Page 32 of Bonding the Band

“You freaked me out!” The blonde turned to me and froze like a bunny coming up against a wolf. “Oh, shit.”

“Uh, hi.” I gave her a little wave.

“Clover,” said Meadow, “you kinda know Arlo. Arlo, this is my best friend, Clover.”

“Are yousureyou’re okay?” Clover asked, turning back to Meadow.

“I was going to take her back to the tour bus to rest away from the crowds,” I told Clover.

Her gaze surveyed me as she clutched Meadow. “That sounds great.” She said that part out loud, but then mouthed,If you hurt her, I will kill you.And her eyes shot daggers at me like shemeantit. Threats aside, I was glad my omega had someone who’d been looking out for her while we were away.

“Come on. We’ve got water and snacks on the bus.”

“Are you going back onstage?” Clover asked.

“They can handle it. I’ve got an omega to take care of.”

That answer seemed to relax Clover, and she nodded decisively. “All right. Are you comfortable going with Arlo, or do you want me to come too?”

“You might as well enjoy the rest of the show,” replied Meadow, though she made no move to extract herself from Clover’s embrace. “I promise I’ll text if I need you.”

Clover gave her another squeeze before thrusting her to arm’s length. “You’d fucking better. Arlo’s going to take the best care of you.” She shot me more of those eyeball daggers, and I couldn’t help grinning.

Meadow worried her lip for a moment before speaking. “Okay. I’ve already been bonded and knocked up in that bus. What’s the worst that can happen if I go back a second time?”

Chapter 14

Meadow

The only thing I truly registered was that, with every second that passed in the presence of Arlo’s apple cider scent, my nausea was disappearing and being incrementally replaced with a swell of lust that stole my breath. Fucking scent matches. What kind of witchcraft was this?

All of my past months of suffering crashed over me in an instant, and I threw myself into his arms, deeply gratified when they locked around me and his scent exploded like plumes of smoke out of a volcano. Apple cider infused every breath. I didn’t know exactly how all of it worked. I should have needed Hendrix to eliminate the bonding sickness, but Arlo was part of his pack—mypack?—so maybe some of the magic transferred to him. Curls of desire slipped down my limbs, my fingers clenching in the back of his shirt. He was all sweaty, and normally that would ick me out, but right now, I wanted to rub myself all over him. I swiped my cheek along his jaw, and we both froze.

“Did you just scent mark me?” he asked.

“Um…”

“That’s so fucking hot. Do it again.”

I only got halfway through the second scent mark before his mouth was on mine and I was drowning, my brain melting outmy ears at the taste of him. Fruit and floral waged a war for dominance as Arlo tumbled backward onto the couch, drawing me onto his lap in the tour bus that had changed my life.

What the fuck am I doing?I was here to find Hendrix, not hook up with his pack. The thought lasted for about half a second before Arlo’s hands on my hips blitzed it straight out of my head. I didn’t even recognize myself as I whimpered against his mouth and ground my hips down. My brain might not know what was going on, but my body certainly did. Every ounce of misery since I had hopped out of Hendrix’s bed vanished under the touch and taste of his pack mate. What gave him the right to taste so fucking good?

His hands snaked under the hem of my shirt, and I whined at the contact of skin on skin, his fingers digging into me, his thumbs stroking over the barely there swell of my belly.

That brought reality careening back. I pushed away from him, staring down at him while my chest heaved and I tried desperately to gain a foothold in rationality. All I wanted to do was tell him to take me to the bedroom and ruin me, so I could bask in feeling this fucking amazing for a little while longer.

“Wait.”

Arlo blinked up at me. “For what?”

“I don’t—I don’t even know you.”

“You’re pack.” He said it like it changed everything, and maybe he was right.

Was I really pack? “That shouldn’t count. I don’t know Hendrix, either.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Arlo insisted. “You’re ours.”

---