Bad Boy Alphas (BxB)

02. Let's Meet Cyrus

Throughout the past few centuries of lycan history, the most common fairytale to recite for local pups growing up is the story of Luna.

Luna.

Goddess of the Moon. Mother of Lycanthropes. The Judge of Fate.

It is said that after bringing life to their first ancestors, she took to the stars to overlook her canine subjects. It is rumored that she turned into the moon herself and beams down on them with an otherworldly glow every night, the pale yellow hues of her magical existence shining down on them and imbuing them with hopes for better days.

She is ever so omniscient, the true ruler of their mortal realm, the matchmaker of love and mates herself. Even outside of bedtime stories, she can be seen in religious altars and temples, in shrines and prayers. Her name is spoken by priests, expressed in modern day curses, written in all their textbooks.

The statues and illustrations that project her image are tall and regal, depicting a face that's fair and sharp. High cheekbones and an upturned nose are carved into stone and paper alike. Her curvy hourglass frame is often fitted in a flowing white gown. Long blonde hair halts at her waist and piercing blue eyes stare from beyond.

Nowadays, she is but a distant myth to her people. Some still believe in her, especially the priests that are spiritually connected to her as divine messengers. Many, however, simply think of her as a phenomenon of the past, a one-shot wonder that's no longer of this world.

Little does anyone realize that she's still real and a lot closer than they think. While the origins of how she came to create them rings true, the rumors about her living amongst the stars and becoming the moon is not accurate.

In actuality, she lives in an invisible and interdimensional void that she conjured up herself within the sky. She literally floats above them all, for she never left for something as far away as space in the first place.

In the present day, Luna remains shrouded in the clouds and up in her domain, having basked in the peace that comes with solitude for over a century now. She has, in fact, not turned into a shiny and intergalactic ball that emerges every nightfall, though she is connected to the moon in ways deeper than most.

She's perched on top of her glass throne in a white hooded cloak, peering into a crystal ball in one hand while flipping through a floating journal entry in the other.

As the swirling mist within her crystal ball parts ways to show a picture, it reveals the face of Alpha Cyrus Pierce from the Blood Moon Pack.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Thankfully, Cyrus's eyesight makes a full recovery by the time he and the rest of his Blood Moon comrades retreat to their pack. His gaping stab wound has already closed up too, wisps of white smoke escaping from his back.

Ultimately, he's fine. The only way to truly bypass a werewolf's regenerative abilities is with silver — their one fatal weakness. A rare element to discover and manufacture within Blood Moon territory.

And while this time he's unscathed, the last time he and Jax had crossed paths, a silver dagger had been been in the alpha's possession, hence the scars across Cyrus's arms and face.

Back then, he was able to hurl the silver dagger far into the ocean in an act of spite. Deep into mermaid territory, where it would never be seen in the light of day again. Because everyone knows not to fuck with the mermaids. As much as werewolves rule over these lands, those fish fuckers own the seas.

Using silver as a weapon, as a werewolf of all people, is a crime. Jax's entire existence goes against everything that he believes in.

Being a werewolf is about thriving off your innate strengths, not relying on other sources of external bullshit, like silver and weapons, to get by. If you can't fight without fangs and fists, if you aren't naturally blessed in the role you're born into, then you don't deserve to be alive.