The Los Angeles venue was ridiculous in every possible way—vaulted ceilings, golden chandeliers, a green room bigger than most hotels, and a guest list so thick with celebrities you needed a stage pass just to breathe near the espresso machine.

Feral Eclipse had been invited to play a televised charity concert—a glitzy, black-clad affair loaded with actors, aging rockstars, and pop icons trying to “stay relevant” by being seen at the right places. Somehow, their team had wrangled a prime-time slot… right after a washed-up classic rocker named Lars Vexley. A man who had publicly referred to werewolves as “sideshow trash with claws.”

So spirits backstage were… tense.

Gabriel paced near the snack table, bare clawed feet quiet against the tile, tail twitching in anticipation. Thane stood near the wall, arms crossed, surveying the scene like a bodyguard waiting for trouble. Mark sat on a folding chair by the coffee urn, calmly drinking overpriced kombucha with the aura of a monk who might light you on fire if pushed.

“Hey,” Jonah whispered. “Isn’t that —?”

Before he could finish, she walked in.

Aria Valentine. Global pop megastar. Grammy-winning chart-dominator. Millions of fans. Glitter like skin. Heels like weapons. And a sparkle-covered leather jacket with “FERAL” embroidered across the back.

She spotted Gabriel.

And lost her entire mind.

“Oh my GOD,” she squealed, beelining straight toward him like a missile made of perfume and charisma. “You’re you. Like, the actual you!”

Gabriel blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

She clutched his arm like they’d been besties since birth. “I have every bootleg. I made my manager drive four hours to get me a hoodie from your Vegas show. Do you remember me from the DMs? I’m @ValenWolves94 on Insta—I run your fan page!”

Thane’s eyebrow twitched.

“Oh,” Gabriel managed, glancing at Thane. “That’s you.”

Across the room, Lars Vexley was watching this unfold like someone had just peed in his whiskey. Dressed in head-to-toe fake snakeskin and sunglasses indoors, he leaned over to a nearby crew member and muttered way too loudly, “Ugh. I thought they let wolves in for pest control.”

Thane’s jaw flexed.

Mark slowly set down his kombucha.

Gabriel, still smiling awkwardly as Aria squeezed his arm, just said, “Excuse me a second,” and walked calmly toward the aging rocker.

The room went silent.

Thane followed.

Lars gave a smug little smirk. “You here to beg for an autograph, pup?”

“No,” Gabriel replied sweetly. “Just wanted to let you know—your mic pack’s still live. You’re going out next.”

Lars paled.

A few staff members scurried past, trying not to snort laughter.

Then Maya stepped in, sipping her own coffee like it was an Olympic sport. “You know,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear, “some people age like wine… and some age like milk in the sun.”

Half the green room choked.

Aria gasped and nearly dropped her purse.

Someone behind the catering table whispered, “Oh my god.”

Gabriel turned back to Lars with that charming, chaotic glint in his icy blue eyes. “Enjoy your acoustic set. Hope you remember the lyrics this time.”

Five minutes later, Lars Vexley performed a shaky, lifeless version of one of his ‘80s hits to lukewarm applause. The audience barely looked up from their phones. Meanwhile, backstage, Aria had already posted a selfie with Gabriel and Thane, complete with sparkly wolf ears added in post and the caption:

“Met my IDOLS. I may never recover. 💖🐺 #FeralForLife #ThaneIsSoTallIRanIntoHisRibs”

By the time Feral Eclipse took the stage, Twitter was melting. The crowd was on fire. Aria was front row, screaming like a teenager, flanked by confused celebrities trying to figure out what just happened.

And Lars?

Lars went viral for all the wrong reasons.

The next morning, the internet was a war zone of memes and media headlines:

🎤 “Feral Eclipse Claws Into L.A. — Literally and Figuratively”
💋 “Pop Princess Aria Valentine is Feral Eclipse’s #1 Fan (And We Have Proof)”
🧀 “Lars Vexley Gets Roasted By a Werewolf and a Latina With a Latte”
🐺 “The Wolves Own Hollywood Now”

Back in the tour van, Maya held up her phone, reading aloud with glee.
“‘Thane is the definition of ‘alpha energy without saying a word.’ I’m printing this.”

Gabriel snorted and looked out the window, tail flicking smugly. “Think we’ll get invited back?”

Thane, still scrolling, didn’t look up. “I’d be shocked if we weren’t.”