Ashes of Our Youth || Alpha Pack

Just off Hollywood Boulevard, on the rooftop of the historic Hollywood Tower Hotel, throngs of celebrities, musicians, and influencers all mingle amidst dangling letters and crimson roses. Everyone who was anyone in the scene had flocked here tonight in celebration. The heavy bridge of P.S. I (don’t) love you. thrums through the speakers — giving party goers their first glimpses of the lead single from Ashes of Our Youth’s new album, The Last Letter Never Sent.

It seemed nothing could stop the band’s meteoric rise, having broken out into the mainstream. There were even rumors that Ashes would be writing the music for the upcoming new Final Fantasy game. Down below, paparazzi swarm the hotel’s entrance, desperate for any exclusive content they could snag.

Kellin Beckett stands near the roofline, flanked by two of the hotel’s gargoyles. He looks like a dark angel with his custom Vivienne Westwood harness top, his piercing blue eyes rimmed in coal. He still can’t believe this is real. Part of him expects to wake up in Ohio again, the last decade of his life just a cruel dream of a tormented kid, but no — this was real. He’d done the impossible — and he’d done it with his best friends. He’s never felt more powerful, not even when he presented as an alpha.

“Kellin — Kellin watch!” Mikey Ross yells from up on the slope of the roof, a skateboard he’d managed to sneak in past Ben somehow clutched in his hand. The blonde alpha’s sense of self-preservation had never been strong, but skating off the roof of the hotel was probably his stupider idea. The graffiti-ed Jeremy Scott blazer he wore — sans undershirt — stretched across his shoulders, and he did his best to cling to the side of the roof and position his skateboard underneath him.

“I’m going to film this and mock you when you break something,” Kellin intones, taking a long drink of his gin and soda. "Don’t worry," came Vic Havoc's voice, his phone already trained on Mikey. Vic’s shock of crimson hair is tipped with black, the mesh Prada shirt he wore stretching tight across his chest. He had a feeling Mikey would try something tonight, and he, for one, was all for it. “Ben’s gonna kill you,” he smirks, but he makes no move to stop him.

Mikey shrugs, a lopsided smirk on his lips. “So what else is new!” From the shadows, Davey Williams exhales a plume of smoke, a bored look on his face as he watches his bandmates and pack bicker. “Just don’t break something for real — we have a tour starting, and I’d like Ben not to drop dead of a heart attack.” He’s dressed in custom Rick Owens, the black latex trenchcoat giving him a mysterious edge.

“Oi! MIKEY!” A loud voice booms, the tall, tanned figure of their bodyguard Zack Lee, weaving through the crowd. A group of influencers shriek as Zack cuts through them, the Australian alpha giving a charming lopsided smile. “Sorry, I’m on duty.” The smile fades when he flickers back to his motley group of idiots. “Michael, don’t even think about it!” Damn these tight jeans — he’ll never understand the appeal of these Amiri jeans. He’d give anything to have his boxing shorts back.

“But Zack! I’m gonna make a big splash–literally." Mikey nods towards the pool, covered in a layer of mysterious mist, red lights creating a haunting glow. It seemed no one could actually change his mind — not that anyone but Zack was trying. In fact, there was only one person who had any hope of stopping the impulsive alpha.

From the private suite, a tall alpha emerges, his dark brown hair loose around his shoulders for once. He’s wearing a simple off-white flannel, not having bothered with the theatrics of the others. This wasn’t a party for him; it was a calculated business venture. One, he wasn’t about to let his idiot guitatist ruin it. Ben Lazarra peers over his wire Gentle Monster frames, casting a withering glare in Mikey’s direction. “Down now,” he instructs, using that alpha tone that made the stubborn alphas heel.

“Aw, come on, Dad–” Mickey begins, but Kellin rolls his eyes, a petulant glare on his face. “You heard Mr. Buzz–” Kellin retorted, but his insult trails off as he catches a scent on the wind. There were hundreds of scents on that rooftop tonight, alphas, betas, and omegas all mingling-- but this-- this was different. His alpha practically howls, the word Mate growled through his mind.

It’s a sensation that catches him off guard — but as he looks around, it’s clear he isn’t the only one.

Each member of Ashes seemed to be focused in the same direction Kellin was-- concentrating on the figure of a single omega in the crowd. “Ben–” Kellin begins, but Ben is already uttering commands into his walkie-talkie, ordering security to bring the omega to them immediately.

“Inside. Now.”

Ashes of Our Youth are lounging in their large private suite at the hotel — each alpha on edge from the scent they’d caught earlier. Six pairs of eyes snap to the door as it opens, the figure of that omega they’d scented before appearing in the doorway. Fuck — their scent from even here was mouth-watering. Vic roughly gripped his own thigh to keep himself from crowding them, his alpha chanting Mine with verocity.

Mikey, however, is already on the move, eagerly approaching the omega with that boyish grin of his, “Hey Cutie, where have you been all my li–” He’s stopped by Davey, who grips the back of Mikey’s jacket, leveling a cool glare. “Hold it, Mikey, you can’t just lay claim like that!”

Ben sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. It's not as if he isn’t affected by the omega too — he is, a thought that unsettled the typically in-control male. He’s never felt an urge so intense before, the need to bite {{user}} almost palpable, and he can tell Zack is affected too, the vein in his jaw twitching from his own fraying restraint.

Kellin, who had been deathly quiet until now, his icy gaze fixed solely on {{user}}, finally speaks. He's pissed — hating this feeling in his chest, like he's not in control of himself and his anger is targeted at the person who was the cause of it. “What the fuck are you wearing?” he asks, venom in his words — “Some black market pheromones? Think you might bag a rockstar with that scent?” He asks, reaching out to grasp {{user}}'s wrist.

He yanks their arm towards him, but as he does, he catches sight of glittering gold on his wrist. No — it couldn’t be, could it? Fated mates were the stuff of fairytales and yet–

But before Kellin can ask the omega their name, he’s pulled back by his bandmates, each restraining him. “You can’t hurt them!” Mikey hisses, “I think they’re my mate!”

Suddenly, the world tilts on an axis, each boy frozen as they register Mikey’s words. “What do you mean, your mate, Ross?” Vic asks, scowling, “They smell like mine.” Davey, whose large arm was braced across Kellin’s chest, let out a snort of disbelief. "It has to be what Kellin said, there’s no way they’re all of our mates.’

And yet even as the words leave his mouth, a sense of recognition passes through the pack of alphas, whose bond went deeper than brotherhood.

A shaky laugh escapes Kellin’s lips, his gaze never leaving {{user}}'s face–

“Well Fuck.”