Page 82 of Claimed By the Band

My face grows warm, a shiver running down my spine at the simple touch. "The challenge will be timing it right so no one notices I'm gone," I say, my voice cracking a little. And not just from the lower register I'm used to keeping as part of my disguise.

"Leave that to us," Dante calls from the front seat. "We'reverygood at being distracting when we want to be."

"That's what worries me," I say dryly. The truth is, I trust them to have my back. The realization should probably terrify me more than it does.

"How long do you think you'll need?" Damon asks, twisting in his seat to look back at me.

"Twenty minutes, tops," I say after considering it. "Any longer than that and someone's bound to notice, no matter how much of a nuisance you make of yourselves," I tease.

That earns a chuckle from the pack.

"Then that's what you'll get," Asher declares with that fierce protectiveness that makes my spine tingle. "We'll create such a spectacle they won't even remember you were there."

"Just try not to start any fights," Silas says dryly, but I catch the way his eyes soften when they land on Asher.

"No promises," Knox growls, and I find myself leaning slightly into his solid warmth without meaning to. "If that sleazeball Vince so much as looks at them wrong…"

Them…?

I know he's talking about Asher, but…

It hits me that I'm the only other person he could be talking about in this pack full of towering, musclebound alphas. The thought that Knox of all people views me as something he needs to protect shouldn't make my chest feel as warm as it does.

"We'll all need to stay focused," I say, clearly my throat. "So we should probably keep the drinks to a minimum."

"And the canapés," Asher says, giving Dante a pointed look. "I know how sidetracked you get with appetizers."

"Like you're one to talk," Dante grumbles halfheartedly.

Asher just grins.

It's going to be one hell of a night.

The crown logoof PheroMaster’s headquarters glows in red neon above the entrance, illuminating the valets and security personnel stationed outside the massive glass and chrome building.

"Subtle," Knox mutters as we step out of the SUV.

A doorman in an impeccably tailored suit guides us to a private elevator, its interior all mirrors and gold trim. My stomach lurches as we begin our ascent to the top floor, and not justfrom the motion. Asher's hand finds mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

When the doors open, I'm assaulted by a wave of artificial pheromones even stronger than what they pump through their showroom. A massive orgy full of people who haven't showered in weeks couldn't create a chemical cocktail quite this potent.

And yet, it seems my blockers are holding. Or maybe PheroMaster's products are just so repulsive my inner omega has finally shriveled up and died.

That would be a bit ironic.

If there's one silver lining, it's thatno oneis going to notice anything tonight if my blockers happen to fail.

The massive space has been transformed into something out of a fever dream—crystal chandeliers dripping with red roses, ice sculptures shaped like the company's crown logo, and everywhere, mirrors multiplying the effect into infinity.

"It's like a villain's bachelor pad threw up in here," Dante whispers, making me bite back a laugh.

We're immediately directed to a table near the entrance where an attendant is distributing elaborate masquerade masks. Because of course they are.

"Oh my god, this is perfect!" Asher cries, immediately gravitating toward a delicate fox mask in burnished gold. The way it frames his violet eyes is stunning, the pointed ears and clever design perfectly capturing his playful nature.

"If he tries to get the number for Vince's interior designer tonight, someone runs interference," Damon says in a convincingly grave tone.

"Agreed," Silas sighs.

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