Page 54 of Bound By Song

Dane, who’s been watching me closely, tilts his head slightly, his gaze never leaving me. “Thanks, but you don’t have to, we?—”

But I’m already moving, already halfway across the room before I realise it. I need space. I need air. I need to not be near them for a second. I can’t stand still anymore. I can’t let them see how much I’m unraveling under the pressure of everything – of the water, the rain, and them.

I race up the stairs, my pulse quickening. The hallway feels like a maze, my footsteps echoing in the silence. I can’t think straight. My father’s clothes – they’ll do. They’ll be enough. I’llgrab myself a thicker jumper too. I need something to hide in, something to break the tension. I need comfort.

I open the door to our old attic room. Until the other day, I hadn’t set foot in for years, and now it seems like I can’t seem to stay away from it. I’ve no idea why though, but this space makes me feel like I can breathe and just….be.

I make my way over to the chest under the window. The scent of old wood and dust fills the air as I drop to my knees and open it.

The box is full of things I haven’t touched in forever – my father’s clothes, some old t-shirts, worn flannel shirts, torn jeans. A necklace that belonged to my mother. Grams’ bible. A couple of gifts my sisters made for me when we were younger. I run my fingers through the fabrics, pulling out a few pairs of faded jeans and flannel shirts that I used to love.

I hesitate, holding the clothes in my hands for a moment, letting the memories flood in. My sisters and I used to play dress up in these clothes, used to imagine what our alpha father was like because Grams would never speak of him. But I force myself to focus now, breathing deeply, trying to steady myself. I have to keep it together. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.

I sink back onto my heels, breathing in deep, trying to calm myself. The emotions are rising too fast. The urge to hide is stronger than ever, the need to curl up and shut everyone out. But I can’t. I can’t keep doing this.

I’m just about to stand up when I hear it.

The door creaks.

My stomach drops, and I tense, dropping the clothes in the process. I know what’s coming. I know he’s there.

“Eviana?”

I don’t have to look to know who it is. The voice is deep, calm, and reassuring, but it makes everything inside me snap.

No, no, no!He can’t be in here. Not in this room. Not one of the few places in the house where there’s no scent neutraliser pumped.

I jump up, the clothes falling from my hands as I scramble to the door, my heart racing. “Xar!” I snap, trying to hold myself together, but my voice is shaking. “You can’t be in here. You can’t?—”

But before I can take another step, he’s already there, his presence filling the room. And the moment he closes the door behind him, everything shifts.

I freeze, the air around me suddenly thick with something I can’t quite place. Something familiar, something I’ve tried so hard to push down – repressed. His scent hits me like a flood, a wave of warmth and power that invades every inch of me.

It’s rich. Smooth. Slightly spicy. The faintest trace of bitter cardamom blends beautifully with soft, sweet, toasted tonka bean and silky cashmeran, curling around me like a blanket, pulling at something deep inside of me. I can almost feel it pulling me in. His scent wraps around me, an invisible thread, thickening the air between us, making everything feel too close, too real.

My heart stutters.

No. I shouldn’t be able to scent him. The suppressants I’m on dull my sense of smell. This can’t be happening. Itisn’thappening. It’s not. It can’t be.

But it doesn’t matter. My omega doesn’t care. I can feel her now stirring, fully awakening from a long, suffocating sleep, shifting from deep inside of me. She’s been buried for so long – shackled beneath years of fear and control – but now she’s clawing her way to the surface, eager to respond to the alpha scent invading our senses.

Xar steps closer, his presence magnetic, a force I can’t resist, even as every fibre of my being tells me to pull away, to run. But the omega –myomega– is awake now.

And shereacts.

The first sign of it is a soft, involuntary whine, a sound that slips from me before I can hold it back. It’s tiny, almost a breath of air, but it’s there. It makes me want to curl in on myself, to hide. I burn, feeling the heat in my cheeks as the shame floods me, my body betraying me with the most primitive, helpless of responses. I can’t even control it. Not when he’s this close.

I turn away, my hands trembling at my sides, but I can feel him – feel his presence – like an electrical pulse in the room. And then there’s that humming sound, low and rumbling, coming from Xar’s chest once more.

It’s not even a growl. It’s a purr. Soothing. But it’s also commanding, like he’s marking the air with his dominance, and I feel my breath catch in my throat as my body reacts.

I know what it is, I know it instinctively – this is his alpha energy, pressing against me, gently asserting itself. Even his scent is like a command, a pull, and my omega…my omegawants.

She wants him.

Needs him, in fact.

The scent reminds me of something comforting, but I can’t place it. There’s something mouthwatering about it and it makes my pulse race, my body coming alive with a need I don’t know how to control. His scent is raw in a way I haven’t felt before. It’s masculine and primal, but there’s a soft sweetness to it too, and it calls to the deepest parts of me that have been locked away for so long.

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