Page 116 of Bound By Song

“Want me to play?” I ask, though I’m already fixing the instrument into place, my fingers moving across the frets with a quiet ease. A simple, familiar tune fills the air, one that’s been in my mind for days. The melody is slow, almost mournful, a lullaby for a broken heart, or perhaps one that hasn’t fully given in to the fall yet.

Her gaze doesn’t leave me, but I see the way her chest rises and falls, slower now, like the music is finding its place within her. Her lips part slightly as though she wants to speak, but doesn’t know how to form the words.

“You don’t have to pretend, you know,” I say, a little breathless. “That you’re not scared. You don’t have to be anything other than what you are right now. Perfect, Evie. You’re perfect for us.”

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. Her gaze flickers, and for a moment, I almost think she’ll pull away, retreating into that space where it’s easier not to feel, not to confront whatever thisisthat simmers beneath the surface.

But then, slowly, she shifts, her body a delicate blend of tension and softness, and she moves to sit up, untangling herself from Blaise who’s wrapped around her like a vine, propping herself up on her elbows. The movement is so quiet, so deliberate, as though she’s unsure if she wants to get too close, afraid of the boundaries we’ve been dancing around.

I let the mandolin’s notes drift through the space between us, a whisper of something tender, something unspoken.

Blaise sighs and rolls away, grabbing at a cushion and pulling it into his chest before stilling once more.

Evie glances at him then exhales, long and steady, the sound deepening in her chest. Her eyes meet mine again, and this time, there’s something raw in them – an openness I hadn’t expected, a vulnerability that makes my throat tighten.

“You don’t understand,” she murmurs, her voice softer than I imagined it could be, like a secret being shared in the dark.

I stop playing, my fingers hovering over the strings, waiting for her to continue, but she doesn’t. Instead, she pulls her knees closer to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as if she needs the protection, the security.

“Maybe I don’t,” I answer carefully, watching her. “But I want to. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to shut me out. If words are hard…use music.”

There’s a pause, a stillness where the room seems to hold its breath. And then, she speaks again, her words coming slower, but more deliberate this time.

“You think it’s that simple, don’t you?” Her voice cracks, just a little, but enough for me to hear the ache in it. “You think you can just come in here with your music and your calm, andfixthis.” She gestures vaguely to the space between us, as though it’s something tangible, something broken.

I don’t answer right away. I want to, but I’m not sure I have the words that would make any of this feel lessmessy, less like something we’re both wading through without any map to guide us. Instead, I just offer the mandolin over to her, the instrument now an extension of the moment we’re sharing, a bridge between us that feels fragile but necessary.

“Maybe not fix it,” I say quietly. “But I can try. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re alone anymore, baby. Alphas don’t always have to swoop in and save the day you know, though we wish we could. Sometimes it’s just enough to let them shoulder your burdens with you.”

She hesitates, her fingers brushing the strings but not yet playing. The soft sound of the mandolin in the quiet room feels like the closest thing to peace I’ve known in days.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore,” she whispers, the words barely a breath. “It’s like I’m...stuck. Like I can’t escape from the past me, from the things I’ve done, suppressed, from who I was. Who am I now? How do I take this next step, survive this heat, without losing who I am when I’m still discovering her. Who is Evie, the scent matched omega?”

The confession is raw, unguarded. I can feel it in the air between us, the weight of her fear, her regret. She’sfrightenedof being seen in this state, of showing the parts of her she’s kept hidden from the world.

“You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” I say, keeping my voice soft, steady. “I’m here. And whatever comes, we’ll figure it out together. You can be whoever you want to be, Evie. But Idoknow that you’re mine. Ours.”

She looks up at me then, her expression unreadable, but there’s something in her eyes that makes the air feel thick, charged with an energy I can’t quite name. Maybe it’s a glimmer of hope. Maybe it’s something else. It’s enough.

She strums another few notes, shaky but real – raw, like the words she’s still too scared to say out loud. It’s not the tune I was playing. It’s something new, something that might fall apart at any second. But she’s trying. That’s what matters.

I sit forward, watching her fingers hesitate over the strings. She doesn’t look at me, but I can see the flush on her cheeks, the way her bottom lip trembles ever so slightly. She’s wide open and doesn’t even know it.

I shift onto the mattress beside her, slow and careful, not touching but close. “Evie.”

Her gaze finally lifts to mine. Vulnerable. Exposed. Terrified.

“I need to say this,” I murmur. “And I don’t expect anything back. Not tonight. Not yet. But I’m falling for you, sweetheart. Really, falling. Deep and hard.”

Her breath catches.

“I don’t mean in some whirlwind, swept-up-in-your-heat kind of way,” I go on. “And I don’t mean in an oh-well-we’re-fated-so-it’s-inevitable way either. I mean in the way that matters. In the quiet moments. In the way you fight. In how you hold yourself together even when everything’s pulling you apart. Every minute I spend near you, every time you show me who you are, who you want to be, I feel it more.”

She stares at me for a long moment, stunned into silence. And then, with a shaky inhale, she whispers, “You’re not the only one.”

I blink, startled. Her eyes shine, not with tears, but with somethingreal.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she says softly. “But it did. And it’s not just about instinct. It’s you, Xar. All of you. You guys see me and accept me, even though I know I’m…lacking.”

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