Page 95 of Bound By Song

“She had an alpha with her.”

My breath stills. Her eyes don’t meet mine.

“I remember hiding at the top of the stairs, peeking down. I was so confused. Grams had always said alphas were dangerous. Monsters. But she brought one into our home. Took him into her bedroom where Everly was locked in. They didn’t come out for hours.”

She swallows hard. “Everly wasn’t the same after that. She was…quiet. Empty. We begged her to tell us what happened, but she wouldn’t. Or maybe she couldn’t.” Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t let the tears fall. “That, more than anything Grams ever said, cemented my fear of alphas. Once and for all. Forever…or so I thought…”

My throat burns. My hands flex against my thighs, not out of frustration – out of the sheer pressure ofholding back. The things I want to say. The things I want toundofor her. But I know better. This isn’t about fixing. This is about listening.

Before I can respond, she gasps suddenly, her hand flying to her stomach.

“Evie?”

She winces, fingers pressing just beneath her ribs as her other hand grabs the edge of the railing for support. “It’s nothing,” she mutters quickly, but her face is pale, her skin slick with sweat. Her breath comes too fast.

I kneel in front of her, watching her closely. “Is it cramping? Pressure?”

She nods reluctantly, like admitting it might make it worse. “It’s been coming and going. I thought it was just stress.”

“It’s not,” I say quietly. “Evie…I think your suppressants aren’t working so well anymore.”

She stares at me, frozen. “What?”

“You’re showing signs. Your heat – it’s close.”

Her face goes blank for half a second…theneverythingshatters.

“No,” she breathes, shaking her head. “No, that’s not— I’ve been taking them,I haven’t missed a dose.I can’t—” Her voice cracks and her hands shoot up to her head, fingers tangling in her hair like she’s trying to hold herself together. “I can’t go into heat. Not now. Nothere.”

“Evie,” I say softly, stepping forward, hands raised like I’m approaching a wounded animal. “You’re okay.”

“No, I’mnot!” she snaps, her breath catching, her whole body shaking now. “You don’t get it, Dane. If this is really happening, then I’mnot okay.I’ve spent years –decades– shutting this part of me down. Controlling it.Surviving it.I’veneverhad one! I-I c-can’t now. Not with alphas in the house! Oh god…”

Her eyes are wide and wild, chest heaving with shallow, panicked breaths. “I don’t know how tobean omega. I don’t know how todothis. What if I can’t control it? What if I—what if it makes me?—”

She doesn’t finish the thought. She can’t.

I move closer, carefully, until I’m right in front of her. “You’re not going to lose control,” I say gently. “You’re not alone in this. I’ll help you. We all will,” I promise. “We’ll start by making you a real nest.”

She huffs out a shaky, humorless laugh, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Isn’t that what we’ve already built in the living room? That ridiculous pile of blankets?”

I crouch down in front of her, meeting her eyes. “That’s not a nest, Evie. That’s a coping mechanism. A fortress. And you’ve needed it – I get that. But you’re going to needmorewhen the time comes. A real space that’s safe and soft andyours.Somewhere you can fall apart without being afraid.”

She looks at me like she wants to believe me, but doesn’t know how. Her voice is paper-thin. “Where?”

“I’ll find somewhere,” I promise. “I’ll handle it. You don’t have to do anything except breathe right now.”

She draws in a shaky breath, then another, and I watch her hands slowly unclench from the fabric at her sides.

“Evie,” I say softly, “this isn’t weakness. This is your biology catching up to the truth – that you’re finally in a place where you might besafe enoughto feel it.”

Her lip trembles. But this time, she doesn’t run. And that, to me, feels like a beginning.

By the time we step inside the house, Eviana’s trembling.

Her face is pale, her skin clammy, and she’s gripping my arm like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. The scent of her – normally soft, rain-soaked apricot and honeysuckle – is shifting.Warmer. Thicker. Coiling into something sharp and sweet, that punches directly into every alpha instinct I’ve got.

She’s trying to hide it, trying to act like she’s fine. But she’snot. I know it. She knows it.

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