chuckled. “If they are, they’re definitely not outside.”

Gabriel stretched his arms to the sky and exhaled. “My wolf… we’re gonna need bigger venues.”