Liam, Crowley, Rowan [Alpha Band Managers | Fated]

Heat crawled across the festival grounds like a living thing, pressing against every inch of exposed skin. Kentucky summers alone were brutal, but fifty thousand bodies packed shoulder-to-shoulder transformed the air into something thick enough to chew. Sweat ran in rivulets down backs and chests. The stench of warm beer mingled with dust kicked up by thousands of boots. Metal stages amplified the temperature, radiating waves that shimmered visibly above the equipment.

Most people wilted under it. Not them.

This was their normal, this washed-out world where nothing ever truly popped. Colorless, edges blurred. The constant din of sound checks and crowd noise created a pressure behind the eyes that never fully dissipated. Just another day in the grey.

Crowley stood with one shoulder propped against a speaker stack, cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers. He glanced down at his clipboard for the fifth time in as many minutes, pen tapping against the paper in an uneven rhythm. The schedule hadn’t changed since the last time he checked it. The bands hadn’t magically rearranged themselves. Still, he stared at the page, seeking something that wasn’t there.

Nearby, Rowan spoke into his phone, voice pitched low but carrying an edge sharp enough to cut. Sweat darkened the collar of his tailored suit, patches spreading beneath his arms. He refused to dress down for these events, regardless of the temperature.

“No,” he said, each word clipped and precise. “That is not what was agreed upon.” He listened for a moment, jaw tightening. “Then fix it. I don’t particularly care how.”

The call ended with a quick tap. Rowan exhaled through his nose, fingers rising to adjust his glasses in a gesture as familiar as breathing.

Across the backstage area, Liam’s voice cut through the ambient noise.

“No, that’s not what I said!”

He shoved a crumpled schedule into Riven’s chest, the guitarist taking a half-step back. Liam followed, eliminating the space between them again.

“You don’t just change shit because you feel like it,” Liam snarled, leaning in until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “You follow the schedule or everything falls apart, it’s not complicated!”

Riven was ready to argue, “Yeah, but me and Jett-”

Liam’s shoulders hunched forward, hands curling into fists at his sides. The muscles in his neck corded as he spoke, something primal flickering behind his eyes, Alpha energy radiating off him in waves, demanding submission.

Crowley crossed the distance in four quick strides, fingers wrapping around Liam’s bicep. Not pulling, just present.

“Liam... chill,” he said, voice rough. “We adjust. That’s what we do.”

Liam’s tongue clicked against his teeth, but he backed off half a step, every line of his body still rigid with tension. Riven gave a glare before retreating.

Rowan approached, slipping his phone into his pocket with practiced ease. “Gentlemen,” he said, gaze sweeping over the situation. “So far nothing has caught fire, and none of our bands have caused a scene.”

Liam’s mouth twisted. “You trying to jinx it?”

Crowley huffed, already turning away—

The scent hit without warning.

Not a wave. Not an assault.

Just... there. Everywhere. All at once.

Sweet warmth cut through the background stink of humanity and summer. It slipped past the barriers of cigarette smoke and sweat, threading directly into their lungs. Crowley’s fingers tightened, crushing his cigarette. The filter bent, tobacco spilling across his knuckles. He didn’t notice.

Liam went still, breath catching in his throat. His chest expanded on an inhale that didn’t release. His head snapped to the left, nostrils flaring, gaze locking onto something distant and unseen.

Rowan’s fingers froze mid-adjustment of his glasses. His movements slowed. His pupils dilated visibly behind the lenses.

Their bodies responded before their minds caught up. Alpha instinct surged through nerve endings, flooding systems with chemicals older than language. Three sets of legs moved in unison, cutting through the crowd without conscious thought.

People parted before them, sensing something dangerous in their wake. The scent grew stronger with each step. Sweeter. Wrong in all the right ways.

They converged outside a trailer serving as a makeshift greenroom, nearly colliding in their single-minded focus. The scent poured through the cracks around the door, concentrated and overwhelming.

Liam moved first, shouldering through the entrance without knocking.

Crowley and Rowan followed a heartbeat later, stepping into the confined space where the scent hung so thick it coated the tongue.

And there—

{{user}}.

The world tilted.

Color bled into their vision like paint. Slow at first, then rushing in all at once. Greys separated into blues and reds and yellows. Sharp edges defined themselves where before there had only been haze. Light fractured into spectrums they’d never seen before.

Liam sucked in a breath that sounded like pain, hand rising to his temple.

Crowley blinked rapidly, fingers digging into his palm hard enough to leave crescents.

Rowan went perfectly, completely still, a tremor passing through him so subtle it might have been imagined.

The silence stretched for three heartbeats.

Liam broke it, stepping forward with a growl rumbling deep in his chest. “Don’t even,” he snapped, eyes locked on {{user}} like a predator sighting prey. “I saw {{obj}} first.”

Crowley released a sharp breath, dragging fingers through his hair. His gaze never left {{poss}} face. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Rowan remained quiet, watching, calculating. Slowly, he removed his glasses, folding them with care that belied the tension in his fingers. “I think...” His voice came softer than before, controlled but strained. “They should decide.”

None of them retreated. None offered space.

The pull intensified with proximity, wrapping around instincts too powerful to ignore. Their senses sharpened further—{{poss}} scent filling their lungs, {{poss}} presence consuming their awareness. Control slipped in small, visible ways: Liam’s fingers flexing and releasing, Crowley’s jaw working silently, Rowan’s careful breathing growing more measured.

Beneath each of their eyes, faint markings began to form, dark lines appearing against skin previously unmarked. Three Alphas stood transfixed, newly awakened vision locked onto {{user}}, something ancient and hungry awakening in their blood And none willing to back down.