By late afternoon, the pack had finally peeled themselves off the red bus, hoarse from laughter and half-deaf from the constant roar of fans echoing down every cobbled street. The hotel staff practically sprinted to meet them at the Rosewood’s grand entrance, ushering them through the marble halls like returning royalty with a trail of camera flashes and squealing admirers still pressing against the gates outside. The moment the elevator doors closed behind them—cutting off the noise, the London skyline, and the day’s nonstop madness — they all exhaled. It was time to drop bags, claim beds, and soak up a few precious hours of quiet.
Or at least, that had been the plan.The Rosewood London was meant to be a sanctuary of elegance — high arches, marble floors, hushed hallways scented with fresh lilies and old money.
Then Feral Eclipse checked in.
For a brief, shining moment, the suites were calm. Everyone scattered to their respective rooms, doors shutting with sighs of relief. Mark collapsed onto his bed without even unbuttoning his shirt. Maya dimmed the lights and put on a face mask. Rico sank into a velvet armchair, scrolling through messages from friends back home. Cassie raided the minibar. Jonah accidentally turned on the bidet and screamed like he’d been shot.
Thane retreated to his suite, pulled out the tour binder from his carry-on, and started reviewing venue specs for their first show in the UK. He’d just begun highlighting a section on rigging restrictions when a knock came at his door.
Then another.
Then pounding.
Thane opened it to find Emily, breathless and wide-eyed. “It’s Gabriel.”
Of course it was.
Suite 911 was already a war zone. Gabriel had discovered the full-service espresso machine and — upon realizing it also dispensed steamed milk — declared himself “London’s most caffeinated barista” and began preparing drinks for the entire floor.
He had dragged the espresso cart into the hallway and was now taking “orders” from giggling hotel staff, most of whom were clearly superfans. One staffer had ditched their bellhop uniform entirely in favor of a Feral Eclipse tour tee.
Another was holding a handmade sign that read: I HOWL FOR GABRIEL.
Thane arrived just in time to see Gabriel toss a packet of sugar into the air, catch it in his teeth, and bark-laugh like a maniac.
“Gabriel,” Thane said, low and warning.
“Don’t worry, Thane, I’m providing a cultural experience.” He handed a cappuccino to a breathless maid who looked ready to cry. “This one’s for—what was it again? — oh right, the goddess of linen closet logistics.”
The staffer melted. Literally leaned against the wall and slid down with a dreamy sigh.
Thane ran a hand over his face. “You are going to get us thrown out of the most expensive hotel in London.”
“I sanitized the machine!” Gabriel said cheerfully. “Used those weird wipes they keep in the minibar. Smelled like lemons and napalm.”
Before Thane could say something involving the word “lawsuit,” the hotel manager — same stiff-suited man from earlier — rounded the corner, eyes wide at the scene of caffeine-fueled mayhem, fans crowding the hall, and a barepaw werewolf enthusiastically frothing oat milk.
Thane stepped forward.
“I can explain,” he began.
The manager raised one hand. “No need. We’ve… adjusted expectations. We’ve placed two security personnel on your floor. And the kitchen has authorized a formal barista station for Mr. Gabriel in the ground-floor lounge. Supervised.”
Gabriel beamed. “YES. Finally, my own café.”
“It will be a pop-up,” the manager clarified tightly. “One hour. No open flames. And for the love of God, no shirtless espresso dancing.”
Thane turned his head slowly toward Gabriel.
“What?” Gabriel said, completely unconvincingly. “I didn’t even have music.”
The manager walked away muttering to himself in French.
Gabriel turned to Thane, tail swishing. “You always fix things.”
Thane crossed his arms. “Someday, I won’t.”
“You say that, but we both know it’s a lie.”
Thane exhaled slowly and gave his bandmate a light shove toward the suite door. “Get inside. Nap. No more barista cosplay.”
“But I promised Jonah a flat white with extra foam!”
“He’ll live.”
Back in his own suite, Thane finally sat back down, rubbed his temples, and looked out at the city skyline. London was beautiful. Regal. Unshaken.
But it hadn’t met the pack at full force yet.
That would come tomorrow.