Claimed by the Band (Fameverse #1)

Chapter 9 – DAMON

9

DAMON

T he bass thrums through my body as I stand on stage, my sticks flying across my drums on pure muscle memory and instinct, too fast for it to be a conscious process. The familiar rush of adrenaline courses through my veins, but it's tinged with something else tonight. A sharp edge of anxiety that I can't quite shake.

We've done this a thousand times over. Hell, I live for it. But tonight? Tonight is different.

I glance over at Asher, watching as he prowls across the stage, making it his bitch. His voice soars over the crowd, raw and powerful as he belts out one of our new songs. It's an angry one, all snarling guitars and pounding rhythms. Silas and Asher wrote it together in a single weekend after the attack, motivated by the raw muse of rage.

The lyrics paint a vivid picture of defiance in the face of hate, of refusing to be silenced or pushed into the shadows. It's quintessential Asher.

Fierce.

Unapologetic.

And utterly captivating.

I can't take my eyes off him. Even after all this time, he still takes my breath away. The way he commands the stage, drawing every eye in the room like a lodestone. It's electric. Magnetic. It's one of the things that drew me to him in the first place, even before I realized he was my scent match.

Now, of course, it's different. Now he's ours—all of ours. The bond between us buzzes just beneath my skin, a constant reminder of what we share. What we almost lost.

The memory of that night flashes through my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. The chaos, the screams, the sickening smell of that pheromone gas. Asher's face, pale and determined as he stood his ground. The others falling around him, trying to shield him with their bodies.

And me, too far away to do a damn thing about it at first.

I grit my teeth, forcing the thoughts away. Not now. Not here. I need to focus.

My eyes scan the crowd, searching for any sign of trouble. The beefed-up security Silas arranged is visible at every exit, their faces grim and watchful. It should make me feel better. It doesn't.

I keep replaying that night in my head, over and over. What could I have done differently? How could I have protected him better? The questions gnaw at me, relentless and unanswerable.

The song comes to a crashing end, and the crowd erupts in cheers. The new material is a resounding hit. Asher's grin is wild and bright as he basks in their adoration. For a moment, everything feels normal. Right.

But I can't shake the feeling that it's all hanging by a thread.

As we file offstage for our break between sets, Asher's energy is infectious. He's practically vibrating with excitement, congratulating us all on a killer first half.

"Did you hear them out there?" he crows, slinging an arm around Knox's shoulders. "They were fucking electric! Who was right about adding that riff?"

I can't help but smile. This is Asher in his element. The charismatic band leader, the heart and soul of Wild Honey. He may be an omega, but there's no questioning who's in charge when we're on stage.

"Yeah, yeah," Knox grumbles, but there's no mistaking the affection behind it. "Don't let it go to your head, princess."

Asher's laugh is bright and infectious. "Too late for that. You know I'm already?—"

He's cut off by a chorus of buzzing phones. We all reach for them instinctively, exchanging confused glances.

Before we can check the alerts, our manager comes barreling into the green room, face ashen. "We need to evacuate," he says without preamble. " Now ."

Asher's smile vanishes. "What the hell? Again?"

Sam cuts a hand through her usually neat and orderly brown hair, clearly agitated. "There's been another attack. An omega performer at a venue across town. The police have ordered us to evacuate as a precaution."

The news hits us all like a punch to the gut. This is bigger than we realized. Bigger than just us.

"Who?" Dante chokes out.

"Rita Dawson," Sam answers, swallowing hard.

That sucks the air out of the room. None of us are particularly close to Rita, but we've performed with her at various charity concerts over the years. She's an omega R&B singer, known for her chart-topping ballads and refusal to kowtow to society's expectations of what an omega should be. She's a lot like Asher in that regard.

"Was she hurt?" Asher demands.

Sam shakes his head. "No, it was just a threat against the venue, but police aren't taking any chances. Not after what happened before."

Not after the attack on Asher.

Asher's the first to recover, springing into action with the efficiency of someone used to crisis management. "Alright," he says, voice steady despite the tension I can see in the set of his shoulders. "We need to make sure all the fans get out safely. Including the ones here for the meet and greet backstage."

Our security team tries to argue, insisting that we need to evacuate immediately. But Asher stands his ground, refusing to leave until he's sure everyone else is safe.

The rest of us know better than to insist otherwise, even if it drives us utterly fucking insane.

I watch him, a mix of pride and fear churning in my gut. This is the Asher I fell in love with. Brave, selfless, always putting others first. But right now, I want nothing more than to throw him over my shoulder and carry him to safety, fans be damned.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, we get the all-clear. The venue's been emptied, and it's time for us to go.

Asher's reluctance is clear as we're ushered toward the exit. I know how much this is killing him. His fans mean everything to him, and the thought of putting them in danger... it's his worst nightmare come to life.

We pile into the tour bus, the mood somber and tense. I do a quick sweep with security, checking every nook and cranny before giving the all-clear. Only then do I let the others board.

Asher's the last one on, his face a mask of worry and frustration. I catch his arm as he passes, pulling him close.

"Hey," I murmur, low enough that only he can hear. "You okay?"

He lets out a shaky breath, some of the tension leaving his body as he leans into me. "I don't know," he admits. "I just... I can't help feeling like this is my fault. Like I'm putting them all in danger just by existing. It was one thing when it was just about standing up to bullies, but if these assholes are targeting other people because of me…"

My arms tighten around him protectively. "None of this is your fault," I say firmly. "You hear me? None of it. The only ones to blame are the fuckers doing this."

Asher nods, but I can tell he's not convinced. I press a kiss to his temple, wishing I could take away all his doubts and fears.

As I hold him, I feel a familiar rage building in my chest. Rage at the people doing this, at the world that makes it necessary. But mostly, I'm furious with myself. With all of us alphas who've let things get this bad.

We're supposed to be protectors. Guardians. Instead, we're the very thing omegas need protection from .

It's a bitter pill to swallow, but as I look down at Asher, I know I'll do whatever it takes to make this right.

Whatever it takes to keep him safe.

The bus rumbles to life beneath us, carrying us away from the abandoned venue. I guide Asher to one of the plush seats, settling in beside him. The others gather around, a protective circle of worried alphas who, once again, can't do anything to protect our omega from this faceless, nameless threat.

"So what now?" Knox asks, breaking the tense silence. "We can't just keep running every time someone gets spooked."

Silas nods in agreement. "We need a plan. A real one, not just beefed-up security and hope for the best."

I watch Asher carefully, waiting for the inevitable outburst. The fire that always blazes in those violet eyes when someone suggests we back down. But it doesn't come. He just sits there, shoulders slumped, gaze fixed on some distant point. The silence stretches, uncomfortable and heavy.

This isn't right. This isn't our Asher.

I open my mouth to say something, anything to break this eerie quiet, but before I can, Asher's phone buzzes. The change is instant. He perks up, fumbling for the device with an eagerness I haven't seen since before the attack.

"Who is it?" Silas asks, leaning forward.

A ghost of Asher's usual smile flickers across his face. "It's Echo."

I can't help myself. I lean over, peering at the screen. The message is brief, but it seems more human than the rest of his messages have.

ECHO: I heard about the threat against Rita Dawson and the evac order on your show. You guys ok?

Knox grunts from across the aisle. "Well, at least he's keeping up with shit. So far, I was convinced the asshole was just slacking off."

Asher's hastily types out a reply, but he pauses long enough to shoot Knox a reproachful look. "We're not paying him, remember?"

Another grunt from Knox. I swear, sometimes I think the guy communicates solely in grunts and glares. Maybe he's the missing link.

"What are you telling him?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

But before Asher can answer, Knox is there, snatching the phone out of his hands with a speed that belies his size.

" I've got something to say to this guy," he growls, typing out a clearly livid message.

Asher's eyes go wide. "Knox, don't?—"

Too late. Knox's thumb hits send, and Asher lets out a strangled sound that's half frustration, half panic as he dives over the sofa.

"What the fuck did you do?" he demands, making a grab for the phone. But Knox holds it out of reach, a grim satisfaction on his face.

"Just told him what needed to be said."

Asher gets livid, snatching the phone out of Knox's hand. He's stronger than he looks, and he's already pretty damn tough for an omega. "You asshole! You're going to scare him off!"

When he sees what's on the screen, that vein in his forehead gets more visible. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Knox!"

"Now you're in trouble!" Dante calls in a singsong from the sofa across the tour bus living room.

Knox flips him off, but we all know he's not wrong.

Silas should be eating up the fact that Knox is the one in the hot seat, and the fact that he's not speaks volumes to how on edge we all are right now.

"Let me see," I say, holding out my hand.

Asher thrusts the phone into my palm, digging his hands into his golden locks as he stalks across the bus, muttering obscenities that would make a sailor blush.

I read the message, my eyebrows climbing higher with each word.

We've been doing things your way for a week and those assholes are still hurting people. So we can put our necks on the line, but you can't even show your face?

Holy shit, Knox.

Way to antagonize our only lead.

I look up, ready to lay into him myself, but the argument dies in my throat as the phone buzzes in my hand. We all freeze, staring at the device like it might explode.

"He wrote back," I say, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.

Asher goes pale. "What did he say?"

Knox just mutters, "Good riddance. He's useless anyway."

I stare at the screen, not quite believing what I'm seeing. Finally, I clear my throat and read it aloud.

ECHO: Fine. Meet me here tomorrow at 3 PM.

And then, a moment later, an address pops up. A bar about an hour away from our next tour stop.

"Holy shit," Asher breathes.

Knox's smug grin is insufferable. "See? Sometimes you just gotta apply a little pressure."

I want to argue, to point out how incredibly stupid and reckless this was. But I can't deny the results.

After a week of cryptic messages and dead ends, we're finally going to meet Echo face to face.