Page 77 of Claimed By the Band

No one has ever done anything like that for me before. Not ever.

"That's..." I swallow hard, trying to find words. "That's too much. You didn't have to?—"

"I wanted to," he says simply, reaching for my hand. His fingers lace through mine, warm and steady. "Besides, it's not like we don't need to focus. We've got a mission to accomplish!"

Just like that, his whole demeanor shifts. He straightens up, putting on what I've come to think of as his "stage face", all dramatic flair and commanding presence.

"Alright troops," he announces, making Dante snicker. "Men's formal wear is on the second floor, which is where we'll find what we need for tonight's operation. But the casual section is up there too, and I've seen your wardrobe, mister." He gently pokesme in the chest with his free hand. "So we're definitely checking that out if we have time."

My heart does a somersault in my chest and it takes every ounce of composure I have not to panic visibly at the innocent gesture. I mean, he has no idea my chest isn't flat under this binder.

But that brings up other issues, like what the fuck am I going to do if he wants me to try on something in front of him? He's always left when I need to get changed on the bus or at the hotel, but a dressing room only has a curtain. I know he and the others wouldn't peek intentionally, but what if something happens or I trip or a sales associate comes in and?—

"You okay there?" Damon asks, giving me that worried look I've become so accustomed to.

"Yeah," I say, snapping out of my panic spiral. "I just… What's wrong with my wardrobe?" I protest weakly, but even I have to admit most of my clothes are chosen specifically to help me blend into the background.

"Nothing, if you're going for camouflage," Dante teases. "But you could use some variety."

"Focus, people!" Asher claps his hands together. "Mission parameters are clear—find something stunning for Alex to wear tonight that says 'mysterious new pack member' without screaming 'trying too hard.' Then, if time permits, we expand the target's fashion horizons."

"Sir, yes sir!" Dante and Damon say in unison, snapping mock salutes.

I can't help but laugh at their antics. It's hard to feel overwhelmed when they're being so ridiculous.

"The escalator awaits," Asher declares, tugging me forward. "Dante, take point. Damon, watch our six."

"You've been watching too many of those spy movies," I tell him as we step onto the moving stairs.

"Excuse you, I've been watching exactly the right amount of spy movies," he corrects primly. "How else am I supposed to know how to act at tonight's mission?"

"Pretty sure James Bond never had a shopping montage," Damon rumbles from behind us.

Asher wrinkles his nose. "Now I'm glad I never watched those movies."

As we ascend to the second floor, I find myself studying our reflection in the mirrored walls. Asher looks like he belongs here in his designer jeans and artfully distressed jacket. The alphas flank us like gorgeous, protective bookends. And me... I look small between them, drowning in Asher's borrowed sweatshirt.

But somehow, I also feel like I belong. Like I fit with them in a way I've never fit anywhere before.

The thought sends a pang through my chest. After tonight, this will all be over. Back to my solitary life of keyboards and careful distance. Back to being nobody.

But for now, I let myself enjoy this moment. Let myself pretend this could be real.

30

ASHER

Ilead Alex through the racks of formal wear, watching his eyes widen at the sheer volume of options. He looks like a deer in headlights, which is honestly adorable. For someone so confident when he's working, he's completely out of his element here.

"Okay, let's break this down systematically," I say, slipping into teacher mode. It's kind of fun being the expert for once. Usually he's the one explaining things to me, all patient and knowledgeable about security systems and coding. "First, we need to figure out your color palette."

"My what?"

I hold up different shirts near his face, studying how they interact with his skin tone and those fascinating dark eyes with their gold flecks. "See how this navy brings out the warmth in your complexion? But this cool red kind of washes you out."

He blinks at me, clearly overwhelmed but trying to follow along. "There's a difference?"

"Huge difference," I assure him, running my fingers over a silk blend shirt in deep burgundy. It would look amazing on him, especially with those leather pants from before... but I force myself to focus. Now is not the time to get distracted by those kinds of thoughts.

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