Page 104 of Bound By Song

“You know,” he says, glancing sidelong at me as he stirs something in the pan, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Blaise that relaxed. Not with anyone.”

I blink. “Really?”

“Really.” Xar leans on the counter, facing me more fully. “You bring something out of him. Out of all of us. It’s like…” Hepauses, searching for the word. “We’ve been playing the same song for years. But now you’re here, and suddenly we’re writing something new. Did you know, he’s not even had a drink since we met you? Nearly two weeks now. That’s…unheard of for him.”

My cheeks warm, but I don’t look away. “I like the sound of that.”

He gives me a slow, easy smile – the kind that sits low in his chest and tugs something loose in mine.

“Me too.”

“But is Blaise ok?”

“I believe he’s getting there. Thanks to you. I think you’re healing all of us, Evie. And our pack bond. We were fractured before, on the verge of breaking for good, and none of that feels important now that we’ve found you. I don’t mean that in a dismissive way, just that finding you has really put my priorities into perspective. The music and the band don’t matter anywhere near as much as my pack and you do. And I’m so fucking grateful to you for showing me that.”

The moment lingers there, soft and full of something unspoken. Then Xar clears his throat, nodding to the cutting board.

“Pass me the onion, would you?”

I hand it over, fingers brushing. And though nothing is said, everything feels a little closer.

A little more real.

Dinner is warm and unhurried.

We eat together in the kitchen, the camping lights low and golden, the table crowded with mismatched dishes and too manymugs. Xar’s food is – unsurprisingly – incredible. He’s not flashy about it, just quietly proud, his eyes flicking toward me every time I hum with pleasure over another bite.

Blaise tells a story about a gig in Berlin where a fan threw their underwear onstage with their phone number stitched into the waistband. Dane just shakes his head and mutters, “Every time,” while I nearly choke on my tea.

It’s easy. Natural.

And for once, I let it be that way.

After the meal, Xar suggests a walk before the weather turns again. The wind has settled into a cold hush, the air sharp but clear.

“I’ll come,” I say, already reaching for my boots.

Blaise gives me a long look as I shrug on my old rain mac. It’s not even waterproof anymore and there’s a rip under the armpit that I carefully try to conceal from knit, knowing he won’t approve. “Is that it?”

“What?”

“That” – he gestures to my jacket like it personally offended him – “is not a coat.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“She says, as her lips turn blue,” he mutters.

Xar chuckles and tosses him a scarf. “Let it go. She’s stubborn.”

“Terrible combination,” Blaise huffs. “Stubborn and adorable.”

“We can warm her up when we come back in, don’t sweat it.”

Blaise’s face lights up with anticipation and mischief at Xar’s suggestion.

We step out into the night, the frost crunching underfoot. The stars are bright above, the storm clouds finally scattered, and everything smells clean and crisp.

We walk slowly, tracing the edge of the fields, my breath puffing white in the air. Blaise kicks at a stone as we pass a low fence and looks over at Xar.

---