Date: October 22, 2004 – Friday
Time: 8:45 PM AST
Location: Stevens International Airport – Anchorage, Alaska
Xander Zver stepped out of the service tunnel, walking past the security checkpoint. He scanned the crowd, expecting to see his parents. Maybe his Aunt Abigail. Even his cousin Michael would have been a welcome sight—despite the inevitable rant about some girl he was obsessing over.
But there was no one.
That was fine. He had his car in long-term parking, a decision his father had called a waste of money.
You'll be gone for at least a year, just leave it at home.
Xander had been tempted—but now, he was glad he trusted his instincts.
He rode the escalator down to baggage claim, spotted his blue and white duffel, and slung it over his shoulder. Making his way toward the exit across from long-term parking, he let out a breath. He was home.
Xander stood tall, six-foot-four, two hundred and twenty pounds, with a runner's build his mother often admired. His platinum-blonde hair spiked in messy tufts, catching in the dim airport lights. A six-pack, toned arms and legs, and an easy smile made him effortlessly handsome. At eighteen years old, he had just returned from spending a year in Siberia with his mother's family—his people.
The Ukok Plateau had been his home for twelve months.
At first, he hadn't wanted to go. But ever since he went through the change at sixteen, he hadn't had a choice.
Family law dictated that all new cubs had to return to their homeland for a year—to understand what they were. What he was.
A Khan.
Xander retrieved a business card from his wallet, flipping it over to find his parking location scrawled across the back: "3 down, 4 from the left."
Three rows up. Fourth car on the left.
There it was—his green '98 Pontiac Bonneville—coated in a thin layer of dust. He smiled.
So someone actually comes through and wipes these down. Nice.
After tossing his duffel in the back seat, he grabbed his CD collection and flipped through the cases. The Matrix soundtrack. Perfect. He swapped out the disc, lowered the volume, and pulled up to the gate booth.
The attendant was a white-haired woman in her late fifties, peering at him with a knowing smile.
"We had a pool on when you'd be back. My day was yesterday—unfortunately."
Xander chuckled. "Do you take credit cards?"
She nodded, whistling when the screen displayed the four-thousand-dollar total.
He swiped the emergency card his father had given him, signed the receipt, and nodded as she raised the gate.
Freedom.
The drive was smooth. Quiet roads for a Friday night. Xander let the music pull him into the rhythm of the city—the neon signs, the familiar streets. Nothing much had changed while he was gone.
He considered calling his girlfriend to let her know he was back. But she was probably out. He'd wait. Tomorrow morning.
Turning into his neighborhood, he passed the McDowells' house, already strung with Christmas lights. He smirked. Some things never changed.
A few blocks further, the Keulpers' golden retriever bounded around the yard behind their fence.
Then, as he rounded the last corner, relief settled in. Home was seconds away.
Then his stomach lurched.
His house was on fire.
Xander's brain stalled, refusing to process the sight. Then, clarity struck like lightning.
Heat.
Smoke.
Flames consuming the windows.
He slammed the gas, peeling into the driveway. Before his car fully stopped, he jumped out, sprinting toward the front stairs.
Aunt Abigail.
At the bottom window, she pounded against the glass, screaming. Her shirt was on fire. The window wouldn't break.
Xander lunged for the door handle—searing pain bit into his palm, forcing him to jerk back. Smoke billowed from underneath the frame—then suddenly sucked back in.
His mind latched onto the detail. That meant something. But logic had no place here.
He shifted.
Veil-Step.
Muscles stretched, nails lengthened. Heat surged through his veins. Ears sharpening. Eyes slitted. Strength flooded his limbs as he spun—mule kicked the door.
It shattered free from the frame.
Then the explosion hit.
A wall of fire and force threw Xander across the street, slamming him into the James' front yard.
Pain. Heat. The scent of burning wood.
The last thing he saw was the flaming door crashing down onto him.
Just enough time to shift back to Man-Skin.
Before the world went black.