Page 130 of Claimed By the Band

"Finally!" Asher declares dramatically. "We're starving to death here."

"You're always starving," I point out, holding the bags out of reach as they try to peek inside. "And this needs to be cooked first, so don't get any ideas."

Dante's nose wrinkles as he catches the scent of raw meat and fresh vegetables. "What did you get?"

"Ingredients," I say firmly. "For actual food, not just more takeout. We need real nutrients if we're going to keep up with two omegas."

"But that requires waiting," Asher whines, though his eyes sparkle with mischief.

I lean down to kiss the pout off his lips, unable to resist when he gets like this. "Good things come to those who wait," I tell him.

Looking past them, I spot Jordan curled up on the couch with Silas and Damon. She's wearing one of my sweaters, the soft gray material drowning her smaller frame in a way that makes my inner alpha growl possessively. Our marks stand out beautifully against her pale throat as she tilts her head in greeting.

I cross to the couch to kiss her hello, breathing in her sweet roses and rain scent. "Hi beautiful," I murmur against her lips.

"Hi yourself," she says with a soft smile. "Need any help in the kitchen?"

"From you? Always," I tell her honestly. "From these disasters?" I gesture to the others. "Absolutely not. I would prefer this house not to burn down before we sell it."

"That was one time!" Dante protests.

"Three times," Damon corrects without looking up from his book. "In two different kitchens."

Jordan laughs as she extracts herself from the cuddle pile to follow me into the kitchen. The sound still makes my heart skip, even after all these months. I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing it.

"How was your day?" I ask as I start unpacking groceries. She immediately moves to help, falling into our familiar rhythm.

Her face lights up. "Really good. Maria, Ace, and I had a breakthrough with the new project. We're calling it Safe Haven—a service where omegas being harassed can come for help. Not just legal aid, but also counseling, safe houses if needed, looking over work contracts to make sure they’re fair. That sort of thing."

Pride swells in my chest as I watch her enthusiasm. She's come so far from the flighty hacker we first met, always putting up walls. Even then, she devoted herself to helping people, but now, she gets to do it as herself.

"That's amazing," I tell her, pulling her close to press a kiss to her temple. "I'm so proud of you."

She melts into the touch, her scent blooming with happiness. "Thanks. It feels good to be doing something proactive instead of just reacting to threats, you know?"

I do know. We all do. The band is still on hiatus, but we needed this time. Time to solidify as a pack, as a family. Time to heal and grow stronger together before we hit the road again.

This time, though, it'll be as acompletepack.

"How did the meeting with the builder go?" she asks as she starts washing vegetables.

"Good," I say, pulling out pans and seasonings. "They think they can have everything ready by the time the new tour is over. I saw the finalized plans for the nesting room you and Asher designed."

"They can do it?" Her voice lilts with rare excitement, and it makes me smile.

"Yep. They said it'll be a challenge, but they're up for making your vision come to life."

She hums happily at that, but I catch the slight shift in her scent. It's subtle, but unmistakable to someone who knows her as well as I do now. A sweetening that suggests she'll be going into heat long before the house is finished. From the way Asher's honey scent has been changing too, they'll probably sync up soon.

The thought is perfect. Our omegas, safe and happy and thriving together. Just the way it was always meant to be.

The smell of cooking meat starts to fill the kitchen, drawing the others in like moths to a flame. Dante tries to steal a piece of pepper and gets his hand smacked with a wooden spoon for his trouble.

"Out," I order, pointing at the door. "All of you."

"But we're helping!" Asher protests from where he's perched on the counter, definitely not helping at all.

"Helping would be setting the table," I say, cocking an eyebrow. "Not eating all the cheese."

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