Page 13 of Bound By Song (Evie Quad Omegaverse #1)

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 every corner 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.

Why can’t I stop thinking about them? About their voices, their energy – how they filled the space, how their mere presence made the air feel thicker, heavier, like I could feel their weight, their power pressing on me from all sides.

It should have scared me. It did scare me.

And yet, it didn’t send me running. Now I hear music, a melody playing on repeat in my mind, as words and phrases – the tentative bud of something new – begins to take shape.

I’ve been alone for so long. I’ve built this life for myself where I don’t need anyone.

Where I don’t want anyone. But something about them – about the way they were with me, and the way they almost weren’t – is stirring something deep inside.

Something that’s always been there but that I’ve never acknowledged.

I feel the shift. The ache that pulls at my chest and coils low in my belly. My thighs press together instinctively, heat prickling beneath my skin, and I force myself to breathe through it, to ignore the way my body betrays me. It’s like a spark has been lit.

But it’s terrifying. The last thing I want is to be drawn into something I can’t control.

I stand up suddenly, pushing the sketchbook away, my hand shaking as I grab the herbal tea I’d forgotten about. The lukewarm beverage does little to soothe the tightening in my chest, the longing that refuses to be ignored.

And still the music plays on in my head.

I know they’re alphas. I know they see me differently, probably more like prey than anything else. And I know I’m not ready for any of it. Not for them, not for whatever’s starting to burn beneath the surface.

But I can’t stop drawing them. Can’t stop being drawn to them. Can’t stop myself from wanting them. From thinking of them. From composing this never ending song about them.

Even though I know how dangerous it is.