Page 123 of Claimed By the Band

"Breathe for me," Silas murmurs as he sinks deeper. "That's it, just relax."

I gasp as he bottoms out, the feeling of those two thick cocks inside me almost too much to process. Knox's knot keeps him locked in my pussy while Silas fills my ass completely.

Soon, they've found their own rhythm that leaves me a trembling, panting mess between them. Silas pinches my left nipple between his thumb and forefinger while Knox kisses me senseless.

I feel Silas's knot starting to catch now, making me whimper with need. "Please," I beg, not even sure what I'm asking for anymore.

"Ready for my knot?" Silas growls, his movements growing more erratic. "Ready for my claim?"

"Yes," I gasp, tilting my head to bare the last unclaimed spot on my throat. “Please, alpha…”

His knot pushes inside just as his teeth find my throat, completing the set of marks that brand me as pack. The final bond locks into place, and I scream from the sheer, dizzying force of it.

I can feel all of them now, five distinct connections, but all equally strong. Asher. Damon. Silas. Dante. Knox. My pack, my mates.

When I finally come back to myself, I'm wrapped in their combined warmth. Someone—probably Damon—has cleaned us up, and they've arranged themselves around me protectively.

"How do you feel?" Asher asks softly, stroking my hair back from my face.

"Complete," I whisper, and it's true.

For the first time in my life, I feel whole. Safe. Loved. And fully, completely accepted.

"Sleep now," Knox murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. "We've got you."

I drift off surrounded by their warmth, their love flowing through our new bonds. No more running. No more hiding.

They've seen everything I've been trying to keep from the world for so long, and they still want me.

Fiercely.

42

DAMON

I'm juggling grocery bags as I push through the front door, already planning the meal I want to make for the pack tonight since it's my turn. But the tense energy in the living room stops me in my tracks. Everyone is gathered around Jordan, who's clutching her phone with white knuckles while Asher rubs soothing circles on her back.

"What's going on?" I ask, setting the bags on the counter.

"The police think they found Trakiss," Silas says, his voice carefully neutral. "They want someone to come in and identify him."

My grip tightens on the counter as I process this. After weeks of searching, of watching Jordan jump at shadows, they might finally have him. "Are we sure it's him?"

"Only one way to find out," Knox growls, already reaching for his jacket.

I look at Jordan, who's gone pale but determined. The marks on her throat—ourmarks—stand out starkly against her skin. She's ours now, pack and mate, and the thought of her having to face one of the people who hurt her makes my alpha instincts roar.

"You don't have to go," I tell her gently.

She shakes her head, squaring her shoulders. "Yes, I do. I need to see him caught. Need to know he can't hurt anyone else."

She's right, of course. I know she is. She needs this, and so does Asher. We all do. But that doesn't make me want to shield them any less.

The drive to the police station is tense, all of us hyper-aware of Jordan's anxiety despite her attempts to hide it. Asher holds her hand the whole way, murmuring reassurances.

The detective who meets us is a beta woman with kind eyes and an air of quiet competence. "Thank you for coming so quickly," she says, leading us through the station. "We have him in a lineup, but we need positive identification."

"What about the Sons of Epsilon?" Dante asks, his voice tight with anger I know all too well. It's the same that's running through my veins at the thought of that those fuckers did to our omegas. And what they want to do.

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