Luna is tired.

She's really tired. She's been tired for a while now. It took organizing this entire ballroom event to finally have her caving into fatigue. Not that deities such as herself require sleep, but it's still nice to indulge in.

After teleporting back to her invisible domain nestled in between the stars, the sweet sound of silence greeting her ears, she realizes that it truly has been a long time since she's gotten some shut eye.

It's been a little over two centuries now, to be exact. Ever since the creation of werewolves themselves.

Ever since the blood war against the other goddesses who are no more.

The flashbacks of those days, the very same ones she's been avoiding, creep into her mind, but she allows for exhaustion to override the brain instead. All this time, she has not known slumber's embrace; it is practically a foreign concept to her.

Now is indeed the perfect time for her to hibernate the entire year away. She'll have to set the alarm to go off three hundred and sixty-four days from now.

Blood Moon and Grave Shadow may be no more by the time she awakens. She knows this to be a possibility, yet what's done is done. Had she not intervened sooner, had she continued to let fate run its course, one of them was bound to challenge her authority after taking over the rest of the other werewolf packs. She knows this to be true.

As the lights to the purple crystals above her dim, flickering and faint in correspondence to her swaying consciousness, she thinks back on what she said earlier.

"It's not for anyone to decide whether they get to own other packs and take over the world. Not when this world isn't yours to rule."

Once she dives headfirst into a floating queen's bed, the newly set alarm clock tangling in the sheets with her, the weight of her lashes hangs heavy while her eyes drift closed.

And then, for the first time in lycan history, she's out like a light. Darkness consumes all, extinguishing the glow from her levitating crystals. Shadows stifle her thoughts and obscure her vision. No longer is she the Goddess of the Moon, Mother of Lycanthropes, and the Judge of Fate.

For now, she's simply Luna.

Just Luna.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

They only realize what the hex does when they try to leave.

After the massive shit show that's gone down, the last thing Jax wants to do is deal with even more magical nonsense. Yet once the crowd has dispersed for the night, with Blood Moon and Grave Shadow the only ones left standing outside of Luna's palace, they find another problem in their hands.

Out of all the strokes of misfortune to befall them, this one has to be his last straw—his final shred of sanity, torn to ribbons.

Because Jax can't fucking go home. And yes, he's tried. Many times he's tried, but he can't.

He literally can't.

For what feels like the hundredth time, he storms through one way and Cyrus barrels down the opposite direction. Cold winds bite at his nose and cheeks as he takes the right side of the ashen white field. Meanwhile, Cyrus takes the left, trampling over thick mounds of snow. The distance between them expands, a flurry of snowflakes swirling in their wake.

From the sidelines, the pack members that they've brought with them register the scene that's about to unravel with rapt attention. As they awkwardly settle in the background—right in the middle of the two alphas—they witness the same damn event that doesn't seem to end.

Much to his dismay, the tension in Jax's shoulders and legs freezes in place, right before an invisible force propels him back. His feet drag and reverse. The sound of Cyrus's startled scream pricks his ears as the same effect takes hold of him. Together, their bodies are drawn like metal to a magnet, with a few feet of space in between.

This is what the hex does. It binds them together, giving a literal meaning to the magic of friendship. As if this isn't already the worst night of his life.

Like hell is he going to tolerate his sworn nemesis just because Luna is out to get them, let alone submit to the likes of 'friendship'. He's worked too hard to get to where he is now and he's not about to change his whole world just because she randomly dictates so.

Leon's scarred face flashes in his mind. Sophie's haunting glare follows, surging into view. Their figures enlarge and blur together, a murky vortex of Lumare and Frosthide melting in the back of his brain.

And now he's stuck with Cyrus Pierce.

"Shit," he hisses.

"Yeah," Cyrus drawls, fatigue bristling his vowels. For once, he's visibly deflated, his usual energy drained away from tonight's events. "I hate you too."

Jax wants to punch him.

So he does.

Pulling forward, his fist flies at his nose as he hopes to hear the crunch of a broken bone.

Instead, a pale blue forcefield is suddenly summoned to deflect his blow. The transparent barrier slams into the leather of his gloved hand before launching him back. With a dramatic shove, he crashes into the snow. Shards of agony spasm throughout his body, spiking through his backside.

What the fuck.

Frantically, Lee scurries over to his side, his hands stirring to life with a pale blue glow. After he heals him, Jax glances over at the priest, an unspoken gesture of gratitude, before getting back up on his own.

Meanwhile, Cyrus is cracking up, his obnoxious laughter bleeding through the shrill whistle of the frosty winds rushing past them.

"We can't even hurt each other," he says, a dry chuckle following his words. "We really are in some deep shit."

Snowflakes slide off his arms as Jax dusts himself off. "This is exactly why I need to be home."

"I need to be home."

"My home is superior."

"My home is superior," Cyrus shoots back. "I'm not moving until we're back in Blood Moon to sort out whatever this is. If I don't move, then you can't move."

Jax's eye twitches. "I'm not moving."

"Then I guess I'm not moving eithe–"

"Um, Cyrus..." The pitiful omega cursed to be this idiot's fated mate steps forward, her soft-spoken voice chiming in. "It's getting late. And we're all growing weary. Could we please settle on a temporary decision? I know this isn't exactly an ideal situation, but..."

While trailing off, she stares up at him, silently pleading.

Groaning, Cyrus turns to Jax. "All right, fine." He throws a thumb down and sticks his tongue out. "Let's see how much crappier Grave Shadow can be compared to Blood Moon."

The urge to strangle him burns.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Grave Shadow is cold.

That's what Cyrus notices while he follows behind Jax and the rest of his pack members. Grace and a few other alpha soldiers are with him, but no one else. He had sent Ram and the rest of his lot back to Blood Moon to pass on the message of his temporary absence. Ram, as his second-in-command, will be in his stead and working with Eliza. He knows they'll be okay without him for a few days.

The air is chilling to the bone inside Grave Shadow's headquarters. There's barely any warmth to be found from the metal interiors of their front lobby. It's almost no different from standing outside in the snow again.

Even Jax is cold. He figures since they're in his turf now, he'd see him be a teeny bit less of an asshole to his own people, but no. From what Cyrus has picked up so far, he doesn't even say 'hi' or 'thank you' to the few omega housekeepers still awake at this time, all of whom robotically acknowledge his return. He doesn't show a hint of gratitude to the rest of the other alpha soldiers that welcome him back either.

They even go as far as to call him sir. Just like Zeke, his second-in-command with a bottomless loyalty that seems to know no bounds. Cyrus bets that if Jax ever tells Zeke to jump off a cliff, he'd do it in a heartbeat, no questions asked.

Speaking of which, thanks to Cyrus's famous arrival, they had barely managed to bypass the entrance without getting shot at. The bewilderment that settles over the rest of Jax's alphas, once they were ordered to lower their guns upon his command, is at least worth savoring.

As much as he understands the extent of Jax's murderous intentions, and as much as he knows that Jax would give anything to let him be swept up in some silver bullets, they also both know that in a time as dire as this—when they're clearly not favored by Luna—they need each other.

Eugh. That's still gross to think about.

Cyrus yawns. "All right, so the hospitality is clearly lacking. Terrible job with this tour so far, but let's hope my guest room is at least decent."

"Guest room?" Jax snorts. "You're not even a welcomed guest. What makes you think you're getting one?"

"What, so I'm just gonna have to sleep in your dungeons instead, is that it? Is that what you have in mind for me?"

"No, your girlfriend and men are getting the guest rooms. You have to be with me. We can't be more than ten feet apart from each other because of this fucking hex."

"Wait, your room?"

"Where else, dumbass?" Jax spits. "You really wanna sleep in the dungeons that badly? I'd let you if I didn't want to go in myself."

"You guys actually have dungeons?!"

Much to his frustration, Jax stays quiet from here, stoically ignoring the rest of his dramatic queries afterward. It's a shame since that's the one thing Cyrus is most curious about.

It's that...

And also the fact that there are withered garlic cloves sprinkled outside of the residence halls.

With his gaze trained forward and away from that quick observation, Cyrus pretends to not notice anything. Deep down, he's glad that Eliza and the rest of her vampires are still back at home.