❝ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴜꜱᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴀɴ ᴀʟᴘʜᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴍᴇɢᴀ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ?❞
For generations, the Blood Moon Pack and Grave Shadow Pack have been at war, the werewolves from each side bearing high tensions and malicious in...
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Pancakes.
Fluffy, delectable, buttery goodness layered with honey brown ribbons of maple syrup. Sugar and smoke tickled his nose, followed by the satisfying sizzles of some tasty ass protein. Sunny side up eggs were slapped onto ceramic plates, accompanied by the crispy crunch of savory bacon strips.
Pancakes.
They paired well with the right fruits—strawberries, blueberries and bananas all the way. They churned up a wild dance in his tummy, prompting him to sing and dance the rest of his morning away. They induced laughter, roused delight, and brought about the best in life.
The senior omegas of Blood Moon made the best pancakes in the whole wide world. He recalled the tinkles of their giggles, the crinkles around their bright eyes, and the way their spatulas would drip with creamy yellow-white pancake batter.
That's what Cyrus had been dreaming about, right before getting rudely awakened by Jax. A pillow projectile to the face jostles him back to the ugly reality of their shared predicament. AKA, The Hex. Fleeting fragments of pancake-filled dreams shatter upon impact.
While he whines in despair and dreads the living nightmare that is their new life, Jax's footsteps draw near, a stern cadence to his gait. Instinctively, Cyrus springs his hand out. His claws shoot forward as they slash at his left ankle.
Much to his dismay, Jax stands stock still and allows the jumpscare to occur. His face is unmoving, not even a flinch crossing through. Once Cyrus feels his fingers collide with Luna's protective magic instead of the skin off his leg, he lets out a frustrated growl.
Crossing his arms, Jax glares down at him. "She said a year, not a day. Otherwise, you'd be dead already."
Cyrus knows, he doesn't need to hear his obnoxious snark. A part of him had still hoped things would be different somehow. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet and it already feels like too long.
The gray-white floorboards beneath him creak once he rises to his feet. Deliberately, he leaves behind the pathetic mess of thin fabric that Jax calls a blanket. It's fucking freezing in here. He doesn't understand why or how he willingly lives life like a cold-blooded mermaid.
Out of spite, he then leaps over to the nearest window—similar to last night—and shoves the curtains aside. Golden streaks of sunlight spill through the glass pane, triggering an aggravated hiss from Jax.
In response, a smug grin splits his tanned face. He basks in the warmth, nearly glowing brighter in the process.
Honestly, if Cyrus didn't know any better, he'd say that Jax acts more like a vampire than Eliza herself. Because what, is he sensitive to sunlight too? He doesn't get it.
Jax tugs on one of his shoulders, his nails biting into the navy blue fabric of his dress shirt. "What did I say about touching anything?"
"It's morning." Cyrus lightly smacks his hand away. "Besides, if you really wanted me to not touch anything, then I guess I should start flying like Luna to avoid touching the floor, right?" He chuckles. "Y'know, sunshine is supposed to be good for you. You definitely need some–"
