Page 49 of Claimed By the Band

That and the clothes I borrowed from Asher. Ireallyhate myself for putting those in the nest, but they smelled like him and Damon and it was far more comforting than it had any right to be.

Soon, I'll have to deconstruct the nest and send the clothes back to him, but that means facing my humiliation all over again.

Yeah, I'd rather procrastinate with work.

My laptop sits on the kitchen counter where I left it, a layer of dust already gathering on the keyboard. Five days offline feels like an eternity in my line of work. Who knows what I've missed?

I know Maria hasn't called, since she has my direct number, but that's about it. I've had everyone else on silence, and I'm sure I've got a few missed texts from Asher and his crew.

It's pathetic, really, that I'm avoiding my own clients, but it's not like I have any updates to give them.

Better deal with that before Asher sends in the Guard.

But first, coffee. Lots of coffee.

As I wait for the ancient coffee maker to sputter to life, I catch my reflection in the microwave door.

I look rough. Dark circles under my eyes, hair a mess, wearing the same oversized hoodie I've had on for days. But at least my head is clear now. No more strange reactions to alpha pheromones. No more dangerous thoughts about violet and honey,

The coffee maker beeps, and I pour myself a cup, savoring the bitter taste. It's funny—before I presented as omega, I hated coffee. Now it's like liquid armor, helping me maintain this carefully constructed facade.

My phone sits dark and silent on the counter, charging so it's on whenever Maria calls. I haven't even checked it since before my heat started, too afraid of what I might do in that vulnerable state. What I might say. Who I might reach out to.

With trembling fingers, I pick it up and turn off Do Not Disturb. Messages flood in immediately.

Fifteen. Fifteen fucking messages, all from Asher. I'm pretty sure that's more texts than I've received all year. My stomach does a flip as I scroll through them.

ASHER: Hey! Just wanted to check if you're okay. You seemed off when you left tonight.

ASHER: The pack is worried about you too.

Another text the following day.

ASHER: If you want to get dinner before you leave town, we're here.

ASHER: Alex? Please just let us know you're alright.

ASHER: I know you probably think I'm being annoying but... I care, okay?

ASHER: We all do.

ASHER: Okay, I'm not sure if you're ignoring these or if one of Vince's minions captured you and locked you in a pit of stinky crocodiles.

ASHER: My therapist says I have a tendency to catastrophize.

I'm going to choose this as a moment of personal growth, assume it's the former, and give you your space.

There are no new messages for two whole days before he caves.

ASHER: Okay, there's space and then there are lightyears. Kind of panicking here.

ASHER: Don't kill me, but I might have paid someone a lot of money to track you down.

ASHER: But in my defense, you'll be happy to know he had absolutely zero luck. So your secret identity is safe, and so is your job security.

ASHER: Please, just call when you get this.

ASHER: Or text.

---