Page 166 of Bound By Song

“She needs you now,” Xar says simply, rising and reaching for a hoodie slung over the corner of the dresser. “We’re tapped out. You’re up.”

“She’s—” I frown, shifting the tray to one hand. “You’re just leaving?”

Blaise cracks one eye open. “She’s been crying for you, mate. You really think we’d leave her if she didn’t want it?”

Xar claps me on the shoulder as he passes. “She’s in pain, Dane. You’ll smell it as soon as you step inside.”

“And we trust you,” Blaise adds, softer now, voice gone serious. “So does she. We’ve had our time. Now it’s yours.”

I want to argue. To say it’s too soon. That I’ll break her or scare her or some other excuse I’ve clung to like armour these past few days. But the second they disappear down the hall, her voice slices through the silence?—

“Dane.”

Just that.

One broken whisper.

And it nearly drops me to my knees.

The tray lands on the side table with a clatter. I move to the edge of the nest – and there she is.

Curled in the blankets, soaked with scent and slick and heat. Her skin glows, flushed with need. Her thighs tremble, knees drawn up, hips writhing in tiny, involuntary movements like she’s trying to rub out the ache on the nest itself.

And her eyes – god, hereyes– find me.

“Please,” she rasps. “I can’t— I can’t take it anymore.”

Everything inside me fractures.

The fear. The guilt. The walls I’ve kept between us.

Gone.

Because how can I not go to her?

How can I see her like this – desperate, hurting, undone – and notdo something?

I step into the nest, barefoot and breathing like I’ve run a marathon.

She reaches for me instantly. Not to pull me down, not yet, but just totouch. Her fingers wrap around mine like a lifeline.

And her voice, wrecked and raw, breaks me all over again.

“Why don’t you want me?”

Fuck.Fuck.

“I do,” I say, dropping to my knees beside her. “Evie, I do. You don’t know how much I do.”

“Then show me,” she whispers, dragging my hand to her face, pressing her cheek into my palm. “I needyou, Dane.”

My name on her lips is holy. A plea. A prayer.

And this time – I’ll answer.

I reach for the water first, but she turns her head away.

“No,” she croaks. “Please don’t. Just go.”

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