Page 35 of Claimed By the Band

I can't help the laugh that escapes me. "Goodnight, Asher."

"Wait!" he says, just as I'm about to hang up. "One more thing. If you're posing as a member of our pack, I need something to call you that's a little less James Bond-y."

I hesitate. It's been so long since anyone's called me by my real name. But that's not an option. It can never be an option.

"Alex," I say finally. "You can call me Alex."

"Alex," Asher repeats, and something in his voice makes my chest tighten. "Is that your name, or just what I can call you?"

I don't answer that.Can'tanswer. "Have a good night, Asher."

He sighs dramatically. "Goodnight, whoever you are. I hope someday we can actually meet and you'll tell me who you really are."

I hang up before he can say anything else, before the lump in my throat can betray me. His words echo in my head, unsettling me in a way I can't quite explain.

I stare at my phone for a long moment, trying to sort through the mess of emotions churning in my gut. Asher Wilde is dangerous. Not because he means me harm—I don't think he has a malicious bone in his body. But for some reason, he makes me think dangerous thoughts. Ask dangerous questions.

And that's more than enough reason to stay away.

13

SILAS

My fingers idly pluck at the strings of my guitar, muscle memory taking over as I lose myself in thought. The events of the past few weeks play on repeat in my mind, a endless loop of chaos.

Across from me, Knox hunches over his bass, brow furrowed in concentration as he works through a particularly tricky riff. The low, rumbling notes vibrate through the air, a comforting counterpoint to the whirlwind of my thoughts.

And then there's Asher.

Our omega flits about the bus like a hummingbird on crack, rifling through his extensive wardrobe with manic energy. Clothes fly through the air, rejected options piling up on every available surface. It would be amusing if it wasn't so goddamn concerning.

"What do you think about this one?" Asher holds up a shimmering purple shirt, cut low enough to make a stripper blush. "Too much?"

I arch an eyebrow. "Depends. Are you trying to seduce the CEO or give him a heart attack?"

Asher's laugh is bright, but there's an edge to it that sets my teeth on edge. He's trying too hard, putting on a show. It's what he does when he's scared, when he's feeling vulnerable. And I fucking hate it. Hate that we can't really protect him from a threat we can't even name.

"Maybe both," he quips, tossing the shirt aside. "Gotta keep 'em guessing, right?"

I grunt noncommittally, watching as he pulls out another option. This one's a deep emerald green, still revealing but not quite as in-your-face as the purple monstrosity. It brings out his violet eyes, the warm glow of his skin.

"What about this one?" he asks, holding it up against his chest. "Think it'll make me look like vapid knothead bait?"

The words are meant to be light, teasing, but they hit me like a punch to the gut. Is that basically what he is now? Bait?

"Ash," I start, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.

"I know, I know. But we need to distract the CEO so Echo can do his thing, right? Might as well use what I've got."

There's a bitterness in his tone that makes my alpha instincts roar to life. I want to gather him up in my arms. But I know that's not what he needs right now.

So instead, I force a smirk. "Definitely the green one, then. It'll bring out your eyes."

Asher beams, and for a moment, I see a flash of the carefree omega I fell in love with all those years ago. "Perfect!"

He slips the shirt on, the silky fabric clinging to his lean, muscular frame in all the right places. It's a struggle to tear my eyes away, to remember that this isn't for me. It's for the mission. For Echo.

The thought of our mysterious hacker sends a fresh wave of unease through me. There's something off about him, something that doesn't quite add up. But Asher seems to trust him implicitly, and that... well, that scares the shit out of me.

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