The roar of the crowd still echoed in Thane’s ears as the pack filed offstage, high on adrenaline and the smell of sweat and electricity. Gabriel bumped shoulders with Jonah, who was practically glowing. Maya and Rico fist-bumped mid-jump. Even Cassie, usually cool after a show, let out a breathless, giddy laugh.

Then the hallway got quiet.

Too quiet.

At the corner where the backstage corridor bent toward the dressing rooms, the headliner’s lead singer stood leaning against the wall, arms folded over a vintage leather jacket. His face was carved granite—expressionless, but his narrowed eyes spoke volumes. Beside him, their bassist clutched a bottled water like it was a weapon. Their crew flanked them like palace guards, every one of them giving the pack that same bitter, territorial glare.

Gabriel saw it first and grinned, because of course he did. “Hey, old dogs. Fun show, huh?”

No answer. Just a cold, controlled silence.

Thane stepped forward, calm but deliberate, with his massive clawed hand still gripping a coiled XLR like a leash. “Something you want to say?”

The lead singer pushed off the wall and stepped forward just enough to crowd the hallway.

“You think because you got the crowd hot for five songs, you’re gods now?” he said, voice like gravel in a blender. “This is our show. Our name on the tickets. You’re lucky you even got a slot.”

Gabriel’s tail flicked once.

“We didn’t ask for a slot,” he replied coolly. “We earned it.”

“You earned an ego,” the bassist muttered.

Maya stepped in now, fire behind her eyes. “You mad the fans liked us better, or that you finally realized they’ve moved on?”

One of their guitarists scoffed. “You’re a gimmick. A circus act. A band with dog costumes and social media clout.”

Thane didn’t flinch, but the hallway seemed to constrict around him as he took a slow, measured step forward. His claws clicked once on the concrete.

“We’re wolves,” he said simply. “Not mascots. And I suggest you learn the difference before one bites.”

It was not a threat.

It was a fact.

The tension spiked like a feedback squeal, crackling in the air. The headliner’s crew bristled, but nobody moved. Nobody dared. Even the stage manager, who’d come barreling in to break things up, suddenly found something fascinating on the floor instead.

Then, of all people, Mark strolled out from the dressing room, a protein bar in one hand and his tablet in the other, oblivious to the blood pressure in the room.

He looked up.

Paused.

Glanced around at the tension.

Then took a loud, slow bite of his protein bar and said casually, “Well… this is awkward.”

The moment cracked. Cassie snorted. Jonah outright laughed.

The headliner’s lead singer scowled and turned away, brushing shoulders with Thane as he passed. “You’ll burn out,” he muttered. “All of you.”

Gabriel watched him go, then leaned toward Thane. “Should I have told him that our merch sales tonight beat their last three cities combined?”

Thane smirked. “Let him find out when he checks the numbers.”

Later that night, as the van pulled away from the stadium with the full moon rising overhead, the pack was still buzzing.

They hadn’t just stolen the show.

They’d claimed their territory.

And no aging rock god was gonna take it back without a fight.