Page 15 of Bound By Song

Dane’s gaze softens, and he glances out the window for a moment, taking in the misty morning before speaking. “I didn’t like how things ended last night. I’ll come with you.”

“Good,” I reply, grateful that he’s not arguing. “Let’s go then. We’ll figure it out on the way.”

Blaise grabs the keys from the counter and heads for the door, muttering under his breath. “You two are both mad. But I already said I’ll drive. Least I can do.”

As we walk out into the damp morning, the chill in the air sharp against my skin, I feel something shift in me. The weight of it, that gnawing feeling in my gut, has lessened now that I’ve made the decision. We’re going back. We’re going to check on her.

And hopefully, when we do, we’ll find that maybe – just maybe – she’s ready to let us help her.

EVIANA

Waking feels like dragging myself out of a grave, the remnants of an uneasy night pressing down on my chest. Every creak of the old house and every rustle of the wind set my nerves alight, dragging me in and out of fractured sleep. I can’t stop thinking about them – those three alphas. The knock on the door. The way they looked at me. The overwhelming energy they brought with them. HowaliveI felt for the first time in…forever, really.

My brain’s stuck in quicksand as I try to prise open my eyes. The bad weather outside is picking up too, the rain tapping against the windows like the beginning of something bigger. There’s a tightness in my stomach that doesn’t ease, no matter how much I try to push it away.

The sky’s dark, and it feels like the world’s just waiting for something to break.

I try to shake off the tension, making my way to the kitchen for some tea. I let the old-fashioned kettle whistle on the hob, the sound soothing for a moment, but my mind doesn’t stop.

I take my herbal tea, add a drop of honey and a squeeze of lemon, and sit by the window, trying to focus on something – anything – else. I pull my art supplies close, determined to lose myself in my painting. But the brush feels foreign in my hand, the strokes uneven. I try again, but the colours blur together, blending into nothing.

With a frustrated sigh, I set the paintbrush down and push the small canvas away.

My grandmother insisted all of us were ‘accomplished young ladies’ so my sisters and I can all paint, draw, sing, play several instruments and can even write poems and stories. Music was always my particular passion, though Grams never approved of my singing anything other than hymns from her church. Music doesn’t make me a living either. At least my painting does, though I’m nowhere near as talented as Evelyn is. But, thanks to the internet, I’m able to paint and make a living from the safety of my own home without ever having to venture outside my front door. Marketing’s a real bitch though, practically a second full time job. Luckily, I have a couple of loyal customers who keep me in work with semi-regular commissions, otherwise I don’t know what I’d do.

Needing to try something different to settle my nerves, I move over to the old upright piano in the lounge. The old keys are worn from years of use. My fingers hover over them, and I let out a slow breath, allowing the familiar rhythm of the music to calm my nerves. It helps, a little. But still, I can’t focus. It’s been a couple of days since I posted any new content on my social media accounts, and I’m getting antsy about it.

I stop mid-chord, my heart skipping a beat.

The sound of a car engine grows louder, the tyres crunching over gravel. My stomach sinks, and I immediately know it’s them. I shouldn’t have been surprised. The way they’d lingered in my mind, it was inevitable that they would return. Almost like my restless thoughts summoned them.

I try to ignore the tension building in my chest as I stand. I know it’s useless to hide. They’ll find a way in, or they’ll stand out there until I give in.

I cross the lounge and make my way to the hallway, folding my arms across my chest as I stand there waiting, my eyes locked on the driveway through the window. The car pulls up with a low rumble, and I don’t even need to look to know who’s inside.

The same three.

The teasing ginger one, the scruffy blond, and the intense dark one who looked bored.

Why do my knees suddenly feel weak?

They get out, moving toward me with that same potent energy, the same dominating presence. It’s like they can’t stop being alphas, no matter how much I wish they would.

Okay, I know that sounds stupid. No one canhelpwho they are. But it’s like…even the way they move, hell, even the way theybreathe…just screams big alpha energy to me.

And I hate it.

They’re sointimidating.Tall. Imposing. Gorgeous. Walking side by side it’s so easy to see their similarities and their differences. I tell myself I’m assessing them with an artist’s eye, now that the daylight is so much better, but in reality I think I’m just drooling.

They move toward me with an unshakable confidence, like they own the ground beneath their feet. Like they own the airI’m breathing.Like they’ll soon own me.My pulse thrums, my instincts screaming at me to bolt, but I force myself to stay still.

The first one – the redhead, sharp-jawed, and smirking like he knows something I don’t – reaches the porch first. There’s an easy, almost lazy arrogance to the way he moves, a glint in his bright green eyes that makes my stomach tighten. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to. His presence alone feels like a challenge.

Then there’s the blond. Taller. More golden. His soulful cognac eyes rake over the house, assessing, curious. There’s something about him that feels deceptively easy-going, like he’s the safe one. But I don’t trust that for a second. His fingers flex at his sides, casual, like he’s not quite sure whether he wants to reach for the door or not.

And then the last one. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, silent. Dangerous. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t give anything away. Just watches, his unfathomable eyes locked on his goal, unreadable. There’s something about the way he holds himself, something controlled, restrained. Like he’s used to keeping people at a distance. Like he’s used to people being afraid of him. Based on his size alone, that’s not surprising.

We’re opposites, I can tell that, yet something in him calls to something in me, and I can’t explain it.

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