❝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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"...sure Lala didn't hit your head before you smacked her around? Because what you're doing right now is very dangerous, Eliza."
Cyrus stirred to the sound of an unfamiliar voice. A man, from the sound of it, but one with a soft-spoken cadence, even in spite of his disappointment. Usually, the men that Cyrus knew never spoke in such a way—not unless they were an omega.
Eliza, the vampire woman who had knocked him out earlier, also spoke in a similar way when replying to the voice. A timid hush carried through her tone. "You think one mutt pup is gonna affect us? Uh, gimme me more credit than that. It wasn't hard to knock him out."
Frowning, Cyrus frantically assessed his new surroundings while they were still engaged in conversation. Wherever they were, it was hollow in sound. Voices echoed while bouncing off rustic wood walls and a pale yellow ceiling. He paid extra attention to the ceiling since he was right there, hanging in the air and over the edge, where a hammock cushioned his backside with a cotton-like spread.
He had to be careful. One wrong move, one twist to his side, and he could crash land right into them because they sounded close. Like, right below.
"He wanted to take your head," Henry hissed, and yeah, he was definitely nearby. "What if he tries again?"
"Er, then I'll just knock him out again too? He's, like, five years old. It's not that hard."
Just for that, Cyrus was already plotting a sneak attack from where he hovered. He couldn't fly like they could, but that wouldn't stop him from trying.
"We have to take him back to his pack."
"Sure, that'll go over real well." Cyrus can hear the eyeroll in Eliza's reply. "We'll be captured on the spot if caught, probably tortured in their basement again. This is Blood Moon we're talking about. They've done that to us, what, a hundred years ago before? They won't hesitate to do it again."
Oh...
Cyrus didn't know about that. Granddad was similar to Dad in a lot of ways. Clearly, it showed if he had the chance to torment some vamps during his prime.
"I forgot it was Blood Moon that had trapped us," Henry admitted sheepishly, like he was admitting to a minor inconvenience long forgotten and not something as dark as imprisonment. "How did I for– whatever, the point still stands. We can't have the heir to a werewolf pack here."
"Yeah." Eliza paused, then added, more quietly now, "Though they certainly don't seem to treat their supposed heir that well. He wouldn't be here in the first place if they did."
What did she know?
What did she know about his life? Who was she to say?
Once more, her words stabbed into him more than he expected, picking at a scab that never seemed to heal. Before Henry could answer, Cyrus took the chance to strike. Having had enough of Eliza's comments, he jumped down and stomped his full weight onto her back, his claws ready to tear out her eyes.
