Standing at the window of the cabin with his thick arms crossed over his chest, Jackson was completely silent. His lips were pursed, one strand of his black hair hanging down over his right eye that he didn't bother reaching up to tuck back out of his face. His brown eyes stared, unseeing, out across the moody bayou as his mind was filled and emptied of thought simultaneously. He was thinking so many things, it was as if he was thinking nothing. So much had changed in just a year. Oliver was the unofficial pack leader now, and he wasn't going to fight him for control. Hayley was a hybrid. Her baby had died.

He closed his eyes as compassion for her welled up within him. They were forcibly engaged from birth with him to be her king regent when they came of age. She'd never known about any of that, or even who her true people were, until she'd unwittingly been drawn to New Orleans a year ago. She'd been through hell, and even if they weren't in love, he considered her his friend. He considered her part of the pack.

But he seemed to be alone in that thought now.

Oliver had never much liked Hayley to begin with, and now that she was a hybrid, he was happy to cast her out altogether. Even if hybridism was something she'd never wanted and had been thrust upon her by fate, Oliver didn't see any of that. He saw an opening to push her out of their community, and he was going to take it.

Still standing at the window, his thoughts like a whirling thunderstorm within his head, the hair on the back of his neck prickled and he frowned ever so slightly. It was that feeling as if someone was watching him. Lowering his chin only a fraction of an inch, he pushed his thoughts back and allowed his keen werewolf hearing kick in.

Footsteps. He'd been right.

"I wouldn't suggest sneaking up on me," he announced in his low Southern drawl. He didn't bother moving a muscle. Hopefully, whoever it was would just leave him alone. He'd come out here to this place to be alone on purpose. There weren't many people who even knew this cabin existed, and it was abandoned otherwise. Who could have found him here?

"You always did have the hearing of an owl," griped the slightly sardonic male voice behind him.

Surprise reverberated through Jackson and his brown eyes widened as he dropped his arms and turned to face the man who'd arrived behind him. He would know that voice anywhere even though it had been years since they'd seen each other. Relief and anger flooded through him simultaneously. The other male was only a couple years older than him, but he was shorter and more lean. His face was still in shadows cast by the dilapidated support beams hanging from the ceiling, but Jackson had it memorized. He could even picture the wry smile and the mischievously reproachful look in his eyes.

Jackson frowned, his irritation clambering up over his relief at the presence of an old friend. "What are you doing here?" he asked flatly, never one to start a fight needlessly. "Of all the times you could choose to return to New Orleans, and you pick now." He shook his head and breathed out audibly through his nose. This was such bad timing. "A lot has happened in the past five years."

The other werewolf stepped forward, his face coming out of the shadow so the waxing sunlight flushed up over his cheeks. His dark eyes almost looked feverish in their intensity, and he looked thinner than he had five years ago. He'd always been slimmer than Jackson, but now he almost looked malnourished. Jackson wasn't a fool however; he knew physical appearance belied nothing about this man's strength.

A sly, dark smile spread across the other man's lips but it didn't reach his eyes. "I heard about some rumblin' goin' on down here, and I came as quick as I could," he answered, reaching up to run a hand through his spiky brown hair. His eyes grew serious as he dropped his hand back to his side, and he took another step forward. Jackson didn't move as he watched him. "Did you…" he swallowed, the intense look in his eyes only wavering for a moment as some emotion overtook him. As if angry with himself for showing emotion, his face tightened and his gaze steeled over again. Jackson didn't give him the chance to speak again.

"You need to leave," he said firmly, his jaw setting. "Things have changed."

The other young man snorted and stood up straighter, his entire body language scoffing at the comment. He had always thought himself to be invincible. "So I've heard. Even the packs in the Appalachians have heard about the hell that's broken loose down here. Last I heard the pack was blown to smithereens," that odd emotion crossed over his dark eyes again before he was able to hide it, and he stepped forward entreatingly. "I thought you were all dead." His voice broke, and Jackson believed him. He'd seen lies from this man before, but they'd known each other their entire lives. He knew when he was telling the truth.

Glancing away, unable to see that emotion, Jackson closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. "Some of us are," he admitted, instantly thinking of Eve. She was a victim of the attack on the bayou, and his eyes still stung at the thought of her death. His chest ached at the loss.

"We need to rebuild!" the other man stated in a frantic whisper, gesturing into the air as Jackson looked back at him, his eyes brazenly filled with his sadness. "With the vampires still in control of the city, they'll attack again. They'll kill all of us."

"The vampires aren't in control of the city," Jackson stated, the emotion flattened out of his voice. He didn't want to think about these things, but here he had no choice. "Cr—" he began, but was cut short.

"What?!" exclaimed the other man, that feverish light making him look insane as he lunged toward Jackson again. "Then who is?" he asked demandingly, almost accusatorily.

"The Guerreras."

The werewolf staggered back, his dark eyes widening in disbelief. "Marcel wiped them all out. That can't be possible." He shook his head, not wanting to process the information and have to admit it to be true.

Jackson shook his head, closing his eyes as he swallowed the lump of regret and shame and sadness in his throat. "Like I said, a lot has happened since you've been gone." He opened his eyes to look at his former friend again. Only five years… it didn't seem like that long, but it was a lifetime ago now.

The other werewolf drew himself up, covering his confusion as he watched Jackson's face intently. Jackson knew what was coming next. It was the same question every time he returned, but now it was a truth Jackson wasn't sure he could bear to give. Leaning his head back against the frame of the dirty window behind him, his lips parted and he breathed silently through his mouth. It was coming and he was bracing himself.

Emotions welled up uncontrollably in the other man's eyes now. This was the one topic of conversation that would draw emotion out of him no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. It tore at Jackson's heart as he watched it: the dissolution of decorum in his old friend's face.

"Is she…? Have you seen her?" he asked finally, his lips parted to release a ragged breath that he covered by standing up taller again and pursing his lips. He wouldn't cry. He was too proud; even after everything he'd been through, he was too proud to break down completely.

Jackson picked his head up off of the wall and watched the other man. Swallowing, he spoke after a moment of silence. "I have."

The werewolf's eyes widened, more disbelief in his face now than Jackson had ever seen. There was so much emotion on the face of this man who tried so hard to keep his thoughts and feelings in submission. "Andrea… she's alive," his relief flooded through his voice now, permeating the air around him. When the two men were friends, they'd been best friends, so close that Jackson could feel what he was feeling. He felt that familiar connection again as the endorphins rolled off and into the room.

He felt excitement, and he stepped forward, shaking his head and holding his hands up as if to ward the other man off. "She is alive. She goes by Hayley now, but… it's complicated. You need to leave. You can't see her."

"What?!" exclaimed his former friend, anger piquing in his eyes. "You can't tell me whether I can see her or not. Why couldn't I?"

"It's not safe," Jackson implored desperately, glancing over his shoulder and through the dingy window as if in fear someone may be lurking outside to hear them. Turning back, his eyebrows drew together as he tried to explain. "Oliver is pack leader now. You know how much he hates you."

The other werewolf scoffed and snorted, unabashed. "Oh, Nickelback," he chuckled darkly, "He's just upset about Camila. I've never been afraid of that mongrel."

Jackson shook his head, gesturing with his hand as his voice dropped lower, a clear sign that he was trying to get his point across. "He hates you because of what you are, and he hates Hayley for it too."

The other man smirked, his characteristic mischievous grin lighting up his eyes with that feverish glow again. "Ollie never did like royalty."

Jackson lifted his chin, his jaw twitching as he gently ground his teeth together. "Don't start a war.. Now is not the time." Seeing the other man ignoring him, watching the coils beginning to turn behind his eyes, Jackson released a breath. "Craig…"

Craig looked at him upon hearing his name, his brown eyes flashing as his grin grew lop-sided. "It's not Craig anymore. I felt like I needed a change, plus, blending in is harder when everyone knows you're the prince of the Crescent Wolves." He shrugged casually before raising his eyebrows and looking up at the taller werewolf. "Please… call me Thrash."