Chapter 303: Define Normal...

Damon

The war room was quiet, the way I liked it. The map edges straightened, markers aligned by color, not a single scrap out of place. I’d already redrawn Stevens’ territory lines three times, each possible invasion route plotted, counters shifted in careful increments until the table looked less like chaos and more like something I could control.

Control. That was the only thing that kept us from breaking.

Stevens had been quiet since the compound battle. Too quiet. Wolves like him didn’t sit still unless they were waiting for something bigger.

The door banged open. Mud clattered on the floor.

“Fates,” I muttered, without looking up, “please don’t tell me it’s...”

“It’s us!” Cyrus announced.

Of course it was.

Raven sauntered in behind him, tossing her hair back, smirk sharp as ever. She dropped into a chair like she owned the place. Cyrus didn’t bother with chairs, he leaned across the table, fingers smearing dirt on the neat map edges I’d lined up.

My jaw ticked. “Get off the table.”

“Relax,” Cyrus drawled. “We brought you a gift.”

I didn’t want it. Whatever it was, I didn’t want it.

Raven propped her boots up on another chair. “We went into Eric’s house.”

My head snapped up. “You what?”

“You heard her.” Cyrus grinned, wolfish. “Door was sealed, tape was easy to rip. Boring old sign said ‘Stay Out Until Further Notice.’ We got bored. So we went in.”

My stomach dropped. “Thane ordered that house untouched until Tyler got back. It was sealed for a reason.”

“Yeah, well.” Cyrus shrugged. “We’re not good at waiting.”

Raven stretched, lazy. “Place was disgusting. Notes everywhere. Blood vials in jars. A diary of him scribbling Thane’s name like a love-sick puppy.”

Cyrus cackled. “More like a love-sick corpse. Guy was obsessed. Hated Thane, hated Della, hated the air. I’m telling you, Damon, he wanted to kill Thane or screw him and he couldn’t decide which.”

My blood boiled hot. “You tampered with an evidence site. And you think this is funny?”

Cyrus leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “Evidence? Damon, please. You act like Tyler’s going to show up with his magnifying glass and find Eric’s fingerprints on a candy wrapper. He’s either dead, or he’s not. We saw enough.”

Raven smirked. “And then we burned it.”

The words hit me like a punch. “You did what?”

“Burned it down.” Cyrus threw his hands up like it was obvious. “Poof. Gone. Cleansing fire. Place stank anyway.”

I shoved back from the table, rising. “You destroyed potential proof that could have confirmed if Eric was alive. Do you ever think before you act?”

Cyrus tilted his head, smiling sharp. “Do you ever stop thinking?”

Before I could fire back, my phone buzzed across the table. Tyler’s name lit the screen. I snatched it up, grateful for the distraction.

“Tyler.”

His voice was rough with static. “Damon, you’re going to want to see this. Surveillance caught someone near Stevens’ border. Grainy as hell, but… it looks like Eric.”

Ice slid down my spine. “Send it.”

“Already did. But Damon, he doesn’t look right. Something’s off about him.”

The call cut out. My inbox pinged. I opened the file, turned the screen toward the others.

The photo was black-and-white, grainy. A figure hunched in the treeline, body gaunt, head cocked at a strange angle. Even blurry, something about him was wrong. Off.

I studied it hard. Hair thin. Shoulders uneven. Eyes glowing faintly through bad resolution.

Raven squinted, then barked a laugh. “That’s Eric? Looks like roadkill got tired of lying down.”

Cyrus snorted. “Nah. More like Thane’s ugly cousin who eats glue.”

“Wrong again.” Raven leaned in. “That’s exactly what you’re going to look like in ten years, Cyrus.”

He grinned, unbothered. “If I ever look that good, shoot me.”

I ignored them, pulse thudding. “If Eric survived, Stevens has him....”

“Or,” Cyrus cut in, “it’s just some random asshole in the woods, and you’re freaking out because your pen wasn’t lined up right.”

My patience snapped. I slammed my palm on the table hard enough to rattle the stones. “This isn’t a joke. If Eric’s alive, we’re not just facing Stevens. We’re facing something worse.”

For once, Raven’s laughter dimmed. She looked at the photo again, lips tightening. Cyrus just smirked wider.

“You’re so dramatic,” he said. “All I see is a mangy wolf who couldn’t get laid if he paid for it.”

The fire roared in my chest. One second, I was breathing. The next, I was moving.

My fist snapped toward Cyrus’s jaw, but he slipped it like water, laughing, and drove his shoulder into me with the speed of a wolf lunging for a throat.

The table split sideways under our weight, maps and markers flying. Raven shrieked, not in fear, in delight.

“Yes! Finally! Fight, fight, fight!”

Cyrus came at me with fists and knees, every strike sharp and fast, no wasted motion. He was chaos, but not clumsy. His body remembered every kill he’d ever made, every fight he’d ever clawed through. He wasn’t sloppy. He was brutal perfection in its wildest form.

I blocked, parried, and countered. Discipline against feral instinct. I trained every fighter in this pack, my techniques honed sharp, clean lines in every strike. He was the best fighter we had, but I was the one who carved skill into soldiers.

We crashed against the wall, drywall cracking. My elbow slammed toward his ribs, he twisted, grinning through blood.

“You fight like a drill sergeant,” he panted, ducking under my hook. “Predictable. Boring as fuck.”

“You fight like a rabid dog....no control.” I slammed my knee up. He took it, twisted, bit at my shoulder like he wanted to taste blood.

Raven whooped from her perch on a chair. “Fates, I’ve never been so turned on watching two idiots try to kill each other. Ten bucks says Damon pops a vein first.”

Cyrus shoved me back, then swept my legs in a move too fast for his size, dragging me down with him. We rolled, fists hammering, each strike sharp enough to leave bruises. He was stronger than I gave him credit for, faster too, unpredictable in a way that unbalanced me.

But my control anchored me. I locked his wrist, twisted, shoved him face-first into the ground. “Enough.”

He barked a laugh into the floor. “You wanna know why I can’t stand you?” He jerked, slipped my hold, rolled out, coming up with a bloody grin. “It’s not Thane. It’s not your training. It’s because you’re normal.”

The word hit like a blade.

“You’re steady. Predictable. Safe. The wolf with the neat little boxes, the perfect answers. I hate it. I hate wolves who had their normal lives, their normal houses, their normal families.” His grin widened, savage. “Makes me sick.”

A bitter laugh ripped from my throat. “Normal?” My voice cracked, loud over our ragged breaths. “You think I’m normal?”

We circled each other, blood dripping on the ruined maps, Raven leaning forward with wide eyes.

“My mother lived in garbage piled higher than this ceiling,” I snarled. “Rotting food, maggots crawling over the floors. Rats scratching through cupboards. I scrubbed my hands raw every night just to eat without gagging on mold. I slept on a pile because I didn’t have a bed. That was my normal.”

Silence dropped heavy. Even Raven shut up.

I drove forward, words breaking out of me like fists. “Order is survival. Lined pens. Straight maps. Clean floors. You think it makes me boring? It keeps me sane!”

Cyrus’s grin faltered. For a second, just a second, he looked almost startled. Then blood dripped from his mouth, and his laugh came back sharp and wild.

“Shit,” he wheezed, swiping his lip. “You’re even more fucked up than me.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

We collided again, harder this time. My fist slammed his jaw, his elbow clipped my temple, both of us reeling but refusing to stop. He twisted, feral grace snapping through every move, while I anchored each strike with precision. Control against chaos, neither giving ground.

“Raven,” Cyrus barked, grinning even as I slammed him into the wall, “Tell him he’s boring!”

“Boring?” Raven laughed so hard she nearly toppled her chair. “No, no. Keep going, pups!”

I pinned Cyrus against the wall, forearm to his throat, his grin red with blood.

“You think you hate me because I’m normal,” I hissed. “But you don’t even know what that word means.”

He spat blood, smirking. “Still hate you.”

The door slammed open.

“What the hell is going on?”

Thane’s voice cut like a whip.

We froze. My arm pressed to Cyrus’s throat, his hand fisted in my shirt. Both of us panting, bloodied, wreckage around us.

“Nothing,” Cyrus said brightly, muffled against my arm. “Just a friendly debate.”

I shoved off him, wiping blood from my jaw. “Friendly,” I muttered.

Thane’s glare could have frozen fire. “Clean this up. Now. And if I catch either of you at each other’s throats again, I’ll end it myself.”

Cyrus snorted but didn’t argue. Raven hopped down, still grinning like she’d gotten the best show of her life.

Thane stalked out, muttering about children.

I stood in the wreckage, hands trembling, the confession still burning in my throat.

“See you tomorrow night. Come on, Fireball.”

“What the hell is tomorrow night?”

“It’s hair day, Damon. You should know this. I swear you need to work on your communication skills with my sister. If she complains about it tomorrow, don’t bother coming home.”

“It’s my home!” I growl.