How does one kill a god?

That's the question that both of them have to ponder now. Sure, they want to. That's the one thing that, for the first time in their turbulent history, Jax and Cyrus can agree upon. But how can they go about doing so?

When Cyrus had asked him that, once they're already settled in his lame and lackluster office, Jax was ready with a firm conviction to throw back.

"Either we stay stuck under her rule for the rest of our lives or we die trying to break out of it," he says, after a hit from his vape. A billow of white vapor swells past his head of dark hair, faded wisps of smoke hanging off his signature frown. "And I'd rather pick the latter. If I have to spend another minute by your side, I'll choose death over you."

Again, Cyrus gets that. He can't believe he has to agree with him to this extent, but he understands. He'd also rather welcome death's embrace than spend over a year in Jax's presence. Once the hex is cleared, so too will their ceasefire.

"So what now?" While pacing around his boring office space, and with his sunkissed fingers splayed out across a row of books from a random shelf, a thoughtful hum drifts from Cyrus. "How do we kill Luna, if she can even be killed? Can't she just freeze us in place, control our every move, like she did last time?"

As he tilts his head to the side, allowing for his long silver hair to trickle past his shoulder, his hand brushes past the aged fabric of several book spines.

"We can look at history." Jax snaps his fingers, a bold command cutting through the air. "Zeke, bring them to me."

On cue, Zeke comes out of nowhere and bursts through the door, an additional stack of books bundled up in his arms. Cyrus almost jumps at the intrusion, his pulse rising with a sharp throb against his throat. It seems that Jax can't go anywhere without his second-in-command. Way to rely on a guy.

He questions if Zeke ever does anything outside of following all these orders thrown at him left and right. Honestly, he's never met a more submissive alpha in his life. Does he have to get permission from Jax to sleep too? What the fuck is their deal?

Damn, he misses Ram. At least he was able to call him earlier and he'll persist in visiting Blood Moon soon.

Cyrus raises a skeptical brow. "You think reading is gonna get us an answer?"

"I think it'll get us somewhere." As Jax continues to smoke from his bulky vinyl chair, he watches Zeke layer out the books he'd just brought over across his desk in stoic silence, clearly still thinking.

Seeing as though the rest of the books are readily in his grasp, Cyrus decides to help Zeke out because fuck Jax. That's no way to treat a second-in-command, let alone another alpha.

A polite half-smile twitches his lips as he comes up to Zeke. "Hey, need help?"

He can't believe he's doing this. He knows Zeke is simply another Grave Shadow goon that he's briefly fought a few times before and that he shouldn't bother with him, but something about this somehow feels... refreshing. It's a satisfying way of telling Jax off.

Jax's eye twitches at this display, ready to interfere and probably remind him to remember his place. After all, it's true that Cyrus has no right nor say as to how he should run his own pack. Not when Grave Shadow is the enemy and not his concern in the slightest.

However, he just can't stand Jax's indifferent treatment to the wolves that are supposed to be his own kind, expectations be damned. Before he can verbally combat the other alpha, Zeke actually speaks first.

"No thank you, Alpha Cyrus of Blood Moon." As a gesture of courtesy, Zeke dips his head down, bowing to him. "It's not in my place as a beta to ask that of you. I'm perfectly content to continue serving."

Then, as if he hadn't just confessed to an earth-shattering revelation, Zeke casually collects the rest of the books from Cyrus's arms and resumes organizing them across a nearby coffee table. Efficient speed is carried out throughout the task at hand.

Meanwhile, Cyrus's mind screeches to a halt, an electrifying shock of tangled thoughts coursing through him with a zap and pop.

A beta.

A beta?

"You're a beta?!" he blurts out, aghast. Then, he whips his head around, snapping to Jax. "You have a beta as your second-in-command?"

"I'm not having this conversation with you." Jax raises a hand up, gesturing for the only beta in the room to be dismissed. "Zeke, come back with some coffee. Give us a minute."

"Yes, sir."

Once he walks out the door, and more importantly out of earshot, Cyrus directs a scorching glare in Jax's way. He wishes he could burn through him with his gaze alone.

"You do realize what a second-in-command is supposed to be, right?" He crosses his arms, feeling his nerves simmer with the heat of his newfound frustration. "They're supposed to always be an alpha. It has to stay that way."

Alphas. Betas. Omegas.

The three rankings in every werewolf pack, listed from strongest to weakest.

Alphas were natural-born fighters and leaders, local guards and tough security in the making. Betas were your everyday citizens, often experts in trade and marketing, standing as the building blocks of werewolf society itself. And lastly, omegas were the lowest in the social ladder, but also just as essential. They were the help, the kitchen staff, the teachers and nurses, the caretakers and priests. Regardless of gender, they catered to their nurturing roles.

The social hierarchy exists for a reason.

Jax matches Cyrus's glare, unyielding with his own hostility. "Your stupidity is astounding."

With the black vape still clutched in between his fingers, he drags in another puff, then blows a trail of smoke directly into his face.

Coughs rack through Cyrus before he can fully muffle them, his eyes wet and stinging in response, though he endures. He refuses to give in.

"Think what you want," Jax says. "But you won't question the decisions I make here."

"The fuck I will." Snarling, Cyrus bares his teeth. "You think it's okay to throw a beta into your bullshit? He's not– you're endangering him."

"I don't pick those that can't be of use."

"That's all you have to say?" A chuckle rumbles from his core, bitter and sarcastic. "You're disgusting. I can't believe Luna thinks we're the same when you're like this."

"Enough." Jax hammers a fist against his desk, the mahogany surface rattling with a stern shake. "You coddle your people too much. It's why you're weak."

"We Blood Moon alphas literally have a focus on super strength and you call us weak? At least we have a sense of community–"

"More like a sense of superiority. In Grave Shadow, we don't waste our resources. Even an omega is capable of fighting when the situation calls for it. You think just because they're not an alpha, they can't prove their worth? Even the weak, even the most average beta and the frailest omega, can help. Pretend to be the better man all you want, but you underestimate your own kind. I don't. End of story."

That's—well... The fire inside of him dwindles out of existence as Cyrus fumbles for words. He's never thought of it that way before. It's a very Grave Shadow way of thinking. Because he can't muster up anything else to say, and he doesn't want to admit shit either, he suddenly lunges forward.

He swipes Jax's vape, deftly bringing it under his possession, before yanking himself back with false confidence. Then, he sucks in a sharp breath from the mouthpiece, a chilling surge of mint overtaking his tongue and flooding the back of his mouth.

The gobsmacked look on Jax's face, followed by the hot flush that stains his cheeks red, is priceless.

"My mouth was just on that, you crazy fucker," he exclaims, right before shooting out from his chair. One of his arms extends forward, eager to take back what's his, although he hesitates at the last second.

Reconsidering. Reluctant. Reevaluating.

As smoke drifts out from his mouth, Cyrus smiles through the minty sting in his teeth. The tip of his tongue tickles.

"You've tainted it," Jax deadpans. "You've fucking tainted it."

"C'mon, I've tasted your blood during our fights before. What's a little spit gonna do?"

Just to prove his point, Cyrus takes a secondary drag and hit from the vape. Mint plunges down his throat, clouds his thoughts, then rushes out through a gruff sigh.

The sigh is not something he'd do of his own free will, that much is obvious. Instead, he does it as a mocking gesture, all while he leans in close and aims the smoke in Jax's glowering face. Clearly, he's exaggerating what his stupid mannerisms can look like, copying them down in an effortless act.

"I guess I could pick up on a new smoking habit," Cyrus says, false cheer peaking through. "It's not that bad. Kinda tasty, actually."

With a disgruntled growl, Jax opts to take back his vape anyway, much to Cyrus's surprise. He snatches it from his hand, then turns his head away and brings it back to his own lips, continuing to smoke too.

Amused by his choice of action, Cyrus watches him. Then, he actually sighs for real before adding, "Y'know, when you die earl–"

"If I die early," Jax interjects. "Not when."

"Yeah, whatever. If you die earlier, you do realize that this means your second-in-command will have to be the one to take over, right?"

"I'm aware."

"So you're okay with a beta leading the pack? And not, I dunno, another alpha like us? It's not– that's just never been done before. Like, ever."

Jax's frown deepens. "I told you not to question the decisions that I make here." For a fragment of a second, or perhaps in the trick of the light, his eyes actually soften. "It's not as though Zeke doesn't understand the position he's in. He knows what to do if I'm gone before him."

Cyrus lets his head drop while remaining speechless. He knows this discussion is already over. There's no point in dwelling on a future that may not exist, especially when he himself doesn't like to think of that day either. He doesn't like to think about Ram taking over someday when he has to die earlier than expected.

Seems like their second-in-commands will always be ready to support them, whether it be Blood Moon or Grave Shadow.