"When you said that we might find our answer on how to kill Luna through history, I didn't think you'd have Zeke bringing in childhood fairytales of her," Cyrus whines, his hands digging through his scalp. "How are we supposed to find anything useful with this crap? This is meant for pups, not us. Aren't we supposed to be digging through real books instead?"

In the background, Zeke is dusting the shelves, keeping himself occupied in his little corner.

Leaning into his office desk for what feels like hours by now, Jax turns to the next page of a book that he's already cracked open. His ears are open, but his eyes are scanning over the words before him. "I am going through real books. You're the one who's getting the fairytales." He grabs what must be his second cup of coffee already and takes a sip. "I told Zeke to give them to you specifically. Or would you prefer that we switch jobs instead?"

As far as Cyrus's trained eye can see, there's no sugar nor cream in that murky sludge that he calls coffee. He must drink it black, as dark and bitter as his soul.

Yuck.

"Nah, I'm good."

He'd rather stick to his new cinnamon honey latte, which he was able to request from Grave Shadow's kitchen through Zeke. According to Zeke, he actually made it himself and it's pretty damn good. So much better than Jax's caffeinated poison.

"That's what I thought," Jax says.

See, it's stuff like that that has Cyrus wanting to smack him upside down the head, but he stomps down on the desire to.

For now.

He knows he can't really hurt him, but it won't stop him from still wanting to try, even if his hands only get to meet the cold barriers of the hex.

A few of these fairytale books are sprawled out across his lap. As he tries to entertain himself with the paper illustrations flopped onto his knees—a multitude of colors awaiting him—he instead sneaks a glance over at Jax, drinking in his appearance.

Tousled waves of silky black locks descend past Jax's forehead, accompanied by a faded undercut in the back of his neck. Deep red eyes narrow in concentration. Metallic piercings glisten underneath the light, shiny and sharp around his ears.

As he plucks out another book in his reach, the tattoos that consume his left arm practically shift in movement, smooth slopes of black ink tastefully adorned across a milky canvas of pale skin. His scarred hands flip through the pages, steady and stable.

"You're staring," Jax suddenly says without looking up, snapping Cyrus out of his daze with the low timbre of his voice. "What do you want?"

Immediately, Cyrus's face burns and he blurts out, "Just die already."

"...What?" Jax doesn't even sound angry, not anymore. Instead, he seems mildly offended, like he can't even be bothered. "What the hell are you going on about now?"

"Die early already. Zeke needs to be the new leader of Grave Shadow. He makes the best fucking lattes and he'd do a way better job of being in charge than you."

Upon hearing this, Zeke almost chokes on air. Behind the beta's surprised reaction, Cyrus can also pick up on a politely restrained cough, followed by a stifled laugh.

After a drawn out moment of silence, Jax stands up and chucks a book at his head.

For once, even as it strikes one of the hex's magical shields instead of him, Cyrus can't say he didn't deserve that.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Nothing about Luna makes sense.

That's what has them stumped, which they did half expect in their clumsy attempts at research. The books—they all say the same thing: once, there were others like her, the goddess of vampires and the goddess of mermaids.

Now it was just her.

Just Luna.

According to the legends—which they already knew since they grew up hearing them—she ripped the other goddesses apart, tearing them limb from limb, until she remained the last one standing. Rumors had it that she was bathed in their blood, their corpses mangled beyond recognition.

All of this had occurred before she disappeared into the stars for the remainder of time.

Until recently, that is.

And now begs the question: how can they follow in her same footsteps if they can't even touch her?

In the first place, it's because of her that werewolves like them thrive, growing more and more by the century. Meanwhile, the vampires and mermaids of this realm are unable to move forward, forever trapped in a cycle of immortality. The absence of their deities results in them being unable to pass on to the afterlife, hence their undead status.

Jax sighs, his breath materializing into visible frost in the chilly air. "The only one who knows how to kill a god is Luna herself. She's the only one who knows how because she's done it twice before."

"And we can't just ask her how to help kill herself," Cyrus replies, visibly deflated. Now that they're outside again, he's simply following Jax, tagging behind him wherever he goes alongside Zeke. It still sucks that he literally can't go anywhere else, the hex be damned. "We're already struggling with the impossible. I really don't wanna accept our losses."

"We have other options."

They continue to trek through the snow, looping their way past the residence halls.

"Yeah?" Cyrus probes. "Like what?"

They stop in front of a steel shed nearby, their footsteps slowing to a halt. Faded dark green splotches of rust, spreading like a disease from the ground up, peep out from layers of snowfall. Tall walls loom before them, the crusted corners of the rooftop piercing through the bleak gray sky.

Apparently, whatever's inside this ugly shithole is their next best solution.

"This is only the beginning, Cyrus," Jax says, an ominous note to his words. "We may not be able to ask Luna for advice, but there are others who have lived long enough to seek what we want."

Once Zeke finishes unlocking the shed, he swings the double doors to the entrance wide open, the hinges groaning with haunting creaks. Upon stepping inside, Cyrus's throat goes tight. His shoulders tense and his breath catches.

Meshed bags of garlic gather around the back, accumulating into a haphazard pile. Metal shelves host a collection of wooden stakes, their pointy brown ends protruding from all sides. Rifles, grappling hooks, and nets hang from the walls, glaring down at him.

Shit.

"It's vampire hunting season," Jax announces eerily, his low voice ringing throughout the shed. "Eliza Jeralt has to go down, once and for all. We've failed to catch her once before, but never again. Since we're stuck together, we can work as one to finally track her and her minions."

Shitshitshit.

"Yeah." Slowly, Cyrus nods, his face morphing into an expression of false frustration. "Yeah, of course. Totally. She's been such a pain in the ass. Blood Moon has been chasing after her for too long."

"The vampires are the key to our answers. Most of them were around to witness whatever Luna did to their goddess. If we can't get anything out of our history, then it's time to search theirs."

Looks like things are about to get a lot more complicated than Cyrus thought.