The Fantastic Eight and Their February Surprise - 2. Moonlit Confessions

Lunch passed in a blur of clattering trays, charred tater tots, and Altair’s ever-present whistle, always nearby. Wooden picnic tables, scarred with decades of carved initials, groaned under the weight of rowdy campers. Demon and Angel, already scheming, exchanged a look and nudged Erik and Win into an impromptu post-lunch tour. They spun stories about haunted rivers and secret make-out spots as they walked past weathered trail markers and moss-covered boulders, with Angel steering them wide around the actual river where the current rushed over slick stones. Win arched an eyebrow but let it slide; some questions were best left unasked.

That night, the cabin walls pressed in on Demon’s restless energy. Beneath a nearly full moon, he slipped outside, silver light striping the pine-needle carpet. Hours later, Erik vanished too, returning with wild hair and shining eyes. Neither spoke, but the silence between them crackled with unspoken confessions. In the blue half-dark, Demon caught Angel’s gaze.

“Full moon tomorrow,” he murmured. “If I wolf out, you better tie me to a tree.”

Angel chucked a pillow at his brother. “If you wolf out, I’ll just pin you. Easy.”

Demon grinned, all teeth. “Sure it’s me you want to pin and not Erik?”

Angel hissed, “Not the only one with a crush, you know. What about you and Win?”

“I wouldn’t mind Win pinning me down,” Demon shot back.

The next day blurred with hikes along sun-dappled trails winding through dense underbrush and failed berry foraging in thorny thickets, leaving their hands scratched and stained purple. The afternoon heat pressed down, making the air shimmer above the dusty paths. Erik bragged he could out-hike anyone; Win deadpanned, “Night hikes, please. Less heatstroke, peak goth cred.”

By sunset, the campfire burned bright. Altair hovered, clipboard in hand, scowling as Lee made Cane laugh, something Altair had tried for years and rarely achieved. Frustrated, he stomped off for marshmallows, tossing the bags at his campers’ heads. All four caught them with perfect reflexes. For a second, Altair wanted to ask if they could try out for their local basketball team.

“Thanks, Coach Bran!” Angel called, saluting with his marshmallow skewer.

Around the fire, Demon, Angel, Erik, and Win roasted marshmallows, flirting and bantering until Demon stage-whispered, “Midnight stroll?”

Win grinned. “Lead on, ringleader.”

The four slipped into the woods, the scent of pine all around, with owls hooting occasionally in the distance. Their stories grew stranger: a cat befriending a sparrow, regal penguins, otter librarians. Laughter faded as the moon rose, impossibly bright.

Demon stilled. Erik’s eyes glazed. Angel and Win exchanged a look, fear and trust tangling together. Then bones twisted, fur spilled down arms: Demon, black as midnight; Erik, white as new snow. Both wolves glanced back, tails tucked, ears pinned, as if ashamed.

Angel and Win shared a silent nod.

“It’s alright,” Angel said gently. “Go run. We’ll wait.”

With a synchronized howl that echoed through the trees and sent birds scattering from their roosts, the wolves vanished into the darkness. Angel and Win perched on a fallen log, its bark soft with moss and rot, silence settling comfortably between them. The forest floor was carpeted with layers of decomposing needles that muffled all sound except the distant rush of water and the occasional crack of a branch.

Win broke it first, voice low. “Right. About all that… my family’s half vampire, half human. And, you probably guessed, Erik’s half werewolf, half human.”

Angel managed a crooked smile. “You’re in good company. Demon and I, sons of a lycan and a vampire. Only fusion case we know.”

Win bumped Angel’s shoulder. “We should make t-shirts: ‘Camp Half-What-the-Fuck.’”

Soon after, Demon and Erik came back in their human forms, catching their breath. Erik leaned in, voice hushed. “Did you feel that, out there? Like something or someone was watching?”

Demon nodded. “If it’s not just the moonstruck feeling messing with us, maybe someone was.”

“Probably just a coach couple sneaking a makeout,” Angel suggested.

“Let’s hope,” Demon said. Then he turned to Win. “Sorry we kept this from you.”

“Right back at you,” Win replied. “Guess I was right. You’re way too hot for a human.”

“There you go again ruining more clothes,” Angel sighed as he regarded his brother. “You need to put some clothes on.”

“I mean,” Win chimed in. “You don't need to on my account, I'm rather enjoying the view.”

Demon shot Angel a smug look. “Told you: hotter twin.”

“You’re delusional,” Angel groaned, shoving him.

“For what it’s worth, I think the hotter twin is you,” Erik mumbled, taking Angel’s hand.

Angel found it difficult to avert his eyes from the nude werewolf, and he hoped the moonlight hid his blush.

All four walked back together, their secrets and hearts feeling lighter, laughter rising like the flames of the campfire.

–

Cane came jogging up the trail, breath visible in the late-night chill. He nearly collided with Altair, who was pacing in tight circles, hair mussed and eyes darting anxiously between the trees.

“Altair?” Cane called, slowing to a walk. “You lose your campers or something?”

Altair stopped, hand gripping his whistle. “They were roasting marshmallows not long ago. Swear on my miserable staff shirt, Cane, I just turned around and—poof. Gone.”

Cane grinned, but his voice was gentle. “Wolves did it, huh?”

Altair groaned. “Don’t say that! I could have sworn I heard howling. In the exact direction I think those brats went.”

Cane raised an eyebrow. “You worried about them?”

Altair scoffed, trying to hide the tension in his shoulders. “Hardly. If they get eaten, it’s their own fault for sneaking off.”

Cane watched Altair a moment, then said, “You’re a terrible liar. You’re practically vibrating. You actually care about those pain-in-the-ass teens.”

Altair bristled, but Cane just looped an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go find your lost sheep and see if they haven’t started a forest cult.”

They set off down the trail together, their flashlight beams cutting through the darkness and illuminating the narrow dirt path ahead. The quiet between them was filled with the crunch of dry leaves, the snap of twigs underfoot, and the occasional distant shout from other campers. Cane nudged Altair. “You know, you and Raven haven’t been at each other’s throats lately. I’d almost say you’re getting along.”

Altair snorted. “We’re not getting along. Our paths are just—diverging. Raven’s off to fancy uni with Lee soon. He’ll forget all about me.”

Cane eyed him. “That bother you?”

Altair shrugged, jaw clenched. “He’s got what he wants. Good for him.”

Cane kept his tone light. “Just as long as you don’t start giving Lee and Raven hell for fun. That’s how I’ll know you’re really changing.”

Altair scoffed. “Nothing’s changed.”

Cane stopped, turning so Altair had to meet his gaze. “You know, you’re allowed to miss your brother. Or anyone. Doesn’t mean you’re weak. Doesn’t mean you’re alone.”

Altair refused to look at him, staring at the ground. “I won’t be alone. I’ll be fine.”

Cane placed his hand on Altair’s shoulder. “You know, you and me... we’re always going to be friends. Even if you try to chase me off.”

For a breath, Altair’s mask slipped. Vulnerability flickered across his face, relief warring with something deeper, a longing he’d never voice.

He swallowed, about to speak, but a chorus of giggling erupted from the woods. Four campers emerged from the underbrush, two of them wrapped in hoodies like makeshift loincloths. The blond let out a sigh of relief.

Altair pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. I don’t want to know,” He said as he pointed in the direction of the cabins. “Cabin. Now.”

The campers slunk off, trying to hide their grins. Cane covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Instant relief, huh, Coach Bran?”

Altair’s eyes narrowed, but a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. Cane nodded towards the cabins and began following the group; the tension between them eased for the moment.