Zeke knows that he is Jax's eyes. Perhaps not literally, perhaps Jax can see just fine on his own. Better than fine, in fact, with their inherent canine senses. But he knows that as his diligent right-hand man, as his ever loyal second-in-command, he will always be needed. Wherever Jax goes, Zeke follows. Even now, this moment is no different.

Especially this moment.

Alpha Cyrus Pierce of Blood Moon, once their number one enemy and now their sole ally in a time where everyone else is plotting against them, nearly dwarfs Zeke with the slanted shade of his shadow, all while he inspects a shiny array of weaponry in between them.

Guns, knives, and wooden stakes are aligned across a metal platform in orderly fashion. The blunt edges of several silver blades are categorized on one side, the sleek steel muzzles of various pistols grouped together in another, and then the pointed ends of some wooden stakes are bunched together, revealing matching lengths and widths.

All three of them—Cyrus, Jax, and himself—are standing underneath the harsh, artificial lighting of Zeke's bedroom, awaiting what Cyrus will decide on. Anticipating what weapons Cyrus dubs safe enough to bring into Blood Moon territory. This is the question that's never been posed before: What is Cyrus most comfortable with? What does he want?

Figure that out and Zeke can unravel the rest from there.

Silver works well against vampires too, the only difference being that they can't die from it. Not permanently, at least—not with their undead status. Death is always temporary in their case, just like the mermaids. But if Cyrus doesn't approve of silver, then Zeke will find ways to do without it when the time comes. He always manages to figure it out in the end.

"I can't believe this is where my life's come to," Cyrus dramatically remarks, running a hand through his, ironically enough, silver hair. For someone who's so against the usage of it, his hair naturally gleams the same color as the poison capable of killing them in the first place.

Them and the vampires—a mutual weakness against a type of metal. It's almost as if Luna herself had planned this when she created them. Strange how, when it really comes down to it, they aren't too different from the bloodsucking parasites that roam this earth. Zeke knows that Jax may treat them as they are—as the rats of this world, the scum of this realm; but the reality is that, similar to the vampires, Grave Shadow is always thirsty for some kind of bloodshed that proves a point. Not that he'd ever admit to any of that aloud, never in front of Jax. He knows better than to break The Rules.

Rule #1: Whatever Jax says goes. No exceptions.

And...

Rule #2: Never voice any beliefs that don't align with Jax's.

Always remain in agreement with him. Obedience is of utmost importance.

Zeke acknowledges that just like the vampires, all of them deviously fickle in nature, he isn't any more immune to the intrinsic sin that is greed than anyone else. Who is he to oppose anything they've been doing? He knows that Jax has given him a whole new world of luxury and privilege that no other beta would ever be capable of possessing—this large bedroom being one out of many.

He also knows that he'd do anything to keep it that way.

"Pick a struggle," Jax retorts back to Cyrus, his fangs bared in an open-mouthed scowl. "You either get your way and continue making the big boy choices—or we can go back to when I was in charge. I'm more than qualified to make up for your lack of critical thinking–"

"Yeah, no." Cyrus snorts. "You're an awful leader."

Zeke can see Jax tensing and wanting to bite back, seconds away from spitting some spiteful sass. Instead, he responds with a more gruff, albeit tired, cadence.

"Then make a decision already."

Sighing, Cyrus resigns to glaring over his options once more. His scarred hand, the same one that features Luna's dark blue pentagram circle, hovers past the different types of handguns on display, right before randomly landing on a revolver with an empty chamber. He then flings the revolver from one corner of the metal platform to another, lightly gesturing for Jax to take it after it glides in Jax's direction.

"Just one gun allowed," Cyrus declares. "Only one. Everything else is all right, I just don't care much for firearms. Wolves like us shouldn't even have weapons outside of our claws in the first place, but I know you seem to always need the extra help."

The last sentence is a direct jab at Jax, who flashes him a signature frown in response. Surprisingly enough, however, Jax is quick to recover from his Cyrus-related ire—more quick than usual, at least. His pale face morphs into a flat expression, a neutral look settling in his crimson eyes.

Then, he nonchalantly slides the revolver over to Zeke.

"It's not for me," Jax objects, keeping his voice steady. "I won't be using anything when we enter Blood Moon. You're helping decide for Zeke, remember?"

Cyrus reels his head back. "Wait, seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Not even those annoying ass knives?"

"Not even my knives," Jax echoes, the look that he's currently wearing unreadable.

"Huh..."

A stretch of silence lags behind them as Cyrus practically glitches on the spot at this reminder. Zeke can tell that he's both flattered and bewildered by Jax's extensive cooperation, almost like he still can't believe that this is their reality. Aside from the occasional praise that he's spared Zeke previously, Cyrus apparently forgets that the beta exists in the room with them when it's just him and Jax conversing.

That seems to happen a lot.

Not that Zeke minds. He's content with blending in the background, a list of silent observations compiled in his mind, as he captures everyday revelations with his bespectacled gaze. Even now, as he wordlessly racks the round of the revolver with a pair of leather gloves, followed by a fresh set of silver bullets, his attention narrows down to Cyrus when Jax presents a few more questions.

"The bullets will be for Eliza Jeralt when we find her again," Jax says, in a casual, matter-of-fact fashion. "Because we do need to track her for this to work. Where do you think she and the rest of them might be since the last time we fought?"

Cyrus crosses his arms, his lips scrunching up in a puzzled frown. "Beats me. Y'know how vampires are. They're, like, what's the word again... nomadic? They could be anywhere since our last encounter."

From the corner of Zeke's peripheral vision, when he sneaks a glance in Cyrus's way, he catches a glimpse of Cyrus's eyes. He zooms in on any signs for dilated pupils, for any traces of extra perspiration, for any increased fidgets, twitches, and vocal tics...

Rule #4: Jax's enemies are Zeke's enemies. And Jax's allies are Zeke's allies.

"Trust no one," Jax had told Zeke, during one of their numerous training sessions a few years back. "Not unless they have something good to offer you. And not unless they're family because family will always be the only exception. Your family is your legacy, whether you've got a fated mate or not."

Through gritted teeth, he repeated it once more, reminding Zeke, "Trust no one."

All of Zeke's senses hone in on every part of Cyrus, calculating and assessing. Mouth, hands, voice. Gestures, posture, body language.

Rule #5: Whether enemy or ally, they must be studied. Know who you're up against and know who you're working with.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

They set off by the crack of dawn.

The trip to Blood Moon spans out for several hours because it's down at the base of the mountainside. Zeke thought these next several hours to be an uneventful blur of snowy slogs, for his predictions are typically correct.

Here they are: him, Jax, Adrian, and Esther on one side, to represent the obligatory union of Grave Shadow. Meanwhile, Cyrus and the rest of his alphas—Matt and Bryan—and his fated mate—Grace—tail behind him as he leads the way.

Everyone is shrunken down in their feral wolf forms for easier travels, save for Adrian and Esther, the begrudging bag carriers on duty. Similar to Grace, he's smaller in size as a beta, taking up less space compared to the others and leaving behind more nimble paw tracks. Snowflakes dance past his wolf ears and dust his black-brown mane as he stalks after Jax's larger frame.

However, Cyrus is a chaotic enigma that tends to veer things off course. This is something Zeke unfortunately didn't take into account. If there's one thing to acknowledge, it goes back to Rule #3.

Rule #3: Jax is obsessed with Cyrus, as Cyrus is with him. Their mutual hatred for each other generates constant competition and knows no bounds.

Even when coerced together by Luna's curse, this remains an irrefutable fact.

While navigating through some sparse woods, Zeke notices a stray hare up ahead and to his right—a ball of white fluff blending well amid fresh snowfall. He's quick to dismiss it because they'd already eaten earlier—no need to even try. Grace had even stocked up on some sandwiches for them to munch on later.

It seems like Cyrus had the same discovery but different ideas, however, because he's suddenly a blur of white fur zooming after another blur of smaller white fur. In the spur of the moment, he launches into a spontaneous rabbit chase that derails their main objective entirely.

Zeke internally sighs as Jax is suddenly and forcibly dragged behind Cyrus due to Luna's curse, further delaying the route to their designated destination. Gravity strings them together, yanking Jax by the hind legs. His paws claw at the snowy terrain in an act of resistance, but it's too late.

There goes their estimated time of arrival.

Jax's mouth is an inch away from yanking Cyrus by the tail, an indignant snarl halfway out from sharp teeth, only for Luna's infamous shield to spring out and counteract. Even while stuck in their wolf forms, Luna's curse worms its way in between them. The pale blue shield ejects Jax into the trunk of a tree so far back that it inevitably jerks Cyrus in the same opposite direction.

Back and forth they go, with Cyrus resisting the godly forces working against him, stubbornly determined to catch up to the hare that's bounding past a windy hill over yonder. In response, Jax is locked in a defensive stance and ready to bite back, even with the magical consequences impending. They circle around each other, tussling with the forces of gravity in between them.

Meanwhile, Zeke's attention shifts over to the hare once more, watching the way it continues to flee. Recalculating... As everyone else simply waits out the ongoing Cyrus-Jax feud, already accustomed to their ways and gladly taking advantage of an impromptu break, Zeke actually transforms back to his human form.

Skin and clothes emerge back into view, the flaps of his dark wool trench coat fluttering behind him as he rises on two legs instead of four. Paws are already morphing back to hands, a pair of fleshy digits quick to summon his revolver. The fur from his cheeks shrinks out of existence.

Behind the glare of his glasses, his brown eyes squint, narrowing into concentrated slits, while he watches the hare—while watching a dot of white fur leap through an equally white, snowy backdrop. He steadies his pointer finger over the trigger, suspending a breath in the moment.

Wait for it...

Zeke's wolf ears are slanted lower as his two-handed grip on the revolver stabilizes in place.

Wait for it...

The hare has almost faded out of existence from where he and everyone else stand. It's about to disappear past the sunrise horizon.

Wait for it.

In three...

Two...

One.

He shoots.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Zeke's dead hare hangs from the hook of a makeshift rope belt, partially tucked away behind the fabric curtain of his trench coat interiors. As he stares down at its gaping, soulless eyes, he thinks about all the ways he can cook it later.

Rule #6: Always shoot your shot. It may be worth your while.

Jax had spared a silent nod of approval after witnessing Zeke's easy kill, much to Zeke's satisfaction. Meanwhile, Cyrus occasionally spared envious pouts at his prized prey, as much as he had shared some awed comments earlier.

As they trudge closer to Blood Moon headquarters, only a mile away at this point, Zeke takes a second to quickly remove the glasses off his face. In a smooth swipe, his eyes are free of his lenses.

Suddenly, the murky depths of his brown irises sharpen, changing and brightening into an eerie blood red—the same color as Jax's eyes. The same color as the rest of the alphas from Grave Shadow.

Let's investigate Blood Moon.

I'd like to dedicate this following chapter to Goose, who had been amazing to me during her arrival in the Rainbow Book Club. I still really appreciate all of the feedback and reads, so I'd like to honor her. Thank you!!