Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

NOW PLAYING: KILLING Butterflies- Lou Bliss

Praise from Pack Graves is much more potent than I could have ever imagined. Even half a day later, Callisto’s words float through my mind. I’ve been riding a giddy high since hanging out on their tour bus. A feeling only heightened by yet another panty-melting performance hours later.

Sighing, I curl deeper into the pile of blankets I buried myself in. I wish I could go back to last night instead of facing their show today. We’re in Chicago. Our first festival stop.

Something I hadn’t anticipated bothering me as much as it has. I barely slept last night. My mind refuses to stop listing all of the things that could go wrong in the crowds today. Last year the festival saw numbers at nearly one hundred thousand attendees. Per day. Imagining walking through such a massive crowd makes my stomach sick and my palms sweaty.

While the chances of someone attending a pro-pack music festival recognizing me is unlikely, the probability isn’t zero. Being in large crowds is always risky.

A regular concert is different. The lighting is dim and everyone is focused on the bands and not the people around them. Even protests usually feel safe because of the number of DAU advocates always mixed in the crowd.

But this festival? I don’t know if I will be able to convince myself to leave my little nest, let alone walk into the venue.

Which sucks because I want to be able to enjoy everything the festival has to offer. With over thirty metal, rock, and alternative bands playing every day, I’m sure to find some incredible new talent to join my already extensive playlists. There are also supposedly over fifty different food and drink tents, local art exhibits, and a massive merch tent.

All of which sounds amazing.

If I could just ease the paranoia and panic holding me captive.

A knock sounds on the door of my room on the tour bus. “If you want to map out the area around the stage, we should head out now, Omen.” Lex’s voice is gruff and steely as he calls through the wood.

I squeak in protest, burying myself even further. Why did I ever agree to this stop on their tour? I can’t go out there! They’ll have to go without me.

Shuffling sounds outside the door along with muffled voices before it swings wide open. I hiss in protest, blinking against the bright exterior light. Bea stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips.

Lex hovers behind her, an uncertain and apologetic look on his usually stoic face. It goes against our instincts to intrude into an omega’s nest uninvited.

“Omen Powell, get your ass out of bed and get ready for work. You aren’t hiding in here for the next two days while the rest of us enjoy the festival,” Bea commands, her voice carrying the same no-bullshit tone she uses on her band and the rest of their crew.

“I can’t,” I whine. It feels pathetic to be so overwhelmed already, but I know my fears are valid. The risk of being recognized is too high.

“You can and you will. We aren’t going to let your birth family win this battle. You’ve landed your dream career working with a band you adore and who seem to adore you. Don’t throw this opportunity away. Besides, you aren’t going to be alone for a single second during this entire trip. Lex will be glued to your side, isn’t that right?” Bea looks back at Lex who nods his agreement.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Omen.” I know he will do everything in his power to protect me. I can trust Lex because he came personally recommended by Donovan. My fear still doesn’t abate even knowing I won’t be facing the crowds alone.

“Pack Graves will be disappointed if you don’t show up tonight, Oms. Especially after you showed them the shots from the first stop yesterday,” Bea reminds me, her voice much gentler as she uses my secret weakness against me. The thought of any of the members of Primordial Covenant searching for me in the crowd and being disappointed when they can’t find me distresses my inner omega, but it isn’t enough to overwhelm my fear.

When I make no move to get up, I hear Bea grumble under her breath before she sighs and starts to close the door. “I don’t know how you can handle staying here knowing they’ll be at a festival surrounded by thirsty betas and omegas. Fans will probably try to flash them to get their attention, showing off their bodies and begging for those guys to knot them–”

A vicious growl rips from my lungs as I throw the blankets off of me and jerk upright. “Mine.”

A smirk plays on Bea’s lips as she watches me slam through my drawers to find an outfit fitting the concert vibe, but remaining professional. “Much better!”

“You’re rude,” I grumble half-heartedly as I step past my best friend. An entirely too smug grin sits on her face as she watches me. One day I’ll return the favor when she meets a pack who calls to her baser nature.

Bea catches me in a hug as soon as I’m dressed and ready to go. Her arms squeeze me tight and she gently sways us back and forth like her mom used to do whenever I’d panic before going out. “You’ve got this bitch,” she whispers into my hair. A clear reminder my bestie is not, in fact, her mother.

“You, me, and the music,” I repeat the promise she made to me at the first Candy Courage concert we attended.

“And an endless supply of musician knots!” she adds with a laugh.

“Do you think your guys would give Orbital Somatic some pointers about stage presentation?” Bea slouches against the stage beside me.

“My guys?” I frown. I know she’s talking about the members of Primordial Covenant, but they aren’t my guys. We work together. And happen to be ridiculously attracted to each other. No claiming or ownership involved.

“Don’t play dumb, Oms. They need help. I think half the crowd left during their show this afternoon.”

The band Bea is managing had been scheduled at a small stage across the festival from the large stage where Primordial Covenant is currently getting set up to play. Apparently, their gig didn’t go as well as she was hoping. I hadn’t noticed the diminishing crowd, too focused on grabbing pictures of the band on stage.

“They aren’t my guys,” I mumble.

She’s sworn up and down the chemistry between me and Pack Graves is tangible in the air every time I am around them. I swear she’s losing her mind, but I know I’m trying to convince myself more than I am her. Especially after the whole ‘mine’ thing this morning. Embarrassment floods my cheeks remembering how possessively I’d reacted.

“Was your band’s performance bad? They seemed to be doing well at the other two tour stops.”

“I think that was only because the fans at those shows were suffering through while waiting to see Primordial Covenant. Here at the festival, they can leave to go check out whoever is playing on the other five stages.”

Thinking back, I guess I can see what she’s talking about, but I think they are just nervous. They were stiff and awkward for the first several songs of their performance. Which is understandable given the crowds at festivals are nearly triple the size of what we usually see at each venue.

“I’m sure Primordial Covenant wouldn’t mind helping out another band. Ask them after the show tonight.” I shrug and turn my attention back to the growing crowd around the stage.

From the corner of my eyes, I watch Bea’s hands inch toward her hair. A sign she’s feeling stressed. The top of her hair is pulled up into two small braided space buns to keep the curls back from her face. She is one added stressor away from tearing it down and pulling it back up into a messy bun.

She looks too cute for me to allow her to prematurely deconstruct the look, so I pretend to need to adjust my placement and force her to take a step backward. Right into Ridley’s waiting arms. The alpha studies my best friend with blatant interest and a hint of concern. A purr rattles from his chest in response to her stress and I smother a smile watching her shoulders relax.

I’m not the only one surrounded by men I have incredible chemistry with. I imagine by the end of this tour, Bea will either fuck them or claim them. I can’t wait to see which way things go.

“Ugh, no.” Bea shakes herself out of the calm Ridley’s purr brought her. Glaring at me as she takes intentional steps away.

Ridley, the easygoing alpha he is, seems unfazed by her reluctance to accept his affection. “You seem to like running, Bea. Just remember my alpha loves the chase,” he smirks.

Her eyes widen slightly, dilating with interest, but the emotion is only there for a flash before her newfound scowl is back in place. “I’m going to find Brady before the show starts. I don’t want to be trapped in this crowd while they’re on stage.”

I wave her off. A happy smile on my lips as I watch Ridley follow behind her, his hand hovering on her lower back to guide her to the entrance to the backstage area.

The sun is starting to dip below the horizon, the sky still painted in bright shades of orange and pink, when Pack Graves steps out onto the stage. Excitement buzzes beneath my skin alongside growing tendrils of arousal. I’m always turned on when I watch them perform. A small burst of perfume leaks into the air around me despite my scent-blocking panties and suppressants. Lex coughs from where he watches my back and my stomach churns.

Perfuming is a completely normal reaction for an omega when around someone they are attracted to, I remind myself. Yet I can’t help but feel as if I am acting disgraceful each time it happens. Despite several years away from New Hampshire, it is still too easy to fall into the same feeling of designation shame ingrained into me as a child.

As if sensing my need for a distraction, Nexus takes to the mic. “Hello, Chicago.”

Can this man’s voice get any sexier? The very omega voice in the back of my mind supplies me with an image of the exact situation where his voice would sound even hotter, reminding me of the dream I’d had of the four men during the mini-heat I had before their tour started.

I’ve gone years without so much as feeling attracted to someone else. Why have I suddenly turned into a horny omega mess? What is it about Pack Graves that calls to me on such a primal level?

All my thoughts are pushed to the background as their show starts. I fade into the hazy focused place my mind always goes to when I’m working behind the camera. The world around me inconsequential in comparison to the view through my lens.

This is the first of their shows where fans have thrown stuff onto the stage for the guys. Mostly little things like flowers, stickers, and the pack pride necklaces the festival has been passing out at the entrance. Nexus scoops one of the colorful necklaces up during Titan’s drum solo and carefully winds it around the horns of Nebula’s mask, adding a flare of color to the bassist’s dark aesthetic. The crowd eats it up, cheering and laughing.

This picture may not fit the sensual vibe of the rest of their performance, but it’s something fun for the guys to look back on later.

I’m back at the edge of the stage where I started when their final song begins. I watch with rapt attention as Nexus drops to his knees in front of me–close enough I could reach out and feel his silver-painted skin beneath my fingers–and runs his hand down his chest as he rolls his hips in sync with the lyrics he’s belting into the microphone.

Is this a rock concert or an exotic dance performance?

Fury sweeps through me, ripping a growl from my chest as a dainty pair of white underwear smacks against Nexus’ arm before falling to the stage. The alpha looks as shocked as the rest of us, his voice stuttering over the notes in the song.

Lex, having seen the projectile start to fly over the crowd, is at my back and holding my arms in place. Forcing me to remain still when every instinct in my body is screaming for me to crawl onto the stage and show everyone exactly who Pack Graves belongs to.

“Relax, Omen,” Lex orders as he steps to my side. His back is to the stage blocking my view of the band, his eyes narrowed on the crowd. I can hear the guys’ security team moving around, searching for whoever owns the offending garment.

My chest still rattles with a growl, startling me further. I’ve never growled before. Not seriously. Not like this. I want to find the owner of those underwear and remove their hands from their body for daring to throw them at my alpha.

Shit. I shake off the feeling, forcing the growl to subside. I have enough pictures for tonight. I need to get out of here before my instincts urge me to do something I may regret later on.