Page 83 of Claimed By the Band

The others select their masks with surprising enthusiasm. Knox chooses a wolf mask in gunmetal gray that emphasizes his dangerous grace.

Silas picks a crow mask in deep bronze, its sharp angles matching his aristocratic features.

Dante opts for a sleek panther mask in black and gold, while Damon selects a bear mask in rich brown leather that somehow manages to look both fierce and gentle.

Fitting choices for all four of them.

Asher's mask is still my favorite, though.

He must catch me staring because he gives me a wink. "Your turn, Alex."

I hover uncertainly at the table, overwhelmed by the options. Everything feels too ornate, too attention-grabbing. The exact opposite of what I'm usually trying to achieve. Especially tonight.

I look back at the remaining selection of masks, hesitant, before I settle on a cream colored mask crafted to look like a cat. It's simple compared to the others, done in matte porcelain with subtle silver detailing around the eyes.

I reach for it, but pause when I notice the others exchanging meaningful looks. "What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing," Dante says way too quickly.

"Spill it," I demand, crossing my arms.

Asher bites his lip, clearly trying not to laugh. "We may or may not have a nickname for you..."

My eyebrows shoot up. "A nickname?"

"Feral kitten," he admits, then immediately points at Dante. "But he started it!"

"Tattletale," Dante huffs, but he's grinning. "In my defense, you do remind me of some of the strays I've rehabilitated. All bristly on the outside but secretly sweet and affectionate once you earn their trust."

Heat creeps up my neck as I process this. They have a nickname for me. An affectionate one, apparently. One they all use when I'm not around. I'm not used to people thinking about me at all when I'm out of sight, let alone fondly.

"I am not bristly," I mutter, but I can't quite keep the smile off my face as I take the cat mask.

"You kind of are," Knox rumbles, adjusting his wolf mask. "But we like you anyway."

"Careful," I warn, settling the mask over my face. "I bite."

"We're counting on it," Asher purrs, and something in his tone makes my stomach flip.

Before I can process that particular implication, Silas clears his throat. "Alright, let's head in."

Right. The mission. Finding evidence linking PheroMaster to the attack. Not getting distracted by how good everyone looks in their masks.

The ballroom is an undulating sea of masks and bodies, all moving to the pulse of music that throbs through my bones. Theartificial pheromones are even stronger in here, making my head swim despite my suppressants.

"Man, it stinks in here," Knox growls, wrinkling his nose beneath his wolf mask. "Like every alpha in the city decided to mark their territory at once."

"I can't even smell Asher," Dante complains, leaning closer to our omega as if to verify. "It's like chemical warfare in here."

Asher just laughs, the sound somehow cutting through the noise and chaos. "Come on," he says, eyes sparkling behind his fox mask as he grabs Dante's hand. "Let's dance!"

I'm content to watch from the sidelines as they move toward the dance floor, because rhythm and me aren't words that belong in the same sentence, but Asher has other ideas. He turns back, extending his free hand to me. "Oh no, you too, kitty cat."

"I don't dance," I protest weakly, even as he pulls me into their orbit.

"I'll lead," he promises, and then his arm is around my waist and I'm pressed against him in a way that makes my heart race. "Just follow my body."

And what a body it is. As his strong arms encircle me, I'm reacquainted with the lean, muscular lines of his torso. There's somehow even less fabric between us than when we're cuddling in bed.

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