The British Museum was supposed to be a calm, cultural stop.
After the concerts, stage crashes, rooftop cafés, and late-night musical cameos, Thane had declared a “quiet day.” The kind with no fans, no media, and ideally no felonies. So the pack rolled up to the grand museum doors in dark clothes and sunglasses, trying to blend in.
Which was hilarious. Because they were werewolves.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Three tall, powerfully built, unmistakably furred and clawed werewolves strode through the British Museum’s towering halls. Thane led the way. Mark brought up the rear. And in the middle, naturally drawing all the attention, was Gabriel, with a worn leather jacket hanging open over his bare chest like he thought this was a fashion shoot.
Visitors gawked. Tourists whispered. Phones were already recording before the first exhibit.
“Low profile,” Thane reminded through gritted teeth.
“I am low profile,” Gabriel said, flashing a grin at a group of teenagers filming him from behind a Roman column.
“Your clawed feet are clicking louder than the guide’s mic,” Mark deadpanned.
They wandered toward the Myths and Legends wing, just as a crowd gathered for a guided tour. A placard near the entrance read: Werewolves: Shapeshifters of the Moonlit Curse beneath an old, exaggerated painting of a snarling, shirtless beast lunging under a full moon.
Gabriel’s ears flattened. “Oh no.”
“Just walk past it,” Thane murmured.
But Gabriel had already stopped. “They’re actually gonna say this crap, huh?”
At that moment, the tour guide — a silver-haired British gentleman in a crisp tweed vest with a name badge reading Malcolm — cleared his throat and began.
“Here we have one of the oldest enduring myths across multiple cultures,” he said. “The werewolf, or lycanthrope, cursed to transform under the full moon, often the result of being bitten —”
Gabriel raised a clawed hand.
Malcolm paused, squinting over his glasses at the towering, very real werewolf now looming by the exhibit. His voice faltered. “Ah… yes? Can I help… you?”
Gabriel grinned, fang-to-fang. “Yeah. Just wanted to say: this sign is wrong.”
Malcolm blinked. “Pardon?”
Gabriel stepped forward, arms wide. “This whole idea — bite equals transformation, full moon triggers the change, silver bullets, blah blah blah — it’s nonsense. We’re born this way. No curses. No bite club. No lunar calendar.”
The crowd began filming immediately.
Malcolm looked like someone had just unplugged his brain. “I… this is a… theatrical installation, yes?”
Thane pinched the bridge of his muzzle and sighed.
“Nope,” Gabriel continued, already in full stride. “This is me. All the time. I was born a werewolf. My bandmate over there —” he pointed to Thane, who gave a tired wave “ — also born this way. Same for the grumpy one by the statue.”
Mark gave Malcolm a slow, intimidating nod. “Not cursed. Just furry.”
Gabriel stepped right up to the glass case beneath the exhibit. “This whole ‘transformation under moonlight’ idea? Total fiction. Also, silver does nothing. Unless you sell it. Then yeah, I guess it’s valuable.”
Malcolm took a slow step back. “Sir, I don’t know what this… costume performance is —”
Gabriel barked a laugh. “Mate, if this is a costume, it’s got working claws and a heartbeat.”
One of the tourists whispered, “Are they filming a movie?” Another replied, “That’s Feral Eclipse. I follow them on TikTok. They’re legit wolves.”
Gabriel pointed dramatically at the display. “This museum should be ashamed. You’re spreading outdated were-misinformation. Moon phases? Come on.”
“Also,” Mark added dryly, “we heal fast. Thought you should know.”
Malcolm tried to recover. “Well, th-there are many folkloric traditions —”
Gabriel raised a claw. “Nope. There’s the truth, and then there’s stuff like this.”
Thane stepped in, finally, gently placing a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Okay, that’s enough educational outreach for today.”
Gabriel didn’t budge. “I’m just saying, if the British Museum wants to talk real werewolves, maybe they should consult some actual ones. We’re right here.”
Malcolm looked like he might pass out.
Cassie strolled up, recording it all. “You’re trending again,” she whispered. “#MuseumMuttfight.”
Jonah leaned into Rico. “I give it ten minutes before someone tries to put Gabriel in a display case.”
Gabriel struck a pose beneath the exhibit sign. “Somebody grab a Sharpie. I’m correcting this headline. Should say: Werewolves — Born to Be Awesome.”
Thane, already steering him toward the exit, muttered, “If you try to autograph the Rosetta Stone next, we’re going back to the hotel.”
As they walked off, the tour group burst into applause. Malcolm sat down on a bench, dazed.
A little girl pointed up at the full moon painting. “I wanna be a werewolf when I grow up.”
Gabriel winked at her over his shoulder. “You’ve got good taste, kid.”