Page 89 of Claimed By the Band

"He's our mate," Asher corrects immediately, a fierce protectiveness in his voice that makes me think this is about more than keeping our cover.

He wants Alex for keeps, and hell, so do I.

The talks I've had with the other alphas assure me we're all on the same page there, but on varying levels of skepticism as to whether that's going to happen. Alex is still so skittish. Just like the nickname Asher and Dante gave him, he's like a feral kitten, desperate for affection and belonging but afraid to let himself want it.

"And he wasn't feeling well earlier," Asher continues. "The pheromones can be overwhelming."

"Of course," Trakiss says smoothly, but something in his smile sets my teeth on edge. "Even for a beta, I suppose."

"A testament to the potency of your products," Silas says smoothly.

"I probably should go check on him," Asher declares, already starting to move. "Make sure he's okay."

I catch the slight widening of his eyes, a signal that he's spotted an opportunity. Sure enough, as the conversation resumes, I watch him drift casually toward a large industrial fan unit mounted in the wall. It's clearly part of the ventilation system pumping those awful artificial pheromones through the room.

Hiding my amusement as Trakiss drones on, I watch our clever omega "accidentally" stumble, spilling his entire drink directly into the fan's intake. The effect is immediate and spectacular.

There's a horrible grinding sound, followed by a burst of concentrated pheromones that has everyone in the vicinity gagging. Some poor alpha in an expensive suit actually doubles over and vomits on his date's shoes. The artificial musk is so thick I can practically see it, like a toxic cloud spreading through the ballroom.

I highly doubt even Asher knew the fallout would be this chaotic, but that's our omega's area of specialty. It's an art form, really.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Trakiss mutters, looking genuinely rattled for the first time tonight. "Something must have happened to the ventilation system."

"Fix it!" Vince shrieks from somewhere in the chaos, his voice hitting an impressive octave. With his clenched fists waving around in the air as he tries not to gag, he looks like a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum. "Fix it now!"

"If you'll excuse me," Trakiss says stiffly. "I should assist with this... situation."

I'm grateful for our mating marks right now. They offer some protection against the concentrated pheromones that have half most of the other guests retching. Even Knox, who usually hasthe strongest reaction to any kind of scent, just looks mildly nauseated.

Asher slips back to our group, coughing dramatically and looking appropriately green. "What happened?" he asks with wide-eyed innocence that wouldn't fool a blind man.

"That was you, wasn't it?" Dante whispers, grinning behind his mask.

"Of course it was," Asher says, dropping the act now that Trakiss and Vince are occupied with damage control. He's still a bit pale, but there's triumph in his eyes. "Had to buy Alex a little more time somehow."

I snort, unable to help myself. "Smooth."

"Hey, it worked didn't it?" He shoots me a wink. "Besides, those pheromones were giving me a headache anyway. I did everyone a favor."

Looking around at the chaos—alphas and omegas fleeing the ballroom while the betas try to maintain some semblance of order—I have to agree. Though I doubt Vince will see it that way when he realizes his fancy party has been completely derailed by a "mechanical malfunction."

"Should we go find Echo?" Knox asks quietly, his eyes scanning the exits. "Make sure he got what he needed?"

Before anyone can respond, the fire alarm starts blaring. The sprinklers kick on, dousing everyone in cold water and adding to the pandemonium.

"Yeah, I think that's our cue to leave," Silas says dryly, somehow managing to look elegant even with water from the sprinklers dripping from his crow mask. "Let's go get our boy."

His words stir something up inside me. Pride and a sense of rightness.

Alexisours. He belongs with us.

Now, we just have to convince him of it.

33

JORDAN

Istare up at Trakiss, frozen still. His eyes gleam with something knowing behind his mask as he tilts his head. "Lost, little cat?"

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