Page 21 of Bound By Song (Evie Quad Omegaverse #1)

BLAISE

I t’s been three days since we’ve seen her and enough is enough. It’s Friday, she has our numbers and she’s not reached out, and I’m done.

I may be playing it cool with my bandmates, but internally, I’m climbing the fucking walls. My alpha has me nearly out of my mind with the need to return to Evie, and I fucking hate it.

I don’t want an omega. We don’t need an omega. It’s literally the last thing we need right now. If I’m to have any hope of fixing my fuck-up with the band, we need to focus on the music. If history has taught us anything, it’s that women don’t belong between us.

But that doesn’t stop the restless energy from crawling under my skin, doesn’t stop my fingers from twitching like they need something to hold something to keep me grounded. My bass used to do that for me, but even that’s not working right now.

I force myself to stay still, pressing my hands flat to my thighs as I sit in the studio, watching Xar and Dane bicker over a chord progression.

“Just play it how I wrote it,” Xar snaps, slouched on the couch with his guitar resting on his thigh. His fingers drag lazily over the strings, playing the same three bars over and over again, like repetition alone will make Dane agree.

Dane’s standing, arms crossed, jaw tight. “It sounds like shit.”

“It sounds like me,” Xar fires back.

I roll my shoulders, breathing through the tension knotting in my chest. I don’t give a fuck how the song sounds right now.

Every part of me is wired too tight, coiled like a spring, waiting for an excuse to snap.

I’ve been trying to push through it, to focus, to force myself to care more about the music than the girl I left behind. But it’s not fucking working.

I dig my nails into my palms, the sharp sting enough to focus me, and let out a slow breath. “Can we just get through one fucking song without you two acting like pricks?”

Both their heads snap toward me. Dane’s brows lift. Xar scowls. “Look who’s talking.”

I glare at him. “You wanna get this album done or not?”

Dane shrugs, but it’s Xar who answers. “Yeah. But maybe you should tell yourself that. You’ve been acting like someone shoved a stick up your arse since we left that farmhouse.”

I clench my jaw. “I’m not the one dragging this out.”

“No, you’re just acting like an even bigger dick than usual,” Xar snaps.

My fists curl again. I force them to loosen.

They’re not wrong. I’ve been short-tempered and cold as fuck since we left Evie behind, because it’s the only way I know how to handle this…

whatever this is. If I let myself think about her too much – about the way she looked at me, the way she didn’t back down even when she was clearly out of her depth – I’m going to do something fucking stupid.

Like go back.

Like let her in.

And if we let her in, she’ll tear us apart.

Just like the last time I let someone in.

Dane and Xar keep arguing, their words like background noise against the pounding in my skull. I don’t even know what they’re saying anymore. Something about tempo. About tone. About what the song is supposed to feel like.

I don’t fucking feel anything.

I pick up my bass out of habit more than anything, my fingers moving automatically over the frets. The riff comes out clean, sharp. It’s technically perfect. But it’s hollow. Just like everything else I’ve played in the last few months.

Xar cuts in with the next part, Dane picks up the beat, and we go through the motions of making music, but I know they can hear it too.

The fire isn’t there. The edge. The thing that makes it ours.

The last two days were amazing, we finally came together and made something good, something that sounds like us.

At least like the old us before I fucked up and blew everything apart. But today the magic’s gone.

Why was it so short-lived?

Dane stops first, slamming his drumsticks against the rim of the snare in a sharp crack, killing the momentum. “This is fucking pointless.”

Xar sighs, tossing his pick onto the coffee table. “Yeah. No offence, Blaise, but you sound dead inside.”

I feel dead inside. I am dead inside. Except for…when I was around her.

I exhale through my nose, adjusting the strap of my bass like that’ll somehow fix whatever’s missing. “I’m playing it the same as I always do.”

“No, you’re not.” Dane’s voice is sharp. “You’re just…there.”

I meet his stare, trying to summon up some kind of reaction, but I’ve got nothing.

Because they’re right.

I’m playing. I’m showing up. I’m here. Physically at least. But I might as well be a fucking ghost. My head isn’t in the music. My chest isn’t thrumming with it the way it should.

Because all I can think about is her.

I shift my grip on the bass, fingers pressing hard into the strings. “Let’s just keep going.”

Xar raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. He starts up again, fingers moving over the fretboard, and I follow instinctively, falling into the rhythm. Dane joins in, his sticks tapping out a steady beat, and we slip back into the song, playing like a machine – well-oiled, rehearsed, precise.

But music isn’t supposed to be precise. It’s supposed to bleed. To crack and burn and fucking ache. Like love does.

And right now, I’ve got nothing.

The notes come out clean, the rhythm is tight, but there’s no feeling in it. No weight behind it. We make it through the whole song, start to finish, and when the last note fades, the silence that follows is louder than anything we just played.

Dane tosses his sticks onto the snare. “That was shit.”

Xar leans back, running a hand through his long, messy hair. “Because he’s shit.”

I shoot him a glare. “Fuck off.”

Xar doesn’t back down. “You’ve been like this since?—”

“I’ve been like this since before that,” I snap.

He scoffs. “Yeah, but at least before, you gave a shit about the music.”

I grind my teeth. I do care. I should care. This band, this pack , is my entire fucking life. Fixing things with them, getting this album right, is the only thing that matters.

So why the fuck does it feel like I left a part of myself behind with some stubborn little omega on a goddamn country-bumpkin farm?

“We should go back.”

Xar’s voice cuts through the quiet, breaking the uneasy stillness that settled after we gave up on rehearsing for the time being.

We’re back in the main part of the cottage, and he’s sprawled across the couch, one arm draped over the back, watching me with that sharp, knowing look that makes my skin itch.

Dane, perched on the edge of the uncomfortable looking armchair, snorts. “Of course you think that.”

Xar shrugs. “We all do. Even Blaise does.”

I don’t look up from my phone. “I fucking don’t.”

Lie.

“Bullshit.”

I exhale through my nose, scrolling aimlessly through my feed, barely absorbing anything. Xar isn’t wrong. But that doesn’t mean I’m giving in.

We need to stay focused.

I need to stay focused.

Except then I see it – the missed live stream.

My stomach drops.

“What?” Dane asks, catching my shift in posture.

I click the post, watching the playback load with a sinking feeling. “We missed a live performance from Honey.”

Xar sits up straighter. “You’re fucking kidding.”

Dane groans. “Are you serious?”

Honey is the artist we’ve been trying to get in touch with for months. She’s anonymous, elusive, never does interviews, never works with anyone. No one knows her real name, her face, nothing. But her voice? Her sound? It’s addictive. Raw and otherworldly, like smoke and silk.

The first time I heard it, I was hooked. She sings to heal some part of herself, but her words reached out and healed me. She’s what we need. The sound we’re missing. The thing that can bring our band back together.

And she just played a surprise set, and we fucking missed it. Too busy obsessing over an omega we don’t need.

I tap the screen, the video finally loading, and sound fills the room. Low, melancholic guitar. Then?—

That voice.

It slides over my skin, settles in my chest. It’s not just music – it’s felt. It’s lived.

“Jesus,” Xar mutters, leaning in.

Dane stays silent, but I can see the way his fingers twitch like he’s imagining playing along.

We watch in silence, drawn in despite ourselves, until my phone buzzes with an incoming call. It’s our manager, Liv.

I answer. “Yeah?”

“Are you safe?” she asks immediately.

I frown. “What?”

“Are you safe?” she repeats.

“Yeah, of course. Why? Safe from what?”

“From the storm.”

I glance at Xar and Dane, but they look just as confused. “What storm? It’s a bit rainy and windy here but nothing dramatic worth writing home about.”

Liv sighs, like she knew we’d be oblivious. “The one that’s due to hit you soon. It’s all over the news – high winds, flash floods, power cuts. Where the hell have you been?”

Dane grabs the remote, switching on the TV. The weather report fills the screen, a massive storm system swirling towards our area, warnings flashing red at the bottom.

I curse under my breath, tell Liv we’re fine, and hang up.

Xar sits forward. “Evie’s out there.”

Dane doesn’t hesitate. “We need to go to her.”

I drag a hand through my hair, fighting the part of me that agrees – that’s been waiting for an excuse.

But this isn’t about me.

This is about her.

I nod once. “Let’s go.” I’m already on my feet, striding towards the door, snatching up the keys as I go.

The drive back to her place is long. Too long.

The roads twist and turn, the wind howling outside like it’s got a personal vendetta against us.

The storm’s already started to kick up a notch, sheets of rain hammering against the windscreen, and the deeper we go into the countryside, the worse it gets.

Fitting, really.

It matches the fucking mess in my head.

This is a bad idea. I know it. Dane knows it. Xar definitely knows it, but that hasn’t stopped him from gripping the wheel like he’s ready to punch through it.

“We should’ve left earlier,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the road. “Visibility’s shit.”

Dane snorts. “You were the one who wanted to check the generator first.”

“We might be stuck out here. Thought it made sense to be prepared.”

I shake my head, shifting in my seat. “If we get snowed in, I’m eating one of you.”

Xar doesn’t even look at me. “Dane’s got more muscle.”

“Fuck off,” Dane mutters. “Snow isn’t even forecast, dickheads.”

I smirk, but it fades fast. Because despite all the bickering, the truth is sitting heavy between us.

We’re going back to her.

And none of us know what the hell we’re walking into.

I can already feel the rejection brewing, can already hear her sharp little voice telling us to get lost, and for some reason, I can’t fucking wait to see her again anyway.

Pathetic.

I’m pathetic.

When we finally pull up outside the lane that leads to the farmhouse, the place looks different. There’s a fallen tree barring part of the driveway. Xar kills the engine. None of us move.

“Think she’ll let us in this time?” Dane asks.

“Doubt it,” I say, my tone deliberately flat.

Xar exhales through his nose, gripping the wheel like he wants to say something but doesn’t. Instead, he pushes the door open, stepping out into the freezing wind and rain, and we follow.

When the house comes into view, the door is shut tight, the curtains drawn, like she’s gone right back to barricading herself in. Like she’s been waiting for us to come back just so she can keep us out.

Maybe she’s done this for the storm and not because of us.

Yeah, right.

And that’s when I see it.

A rope, stretched low across the path, almost invisible under the scattered leaves.

I catch it just in time, stepping over it easily. But Xar?—

Snag.

The rope jerks, and Xar stumbles before catching himself, muttering a sharp curse.

“Great,” he mutters. “She’s turned the place into a goddamn obstacle course.”

I glance around, frowning. That wasn’t the only one. There’s more. A snare hidden by the side of the path. Subtle. Clever.

Dane lets out a low whistle. “Who the hell is this woman?”

Xar nudges one of the traps with his boot. “Someone who really doesn’t want visitors.”

I scan the area, my chest tightening despite myself. “She’s serious about keeping us out.”

Dane shrugs. “Wouldn’t you be?”

I don’t answer. I can feel the irritation building inside me, but I try to keep it in check.

“It’s not personal,” Xar insists. “She’s just scared. She’s trying to protect herself.”

But I know why she’s doing it. And it sure as hell is personal.

It’s hard to ignore the growing tension in the air as we carefully navigate the traps. It’s like she’s daring us to get closer, but at the same time, trying to keep us as far away as possible.

My alpha loves the challenge and the hunt.

Bring it on, little omega.

Another trap. This time it’s a tripwire that I almost miss. I step into it, but it doesn’t snap tight, just causes a small chain reaction that makes a rustling sound in the leaves.

“Jesus,” Xar mutters. “She’s got the place rigged like a damn battlefield.”

“I think she really is serious about trying to keep us out,” I say, shaking my head. “Maybe we should just let her cool off.”

But I don’t mean it. My words are as hollow as the music I was trying to make, as empty as the space in my chest where my alpha is insisting she belongs. There’s no turning back now. I take a deep breath and push forward, my eyes scanning the ground for more surprises.

We’re getting close. She’s watching us. I can feel it. She’s waiting for us to make a mistake.