Page 96 of Bound By Song

“Come on,” I murmur, guiding her toward the lounge. “Let’s get you in your temporary nest.”

She doesn’t argue. Just lets me steer her gently toward the pile of blankets and pillows in the centre. She sinks into it without grace, folding in on herself like she’s trying to disappear.

Blaise and Xar both look up from the other side of the room, tension immediately crackling through the space.

“What’s wrong?” Blaise says, already halfway to his feet.

“She’s spiking,” I say quietly, kneeling beside her. “I think her heat’s coming on.”

Blaise’s eyes darken. He doesn’t hesitate. Heripshis shirt over his head in one motion, tosses it to her, then climbs into the nest without asking, moving slowly but confidently.

“Come here, honeybee,” he murmurs, his voice low and coaxing. He eases her into his arms, pressing her face against his bare chest. His scent blooms instantly, thick with alpha comfort and warm reassurance.

He starts to purr.

The sound is deep, low, and utterly grounding. I feel it in mybones, and I’m not even the one wrapped in his arms.

Eviana lets out a soft, broken breath, her hands curling into Blaise’s side like she’s trying not to cling. But she’s already clinging. Sheneedsthis. And finally, finally, she’s letting one of us give it to her.

Xar watches for a moment, jaw tense. Then he nods to himself and rises. “I’ll cook,” he says, already heading for the kitchen. “Something proper. She’s going to need real meals if this is happening – high protein, easy to digest. I’ll start workingout a plan. Especially if another storm is going to hit, we’ll need to be smart about this.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, my focus never leaving Evie. “I’ll handle the nest.”

Blaise glances at me over her head. “You meana realone?”

I nod once. “The living room won’t cut it. I’ll find a space and get it set up. She’s not doing this in a pile of throw blankets. Especially not for her first ever heat.”

Eviana doesn’t speak, but her breathing is steadier now. Her fingers still clutch Blaise’s side, her face still pressed to his chest, but some of the rigidity has melted from her frame.

We’re doing it – step by step. Rebuilding what was stolen from her.

And we’re not going to let her go through any of this alone. We’ll never let her be alone again.

I leave the others behind – Eviana tucked safely in Blaise’s arms, Xar already clattering in the kitchen – and head upstairs.

Aside from using the bathroom, I’ve not explored the inside of the farmhouse at all. I know Xar said there was an attic, and Blaise found a recording studio in the basement, but neither of those spaces will work for Eviana’s heat.

The house could be so lovely. Sure, it needs work, but it’s exactly the sort of place I saw myself settling down and filling with kids. It could be a perfect family home. But right now it’s tainted by bad memories and stuck in the past.

Upstairs there’s a large bedroom, that appears to have once been maybe two rooms knocked into one, with four single beds inside – the room Evie shared with her sisters I’m guessing – and a smaller room which appears to be the one Evie uses now. Her scent is stronger in there and there’s no air of neglect like the first room. Neither will work. The large bedroom is big enough but that’s a lot of furniture to have to move and rearrange.

Frustrated, I’m thinking about where we can move the sofa and bits out of the lounge to, if we’re going to have to use that space, when I remember the story Evie told me earlier.

Her grandmother’s bedroom is downstairs. I need to check it out.

I head downstairs and pause outside the door, hand on the knob. It takes a second longer than it should to turn it. As if opening it might drag something dark out with it.

The room smells faintly of dust and something floral that doesn’t suit Eviana at all. The wallpaper is yellowed, the bedding still tucked perfectly in place. Everything is neat. Preserved. Like a shrine to control.

I step inside.

It’s freezing. Unlived in. Cold in a way that has nothing to do with the storm that’s been clawing at the windows. There’s no softness here. No comfort. Just antique furniture and tight corners, the kind of space designed to contain rather than protect.

This room was never safe. I canfeelit.

My stomach turns as I look around – the place where her grandmother probably lectured her, shamed her, broke her down piece by piece. Where her sister came back from whatever happened behind this door and never spoke of again.

This is the only room in this house big enough. It has an en suite attached too which will be useful, but really, it’s the only one with enough space to build something real. To build somethingworthyof her.

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