3
Phoenix
The moment I stepped out of the cab and onto the pavement, the sheer volume of the scene hit me like a tidal wave.
I had flown into San Francisco, bracing myself for the chaos that awaited.
Joining the tour midway, I was stepping into a maelstrom of scandals and bad press.
The band had already cycled through three people from the label who had tried and failed to rein them in.
Each new scandal—drugs, public hookups, and worse—had only added to the mounting PR nightmare.
I was the latest attempt to put out the fire, and judging by the stories I’d heard, it was going to be a long, hard slog.
The main tour bus was parked under a cluster of trees in the staff car park.
Loud rock music blared from nearby speakers, a relentless barrage of distorted guitars and pounding drums that vibrated through my bones.
Roadies shouted over the noise, their voices a chaotic jumble of instructions and expletives as they hauled equipment in and out of buses.
I stood on the periphery, feeling like a foreigner in a world where I didn’t belong.
I had to remind myself to breathe.
A second bus sat further back, sleeker but less chaotic.
I’d been told it belonged to the tour manager, Pete—someone I had yet to meet.
Unlike the band’s bus, it wasn’t a place for partying.
Instead, it housed the sound engineers and lighting techs, packed full with the crew that kept the tour running smoothly.
It seemed like the better option—quieter, more structured—but there weren’t any spare beds.
Even if I wanted to stay there, it wasn’t an option.
As I approached the main bus, the cacophony grew even louder.
The bus itself was a hulking beast of chrome and metal, emblazoned with the band’s name in bright, garish letters.
The door was open, and I could see the interior—a clutter of instruments, empty beer cans, and scattered clothing.
The scent of stale sweat and spilled alcohol mixed with the more pungent aroma of cigarette smoke that seemed to cling to everything.
Three figures emerged from the throng of activity, their presence commanding instant attention.
Zephyr, Kage, and Parker, the members of Purely Onyx, each exuded an Alpha aura that was impossible to ignore.
Zephyr, the pack lead, was the first to catch my eye.
At six feet tall, his dark hair seemed to absorb the light, matching the Onyx in the band’s name.
His startling blue eyes held an edge of rebelliousness, reflecting a life lived on the fringes of convention.
With a bass guitar slung low on his hips and a voice that could command a crowd with a single note, he was the epitome of the bad boy persona.
His arms were coated in dark, foreboding tattoos that snaked down to his wrists, while the glint of his eyebrow and lip piercings only added to his sinfully rough allure.
Kage was next, his blonde hair tied back in a man bun that did funny things to me—not that I’d ever admit it.
The neatly trimmed beard framing his jaw made him look rougher, more dangerous than the others.
His breathtaking green eyes reminded me of evergreen forests at night—dark, deep, and full of secrets.
There was an intensity about him, a quiet but unmistakable edge that set him apart.
As the band’s guitarist, he carried himself with the ease of someone who had spent years commanding a stage, fingers weaving magic through every chord.
Despite his beauty, his permanent scowl hinted at an irritable and bad-tempered demeanor.
His entire aura seemed to exude volatility, making him both captivating and intimidating.
Parker, the drummer, completed the trio.
His shorter brown hair was tousled in a carefree manner, like he’d just rolled out of bed—or hadn’t bothered with one at all.
His dark eyes were unreadable depths, pulling me in with a mere glance.
Unlike his bandmates, who were dressed in ripped jeans and designer leather jackets, Parker wore a plain black hoodie and well-worn sneakers, looking more like a guy who wandered in from the street than a rock star.
Yet, there was something about him—something restless, like he was always one breath away from bolting.
I wasn’t close enough to catch their scent, and honestly, that was fine by me.
If they smelled anything like they looked, I’d be screwed.
“I see the babysitter has arrived,”
Zephyr’s voice cut through the noise, laced with mockery as he took in my pressed suit and perfectly styled hair. “Welcome to the madhouse.”
Kage chuckled, his laugh a harsh bark that mingled with the thumping music. “Look at you. All buttoned up and pristine. This is going to be fun.”
Parker didn’t bother with pleasantries. He barely glanced my way, his attention focused on the stack of gear he was examining. “Hope you’re ready for a wild ride, Doll.”
Their dismissive attitudes weren’t a surprise.
Each comment was a subtle jab designed to unsettle me.
The air crackled with their Alpha presence, an overwhelming force that made the small space around the bus feel even tighter.
I felt the weight of their scrutiny, the unspoken challenge that came with being the outsider in their tightly knit world.
But I refused to let them see how much their words affected me.
I squared my shoulders, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the storm of anxiety brewing inside me.
“My name is Phoenix, not Doll. I trust we can work together to make sure the rest of the tour runs smoothly.”
Zephyr’s eyes danced with amusement, a glint of something almost predatory in his gaze. “We’ll see about that.”
“We’re not exactly known as rule followers,”
Kage said as he leaned against the bus. His posture was casual, but his eyes were sharp.
Parker finally looked up, his gaze indifferent but his tone edged with a hint of challenge. “Good luck with that, Doll.”
Each of their presences was like a physical weight pressing down on me, their Alpha dominance making it clear they viewed me as an intrusion. But I had to stay focused.
I met each of their gazes with a determined calm. “I’m here to do my job, and I intend to do it well. I hope we can keep things professional.”
Zephyr’s smirk widened, clearly amused by my insistence. “Professional. Got it.”
As the band turned and began to move further away, I took a moment to compose myself.
The enormity of the task ahead settled heavily on my shoulders.
This wasn’t just about managing a tour; it was about maintaining my own control, about not letting the overwhelming presence of these Alphas or the chaotic environment drive me back into old habits.
I glanced around at the disarray, the scattered remnants of a rock-and-roll lifestyle that seemed to exist in stark contrast to my meticulously ordered world.
The sense of being an outsider was almost suffocating, but I reminded myself of my purpose here.
I had faced many challenges in my life, but this tour with Purely Onyx was a different kind of test.
I needed to remain vigilant, to keep my fears at bay and my focus sharp.
The band’s mocking attitudes were a hurdle, but they weren’t insurmountable.
With a deep breath, I stepped forward, ready to face whatever came next.
The journey ahead promised to be intense, but I was determined to stay true to myself, no matter how daunting the path might be.
But as I took that first step onto the bus, all the air in my lungs seemed to evaporate.
The scent hit me—strong, intoxicating, and unmistakably male.
My body froze, my heart leaping into my throat as realization slammed into me like a freight train.
We were scent matches. Fuck.
◆◆◆
The afternoon was a blur of introductions and chaos.
Pete, the band’s manager, had been kind enough to show me around, but his presence—though comforting in its authoritative familiarity—only added to my anxiety.
Pete was an older, bonded Alpha with a grizzled charm that spoke of years in the business.
His easy manner and quick jokes did little to ease the growing tension in my stomach as he led me through the maze of tour buses, equipment cases, and roadies bustling with energy.
“Here’s the soundboard,”
Pete said, gesturing with a sweep of his hand. “And over there is the merch tent. You’ll get to know these spots well; we keep the setup pretty similar at each venue.”
I forced myself to nod, attempting to concentrate, but the weight of being scent matched to the band hovered over me, impossible to ignore.
Each step seemed to amplify the pounding of my heart.
The band members were scattered throughout the venue, each lost in their pre-show rituals.
I had to be at the top of my game, not just to manage their demands, but to navigate the minefield of their taunting presence.
The sun was dipping below the horizon when Pete finally concluded the tour. “Let’s get you ready,”
he said. “Tonight’s show is big. The guys will be testy, but you’ll do just fine.”
I forced a smile and thanked him, but as soon as he left, the reality of the evening settled over me like a shroud.
The large greenroom was a thrilling mix of high energy and nervous anticipation.
I could see Parker already warming up, his drumming filling the air with a frenetic energy.
Zephyr was pacing with a cigarette in hand, his eyes darting around with a mix of excitement and restlessness.
And Kage was seated with his guitar, strumming absentmindedly as he studied the ceiling.
As the show’s start time drew near, the atmosphere transformed into a whirlwind of flashing lights and deafening music.
The crowd’s energy was electric, feeding the band’s already palpable intensity.
The venue was packed, and as the lights dimmed and the first notes of the opening band’s song blared through the speakers, I felt a rush of adrenaline.
But the exhilaration of the show was quickly overshadowed by the gnawing knowledge that I’d eventually have to tell the band I was their mate.
My suppressants would keep them from sensing it, but that didn’t make the truth any less real.
As I moved about, ensuring everything was in place, I felt their eyes on me.
Zephyr was the first to approach.
I could smell him before I saw him—leather and fresh rain, the kind that washed away the dust of the world, leaving everything feeling new.
I exhaled slowly, grounding myself, focusing on the task at hand.
But there was no escaping his scent.
It wasn’t overwhelming, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was… intense, like a storm breaking.
His gaze flicked to me, and I quickly looked away, pretending to be fully focused on organizing the meet and greet passes.
Zephyr was close now, leaning casually against the wall next to the table where I was working. I could feel his focus on me, but I didn’t dare glance up.
“You’re handling things pretty well for someone who doesn’t belong here,”
he said, his voice laced with mockery. The words weren’t harsh, but there was an undeniable edge to them that made my pulse quicken.
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to maintain a calm exterior. I could feel the pull of his scent again, that leather and rain that had no right to make me feel anything. I had taken my suppressants before the show, but the proximity of the Alpha made it feel like I was barely holding it together.
I didn’t want to snap back at him—didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his words stung. So, I offered a tight smile, not meeting his eyes. “I’m happy to help out with whatever needs doing. I’ve got my PR responsibilities, but I’m more than capable of doing whatever’s necessary in between. Beats standing around, right?”
Zephyr’s lips curled into a small, almost taunting smile. “That’s the spirit. I can think of a thing or two that you would be capable of doing with those lips of yours.”
His gaze flicked over me, assessing, but there was a coldness to it. “You know, I could always use someone who’s good at getting down on their knees.”
I felt my face flush, but I refused to let him see how much his words affected me. Instead, I focused on sorting through the passes again, making sure everything was in order. “Thanks, but I’ll pass,”
I said coolly, trying to sound nonchalant as I slid a few more passes into a holder. “I’m here to work, not to be some groupie.”
The silence stretched between us, heavy and thick. Zephyr let out a soft chuckle. “You sure about that, Princess?”
His voice was low, almost playful, but there was something in his eyes that made my stomach tighten. “I mean, you’re practically drooling.”
What a dick. Who did he think he was, God’s gift to women? He was trying to push my buttons—trying to get a rise out of me. Well, he wasn’t going to get one. I set the passes down firmly and straightened up, crossing my arms in front of me.
“Right,”
I said, leaning back against the table and locking eyes with him. “Must be tough, knowing the only reason women are interested is to say they bagged a rocker. Bet it gets old, huh?”
He tilted his head slightly, an eyebrow raised, a glimmer of amusement flashing across his face. “You think I haven’t heard that before? Trust me, I don’t mind being the trophy. There are worse things to be, right?”
He paused, his eyes flicking up and down my form in a way that made me feel exposed. “Like a prude.”
I held my ground, not letting the unease creep back in, though his words felt like they were digging deeper than they should. “Yeah, except when the only thing people see is the fame and not who you really are underneath,”
I said. “And I’m no prude.”
He let out a short laugh, unconcerned. “I don’t need anyone to see who I am under the surface. It’s not about what they want. It’s about what I’m willing to give. And trust me, Sweetheart, they never complain with what I give them.”
He stepped back, a smirk playing on his lips.
Before I could think of a response, Kage sauntered over.
The faintest hint of crisp apple and tobacco hit me seconds before he was right behind me.
It wasn’t the sweetness of a fruit but a sharp, refreshing bite.
It was a scent that carried power, raw and unapologetic. And then his voice came, low and edged with that harshness I was quickly learning to associate with him.
“You know…”
Kage’s breath brushed against my neck, sending an involuntary jolt through me. “Your scent is oddly neutral. Even for a Beta, it’s… strange.”
His words were a deliberate provocation, a challenge.
The scent—his scent—only made it worse.
It clung to the air around us, slipping past my defenses. The suppressants were supposed to keep me level, but Kage’s proximity, his scent, his tone… it had me spiraling.
I met his green eyes with as much composure as I could muster. “It’s just how I am.”
I pushed against the instinctual urge to step back, to create space. “Focus on the show, Kage. You’re about to go on.”
I turned my back to him, willing myself not to shake as his scent continued to coil around me, refusing to be ignored.
His lips curled into a smirk before he straightened, leaving me feeling both relieved and off-balance.
The constant need to maintain my Beta facade while being surrounded by these Alphas was taking a toll on me.
Each interaction felt like a test of my resolve, and the weight of their scrutiny was nearly overwhelming.
Parker had been quieter during the evening, but I knew he was observing.
His casual attitude was just as intimidating as the others, and I was relieved when it was their turn to take the stage.
I watched the band perform with a mixture of awe and apprehension.
They were incredible on stage, but the tension between us off stage was eating at me.
As the final notes of the show echoed through the venue, I knew that the real test was yet to come.
The Alphas’ taunting and the relentless pressure of their presence were a constant battle, but I was determined to stay strong.
My time with them had just begun, and I needed to hold my ground, no matter what these pricks threw at me.