Page 40 of Claimed By the Band

It's so different from my solitary existence, filled with warmth and laughter and genuine connection. For the first time in years, I let myself wonder what it would be like to have that. To belong somewhere. To someone.

But that's not in the cards for me. It never has been.

I snap back to the present as Damon announces, "This is it."

I've been spacing out, lost in dangerous thoughts. I need to focus. After tonight, I'm going back to my usual MO—no more in-person meetings with the pack. It's too risky, too distracting. I can't afford to let my guard down like this.

The PheroMaster showroom is exactly as ostentatious and tacky as it looked on the website. Actually, somehow it's even worse in person. The building is all gleaming chrome and red neon, withthe company's crown logo projected onto the facade in rotating holographic glory. It's trying so hard to scream "luxury" that it circles right back around to trashy.

The pack files out of the SUV, and I move to follow. Asher calls out "Watch your step!" but it's a second too late. My foot catches on the edge of the seat, and I stumble forward.

Strong hands catch me before I can face-plant on the pavement. Asher steadies me with surprising strength—I've never met an omega who could physically manhandle me like that. The realization sends an unexpected flutter through my stomach.

"You okay?" he asks, his eyes full of concern.

"Fine," I manage, my face burning. I tell myself it's just the suppressants. I've been on them way longer than recommended, and they're starting to mess with my head. After this case is over, I'll need to go off-grid for a while, let myself go through a natural heat.

The thought makes me cringe—it'll be pure torture—but this weird sensitivity to touch and scent is getting to be too much. Something has to give.

"So who's playing pack leader tonight?" Dante asks as we approach the entrance.

"I should—" Knox starts, but Silas cuts him off.

"Me," he says firmly. "No offense, but you're not exactly known for your diplomatic approach."

Knox growls but doesn't argue. The others nod in agreement. Clearly, this is a dynamic they're used to.

"Remember," Asher whispers as we near the doors, "Echo is our new beta, and his name is Alex."

Something warm and dangerous blooms in my chest at his words. For just a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to really be part of their pack. To belong somewhere. To have people who care about my wellbeing beyond what I can do for them.

I immediately scold myself for the thought. This is just a job. A cover story. Nothing more. I can't afford to get caught up in fantasies, not when one wrong move could expose everything I've spent nine years hiding.

And even if it wasn't for all the other reasons that would never work, this pack already has an omega, and omegas don't share.

The automatic doors slide open with a soft whoosh, releasing a wave of artificially enhanced alpha pheromones that makes my head spin. Even through my suppressants, it's overwhelming. I take shallow breaths through my mouth, fighting the urge to run.

Focus.

I just need to focus.

They didn't mention anything about this on the website.

I snap out of my own discomfort as I remember Asher. Sure enough, when I turn to look, he's frozen in place, his face pale and drawn. The alphas immediately circle around him like a protective wall.

"Ash? You okay?" Dante asks, his hand hovering near Asher's elbow.

"I'm fine," Asher says, but his voice is strained. "It's just that cheap shit they're pumping through the vents."

Silas’s nose wrinkles in disgust. "It fucking stinks."

I'm inclined to agree, but as a supposed beta, I shouldn't be as affected. I force myself to keep my expression neutral even as my head spins. If it's hitting me this hard through military-grade suppressants, I can only imagine how overwhelming it must be for Asher.

But he's resisting better than any omega I've ever seen. Most would be on their knees by now, or at least showing more obvious signs of distress. Instead, he straightens his spine and lifts his chin defiantly.

When he catches me staring, he gives me a knowing, if strained, smile. He tugs at his collar, revealing two interlocking rings of bite marks on his neck. Of course—he's marked. That would make him less susceptible than other omegas to artificial alpha pheromones, but still, it has to be uncomfortable as hell.

"Now we know why it's alphas only," Knox mutters, his protective instincts clearly in overdrive.

---