Page 22 of Claimed By the Band

Keep dreaming, pretty boy.

ASHER: Oh, I will.

He isrelentless.

I set the phone down, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest. It's just banter, I remind myself. He doesn't even know me. If he knew the truth—that I'm not some mysterious, sexy alpha hacker, but a plain, damaged omega in hiding—he'd run for the hills.

And that's exactly why I can never let him, or anyone else, get close.

I start the car, pushing thoughts of Asher and his pack to the back of my mind. I've got work to do. A mystery to solve. And I can't afford any distractions.

No matter how tempting they might be.

9

DAMON

The bass thrums through my body as I stand on stage, my sticks flying across my drums on pure muscle memory and instinct, too fast for it to be a conscious process. The familiar rush of adrenaline courses through my veins, but it's tinged with something else tonight. A sharp edge of anxiety that I can't quite shake.

We've done this a thousand times over. Hell, I live for it. But tonight? Tonight is different.

I glance over at Asher, watching as he prowls across the stage, making it his bitch. His voice soars over the crowd, raw and powerful as he belts out one of our new songs. It's an angry one, all snarling guitars and pounding rhythms. Silas and Asher wrote it together in a single weekend after the attack, motivated by the raw muse of rage.

The lyrics paint a vivid picture of defiance in the face of hate, of refusing to be silenced or pushed into the shadows. It's quintessential Asher.

Fierce.

Unapologetic.

And utterly captivating.

I can't take my eyes off him. Even after all this time, he still takes my breath away. The way he commands the stage, drawing every eye in the room like a lodestone. It's electric. Magnetic. It's one of the things that drew me to him in the first place, even before I realized he was my scent match.

Now, of course, it's different. Now he's ours—all of ours. The bond between us buzzes just beneath my skin, a constant reminder of what we share. What we almost lost.

The memory of that night flashes through my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. The chaos, the screams, the sickening smell of that pheromone gas. Asher's face, pale and determined as he stood his ground. The others falling around him, trying to shield him with their bodies.

And me, too far away to do a damn thing about it at first.

I grit my teeth, forcing the thoughts away. Not now. Not here. I need to focus.

My eyes scan the crowd, searching for any sign of trouble. The beefed-up security Silas arranged is visible at every exit, their faces grim and watchful. It should make me feel better. It doesn't.

I keep replaying that night in my head, over and over. What could I have done differently? How could I have protected him better? The questions gnaw at me, relentless and unanswerable.

The song comes to a crashing end, and the crowd erupts in cheers. The new material is a resounding hit. Asher's grin is wild and bright as he basks in their adoration. For a moment, everything feels normal. Right.

But I can't shake the feeling that it's all hanging by a thread.

As we file offstage for our break between sets, Asher's energy is infectious. He's practically vibrating with excitement, congratulating us all on a killer first half.

"Did you hear them out there?" he crows, slinging an arm around Knox's shoulders. "They were fucking electric! Who was right about adding that riff?"

I can't help but smile. This is Asher in his element. The charismatic band leader, the heart and soul of Wild Honey. He may be an omega, but there's no questioning who's in charge when we're on stage.

"Yeah, yeah," Knox grumbles, but there's no mistaking the affection behind it. "Don't let it go to your head, princess."

Asher's laugh is bright and infectious. "Too late for that. You know I'm already?—"

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