Page 100 of Bound By Song

Eventually, we have everything ironed out and I hang up, shoving the phone into my pocket. The wind cuts across the hilltop, but the weight in my chest has shifted.

Determination takes its place.

By the time I make it back down to the house, the sky has darkened. Inside, the scent of fresh coffee mingles with the faint sweetness of baked bread. The others are just beginning to stir, voices low and rough with sleep.

I don’t stop. I head straight for Evie’s grandmother’s room.

Stripping it is the easy part. Easier than it should be. Like my body knows what needs to be done and won’t tolerate anything less. Every drawer I empty, every heavy piece of furniture I shove to the hallway feels like peeling away layers of old pain. Like I’m ripping out pieces of Eviana’s past, making room for something better. Something hers.

This space – cold and stiff and hollow – will never be used to control her again.

It will be soft. Safe. Hers.

By the time I’m finished, the walls feel bare but open. The air cleaner, somehow. Ready for something new.

A low rumble outside makes me pause and glance toward the window. The delivery truck is crawling up the gravel path, headlights cutting through the mist. Right on time. Liv always comes through for us.

I meet them at the door, help unload, direct boxes into piles. Everything from plush throws to silk curtains, from rose-gold fairy lights to soft pink rugs. It’s chaos, but it’s perfect.

I find Eviana in the kitchen, halfway through a sandwich, a mug of tea cradled in her hands. She looks up, wary.

“What’s going on?”

I smirk and cross the room to steal a bite of her sandwich before dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

She freezes, but she doesn’t pull away. That’s good. We’re going to have to get her used to casual touch fast if she’s going into heat. I know her well enough by now to know she’s going topanic when things escalate, especially if she hasn’t even kissed all three of us yet.

Her cheeks flush as she ducks her head to avoid my gaze, but I catch the little smile on her lips and feel my chest ease.

Good. One step at a time. Hopefully what I’m about to say next doesn’t undo that, but it’s a conversation that needs to happen sooner rather than later, and I think she’d probably prefer to have it one on one than with the others around.

“I want to talk to you about something,” I say gently, brushing my hand along her shoulder. “About your heat.”

She stills. Not stiff, exactly – more like bracing. But after a heartbeat, she nods. “Okay.”

I pull out the chair across from her and sit, making sure I’m at her level, giving her space but not retreat. “I know it’s a lot. And I’m not trying to overwhelm you. But I want to be honest – about what’s coming. About what it might feel like. What your body might need.”

Her face flushes deep crimson, and she drops her gaze, fingers curling around the edge of her mug. “I...I don’t really know what to expect. I’ve read things – books, blogs, stuff online – but I don’t know what’s real. What’s exaggerated. What’s just...alpha fantasies dressed up as advice.”

“That’s fair,” I say, nodding slowly. “There’s a lot of noise out there. A lot of misinformation. The truth is, it’s different for every omega. But what’s usually true is this – your body will start to want things. Contact. Pressure. Touch. Sometimes just scent. Sometimes more. At a certain point, your omega might crave sex. Knotting.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows, her voice barely audible when she speaks. “So I’ll…lose control?”

“Not lose,” I say softly. “But let go. There’s a difference. And only if you feel safe enough to surrender to it. That’s where we come in. To make sure you’re never alone in it. To care for you.Whether that means bringing you water or holding you while you sleep – or being there physically, if that’s what you need.”

She lets out a shaky exhale, rubbing her thumb along the rim of her mug. “I don’t want to make it weird. I haven’t...I mean, I’ve never—” She breaks off and presses the heel of her palm to her forehead, frustrated. “God, this is so embarrassing.”

“It’s not,” I say gently, waiting until she meets my gaze again.

“I’m a virgin,” she blurts, cheeks burning. “I’ve only ever kissed one person. Xar. And even that was a fluke. A panic. We never talked about it. I don’t even know if he thinks it meant anything.”

My heart twists. She says it like a confession. Like a flaw.

I reach out, laying my hand over hers – just enough pressure to ground, not push. “Evie, thank you for trusting me with that. It doesn’t change a damn thing. If anything, it just tells me more about how to care for you.”

Her eyes lift to mine, full of uncertainty. “But what if I want things during my heat...things I wouldn’t normally ask for? What if I’m not in my right mind, and I?—”

“We’ll never touch you without your consent,” I cut in, firm but calm. “No matter how worked up you are. No matter what your omega’s screaming for. The moment you say stop, we stop. Period.”

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