Killian Finnegan, the lead singer in Irish hard rock band Rogue, fought to open his eyes when he heard music. Then he realized what song was playing and sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes quickly scanning the beds where his bandmates were sleeping. Shane Ward, Neil Nolan, and Ryan Cahill were still out cold, so that just left . . .

“Zayden.” The name of the bushy-haired brunet bass guitarist came out as a snarl. Killian’s pale-green eyes glowed yellow-green for a second as his irritation stirred the wolf sleeping inside him. Then the sickly yellow color faded to its normal light-green, almost blue shade. In a flash, he was on his feet and striding into the living room of the penthouse condo.

“Really, Zayden? Whitesnake? I know you like Queen, but I never figured you liked them.”

Zayden O'Byrne, his beta, shrugged. “What can I say? This song has a wicked guitar solo.”

Zayden turned away from Killian and headed into the kitchenette, searching the cupboards. He pulled out a skillet and set it on the stove. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Bacon,” Killian replied instantly, “and eggs.” His mouth was already starting to water.

It wasn’t long before the sounds and smells of cooking eggs and frying bacon saturated the air. Minutes later, crisp bacon and scrambled eggs were ready for both of them with plenty left over for the rest of the band if they so chose. (Right now though, Killian was the only one eating bacon. Zayden wasn’t much of a meat person.)

Killian was vaguely aware that the song had changed—was that really the Scorpions’ “Rock You Like a Hurricane”?—but at the moment, he didn’t care. He was too busy eating to care about Zayden’s music choices. That is, until the lines “The night is calling, I have to go. The wolf is hungry, he runs the show. He’s licking his lips, he’s ready to win on the hunt tonight for love at first sting.” The werewolf scowled. “You better not have ‘Bark at the Moon’ up next, Zayden.”

“The Ozzy Osbourne song?”

“Is there any other version?”

“Good point. It’s funny you should mention that . . .”

Killian growled. “It is, isn’t it? Do you love torturing me or something?”

He wished he could take the words back as soon as they were out of his mouth. For the past two days, his relationship with Zayden had taken somewhat of a more intimate turn, one he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with. Correction: his wolf, being an alpha, was perfectly okay with the idea of Zayden being more than just a friend. His wolf had already claimed Zayden as part of his pack, but Killian suspected it wanted more than that—wanted Zayden as its mate. He wasn’t at all sure how he felt about that, because wolf or not, the human side of him was there, too.

The sudden tension between him and Zayden was palpable, and Killian really did not want to think too hard on what kind of tension it was, exactly. Thankfully, Zayden broke it by clearing his throat. “You never answered my question from last night.”

“I thought I’d made it clear after I bit you. You’re part of my pack. Even if another werewolf turns you, you won’t be able to join their pack. I’m your alpha.”

“Why just me? I mean, you didn’t do that to the others, right?”

“No, I haven’t done this to the rest of the band, and I don’t know why it was you first, Zayden.” He wanted to pin it on instinct, the full moon, his wolf, or a combination of all three, but that wasn’t quite right. If he thought about it too much, he was afraid of what he might discover—and what it said about himself.

“Aside from making me part of your pack, what else did you do?” Zayden asked. “Last night, when those guys attacked us, I could feel your emotions as if they were my own.” Zayden’s eyes met Killian’s briefly, then quickly darted away. Eye contact meant a challenge, and he didn’t like challenging Killian’s authority like that—like a wolf. He was okay with mouthing off and messing around because those were human things, but Killian’s werewolf nature brought out something vulnerable, submissive, in him—and Zayden hated himself for it. Yet at the same time, that submissive part of him knew he should be at Killian’ s feet, because at least there he felt protected, could simply be. What he felt, though, wasn’t quite any of that. It was all of it, and actually, he liked knowing Killian was his alpha, would be there for him—could even control him, like the way he’d made him slide down the brick wall outside that club the night before. He’d felt owned, safe, and he never wanted the feeling to go away.

“Well,” Killian’s voice said, snapping Zayden back to the man sitting across from him, “that would be one side effect. Since you’re mine”—his inner wolf practically howled with satisfaction—“we have a connection. I can tell where you’re at anytime, anyplace, and you can do the same. As you’ve noticed, there’s an empathy link.”

A short laugh escaped Zayden. “Well, this is awkward.”

“You’re telling me,” Killian muttered.

“No kidding,” came Neil’s voice. Both vocalist and bassist turned their heads in his direction and saw the rhythm guitarist leaning casually against the doorway, Shane and Ryan flanking him, all three of them looking half asleep. Then, as one, their eyes landed on the skillets still three-quarters full with eggs and bacon (Killian saw their eyes light up from halfway across the room). Within seconds, the other three Rogues were loading their plates and settling down beside Killian and Zayden to dig in.

“So, what’s the schedule for today?” Ryan asked in between bites of toast.

All five of them looked toward the refrigerator, where they’d pinned the tour schedule. Zayden, who was closest, went and took in down, then brought it back. “Looks like we don’t have to report until nine this morning. It’s, what, seven now?”

“Yeah,” Killian answered, checking his watch. “Might as well head down when we’re finished here.”

“’Kay,” Shane mumbled through a mouthful of bacon.

There was silence as the band settled into the serious business of eating, though Killian sent a glowering look at Zayden’s smirk when Ozzy Osbourne’s “Bark at the Moon” started playing.