Page 18 of Bound By Song

I close the door, leaning back against it for a moment, my chest rising and falling rapidly. They’re leaving, thank goodness. But I can’t help feeling a strange, lingering energy, like the tension they brought with them is still hanging in the air.

My pulse is racing, a flutter of something in my stomach, but I can’t quite place it.

The engine revs and the car drives off, the sound fading into the distance, leaving me alone again. But their voices, their presence, linger in my mind.

I slowly step back from the door, my body still tingling from their visit.

They were so…distracting.

No, more than that. They werecaptivating.

I don’t want to admit it to myself. Don’t want to give it the power to take root. But it’s there – this undeniable draw, this pull in my chest that won’t quiet. The way they looked at me, their eyes flashing with curiosity and something more…

They’re attractive. Most alphas are. As an omega, I’m practically biologically programmed to find them attractive. But, it’s more than that. I can’t get their faces out of my mind.

I shake my head, trying to banish the thoughts, but it doesn’t work. I sit at the kitchen table, staring at my untouched herbal tea.

The feeling doesn’t fade.

With the soft light of the morning filtering through the window, and I just…pause for a while, staring blankly at the wall, until the urge to do something creative finally hits again. And then, almost without thinking, I grab my sketchbook and pencilthis time. The pencil feels oddly comforting between my fingers, the slight pressure against the paper a way to ground myself.

My hand moves across the page, a little shakily at first, but then with more confidence as the outlines of three burly alphas begin to take shape – each one different, but undeniably compelling.

It feels like a strange kind of release.

But the faces keep coming to me – faces I don’t want to think about, yet can’t seem to stop imagining.

The outline of the blond one, Xar, is the easiest. I start with his jawline, sharp and defined, like it could cut through the air, the kind of face that demands attention even when its owner says nothing at all. Shadows gather beneath his cheekbones, angular and stark, the way they had caught the light yesterday, emphasising the sharp planes of his face. There’s a precision to his features, an almost sculpted beauty, like something carved from marble – too perfect, too controlled, like he was designed to be untouchable.

But then I get to his eyes. And that’s where everything softens.

I shade carefully, trying to capture the warmth in them, the deep, rich honeyed golden brown that reminds me of melted blonde chocolate. There’s something undeniably steady about them – wise, understanding, like he sees everything but doesn’t rush to judge. They don’t match the sharpness of the rest of his face, and maybe that’s what unsettles me most. They should be cold. They should be distant. But they’re not. They watch. They hold. They seem like they could unravel a person if they looked long enough.

His hair is the only thing about him that isn’t perfectly controlled. It’s a little longer than it should be, golden strands falling messily across his forehead, not quite tame, as if there’s a part of him that refuses to be as put together as the rest.

I pause for a moment, blinking rapidly, pushing the thoughts aside.Focus, Eviana.

Next, I sketch the rough outline of Blaise, the scruffy one. His face is softer, more relaxed. I give him a crooked grin on paper, knowing how that smile had curled at the corners of his lips when he’d looked at me. He wasn’t trying to hide his charm, not like Xar was. With Blaise, it’s almost too easy – like he can get what he wants with just a flash of his dimples. But there’s something more in his green eyes, something deeper beneath that cheeky façade. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. I draw the tousled mess of his red hair and the slight copper stubble along his chin, the way it had looked damp from the rain, just like it had been when he’d stood in front of me that first day.

I pause again, my hand trembling slightly as I sketch the final figure – Dane, the brooding one. He’s harder to capture, harder to draw, like the space around him always feels thicker, more controlled. His features are sharp but quiet, like he’s the kind of person who watches before he speaks. There’s a stillness to him that draws you in, but not in the way Xar’s presence does. It’s the kind of calm that unsettles, that makes you wonder what he’s really thinking when his eyes flick over you, those dark, almost black eyes that hold more than you could ever guess. He stands so much taller than the others, even in the drawing, his posture stiff but somehow regal. I sketch the lines of his eyes next, dark and intense, narrowing slightly as if he’s always assessing. Always calculating. There’s something about him that feels like he’s waiting for something – like he’s been ready for a long time, just waiting for the right moment.

I don’t know how long I draw for. The lines blur together, mixing with the thoughts that keep rushing through my mind – those alphas, their voices, the snippets of personality they inadvertently revealed, their commanding presence. It’s like I can’t escape them, like they’ve woven themselves into everycorner of my house, into every corner of my mind. And it’s not just their looks. It’s the way they make me feel.

That unsettles me most of all.

I set the pencil down, staring at the page. Three figures, each with their own strength, their own pull, and something else I can’t quite define. There’s a strange mix of desire and wariness in the lines, in the way they loom over the page. I hadn’t meant to draw them like this, but here they are. It’s as if they’re alive on the paper, their eyes watching, their expressions suspended – waiting for something.

For me.

A shiver trails down my spine, pooling low in my belly, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. My pulse flutters beneath my skin, too fast, too noticeable, and I press my palm to my throat as if that might calm it.

I wonder what they smell like.

The thought pops into my head, completely unwelcome and disconcerting, and I have to shove it away quickly. But it’s too late. The idea takes root, uncoiling inside me like a slow drag of heat, and I hate that I want to know. That I want to breathe them in, sink into the space between them, let their presence wrap around me like it did yesterday. I wonder if their scents will complement mine, if I’ll find them as alluring as their physiques…

My body isn’t just reacting to them – it’s recognising them. The realisation sinks in like a stone dropping into deep water. The sharp awareness of them lingers, pressing against my senses, as if my omega instincts have already decided something I’m not ready to admit.

I reach up, rubbing my forehead, the light headache I’ve been carrying all morning intensifying. The urge to run, to lock myself away, is strong, but I don’t. Instead, I stare at the paper again, my mind racing.

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