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

Lunch zoomed past with a clattering of trays, charred tater tots, and Altair’s ever-present whistle, always nearby. Wooden picnic tables, battered by decades of wear and tear, creaked beneath rowdy campers.

Demon and Angel, already scheming, glanced at one another before nudging Erik and Win into an impromptu post-lunch tour. They told one another stories about haunted rivers and secret make-out spots as they walked past weathered trail markers and boulders, with Angel steering them wide around the actual river, where the current rushed over slick stones. Win arched a brow, but let it slide; some questions were best left alone.

That night, Demon’s restless energy could barely be contained within the cabin walls. Beneath a nearly full moon, he slipped outside, the moonlight outlining the edges of the pine trees. Hours later, Erik vanished too, returning with mussed hair and shining eyes. Neither spoke, but the unspoken confessions were beneath their skin. In the blue half-dark, Demon caught Angel’s gaze.

“Full moon tomorrow,” he warned. “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 following day involved hikes along sunny trails, diving through dense underbrush, and failed berry foraging in thorny thickets, leaving their hands scratched and stained purple. The afternoon heat lingered, fumes seeming to rise from the paths. Erik bragged he could out-hike anyone; Win deadpanned, “Night hikes, please. Less heatstroke, peak goth cred.”

Around sunset, the campfire burned bright, the smoky scent clinging to the camp shirts of those seated too close to it. Altair hovered, tapping his fingers on the back of his clipboard, and 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 youths slipped into the woods, the scent of pine replacing that of the campfire, owls hooting occasionally in the distance. Their stories grew stranger: a cat befriending a sparrow, regal penguins, otter librarians. When the moon began to rise, their laughter died.

Demon stilled while Erik’s eyes took on an odd sheen. Angel and Win frowned at one another, fear and trust tangling together. Then bones twisted, fur spilled down arms: Demon, black as the night; Erik, white as new snow. Both wolves peered back, tails tucked, ears pinned, as if ashamed.

Angel and Win shared a silent nod.

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

With a synchronized howl that was surely heard for miles, birds scattered from their roosts, and 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.

Win broke it first with a whisper. “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.’”

“Like that one book series?”

Some time later, Demon and Erik returned in their human forms, both out of breath. Then, Erik leaned in, his voice trembling. “Demi, 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, with their secrets shared, their remaining tension had finally lifted.

–

Cane came jogging up the trail, ignoring the night’s chill. He nearly collided with Altair, who was pacing in tight circles, hair ruffled and eyes anxiously raking 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. “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.”

“You worried about them?”

Altair scoffed, trying to hide his frazzled state. “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 flashlights lighting the way. The quiet between them made all other sounds louder: the dryness of the leaves beneath their feet and the campers in the distance. 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, his jaw tight. “He’s got what he wants. Good for him.”

“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 look him in the eye. “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 the slightest moment, Altair’s mask slipped, and the vulnerability showed on his face. But that was quickly replaced with the sense of relief and sincerity that only arose from time spent in Cane’s presence.

He swallowed, about to speak, when they both heard giggling from the woods. Four campers emerged from an unknown path, 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 amusement. Cane covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Instant relief, huh, Coach Bran?”

Altair’s eyes narrowed, but a fraction 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.