Page 11 of Bound By Song (Evie Quad Omegaverse #1)

EVIANA

W aking feels like dragging myself out of a grave, the remnants of an uneasy night pressing down on my chest. Every creak of the old house and every rustle of the wind set my nerves alight, dragging me in and out of fractured sleep.

I can’t stop thinking about them – those three alphas.

The knock on the door. The way they looked at me.

The overwhelming energy they brought with them.

How alive I felt for the first time in…forever, really.

My brain’s stuck in quicksand as I try to prise open my eyes. The bad weather outside is picking up too, the rain tapping against the windows like the beginning of something bigger. There’s a tightness in my stomach that doesn’t ease, no matter how much I try to push it away.

The sky’s dark, and it feels like the world’s just waiting for something to break.

I try to shake off the tension, making my way to the kitchen for some tea. I let the old-fashioned kettle whistle on the hob, the sound soothing for a moment, but my mind doesn’t stop.

I take my herbal tea, add a drop of honey and a squeeze of lemon, and sit by the window, trying to focus on something – anything – else.

I pull my art supplies close, determined to lose myself in my painting.

But the brush feels foreign in my hand, the strokes uneven.

I try again, but the colours blur together, blending into nothing.

With a frustrated sigh, I set the paintbrush down and push the small canvas away.

My grandmother insisted all of us were ‘accomplished young ladies’ so my sisters and I can all paint, draw, sing, play several instruments and can even write poems and stories.

Music was always my particular passion, though Grams never approved of my singing anything other than hymns from her church.

Music doesn’t make me a living either. At least my painting does, though I’m nowhere near as talented as Evelyn is.

But, thanks to the internet, I’m able to paint and make a living from the safety of my own home without ever having to venture outside my front door.

Marketing’s a real bitch though, practically a second full time job.

Luckily, I have a couple of loyal customers who keep me in work with semi-regular commissions, otherwise I don’t know what I’d do.

Needing to try something different to settle my nerves, I move over to the old upright piano in the lounge.

The old keys are worn from years of use.

My fingers hover over them, and I let out a slow breath, allowing the familiar rhythm of the music to calm my nerves.

It helps, a little. But still, I can’t focus.

It’s been a couple of days since I posted any new content on my social media accounts, and I’m getting antsy about it.

I stop mid-chord, my heart skipping a beat.

The sound of a car engine grows louder, the tyres crunching over gravel. My stomach sinks, and I immediately know it’s them. I shouldn’t have been surprised. The way they’d lingered in my mind, it was inevitable that they would return. Almost like my restless thoughts summoned them.

I try to ignore the tension building in my chest as I stand. I know it’s useless to hide. They’ll find a way in, or they’ll stand out there until I give in.

I cross the lounge and make my way to the hallway, folding my arms across my chest as I stand there waiting, my eyes locked on the driveway through the window. The car pulls up with a low rumble, and I don’t even need to look to know who’s inside.

The same three.

The teasing ginger one, the scruffy blond, and the intense dark one who looked bored.

Why do my knees suddenly feel weak?

They get out, moving toward me with that same potent energy, the same dominating presence. It’s like they can’t stop being alphas, no matter how much I wish they would.

Okay, I know that sounds stupid. No one can help who they are. But it’s like…even the way they move, hell, even the way they breathe… just screams big alpha energy to me.

And I hate it.

They’re so intimidating. Tall. Imposing. Gorgeous. Walking side by side it’s so easy to see their similarities and their differences. I tell myself I’m assessing them with an artist’s eye, now that the daylight is so much better, but in reality I think I’m just drooling.

They move toward me with an unshakable confidence, like they own the ground beneath their feet. Like they own the air I’m breathing. Like they’ll soon own me. My pulse thrums, my instincts screaming at me to bolt, but I force myself to stay still.

The first one – the redhead, sharp-jawed, and smirking like he knows something I don’t – reaches the porch first. There’s an easy, almost lazy arrogance to the way he moves, a glint in his bright green eyes that makes my stomach tighten.

He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to.

His presence alone feels like a challenge.

Then there’s the blond. Taller. More golden.

His soulful cognac eyes rake over the house, assessing, curious.

There’s something about him that feels deceptively easy-going, like he’s the safe one.

But I don’t trust that for a second. His fingers flex at his sides, casual, like he’s not quite sure whether he wants to reach for the door or not.

And then the last one. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, silent.

Dangerous. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t give anything away.

Just watches, his unfathomable eyes locked on his goal, unreadable.

There’s something about the way he holds himself, something controlled, restrained.

Like he’s used to keeping people at a distance.

Like he’s used to people being afraid of him.

Based on his size alone, that’s not surprising.

We’re opposites, I can tell that, yet something in him calls to something in me, and I can’t explain it.

The air tightens, thick with something I don’t quite understand.

I swallow hard, my arms tightening around myself as they stop just a few steps away from the front door. None of them speak. None of them move.

Silent, I rush closer to the window, my heart hammering, but this time I don’t hesitate. I listen, standing just behind the door, straining to catch the faintest sound.

I hold my breath as they near.

The doorbell rings, sharp and sudden, and I feel an inexplicable jolt of panic.

“…she deserves to know who we are. We don’t leave things unresolved.”

“I know, I know, but if she throws that rolling pin at your head again, I’m staying out of it.” One of them chuckles.

“You’re lucky you’re charming,” the third voice says, quieter, but there’s an edge to it. “I don’t think she trusts us, and I don’t blame her.”

I freeze. This is the moment – the one I’ve been dreading since I opened the door yesterday. I want to hide, to shut myself away from them. But something stops me…

I take a slow, deep breath.

This is ridiculous.

I’m just a woman standing in a hallway. They’re just…

men. Alphas, yes. But men nonetheless. How bad can it be?

There’s neutraliser being pumped through the house, I’m slathered in descenting products after yesterday, and with my suppressants too, I know everything together will prevent us from smelling one another.

I can pretend to be a beta. Maybe I’m freaking out for no reason.

The doorbell rings again, and I open the door before I can talk myself out of it.

They stand there in front of me, looking a little more serious than yesterday, though their previous playfulness still lingers in the air like a shadow.

The blond one steps forward, his presence immediately commanding, even though he’s not doing anything other than standing there.

His long hair frames his face in messy waves, and there’s something about his sharp jawline and intense eyes that makes my breath catch.

The scruffy ginger one grins again, like he’s already won something.

His hair is a little wet from the rain, but it only adds to the dishevelled charm.

He crosses his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“We forgot to introduce ourselves properly yesterday. I’m Blaise,” he says with a glimmering emerald wink.

“This is Xar,” he gestures to the blond one, “and that brooding big fucker back there is Dane.”

Dane barely looks at me, his black eyes flicking briefly in my direction before he looks away, his features guarded, but I catch the way his lips twitch ever so slightly.

He’s absolutely huge. I mean, all of them tower over my tiny four nine frame, but Dane is easily six eight, almost half a foot taller than the other two.

And so broad. Built like a brick shit-house , I remember Grams once saying about a large alpha on TV, and that guy had nothing on this one.

“Why are you here again?” I demand, sounding more brave and hostile than I’m feeling.

“Think we’re gonna be neighbours for a while so it makes sense to introduce ourselves. And we…uh…we left something behind.” The ginger mischievous one – Blaise – grins at me.

I raise an eyebrow, sceptical. “What did you leave?”

“It’s a bit embarrassing, actually. Some equipment we thought we brought with us, but now we’ve realised we must’ve left it behind. Couldn’t find it in the car.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

I’m not buying it. “No. You didn’t leave anything here because you didn’t unpack anything. I didn’t let you in yesterday.”

And I won’t today either.

He glances at the other two, then back at me, his grin not fading. I get the feeling that his smile usually gets him anything he wants, but it isn’t going to work on me.

“Well, we’re here now, so if there’s anything we can do for you, you know, like help with the porch or the lock…”

I try not to roll my eyes but my annoyance still bleeds out through the way my nostrils flare. “You think I’m going to let you fix things after you were the ones responsible for making the damage in the first place?”