Page 18 of Bound By Song (Evie Quad Omegaverse #1)

EVIANA

I wake up with the expectation of them.

It’s ridiculous, really. I barely know them. I don’t want to know them.

And yet, from the moment my eyes flutter open, my body tenses, preparing for something that doesn’t come.

No heavy knocks on the door. No deep voices carrying through the morning air. No alphas stepping onto my porch like they belong here, like they belong to me.

I stay in bed longer than I should, cocooned under my musty attic blanket, letting the disappointment seep in, even though I have no right to feel it. It’s better this way. Isn’t it?

I tell myself it is.

But my omega doesn’t believe me.

The part of me I’ve spent my whole life ignoring stirs restlessly, discontented, uneasy with the absence of something – someone – it only just started to acknowledge. She doesn’t understand why they’re not here, why they haven’t come back.

Because yesterday, when they left, I felt it. That tension in the air, thick and crackling, like a promise unspoken. I expected them to return at first light, to push back against the boundaries I keep trying to set.

Instead, the morning stretches out in silence.

I force myself to get up, to keep moving. I go through the motions – shower, dress, eat something small – but I can’t shake the feeling that something is missing.

I check the window, looking out toward the path that leads down to the lane.

Nothing.

I scowl at my reflection in the glass. This is a good thing. I should be relieved. They’re not coming back today.

So why does it feel like I’m waiting?

By mid-afternoon, I’ve convinced myself to stop thinking about them.

Mostly.

I distract myself by cleaning, working through every room with unnecessary focus. I reorganise the cupboards, even though they don’t need it. I scrub down the kitchen surfaces, even though they’re already spotless. I do everything I can to move on.

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop my thoughts from looping back to them.

To Blaise, whose presence is so sharp and overwhelming that I can still feel the ghost of his sparkling stare and teasing grin. To Xar, whose quiet steadiness settled something deep in my chest. To Dane, who watched me like he was trying to piece together a puzzle only he could see.

I wrap my arms around myself, shaking my head. This is ridiculous.

They don’t even know me. I don’t know them.

And I don’t want to.

I repeat that last part like a mantra, willing myself to believe it. But then the doorbell rings, and my heart leaps before I can stop it.

I hate how fast I move to answer it, how breathless I feel when I pull the door open.

But it’s not them.

It’s a delivery driver.

He holds out a package, scanning my face with mild interest. “Miss Eviana Quade?”

I hesitate. No one calls me that. No one knows to call me that.

Except—

I swallow, nodding as I take the package. The driver gives a polite smile, then turns back toward his van, already moving on to the next stop.

I stare down at the box, my stomach tightening. It’s bigger than I expected, but not heavy. No return label.

I bring it inside, setting it down on the kitchen table. I tell myself not to be hopeful. Not to want this to be from them.

But my hands shake as I open it.

The first thing I see is a folded note, resting on top of something soft and pale.

My breath catches.

I pull out the note first, my fingers trembling slightly as I unfold it.

Evie,

We’re sorry. We won’t come back today. We want to give you a little space, but that doesn’t mean we’re not thinking about you.

We saw this and thought of you. Hope you like it.

If you ever need anything, reach out. Anytime.

Take care,

X, D, B

I read the words three times over, noting their individual mobile numbers added on the end, my chest tightening more with each pass.

They thought of me.

They wanted to come back.

And they gave me their numbers.

I set the note aside, swallowing against the lump forming in my throat. Then I reach into the box and pull out the blanket.

It’s beautiful.

The softest thing I’ve ever touched. Pale pink, the kind of shade that isn’t childish but delicate, warm, safe. It spills over my lap, huge and impossibly plush, and like it was made just for me.

And suddenly, I can’t breathe.

I press my face into the fabric, inhaling deep, even though I know it won’t carry their scent. It’s brand new, untouched. But my omega doesn’t care. She curls around the gift, purring with pleasure, soothed in a way I don’t understand.

They did this for us.

Not because they had to. Not because they expect anything in return.

Just because they thought of me.

I clutch the blanket tighter.

I don’t know what to do with this. With them .

With the way my body wants to react, the way my omega keens quietly in my chest, urging me to reach for my phone, to type in those numbers and?—

I shove the note aside and push the blanket back into the box.

Alphas are dangerous, Evie. They’ll take what they want, tear you apart, and leave nothing behind but your broken scent in the wind.

I can’t.

I can’t .

It doesn’t matter how much I want to. It doesn’t matter how good this feels, how right.

Alphas are dangerous. Their instincts will always win, no matter how sweet their words are. The second you let one too close, you’ll belong to him, and he won’t care if you beg to be free.

I don’t belong to them.

I won’t.

Alphas are dangerous, my girls. They are storms dressed as men, all hunger and heat, and you – my soft, sweet things – were never meant to survive their world. Stay hidden, stay quiet, or you’ll learn too late why omegas are born to be conquered.

It takes the rest of the day to get my grandmother’s words out of my head, but as I curl up on the sofa hours later, my fingers find the soft edges of the blanket again. And despite every wall I’ve built, every reason I have to stay away?—

I pull it around me and let myself sink into it.