Page 79 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
"Hi," I manage, practically choking on the word. Guilt crawls up my throat like bile. I force myself to meet those green eyes. "Sorry. I have an alpha phobia."
The admission hangs in the air for a beat.
Orion's eyes soften, and he gives a light, soft chuckle. "Ah. I apologize. It's a pleasure to meet you, Bells," he says, his accented voice—Eastern European, maybe—much gentler than I expected from an alpha his size. It's slightly muffled bythe skeletal mask. He steps forward slowly, telegraphing his movements, and reaches for my hand.
I let him take it, watching in stunned silence as he brings my knuckles to the cold golden teeth of his mask in a courtly gesture. It suits him, considering he looks like a fae prince.
"Forgive me for startling you," he continues, releasing my hand and stepping back to give me space. "Though I must admit, 'ghost' is new. I think I prefer it. Usually, it's just 'monster' or 'demon.'"
Rex shifts uncomfortably from across the room where he's planted himself by a window, leaning against a wooden pillar with his arms folded over his chest. It clicks immediately in my mind that Rex and Orion are both badly scarred. Is that how Rex knows Jamie? Is this where the band gets their masks? It makes sense why he'd trust Jamie to craft them if Jamie's mate is scarred, too.
But why did he bring me along?
There's no way he's having one made for me. And if he is, he's fucking with me. I don't know how yet, but I'll find out. And I'll get him back in spades. He has no idea what he's getting himself into if he kicks off some kind of stupid prank war with me.
Despite the embarrassment still prickling along my skin, I snort. "All I saw from the outside of the tower was a gold skull in the window. If I'd seen the boots, I would've known better. They're killer."
"Aren't they?" Jamie chimes in, bouncing on his toes. "They're vintage. Authentic cowboy boots from this amazing shop in Albuquerque."
Orion and Jamie are complete opposites in every way. Jamie's bouncy, sunny energy versus Orion's quiet, majestic presence. Jamie's warm brown eyes and softness versus Orion's sharp angles and piercing green gaze.
And it works perfectly.
"Your mate has excellent taste," I tell Orion, and his eyes crinkle at the corners.
"He does," Orion agrees, his gaze sliding to Jamie with obvious affection as he leans against a workbench. "In many things."
Jamie actually giggles, flushing pink. "Anyway," he says, clapping his hands together to accentuate the subject change. "Rex mentioned you need a mask?"
Knew it.
"That's news to me," I say dryly.
Jamie blinks. "Wait, Rex didn't tell you why he brought you here?"
"Nope. Not a word."
Jamie shoots Rex a look of his own, but Rex is too busy studying the shadowboxes on the far wall to pay any attention to the murder looks he's receiving from the otherwise unassuming omega.
"Rex is an alphahole," Jamie says loud enough for Rex to hear.
Rex doesn't even blink.
Orion pushes off from the workbench and moves closer, those green eyes studying my face with an intensity that somehow doesn't put me on edge. He's not looking at me the way I've been used to alphas looking at me for nearly my entire life. He's looking at me like I'm a canvas, something to be understood and appreciated.
"You have good bone structure," Orion says thoughtfully. "Sharp. Elegant. A mask would need to complement your features. We shouldn't hide them."
His voice softens on those last words. This is an alpha who knows what it's like to hide, to build armor between yourself and a world that won't accept what's underneath.
Like Rex.
And like me.
Orion gestures for me to follow him to a workbench that's less cluttered than the others, and I do, hyperaware of Rex's single visible eye tracking my movement from across the room. Jamie bounces along beside me, already chattering about leather types and metal fittings like we're best friends who've known each other for years instead of strangers who met five minutes ago.
"We'll start with measurements," Jamie explains, pulling out what looks like a jeweler's measuring tape. "Then I'll do a cast of your face. Don't worry, it's not uncomfortable. Just a little weird."
"Define 'weird,'" I say warily.
