Page 32 of Claimed By the Band

But even as the words leave my mouth, I'm not sure I believe them. There's nothing strictly professional about the way my pulse quickens when I think about those dark, intelligent eyes. Or the way my skin tingles with the memory of his scent—clean and crisp, with an underlying note of something I can't quite place.

"Sure, babe," Silas drawls, his tone making it clear he doesn't buy my bullshit for a second. "Whatever you say."

I open my mouth to argue, but what's the point? They know me too well. Instead, I change the subject. "So, what did you guys think? Now that we've met him in person, I mean."

The tension in the booth shifts, the teasing atmosphere giving way to something more serious. We've all been so caught up inthe excitement—or in my case, infatuation—of finally meeting Echo that we haven't really discussed the implications.

"I gotta admit, I'm impressed," Dante says, leaning back in his seat. "He's not what I expected, but... there's something about him, you know? Like he knows his shit."

Damon nods in agreement. "Kid's got skills, that's for sure. Finding that logo in the vents when the police missed i? That's some next-level detective work."

"Or it's bullshit," Knox grumbles, but there's less heat in his voice than before. "For all we know, he could've planted it there himself."

Silas hums thoughtfully. "I don't think so," he says, surprising me. Of all my alphas, I expected him to be the most skeptical. "What would he have to gain from that? If he wanted to scam us, there are easier ways. Less risky ones, too."

"Silas is right," Dante chimes in. "Besides, it's not like he came looking for us. We practically had to begandbitch just to get this meeting."

"Maybe," Knox concedes grudgingly. "But I still don't trust him. There's something off about the whole thing. About him. Why go to all this trouble if he's not even getting paid?"

It's a fair question, one I've been wondering myself. But before I can voice my thoughts, Dante speaks up.

"Does it matter?" he asks, his dark eyes serious. "Look, I get that we're all on edge after what happened. But Echo's our best shot at figuring this out. At keeping Ash safe." His gaze meets mine, fierce and protective. "That's worth the risk, isn't it?"

A lump forms in my throat, equal parts gratitude and guilt. They've all been through so much because of me, put themselves in harm's way time and time again. And here they are, ready to do it all over again.

"Thank you," I say softly, reaching out to squeeze Dante's hand. "All of you. I know this isn't easy."

Damon's arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me close. I breathe in his familiar scent, warm and comforting. "We're pack," he rumbles. "This is what we do."

For a moment, we sit in silence, drawing strength from each other's presence. It's moments like these that remind me how lucky I am, how blessed to have found not just one perfect mate, but four. Each of them brings something unique to our bond, filling a different need in my heart.

But even still, I can't shake the nagging feeling that something's missing. It's something that's plagued me for as long as I can remember, even if guilt usually keeps me from investigating that thought too much.

I mean, who the hell am I to wantmore? I already have a life most omegas could only dream of. Four protective alphas who worship the ground I walk on, my dream career, and legions of adoring fans.

I have no right to feel this way, and yet…

The image of Echo's face flashes through my mind—those intelligent eyes, the hint of vulnerability beneath his careful facade. For the first time, I have more than a blank space to visualize that missing piece, but I dismiss the thought as quickly as it appears.

It's ridiculous. I don't even know him, but if there's one thing I can infer from the mystery that is Echo, it's that he's not looking for a pack.

Just getting in the same room with him was a miracle.

12

JORDAN

The familiar chaos of a large cafe provides exactly the background noise I need to focus on my work, settled in a corner booth as usual with my trusty laptop. It's a new city and not one of the chains I'm used to, but I needed a little change of scenery after the meeting with Wild Honey. Too many thoughts competing with each other.

I pull up the PheroMaster website, scrolling through their product lines with a growing sense of disgust.

Alpha Dominance Spray.

Omega Submission Mist.

Who actually buys this shit?

A video starts playing automatically, and I fumble for my headphones, jamming them in before the sound can attract attention. A man appears on screen, all gleaming teeth and slicked-back hair. The CEO, I assume. The fact that he has the company logo tattooed on his neck cinches it. He launches intoa spiel about "harnessing the power of nature" and "unlocking your true alpha potential."

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