The blissful moment, was, unfortunately, short-lived. Killian’s eyes snapped open as a girl shrieked, “OH MY GOD! It’s Killian and Zayden from Rogue!”

The werewolf’s eyes flew to Zayden’s and saw his own horror reflected there. “Run?” he suggested.

“Run,” Zayden agreed.

Together they moved as fast as they could through the crowd, searching for the rest of the band. The mob parted like the Red Sea, although both bassist and singer accidentally knocked into a few people. Zayden spun around, eyes scanning, before he groaned in frustration. “Honestly, how hard is it to find a drummer in here?”

“At the rate we’re going, I’d say very,” Killian replied, dodging around a couple completely oblivious to the famous musicians.

“Can’t you sniff ’em out or something?” Zayden asked, ducking to avoid being kicked in the head by a scantily-clad pole-dancer. (Okay, the politically correct term was probably “stripper”, but Killian could not care less.)

“Maybe, but with all these scents . . .” Killian shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?” came Ryan’s familiar voice from behind Killian, who whirled around to see that his drummer looked okay—a little flushed, maybe, but otherwise perfectly fine.

“Uh, forget it. Have you seen Neil or Shane anywhere?”

Ryan thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Why?”

“We’ve been compromised.”

“In English, Killian.”

“Someone recognized me and Zayden, and now a bunch of teenage girls are probably looking for us.”

The look on Ryan’s face was one that said, quite clearly, Oh crap. “Okay, let’s leave.”

“Not without Team Rocket,” Killian reminded him. Now, where are they? Last I saw, they were with me and Zayden. I can probably track their scent . . . Discreetly, he breathed in deeply, turning his head, trying to locate Neil and Shane's scent. Since he practically lived with the band while they were on tour, he knew each member’s particular smell by heart. Once he caught it, he moved quickly through the crowd, Zayden and Ryan breaking into a jog to keep up. Neil and Shane hadn’t really moved from where they’d entered with Killian and Zayden after encountering them in the alley.

“Hey, Ryan, Killian, Zayden,” Neil greeted them. “What’s up?”

Killian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “We have to leave. Now.” He was feeling edgy again, although whether that was because of his wolf or the fear of being swarmed by teenage girls, he had no idea.

Neil’s eyes went dark with suspicion. “What did you do, Killian?”

The singer bristled. “Nothing! Of course, unless you want to be run over by rabid fangirls—”

“Good point.” The suspicion in Neil’s eyes vanished. “Back door?”

“Back door,” Killian confirmed. “Move it.”

An excited, high-pitched shriek followed by “Is that seriously Rogue?!” forced the band to double their efforts. It wasn’t long before all five members spilled out into the alley where Killian had transformed not ten minutes before, sprawling in a heap on the ground with Neil on top of Shane and Killian tangled with Zayden. Somehow, only Ryan managed to regain his balance, stopping him from going the same way as his mates.

“Hey, Killian, I think you can get off me,” Zayden said, his voice muffled.

“I second that,” came Shane’s voice from underneath Neil.

Both Killian and Neil rolled off Zayden and Shane, respectively, and helped them up. The werewolf said, “We might as well head back to the hotel. We have another concert tomorrow, remember.”

Ryan, Neil, and Shane took the lead, while Killian dropped back to walk with Zayden.

“So, Killian,” Zayden began hesitantly, “about earlier . . .”

“What?” Killian stopped walking and looked at his bass player, his beta in their strange pack of four humans and one werewolf.

“What exactly did you do to me?”

“I didn’t turn you if that’s what you’re thinking. One of us has to be in wolf form for the bite to turn a human, and even then there are resisters.”

“Huh?”

“Someone who won’t turn.”

“But you said if the bite didn’t turn me, it would kill me.”

“They are the exception.” Killian shivered as a chill raced up and down his spine. He was feeling feverish again, the darkness in him itching to be released so it could feed. “Do you want your original question answered or not?”

Zayden opened his mouth to reply, but shut it when a voice nearby hissed out of the darkness: “Hey, over here.”

The two Rogues looked down the shadowed service road. Zayden cocked an eyebrow at Killian, who shrugged and headed down the dark path with his beta on his five.

Killian froze when a hand clapped over his mouth and a low voice ordered, “Give us everything you have on you without any noise or your friend over here gets it.”

Pale-green eyes flitted over to Zayden and narrowed in fury: The bassist was stock-still, a knife held against his throat, the man behind him way too close.

“Muggers! Are you fucking kidding me?” Killian’s voice was an irritated, disbelieving snarl.

The guy holding Killian frowned in confusion. “Huh?” Clearly, that was not the reaction they were expecting.

“We don’t have any money,” Zayden said, swallowing nervously. “’Sides, you don’t want to piss Killian off.” Maybe it was result of Killian’s bite, but he could feel the singer’s rising anger. He stiffened and fell silent when the blade pressed harder against the soft skin of his throat.

“And why is that?” the guy with the knife asked, his voice dangerously silky.

Rage was tinting Killian’s vision red. Both he and his wolf were in agreement on one thing: No one hurt Zayden—or the other Rogues, but mostly Zayden—and got away with it. He bit down hard on the hand covering his mouth, pleased when the man released a yelp and dropped his hand, swearing black and blue, even using some words Killian was pretty sure he made up on the spot. The hand balled into a fist, socked him in the stomach, and Killian went with the pain, dropping onto all fours. Saliva mixed with the tang of blood in the back of his throat. The thugs no longer scared him.

They made him hungry.

Dark laughter echoed around him as he watched his nails turn into claws, saw the wiry hairs push their way out of his skin.

“Whoa. Who is this freak?” Zayden’s captor asked.

Zayden shrugged. “Oh, just the singer in a little band called Rogue. And it looks like you’ve made him very angry. Then again, you Americans have a habit of doing that.”

The changing was quicker and easier than last time. Killian shucked off the last vestiges of his human form and released a bone-chilling howl. His glowing, eerie yellow-green eyes locked on the man holding the blade to Zayden’s throat and he bared his fangs, a low growl rumbling from deep in his chest.

The men screamed, but not for long.