Bad Boy Alphas (BxB)

05. Let's Brawl at the Ball

Jax isn't one to ruin social gatherings, let alone partake in them all too much.

As the top alpha of Grave Shadow, he'd been to these sorts of events before, being an apathetic host to workplace promotions and retirement parties. Never an active participant though.

When he first entered Luna's royal palace with his pack members, he wasn't that impressed. Yes, it was impressive to see a whirlwind of inanimate objects, such as twirling spoons and dancing tea cups, be put to work in ways never seen before. Yes, the intricate decor forged from gold, the blue and white drapes of the second floor balcony, and the precise craftsmanship of the surrounding pillars all served as stunning visuals.

But he wasn't surprised by these magical marvels that seemed to defy nature. After all, if Luna couldn't be capable of even this much, then what good was she as a goddess?

Regardless, it's hypocritical of him to be the one making the first move against Cyrus. He knows it is. But to be fair, this is Cyrus Pierce, the bane of his existence and everything that he loathes in a person. Anything that comes out from his mouth, even down to the sound of his laughter, is bound to boil his blood.

Floating overhead, he hears vague shouts calling out for him, presumably from Zeke or even Lee, but they are just that. Inaudible nonsense and nothing more.

In his feral wolf form, Jax advances on all fours, his fangs bared open. With a bout of super speed, he pins Cyrus to the floor of the ballroom before going for the throat. He expects flesh in between his teeth, but instead he finds fur in its place. Metallic tangs of blood run deep across his tongue, dripping from the corner of his muzzle.

Cyrus has also shifted.

With the blunt force of Jax's canines clamped down against his white fur, Cyrus still lurches forward, his pain tolerance be damned. Jax retracts his jaw, a second away from a bite to his neck. As he falters, he dodges another attempt at a tackle.

Cyrus isn't afraid to get up and personal.

Surrounding spectators, from Lumare and Frosthide alike, follow protocol by casually sliding out of the way. They don't get involved unless Jax orders it. This is between Blood Moon and Grave Shadow. Their superiors, their business.

Following in a similar fashion, chairs, tables, and pastries scurry away to the sidelines of the ballroom, joining the dispersed crowd of Lumare and Frosthide witnesses. Teapots huddle together. Velvety drapes stiffen. Glasses tremble and the champagne inside of them fizzles in anticipation. Culinary utensils scatter, ducking underneath the silky protection of navy napkins.

Tensions escalate after Cyrus stomps on Jax's tail with a paw. Flashes of white and black clash as they snap back and forth. Their bodies spiral in a frenzy across the floor, their backs smashing into marble tiles and pillar columns. Claws collide. Snarls echo. Teeth slice through fur.

Since Cyrus's wolf form is larger than Jax's, bigger than the average wolf due to his Blood Moon ancestry, he has the upperhand with size. He has more meat to his assets, a thicker mane to deflect with.

But Jax is faster. Smarter. Instinctively, he always aims for the vitals. At the very least the legs to disable movement.

He is better. It's a fact and he needs to assert that more than ever. As his Lumare and Frosthide subordinates watch on, as Alphas Leon Cromwell and Sophie Mintz are whispering to each other from behind the scenes, he demands respect.

From the sides, Zeke and Ram dive in to intervene, knowing that this isn't a good time, but Jax and Cyrus are too absorbed in their mutual bloodlust to care. They charge past the outstretched hands and futile shouts of their second-in-commands, opting to inflict more damage instead.