Chapter 5
FIVE
As the intern leaves the room to seek out the last member of Vicious Velvet, the label exec and Cleo Del Rossi continue to exchange words, not worried one bit about Malaki’s and my presence at the table.
“I don’t see how this can help either of us,” Cleo hisses. “It’s just another ridiculous tactic, and you know our fans aren’t going to buy any of it.”
“Your fans will be excited,” she declares.
“Believe it or not, Cleo, but your fans and their fans have a major overlap. Our social media managers have already gone over it, and the percentages are telling. Would you like to try to come up with another reason why we shouldn’t do this, or can we get on with it? ”
The omega crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. “I can’t believe this.” She looks at us then, and I swear her eyes are dark depths of black as she glares. A chill skates over me, and Malaki chuckles at the blatant attempt at intimidating us.
“Get over it,” Malaki tells her, his lips quirked up in amusement. “None of us get a choice in this, so let’s just make it as painless as possible.”
“That seems impossible when it’s already excruciating.”
The blonde of the group cackles at that, chewing on a piece of gum before she blows it out and lets it pop.
“We’re fun,” Malaki adds. “And we’re respectful, no matter how much you try to convince everyone else otherwise.”
Cleo stands, her hands going to the table in front of her. “Listen, you cretin, I—”
But then the door opens, and the intern from before walks in with Cyrus and Vicious Velvet’s missing brunette band member.
“Good, you’re back,” their label executive announces with an edge of annoyance. “Cyrus, Josie… please take your seats.”
There’s a slight flicker of panic in Cyrus’s features as he walks to his seat, and I can feel the weight of something heavy on his shoulders through the bond.
I’m not sure what it could be until his scent hits me, the dark chocolate subdued into a guarded fortress.
But it’s not just his scent—there’s something else laced within it.
Something refreshing and bubbly, like a flute of champagne on a sunny day.
My brows furrow, not recognizing the bubbly sensation. I know Cyrus’s scent like the back of my hand. I’ve inhaled it so often that I can recall it from memory alone, and this is not a part of it. It’s something new, something I shouldn’t be able to recognize.
But then I see the brunette staring at me, her olive-green eyes wide as she looks between us. She puts her head down, like she’s trying to hide as she makes her way to her seat, and suddenly it clicks.
Holy shit… I can smell her. Which means…
My body shoots up without thinking, an instinctual reaction to the shock going through my body.
No one is really paying attention to me except for the redheaded drummer and Josie herself, who pauses in place, her chest raised like she is holding her breath. Cyrus’s hand comes to my shoulder, and he gently pulls me back to my seat, his eyes trying to convey something I don’t quite understand.
Does he… not want us to say anything? Are we supposed to just continue with this meeting and pretend like something completely life-changing isn’t happening right now?
Is that why he looked worried? Did he discover the same thing I just did out in that hallway?
His scent is even more bitter than usual, but I doubt it would seem abnormal to anyone else.
Another hand settles on my thigh and squeezes in support. My head whips to Malaki, but his brown eyes are set on the guitarist as she takes her seat. I realize the support he is seeking is for himself, strained by the powerlessness he feels as he watches her.
Is she his scent match, too?
I can feel his excitement through the bond, but also his nervousness.
His campfire scent is sizzling, powerful.
Besides myself and the executives, everyone else is either an omega or an alpha.
Can they smell the spike of hormones mingling in the air?
Can they tell that my alpha has just entered his hindbrain and is fighting his primal state to go to his mate and bow at her feet?
Looking around the room, it seems we’re in our own little world. Cleo is still glowering at the woman at the head of the table, while her bandmates seem to be on alert in case their singer decides to hop onto the table and attack their label exec.
But Josie is sitting still, frozen in her chair with her eyes glued to the table.
Her scent is bubbly and intoxicating, like toasting with the best glass of champagne I’ve ever indulged in, but there is a sliver of something nervous there, too.
An anxious note hidden inside the beautiful, alluring aura.
“Okay, let’s get started.” The label exec claps her hands.
My nose scrunches at everything in this room.
It’s too polished, too professional. Our label is much more laid-back, but maybe that’s telling of the different margin brackets that our bands bring in.
I turn to look at Malaki as he runs a hand through his blue hair nervously, trying to pay attention to the meeting rather than the more important matter at hand.
The exec continues. “My name is Donna. Do we need to do formal introductions, or does everyone know each other?”
“Not that it matters because two of their members didn’t even care to show up,” Cleo murmurs.
Cyrus’s cocky smile makes an appearance at her dig. “Our bassist had a family emergency and Lennon has had the flu for two weeks. We thought it was best if he didn’t grace us with his presence just this once, in case anyone here had a compromised immune system.”
The way he says it makes Cleo’s body tense before she huffs out an omega growl that has me sitting up straighter.
“I think we’re all healthy and good here, Mr. Darlington, but it’s fine. You can relay the information when he gets better.”
My mind travels to Lennon, who is currently at our L.A. home, probably watching his favorite show and relaxing as much as he can. We knew this meeting would be stressful, and considering his current flare-up, we all thought it would be best if he sat this one out.
Despite the fact that Cyrus knew Cleo would take it as a jab, he wasn’t lying when he said we had to protect those with compromised immune systems. Lennon needed his strength for the upcoming tour, which is going to be twice as long as we’re used to, and this meeting is not a priority compared to his health.
“What will the bus situation look like?” Lark asks, looking annoyed with the arguing and ready to get this show on the road.
“You’ll be on different buses,” Donna announces.
“Thank god for that,” Cleo mutters.
“Cleo,” a lady beside them warns, a bark laced into her tone, and I realize that she must be an alpha. She looks back at the executive, but instead of kindness, her eyes are sharp, like she is also irritated that her girls have to go through this mess.
I know our band isn’t any happier about having to be in Vicious Velvet’s orbit again, but their reach is far, and since we’re new to American charts, this tour is a dream come true. It can help launch us even further than we ever thought possible.
And selfishly, it can help take some of the burden off Cyrus. He is constantly pressured into letting his public persona and legacy as an heir of an aristocrat carry us into the spotlight. People love the fantasy, but maybe now they can love our talent too.
I can’t seem to take my eyes off her throughout the meeting.
Josie must feel my eyes on her, but she does her best to pay attention to the discussion rather than looking my way.
Her frontwoman is hostile, and I remember the stories Cyrus had told me about Cleo during their PR stunt together, so this energy seems on brand for her.
Still, I hate the way it makes Josie sink into her seat, flinching with every cursed word that gets carelessly thrown into conversation.
I can’t seem to focus when the last piece of our pack’s puzzle just seemed to nestle her way into our life, both unexpected and glorious.
With her beautiful dark hair, arms splattered in tattoos, her lips a dark auburn red.
My cock hasn’t gotten the memo that this isn’t the time for arousal.
It doesn’t care about the bitter words or the tense looks everyone is throwing at each other.
It only has one thing on its mind, and it’s a pretty omega that we can actually smell.
The only other time where I felt this out of control was when I discovered Cyrus and Malaki were my scent matches, but it was much easier to calm our beasts because of the years of bonding between us.
Now, I find myself glancing over, trying to be discreet.
Cyrus and Malaki are much more subtle about their distraction, still engaging and working through the logistics of sound check allotments and whether we will have separate equipment managers, but I can’t be bothered. Not one bit.
I continue to try to catch the demure omega’s eye, but she never looks in my direction. She diverts her attention anywhere but where I desperately need it, and it’s the first indication that we have a long road ahead of us.
Something cracks inside my chest, and I don’t hear anything else discussed for the rest of the meeting.
After the meeting, everything happens so fast. The executives leave, and we all stand, but before Malaki and I can do what we both desperately want to, Cyrus barks, “Sit back down.”
We both do, overtaken by the alpha command spilling from his tongue.
Vicious Velvet’s manager—Ruby—gives him a disgusted look. “I hope you don’t abuse your alpha bark all the time. If you ever try to use that on the girls, I will end you.”
Despite the threat, Cyrus’s lips twitch, and glee enters the bond, admiration for the protective force that leads our rival band. “These are my bandmates. I promise I will not use it on anyone other than the ones who have already consented to it.”
Ruby nods, appeased by the answer. “Come on, ladies. We have a few other things to discuss.”
The omegas follow her out of the room. Cleo leaves us with one last lingering glare, Nicola sticks her tongue out, and Lark gives a weak tilt of her lips, pity dancing in her eyes.
But Josie’s steps are slow, obviously unsure if she should leave without saying anything to us. She looks over, and my heart pumps faster, suddenly happy that I get to see her stunning green eyes pointed in my direction.
“Josie,” Lark says, watching her intently. Josie looks to her friend and, despite the conflict waging between herself and her omega, follows her right out of the room.
As soon as she is gone, it’s like a hole has been left behind. Her scent starts to dissipate, and I suddenly can’t stand it anymore.
“This is fucked up,” I grunt. “We can’t just let her—”
“Shush,” Cyrus barks at me again, and my temper flares.
“Don’t tell me to—”
“There are cameras in here,” he reminds me, his eyes looking up at one in the corner. I shut my mouth, finding myself back in reality as I realize where we are. We can’t discuss this here. I’m not sure what I was thinking other than she’s our mate, she’s our mate, she’s our mate.
“Let’s go,” Malaki says gently, his palm going to the small of my back as he leads me outside, trailing after our prime in utter silence.
It’s comfortable, but there’s a tension between us that hasn’t been there in fucking years.
It’s wild how something as small as a smell can rock our entire worlds, but it’s all we can think about it; evident in the way the bond lights up with leftover arousal from the meeting.
When we get to the car, Malaki slides into the backseat with me and holds my hand, his grip secure while everything feels like it’s crumbling down around me.
“I know this isn’t ideal,” Cyrus starts, turning his body to see us both from the driver’s seat. “This tour is important to both of the bands. And with our so-called ‘rivalry,’ I think we need to play it safe when it comes to who knows this information.”
I nod, completely forgetting that the public thinks Cyrus and Cleo are real exes with a history. “Fuck,” I mutter out loud, hanging my head in my hands. “Shit. This could be a disaster.”
“Yes, it could. And we don’t know what Josie is thinking, so we have to wait to talk to her—alone. We can’t out that kind of discovery without her consent.”
Her face shows up behind my eyelids, and my stomach twists with nausea. “She looked so scared,” I comment, shaking my head. “I just wish I could… make her feel better, comfort her. Is that crazy? We don’t even know each other yet.”
“It’s not crazy,” Malaki reassures me. “It’s very normal for you to instantly feel connected to your scent match. It was different with us, because we all already knew each other. But this is normal, I promise.”
Malaki continues, asking Cyrus, “Do you think she’s scent matched to Remi and Lennon, too?”
Cyrus nods. “It wouldn’t make sense if she weren’t. We’re a pack, with secure pack bonds. We are bonded,” he points between us three. “If she isn’t their scent match, and she’s only bound to us, then there’s still another omega out there for them.”
That doesn’t sound plausible. Remi and Lennon are my pack mates, but they aren’t my scent matches or my mates.
That lies only with Malaki and Cyrus. It doesn’t make sense for them to be isolated a second time.
“But that’s not what your instincts are saying,” I observe, seeing Cyrus’s features remain neutral.
He gives a confirming nod. “My instincts are saying she is theirs just as much as she is ours.”
“What do we do then?” I ask. “We’re going to be with them for an entire tour. One of the longest tours in history.”
“We have to follow her lead,” Cyrus answers like the prime he is. “And we have to talk to the rest of our pack.”