“C’mon, Killian!” Zayden O'Byrne yelled to his bandmate and alpha. “Run!”

Killian Finnegan flashed him a dirty look but took off, trying to keep ahead of the rabid fangirls. The rest of Rogue—drummer Ryan Cahill and guitarists Neil Nolan and Shane Ward—had decided to be smart and stay behind in the house they were renting. Zayden and Killian had wanted to explore the town of Cripple Creek, Colorado, now that their residency and tour was over, and naturally they were seen by a horde of female fans. Killian couldn’t really remember why they were near the gambling town in the first place. Well, they were in the state anyway because they were finishing up a residency in Colorado Springs and Denver—and then they’d decided to stay for a bit before heading home. At least the few weeks off gave the band some downtime to relax and have fun before working on their next album back in Ireland. Besides, Colorado was a beautiful state—until you reached the eastern part of it and had left the Rocky Mountains behind. The eastern bit was semi-desert, full of cacti and sagebrush. As Shane had so bluntly put it: “You’ve seen one sagebrush, you’ve seen them all.” On the bright side, it was full of potential prey for two hungry werewolves.

Zayden was finding out one of the perks of being a werewolf right now: their preternatural speed. He’d only been turned a week before, so he was still figuring out how to cope with his new life. Killian, on the other paw, had received the bite when he was very young, so he’d dealt with lycanthropy almost his whole life. He had an advantage that Zayden could never have, since he was almost like a pureblood ’wolf.

The alpha and beta ’wolves made it for at least three blocks before Zayden pulled Killian around the corner of a brick building. Killian found he was pressed up against the bassist, but he didn’t move until he was sure the crowd had thundered past. Even then, it was only to trace his fangs along his mate’s throat. Zayden’s scent filled all of his senses; soon, he felt like they were the only two people alive.

The bassist had gone completely still, his breathing ragged. “Killian . . .” The desire coming off him was growing stronger with each passing heartbeat. His eyes were slowly glowing electric-blue, a sign that his ’wolf was close to the surface. Killian wasn’t sure why Zayden’s ’wolf eyes were blue: most of the werewolves he’d met had yellow eyes when they turned. And Zayden was a wereling, so he retained his human eyes in the lupine state. The electric-blue only showed when his ’wolf was fighting for control or at the beginning of the transformation.

The singer’s only response was a low growl. He nipped lightly at Zayden’s neck, his fingers slipping under the bassist’s shirt to stroke the smooth skin.

Zayden’s claws slid from their sheaths, digging through clothing into the hard muscles of Killian’s back. The human part of him was gone, the ’wolf completely in control. But he was a wereling, wasn’t he? So, why—

Killian suddenly stepped back, tension in every line of his body. His features were entirely human, so that alerted Zayden right away to the fact something was wrong. The beta asked, “What is it?”

“They’re coming,” was Killian’s cryptic answer.

Zayden rolled his eyes. “You know, you’re really killing the whole werewolf mystique, here. Who’s coming? Fans? Other ’wolves? Some other supernatural creature that I have no idea exists?”

“The fangirls. Now get your ’wolf under control, wereling, or I might have to do it for you.”

The bassist grinned. “I wonder how that’ll happen.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Killian growled. He tugged on Zayden’s jacket, jerking his head in the direction of the street they were now on. “Run, and don’t stop until I say so.”

“Yes, alpha.” Zayden was a little annoyed that the traditional answer slipped from his mouth but he bolted anyway. Killian was sprinting along beside him, his hand occasionally brushing his. The singer groaned, “Why did we have to become so famous?”

“Would you prefer we be back in Kilkenny?” Zayden shot back. “At least now we’re rock stars and get all our chicks for free.”

“I think you’ve been hanging around Jordan too much. Watch it, O'Byrne. You’re in my pack, not his.”

“He’s not even lupine!”

“Doesn’t matter.”

They turned left, heading back the way they’d come on the street parallel to the one they’d been on moments before. Zayden couldn’t hide the grin in his voice when he replied, “I love it when you get territorial on me.”

“Shut it, beta. Where the bloody hell did we park?”

Zayden couldn’t have answered even if he’d wanted to: he’d poured on the speed, resisting the urge to run on all fours. Sure, that way was faster, but it just looked weird when he and Killian were in human form. When they turned werewolf, however, it was completely natural, since they resembled real wolves.

It wasn’t until they’d made it back to the rental that they allowed themselves to relax. Killian reached out for the steering wheel before he realized there was nothing in front of him but the glove compartment and dashboard. Zayden, seated on Killian’s left, grinned at him and said, “We’re in America.” The bassist promptly set the car in reverse and backed out of their parking space, Killian scrabbling for a hold on anything when Zayden turned the car sharply and sped out of Cripple Creek as if hellhounds were on their tail. Well, considering they could be viewed as hellhounds, it wasn’t a very fair analogy. Really, though, if Zayden didn’t slow down on these windy mountain roads, Killian might very well end up with a broken neck—or at least whiplash.

After another narrow turn, Killian lost it. He snapped, “Blimey, Zayden, are you trying to kill us?! Who taught you how to drive?!”

“My mum.”

“That explains a lot.”

Zayden’s only response was a snarl, and Killian smirked. He liked—okay, enjoyed—teasing Zayden like this. Doing so reminded him that he didn’t have to be the alpha all the time and it was okay to have fun.

The car’s speed dropped from sixty mph to something like thirty miles per hour. Killian relaxed instantly, loosening his death grip on the sides of the leather seat. In doing so, he realized his claws had gouged holes in the leather.

Not one scratch, he remembered Neil saying. Oops.

Zayden snickered. Clearly, the beta had heard him through their bond.

“Just shut up and drive.”

“Got it.”

*

Almost three hours later, Zayden pulled up at the house the band was renting in Vail. Killian’s ears were ringing from all the rock songs he’d heard on the radio during the drive, ranging from Heart to Venom to Journey, the Scorpions, Queen, and even his own band, Rogue.

“I still think Venom and Inkubus copied us,” Killian grumbled as he exited the car.

“So do I,” Zayden said, “but what can we do about that? ’Sides, Jordan’s a friend.”

“Have I ever told you that I hate it when you’re right?”

“Only all the time. What are we doing standing around here for? It’s freezing!” Zayden started walking toward the front door. The singer watched him for a moment, and then followed the beta, deciding it was best not to point out it was only sixty degrees Fahrenheit.

When they entered, they found the rest of the band waiting for them in the living room. That was rarely a good sign.

Neil was sitting on the couch, messing with something in his hands. Without looking up, he asked, “How’d it go?”

“Fine, until we were spotted by a whole crowd of teenage girls,” Killian replied.

Shane, over in the kitchen with a bottle of whiskey, choked on the drink when he started laughing. Ryan pounded him hard on the back until he recovered. The guitarist gasped out, “Thanks, mate.”

“No problem,” the drummer said.

A small smile curled at Neil’s mouth. “I can imagine how that went. Let me guess: You decided on Run Like Hell.”

“Uh-huh.”

Neil still didn’t look up from the Rubik’s cube as he asked casually, “So, how long have you and Zayden been shagging each other?”

This time Shane’s drink spewed over the kitchen counter. Killian sensed Zayden’s flash of panic through their empathy link. He sent the beta a silent command to calm down. The singer said, “What are you talking about?”

“We heard the two of you a few nights ago at the hotel. Don’t even try denying it, Killian.”

Killian had to remind himself that Jordan had wiped his bandmates’ minds so that they knew nothing of his and Zayden’s lupine conditions. Even so, he curled his hands into fist to try and hide his claws. When he unfurled them, they were normal—and thank goodness for that, because he did not want to have to explain the whole werewolf thing to his bandmates for a second time. They hadn’t handled it very well on the first go-round. So he admitted, “We haven’t been for long. What’s it to you, Neil?”

“Just worried, that’s all.”

“And curious,” Shane called from the kitchen.

Zayden smirked, coming up behind Killian and resting his head on the alpha’s shoulder. “You do realize how that ended for the cat, don’t you?”

“Oh, bugger off, Zayden,” Neil grumbled.

“Gladly.” Zayden tugged gently at Killian’s earlobe with his teeth; the alpha had to suppress a groan of desire. Why did Zayden have to tease him like this? Well, Killian teased the beta all the time, so he figured this was some sort of payback. Then Zayden was gone, while Shane, Neil, and Ryan were staring at him with their mouths hanging open.

The ’wolf met their gazes innocently. “What?”