Hunter made his way around the werewolves too, ignoring the blood on his face and the mud on his body. He told everyone not to panic but to be prepared to protect themselves if any threat came their way. Hunter said to them that angels were no longer on their side, and no matter what, Jacota was on the winning team. He didn't tell them how the tear had grown to be so big, or how heaven's downfall was caused. The werewolves wanted solidarity, and Hunter was trying his best to provide it.

In the back of his mind, he worried about Jacota, Sam, his pack, his parents. There seemed to be too much going on that everything turned into one blurred mess. The only thing he had to think about was the well-being of his family and the werewolves.

"Hunter." Anthony's voice trailed behind him, stabbing him in the ear like an unwanted fly. "Hunter." The voice got closer until a hand rested on his shoulder. "We'll keep the werewolves here, and get as many as we can to turn up. We'll need all the help we can get if the angels are coming."

Hunter stopped and turned towards Anthony. Werewolves buzzed all around them from the excitement of being among Anthony and Hunter, but they soaked up one another's adrenaline and fear, sending out ripples of anxiety and panic.

"Look," Anthony said in a hushed tone, "I know you're angry at me, but we need each other right now. We're all in danger. I don't know if I could live if something happened to you or Sam and we weren't on good terms."

Hunter eyed some nosy werewolves who tried to listen to their conversation. "You should have told us this years ago. I need time to get over it. Just give me space." Hunter shrugged his dad's hand away and moved through the crowd.

Anthony lost sight of him almost immediately, like a raindrop landing in the ocean. He turned back and pushed his way towards their home to check on their supernatural guests. Panuleon and Oliver were injured, and Oliver needed a lot of medical attention until the angel woke up. Anthony wasn't sure what to offer them, but dry clothes and food could be a start and help to make everyone feel better, especially the humans.

William was wiping the mud from the bottom of his walking stick when Sam returned to his side. "Hey," William said, catching the sorrow in the werwolf's eyes before he tried to hide it.

Sam never hid anything from William; it was those around him that made him wear the mask. Their relationship has always been incredibly open and honest. If they couldn't share secrets with each other, their trust would be thinning, and when it came to werewolf bonds, faith was crucial.

"Hey." Sam pulled a stool over for William to sit down on, who had been leaning against the wall on one leg. "Are you okay?"

"As okay as I can be." William sat down, and Sam stood in between his legs, needing a moment with his mate. "I know you're thinking about the Rayson's, but we can settle that after we save the world."

Sam chuckled and nuzzled himself against the human, wishing he could turn into a wolf and feel William's fingers scratch under his chin, just the way he liked it. "I think heaven needs more attention than my family problems right now." He blocked out all of the noise and allowed William's scent to drench his own. The human always smelt of honeycomb. Sam couldn't get enough.

William wrapped his arms around the werewolf's lower back, despite being in their wet clothes from the rain. "Can you carry me upstairs? We need to get changed."

"Of course," Sam whispered, hovering his lips millimetres away from his mate's, remembering how they felt. He freshened his memories by kissing him softly. In the middle of the kiss, Sam picked him up. William clung to him like a monkey, remembering to grab his walking stick.

William then closed his eyes and pretended that it was just another average day. He had spent the day reading or doing physio, and now he was going to spend time with his favourite person, watching a film, messing around, or telling stories. In his mind, everything was calm, but in the real world, everything and everyone William loved was in danger. Still, he tried to pretend that life was good because he might never get another chance to feel so relaxed in Sam's arms.

* * * * *

Jacota tried his best to follow Bren's scent. The smell of coal lingered in the warm breeze. The rain had stopped, but the musty smell of hot air made it harder to follow the fire God's burning scent.

Jacota stopped and changed into his wolf. His animal's nose was better and sharper at following the correct scent. He looked left and right, sniffing the air until the wind changed and Bren's stench was going south. He galloped down the hill, crunching everything under his big paws.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, following Jacota through the woods as he ran for what felt like miles. "I'm getting closer to Bren," he thought to Hunter, wanting to keep him updated.

"Be careful," Hunter replied, filling Jacota's head with the voice he could listen to for hours on end. "Everything's fine here, so far."

The wolf stopped by a river to lap up the flowing water; it felt cool in his mouth. Hunter would never let him get this close to water when on runs, but the summer was being true to its label and bringing them warmth, despite his constant storms and Jacota felt like he hadn't drunk cold water in days.

He stuck his head under the water to squeeze out his troubling thoughts. The sky made him feel sick, and every crack tore a part of his sanity away like someone yanking off wallpaper. Jacota shook the water from his face and sniffed the air again. Bren wasn't very far now, only a mile or so away.

He set off again, trudging through the river and running up the bank on the other side, jumping over fallen branches and pushing his way through bushes.

Eventually, he reached a clearing and Brens scent overwhelmed him. He changed into his human form and looked around, sensing another wolf, one which had a familiar presence but he wasn't sure why.

"Foolish of you to follow me," Bren's voice was loud in Jacota's mind.

"You're annoying me now," Jacota said aloud, knowing he was close enough to hear him. "We could all die without your help, even you. Why are you set on proving that you're stronger than me? I don't understand."

There was a quiet rustle of leaves behind him, but no visual movement.

"By not helping you, I'm the most important God because I'm the only one who can give you what you want."

"Bren, stop hiding and talk to me face to face," Jacota sighed. He felt like he hadn't slept in days, his eyes stung with stress and his muscles ached with worry.

One second he was looking at empty space in between the trees, the next he was looking at the God of fire, covered in Clare's blood, which dried crusty and dark.

"Let me be in charge of the Gods, and I'll help you," Bren said, acting so conceited, he believed Jacota would eventually give in.

"What is your need for power? Did you not hear what I said? We're all going to die if you don't help us."

"Do you think I care? Being a God has hardly been a gift," Bren spat. "And you caused all of this," he threw a flame infested hand up at the sky, showing Jacota the growing tear with black cracks like electricity bolts. "You should fix your mistake, not us."

"I made the tear to save a couple who the angels made for this very war. I didn't think I would be the one to cause the beginning of the war, but I don't think I'm on the wrong side. The angels say how heaven has been corrupt for years. Maybe the birth of a new one will be the best thing, but I can't fix this alone. I need your help. I don't care why you hate me, but for the sake of everyone in this world and the others, please, please help me." Jacota was getting desperate. The tear looked more significant than ever before, and the cracks covered more of the sky, blocking out parts of his storm.

Bren's copper eyes looked Jacota up and down like he was gazing at a human-sized street rat. "They were right about you. You've always shown signs of weakness. You're begging me, that's hardly traits of a leader."

"Who? Who have you been talking to?" Jacota demanded.

"Just a certain white wolf," Bren sighed, digging his hands into his pockets.

"You know what, I'm done with you." Jacota tensed his jaw, feeling anger bubbling inside of him like a kettle reaching its peaked temperature. "You're no God; you're a coward who can't stand the thought of not getting your way. You're risking everyone's lives for no reason. If you don't help, I'll seek help from the vampires and angels. They're probably stronger than you anyway. You're a twisted narcissist Bren, the sooner you realise that the world doesn't revolve around you, it'll do us all a favour." In all his fury and pride from sticking up for himself, Jacota spun on his heels and started marching away, leaving Bren to drown in his own hostility.

Jacota looked up with his head held high- but his heart stopped in his chest, and he jumped back like he was about to step into something toxic. A white wolf stood in front of him, but it wasn't their presence that shocked him, it was their scent. Familiar to him like the back of his hand.

"Here they are, the one who claims to know-"

"Shut up!" Jacota snapped, silencing Bren behind him. Tiny lightning bolts flickered around his hands for comfort. The white wolf watched him through eyes that reminded him of his brother, assertive and kind. "Who are you?" Jacota asked, dreading that he already knew the answer, but not wanting to believe it.

The wolf sat on its hind legs and started to transform into its human form, changing slowly until they stood tall, still staring at Jacota who had taken a trembling step back.

In front of him, healthy and confident, representing a well-known face with a forced smile, was someone he never thought he'd see transforming from a wolf, never in a million years.

"Mum?" Jacota breathed, hearing the fear in his wavering voice.