Page 63 of Claimed By the Band

Through the walls, I can hear the sound check continue. Asher's voice soars over the instruments as they run through their setlist one final time. Even muffled by concrete and distance, it sends shivers down my spine.

Gradually, the energy in the building shifts as they start letting people in for the concert. The quiet efficiency of setup gives way to growing excitement as the venue fills. Security personnel move with practiced precision, checking tickets and patting down anyone who sets off the metal detectors.

I pull up the building's security feed on my tablet, watching the crowd pour in from multiple angles. It's a sold-out show, of course. Everyone wants a piece of Asher Wilde, the omega who dared to challenge expectations and succeeded beyond anyone's wildest dreams.

By the time the lights dim for the opening act, the place is packed. The energy is electric, a tangible thing that makes my skin prickle even from my shadowy vantage point backstage. When Wild Honey finally takes the stage, the roar of the crowd is deafening.

They explode into their opening number, and I find myself mesmerized despite my earlier resolve to maintain professional distance. Asher commands the stage like he was born for it, that sheer top catching the lights as he moves. The rest of the pack matches his energy perfectly, Silas and Dante trading blistering guitar solos, Knox providing the rhythm that ties it all together, and Damon's drums driving everything forward with relentless precision.

It's exhausting just watching them. I don't know how they do this night after night, but they clearly love every second of it. The joy radiating from them is infectious, making the crowd go absolutely wild.

But I can't let myself get caught up in the performance. I have a job to do. My eyes scan the audience constantly, looking for anyone who seems out of place. Anyone paying more attentionto security positions than the show. Anyone who might be a threat.

Even with increased security measures, there are too many variables, too many potential weak points. A determined attacker with inside knowledge could still cause chaos.

I notice a group of alphas near the front who seem particularly agitated, but closer observation shows they're just overexcited fans. Their pheromones are probably spiking from being so close to Asher, even with the suppressants, but there's nothing malicious in their enthusiasm. Upon closer inspection, one oft hem is wearing a T-shirt with a cartoon cat on it.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's not a threat.

A movement in the VIP section catches my eye. Someone in a suit—definitely overdressed for a rock concert—speaking intently into a phone. I zoom in with my tablet's camera, but the angle isn't great. Still, something about him sets off warning bells.

I make my way around the perimeter of the backstage area, trying to get a better view while staying hidden in the shadows. The suit is gone by the time I get there, but I note the location for later investigation when I get a chance to review the security footage.

Asher's voice draws my attention back to the stage as they launch into their newest single—the one he wanted me to hear during sound check. The lyrics hit differently now that I'm really listening. It's about standing up to fear, about refusing to be silenced. About finding strength in vulnerability.

I tell myself the tightness in my chest is just the suppressants wearing off. That the way his words seem to speak directly to mysoul is just coincidence. That the tears pricking at my eyes are from exhaustion, nothing more.

But as I watch him pour his heart out on stage, backed by alphas who would clearly die to protect him, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be that brave. To be that open. To trust that completely.

The thought terrifies me almost as much as it tempts me.

A flash of movement in my peripheral vision snaps me back to reality. Just another overenthusiastic fan trying to get backstage, quickly intercepted by security. But it's a good reminder of why I'm here. I can't afford to get lost in dreams and what-ifs.

I have a job to do. People to protect. A life of careful anonymity to maintain.

After about an hour of constant vigilance, I slip out into the lobby, desperate for some fresh air. The show is winding down, and I tell myself Asher will be too caught up in his final encore to notice my absence. But if I don't get some space from that voice that seems to rival my chemical armor like no alpha's scent ever has, he's going to notice something else. If only I could ask to borrow his new suppressants without having to explain why.

For a dangerous moment, I let myself imagine telling him the truth. Laying bare all my secrets, all my lies. What if it didn't actually make him want me any less?

The fantasy dies as my eyes lock onto a figure in the lobby. At first, it's just the expensive cut of his suit that catches my attention, so out of place among the sea of concert T-shirts and ripped jeans. But then he turns, and the harsh fluorescent lights hit his face.

Those knife-sharp cheekbones. That cruel twist to his mouth. The way he holds himself, like a predator assessing prey.

No. God, no.

I blink hard, willing the image away. It has to be a trick of the light, a coincidence, my paranoid brain playing tricks on me. But when I open my eyes, he's still there. Still real. Still exactly as I remember him, though nine years have hardened the boyish features into something colder, more refined.

James.

My brother.

The enforcer who used to drag disobedient omegas to "rehabilitation." Who watched with dead eyes as they broke us, one by one, until we became what they wanted. Who helped hold me down the day they tried to force-bond me to an alpha three times my age. The day they marked me as his property. The day I finally fought back, escaped, and never looked back.

The mark on my wrist burns, as if the proximity to the man who put it there has activated it somehow. Or maybe as a warning. An affirmation that as impossible as this is, it's real.

He shouldn't be here. Can't be here. I ran three thousand miles. Changed everything about myself. Became someone else entirely.

But there he stands, living nightmare made flesh, scanning the crowd with that same calculated intensity I remember from the compound.

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