Zak Lyconotu

17:06 EST

November 4, 2030

McGhee Tyson Airport

Knoxville, TN

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The airfield was in absolute chaos—loud, disorganized, and teetering on the edge of catastrophe. It smelled like jet fuel and anxiety, a mix that emulated my life in a nutshell. Equipment trucks groaned past, crew members shouted at one another, and somewhere in the din, Star’s unmistakable voice blasted over the comms like a drill sergeant on caffeine. It was like watching a den of pups fighting over scraps—loud, messy, and mildly entertaining if you weren’t in the middle of it. Unfortunately for me, I was very much in the middle of it.

I stood near the edge of the tarmac, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold with an expression that could curdle milk. The concert setup was coming together, but it felt like trying to herd feral wolves who’d been into the moonshine stash.

Aura had been suspiciously absent for the past few hours, and that should’ve been my first clue. My wife wasn’t the kind to disappear without a reason—or without stirring up trouble. The fact that she was nowhere to be found set my instincts on edge. Something was brewing.

And then I heard it.

A low, throaty rumble cut through the cacophony, turning heads as it approached from the west side of the airfield. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Whatever this was, it reeked of Aura’s handiwork.

A sleek, silver bus rolled into view, its chrome gleaming like some overfed prey animal strutting into a wolf den. It was massive, obnoxiously shiny, and entirely out of place amidst the military-grade equipment cluttering the tarmac.

I blinked. "What in the name of Luna's left tit is that?"

The bus rolled to a stop a few feet away, its air brakes hissing like an annoyed serpent. The doors slid open, and there she was—Aura Lyconotu in all her leather-jacketed, shit-eating-grin glory. Christian followed her out, looking far too smug for someone who was supposed to be the leader of the Night Guardians, my confidant, my ally.

"Zak!" Aura called, throwing her arms out like she’d just invented the damned wheel. "What do you think?"

I stared at her, then at the bus, then back at her. "Aura… please tell me you didn’t."

Her grin widened to wolfish proportions. "Didn’t what, love?"

"Tell me you didn’t spend six figures on a tour bus. Because if you did, I swear to the moon, I’m—"

"Relax!" She cut me off with a laugh, her hands raised in mock surrender. "It’s not just a bus. It’s an investment."

Christian, the traitorous bastard, jumped in, his tone practically wagging a tail. "Boss, you’re gonna want to see this."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, breathing through the urge to howl in frustration. "Aura, we’ve had this conversation. A bus is impractical, expensive, and—"

Before I could finish, Aura smirked and snapped her fingers. "Christian, show him."

The sound of hydraulics drowned out my next string of complaints as the bus began to shift. Panels slid open, platforms unfolded, and scaffolding rose into the air. Lights popped into place, speakers emerged, and an enormous LED screen towered above it all like some kind of high-tech moon altar. In less than a minute, the silver monstrosity had transformed into a fully functional concert stage, complete with every bell and whistle imaginable.

I gawked, my jaw somewhere near my boots. "What the actual fuck is that?"

Aura beamed, hands on her hips like the smug queen she was. "It’s our new stage. Mobile, functional, and badass. Isn’t it perfect?"

My brain scrambled to catch up. "You… bought a bus that turns into a Transformer."

Aura shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. "You’re welcome."

Christian chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement. "Told you it was worth it, Zak."

I threw up my hands, pacing in a tight circle. "You can’t just spring this on me! What the hell, Aura? This isn’t a stage—it’s a money pit with wheels!"

"Zak." She stepped forward, her grin softening into something almost earnest. "This isn’t just a stage. It’s a statement. We’re adaptable, mobile, and ready to blow the roof off anywhere, anytime. It’s exactly what we need."

I pointed at the bus-turned-stage, then at her, my frustration mixing with reluctant awe. "You’re insane. You know that, right?"

"Maybe," she said, flashing that infuriating grin again. "But you married me."

I glared at her, then at Christian, who was still smirking like the smug pup he was. "You’re lucky I love you, Aura. And Christian… your lucky I need you. If not, I’d be howling at the moon right now."

Christian barked out a laugh. "C’mon, Zak, admit it. It’s pretty damn cool."

I let out a long, dramatic sigh, rubbing my temples. "Cool doesn’t pay for itself, Christian."

Aura looped an arm around my waist, her voice softening. "Zak, trust me. This is going to blow people’s minds. You’ll see."

The worst part? She was probably right.

I couldn’t argue with Aura’s logic, no matter how much I wanted to. The stage was incredible—it was bold, unexpected, and everything we needed to make this concert unforgettable. But letting Aura off the hook without giving her hell for it? Not in this lifetime.

"You’re impossible," I muttered, shaking my head.

"And you love me for it," she shot back with a cheeky grin, planting a quick kiss on my cheek before strutting off to supervise the stage setup like she’d just saved the damn pack single-handedly.

Christian clapped me on the back with a force that made me stagger. "Gotta admit, boss, she’s got a point. It’s a hell of a thing."

I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Don’t you start, Christian. I’ve already got one smug wolf to deal with."

As I watched the crew swarm the newly unfolded monstrosity, a grudging smile tugged at the corners of my mouth despite myself. Aura was right—this stage was perfect for the concert. Even if it drove me half-mad, I couldn’t deny she had a knack for pulling genius out of chaos. That said, I wasn’t entirely convinced. The voice of reason (or pessimism, depending on who you asked) started gnawing at me like a pup on a chew toy.

This deal was too good to be true.

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Aura was barking orders on the far side of the stage, her energy infectious as the crew scrambled to follow her lead. Meanwhile, I prowled around the bus-turned-stage, circling like a wolf looking for weak points in a rival’s territory. And oh, there were weak points. Too many, as it turned out.

The first one showed up when Christian jogged over, brandishing a power cable like it was the carcass of a freshly caught squirrel. "Zak, we’ve got a problem," he called out, his voice dripping with the kind of exasperation that promised bad news.

"Already?" I muttered, picking up my pace to meet him.

Christian held up the cable. It looked like someone had let a gremlin use it as dental floss. "This is the main feed for the upper sound array," he explained. "And it’s shot to hell."

I took the cable and examined it, frowning. "Shot how? That thing’s supposed to be brand new."

"Yeah, well, the 'brand new' box must’ve been stored in a den of feral badgers, because look at this," Christian said, pointing to the frayed edges and what looked suspiciously like bite marks.

"Moon-damned squirrels," I growled, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Can we fix it?"

Christian rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. "Not unless you want to strip something from another system."

"You’re telling me we don’t have any spares?"

"Not unless Aura packed one in her magic bag of miracles."

I sighed so hard it was practically a howl. "Fine. Prioritize the sound system. Steal parts from wherever you need to, but get the damn thing working."

Christian gave me a lopsided grin. "Duct tape and moonlight prayers it is," he said, jogging off.

I muttered under my breath as I resumed my inspection, muttering a string of curses that would’ve made even the oldest pack members blush. It didn’t take long to find the next headache.

One of the crew members crouched near the base of the stage, wrist-deep in a tangled mess of wires. As I got closer, I realized the problem—half the wiring for the LED panel was missing.

"What in Luna’s shadow is this mess?" I asked, crouching next to him.

The crew member looked up, his expression as frustrated as mine felt. "Looks like someone stripped it," he said. "Like, they yanked it out before the bus was sold."

"Because of course they did," I muttered, rubbing my temples. My earlier awe for Aura’s shiny purchase was rapidly souring into a simmering stew of irritation.

I stood and glared at the bus-turned-stage. It looked so shiny and perfect, like it had just rolled out of a dream. But underneath that polish, it was a nightmare of half-baked shortcuts and glaring oversights. From the corner of my eye, I saw Aura supervising the scaffolding setup. She looked so damn proud of herself, practically glowing as she commanded the crew. I couldn’t crush her victory—not yet.

Still, I made a mental note. We were going to have a serious talk about vetting purchases. Because while Aura might have bought us a stage, it was beginning to look like she’d also bought a lot more headaches.

The final straw came when one of the speakers crackled to life with a sound so horrendous it made my ears flatten instinctively. It was somewhere between a dying walrus and a deranged goat attempting to yodel through a chainsaw.

Christian appeared out of nowhere, looking like a pup who’d just chewed the wrong side of the pack leader’s patience. “So, uh… good news and bad news,” he started.

I glared at him, crossing my arms. “Let me guess. The good news is the sound system works.”

Christian gave a hesitant nod. “Sort of.”

“And the bad news?”

“It works if you enjoy static, feedback, and the occasional scream of the damned.” He shrugged. “We’re calling it ‘experimental ambiance.’”

I let out a growl that started low and rumbled through my chest. “Fantastic. Just what we needed. Anything else busted to hell, or are we saving the rest of the disasters for later?”

Christian hesitated, which was answer enough.

“Aura!” I shouted, my patience snapping like a brittle bone. “Get over here!”

She turned from her latest chaos orchestration, her confident grin faltering slightly as she caught sight of my face. I could almost see her weighing how much trouble she was about to be in, but, being Aura, she didn’t even blink.

“What?” she called, strolling over with the confidence of someone who didn’t just drop a small fortune on a junkyard’s fever dream.

I jabbed a finger toward the sound system, which was now hissing faintly like a nest of angry vipers. “This thing is falling apart! Half the wiring’s missing, the sound system sounds like a horror movie, and I’m one sneeze away from watching the hydraulics explode into orbit. What the hell did you buy?”

Aura crossed her arms, cocking her head with that infuriating smirk that could melt or enrage me depending on the day. “I bought us a solution. Sure, it needs a little love, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

I stared at her, incredulous. “A little love? Aura, this thing is held together with spit, duct tape, and a prayer to Luna!”

“And some gum, apparently,” Christian muttered, holding up a piece he’d peeled off one of the exposed wires.

Aura rolled her eyes, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, stop being so dramatic. Zak, it’s ours. Once we fix it up, it’s going to be incredible. You just have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” I asked, running a hand through my hair in exasperation. “Aura, this contraption looks like it was built by a blind ferret with a grudge against concert setups.”

“Then it’s in good hands, isn’t it?” she shot back, her grin widening. “C’mon, Zak. Admit it—it’s badass.”

I was torn. My wolf wanted to howl at the moon out of sheer frustration, but the human part of me… well, it couldn’t help but admire her audacity. As much as I hated to admit it, she had a way of making even the craziest ideas work.

“Fine,” I relented, throwing my hands up. “But if this thing catches fire, you’re the one explaining it to the NAWC.”

Aura grinned triumphantly, leaning in to peck my cheek. “Deal.”

Just as I started to breathe again, her voice rang out, sharp and commanding. “Christian! Watch those cables, or you’ll fry someone’s tail off!”

From behind a stack of gear, Christian’s snarky reply was immediate. “Aura, these cables are older than the moon! They’re practically kindling.”

I snorted despite myself. He wasn’t wrong. The damn bus looked like it had survived a hurricane, three wars, and a bad breakup. Yet somehow, Aura was making it work—or at least attempting to.

“Zak!” she hollered again, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Grab the spare fuses from the supply crate. The hydraulic panel’s acting like a pup that stepped on a thorn.”

Rolling my eyes, I started moving toward the crate. “Hydraulic panel?” I shouted back. “You mean the ancient death trap you just plugged in? Sure, Aura, no problem. Let me grab my silver bullet while I’m at it.”

She didn’t even bother replying, already elbow-deep in the guts of the stage monstrosity. I grabbed the fuses and stalked toward her, muttering under my breath about “bonding through madness” and “divorce being cheaper.” When I reached her, she was tangled in wires, cursing fluently in something that sounded suspiciously German.

“This bloody contraption,” I muttered, handing Aura the fuses, “is a walking calamity. Or driving calamity. Whatever the hell it is, it’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“It’s not a disaster—it’s a work in progress,” she retorted without missing a beat, her hands deep in the guts of the fuse box. “You’ll be singing my praises once it’s fully operational.”

“Sure I will,” I deadpanned, crossing my arms. “Right after we replace every single part, smudge some sage on it, and exorcise whatever gremlins are squatting in its circuits.”

She ignored me, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration as she maneuvered the fuse into place. A spark flew, and the hydraulic system let out a groan that sounded somewhere between a wounded elk and a drunk moose. Then, against all odds, the stage began to rise.

“There!” she declared, stepping back and wiping her hands on her pants with a satisfied grin. “Told you—easy fix.”

“Right,” I said, arching a brow. “Easy fix. Totally didn’t just take five years off my lifespan hearing that death rattle. You’re a regular miracle worker, Aura.”

She shot me a smug grin, and for a moment, I dared to hope. But, of course, the gods of chaos weren’t done laughing at me yet.

The stage shuddered violently, lurched to the side, and then came to a grinding halt halfway up. Sparks erupted from the junction box with an angry hiss, and black smoke began pouring out in dramatic billows.

Christian’s bark of laughter rang out like a damn victory howl. “Oh, that’s rich! What’s next, Aura? A flamethrower keyboard? Maybe a bass guitar that launches grenades?”

“Shut it, you mangy mutt!” Aura snapped, glaring daggers at the smoking junction box. “It’s just a hiccup.”

“Hiccup?” I repeated, my voice rising as I gestured at the smoking monstrosity. “Aura, that’s not a hiccup. That’s an electrical aneurysm waiting to fry the lot of us.”

She rounded on me, eyes blazing like I’d just insulted her favorite guitar. “Zak, why don’t you go howl at the moon and let me handle this, huh?”

I opened my mouth to fire back, but Christian wasn’t done. “You know, she might have a point,” he teased, sidling up with a cocky smirk. “This thing does look cursed. Probably by the goddess of terrible bargains. You pay extra for the smoke machine feature?”

Aura spun on him like a wolf about to lunge, her voice dripping with venom. “Christian Maddox, if you don’t shut your flea-bitten yap right now, I swear I’ll—”

“Enough!” I bellowed, pinching the bridge of my nose. My wolf was growling in frustration, and honestly, I was about to join it. “Aura, fix your stage before it actually explodes. Christian, go sniff something. I don’t care what. Just stop making my migraine worse.”

Aura huffed, turning back to her crew with renewed determination, muttering something about “ungrateful alpha males.” Christian slunk off, still grinning, and muttering, “Just saying, the smoke does add ambiance.”

I leaned against a crate, exhaling deeply as I surveyed the chaos around me. Aura’s crew scrambled like ants, trying to bring order to the nightmare, their curses and shouts filling the air. The bus-turned-stage loomed above us, a smoking metaphor for our lives: chaotic, unpredictable, held together by stubbornness and duct tape, and somehow still functional.

Just another day in the Zak-and-Aura circus.