The sun had barely risen over Frankfurt when the Feral Eclipse pack rolled out of the city in their European rental tour bus, guided — as always — by their sharply dressed, eternally patient British driver, Gordon. He’d learned quickly that silence, noise-canceling headphones, and a healthy disregard for logic were the only way to survive ferrying three werewolves and six chaotic humans across a continent.
Frankfurt had been intense. The crowds, the energy, the press drama… and of course, the backstage tension after the show. But now, with a new day dawning and the open road ahead, the pack was ready for something different. Something glamorous. Something Italian.
Milan.
Inside the bus, things were… not quiet.
Cassie and Maya had claimed the upper deck lounge and were blasting music at volumes that would’ve rattled less structurally sound vehicles. Jonah was beatboxing into a half-eaten bagel. Rico, hoodie up and sunglasses on, looked like he was attempting astral projection to escape the noise. Gabriel was already caffeinated into oblivion and was teaching Emily and Thane increasingly absurd Italian phrases.
“Say it with me: Mi scusi, dove si trova la caverna dei lupi rockstar?” Gabriel beamed.
Emily giggled. “That’s not even a real thing.”
“It is now,” he declared. “We’re making werewolf history.”
Mark, naturally, was the only one actually looking at a Milan travel guide, muttering under his breath about centuries-old cathedrals and proper museum etiquette, while trying to tune out Gabriel’s third impromptu rendition of “That’s Amore,” howled at full volume.
About halfway through the ride, Gordon made the mistake of cracking a smile when Gabriel offered him a biscotti. This was taken, of course, as permission to talk his ear off for the next hundred kilometers.
They crossed into Italy mid-morning, the mountains giving way to vineyard-strewn hills and winding roads, the city of Milan slowly rising in the distance like a promise of elegance, fashion, and culinary chaos. As the Duomo came into view, glittering in the mid-day sun, a collective cheer went up from the bus.
Thane stood from his seat, bracing one paw on the overhead rail as he addressed the group with calm determination — and a half-eaten croissant in his other one.
“Alright, pack. Let’s not make too much of a scene when we get to the venue.”
“Define too much,” Gabriel chirped from below, wearing sunglasses and a red feathered fashion scarf he’d absolutely stolen from somewhere.
Thane sighed.
Too late.