Page 29 of Bound By Song (Evie Quad Omegaverse #1)

I want to make a snarky comment about his lack of boundaries, but I’m the one who’s woken up naked in a tub with a stranger and snuggled up to his chest so I guess I don’t have a leg to stand on.

Instead, I mumble, “Fine. Just…don’t make it weird.”

Xar grins, but to his credit, he keeps his tone light. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He helps me stand, his hands firm and steady as he guides me under the shower spray. The hot water cascades over me, washing away the remnants of the rain and the ache lingering in my limbs. I tilt my head back, and without a word, Xar reaches for the shampoo bottle.

“Let me,” he says softly.

I hesitate, then nod. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he works the shampoo into my hair, his strong fingers massaging my scalp in slow, soothing circles, careful to avoid my injuries from the fall.

I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the sensation, a reluctant sigh escaping my lips.

It’s been so long since anyone has cared for me like this – since I’ve let anyone care for me.

I’m not sure anyone has ever shown me such tenderness actually.

When he asks for my body wash, I instinctively grab the scent-neutralising one I’ve used for years, but Xar’s hand closes over mine.

“You don’t need that one,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.

My stomach twists. “I?— ”

“Eviana.” The way he says my name, low and steady, makes me stop. “You don’t need to hide who you are. Not from us. Not from me. We know, little one. No more hiding, okay?”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t.

Instead, I let him take the bottle from my hand, replacing it with one that smells faintly of cherry and jasmine.

Xar is careful and thorough, his hands moving with a mix of confidence and restraint as he washes me.

He doesn’t rush, and though I feel vulnerable, I don’t feel unsafe.

When we’re done, Xar steps out first, wrapping a towel around his waist and shucking off his boxer briefs, making me blush. I didn’t see anything, but still…there’s a naked man in my bathroom now.

For the first time, I allow myself to look at him – really look at him.

His broad shoulders glisten under the bathroom light, water trailing down his toned chest and defined, inked abs.

He’s strong, handsome, and impossibly fit.

The sight of him stirs something in me that I’m not ready to acknowledge.

Before I can dwell on it, Xar grabs another towel, holding it open for me. “Come on,” he says, his voice soft. “Let’s get you dry before you catch another chill.”

I step out of the tub, and he wraps the towel around me with the same care he’s shown this whole time.

Dane’s warmed it somehow, and the heat sinks into my skin, making me shiver in relief.

Xar doesn’t stop there. He gently pats me dry, his hands moving with precision and respect, never lingering too long, even though my body reacts as if he does.

When he’s done, I clear my throat, suddenly desperate for space. “Thank you. I mean it. But I’m fine now. I just…need a minute. I’ll meet you downstairs, okay?”

His brow furrows, and for a second, I think he might argue. But then he nods. “Alright. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. But don’t take too long or I’ll worry and come check on you.”

As soon as the door closes behind him, I exhale, the tension leaving my shoulders. I take a moment to compose myself before checking the coast is clear and darting across the hallway to my bedroom and slamming the door shut behind me, breathing hard.

Alone at last, I take my time getting ready, the soft hum of the blow dryer soothing against the silence.

When I’m done, I pull on a lavender skirt with a ditsy floral print and a long sleeve, oversized cream knit top that falls off one shoulder.

It’s not the warmest, but it’s comfortable and familiar.

However the loose fit of the sweater makes me feel exposed.

I’m hyper-aware that I’m not wearing a bra – haven’t for years, don’t even own one anymore – but I push it out of my mind.

There’s nothing I can do about it now, I think, as I slide on some pants under my skirt.

I glance at the clock, surprised at how long I’ve taken.

Get a grip, Eviana. You can’t keep avoiding this.

I take a deep breath and head downstairs.

The smell hits me before I even see them – the delicious, comforting aroma of something savoury. Tomatoey. Spicy. My stomach growls in response, betraying me. It’s familiar, the kind of food that’s always made me feel at home.

I follow the scent, my heart racing for reasons I don’t want to admit, and when I reach the kitchen, I stop dead in my tracks.

There they are.

All three of them. But it’s Xar who catches my attention first. He’s standing by the stove, his hair still damp, the towel draped around his waist, his bare feet on the cold floor. The sight of him in just the towel still makes my breath catch, and I instantly feel the heat rise in my cheeks.

God, what am I doing?

The second my slick hits my thighs, I freeze, panic surging through me. I hadn’t meant to perfume, hadn’t wanted to. But it’s happening, and I feel it – the subtle shift, the way the air around me suddenly feels charged, the weight of their attention settling on me like a physical thing.

Don’t panic, Eviana. They can’t smell you. Sure, you didn’t use the body wash, but there’s still scent neutralisers being pumped through almost every room of the house.

But what if they don’t work?

Breathe. Can you smell them? No? Then you have nothing to worry about. Act normal.

I want to run. I want to turn around and hide. But instead, I stand there, feeling all the heat in my cheeks, all the embarrassment flooding me. I can’t hide anymore, not from them. Not from myself.

“Eviana,” Xar says, his voice low and warm, but there’s something different about it now. Something almost…predatory. His eyes flick to me, and I feel the weight of his gaze settle over me, my body betraying me as I feel the air around me thicken.

Oh god. They can smell me, can’t they?

Maybe the system is broken. It wouldn’t surprise me. Everything else in this place is.

“Smells good,” I murmur, my voice unsteady, but I can’t look at him directly. I’m afraid of what they’ll see. I’m afraid of how much they can sense. “The food, I mean. It-it smells delicious.” I shiver.

There’s a pause before Blaise speaks, his tone soft but filled with something I can’t quite name. “You’re still cold.”

I nod quickly, not sure how to respond to that. I feel…exposed.

I can’t stay in here. Not with them looking at me like this. But I can’t bring myself to leave either. So I stand there, frozen, unsure of what to do.

The silence is thick between us, and I can feel their eyes on me like a weight I can’t shake.

The heat in my cheeks still hasn’t faded, and I’m painfully aware of my scent – the one I’ve spent years hiding – blooming and curling around me.

I can feel it in my chest, a thrum of panic mixed with something deeper.

Something that makes my heart race, something that makes my body aware of them.

Blaise breaks the silence first, his voice unusually serious. “I’ll add more logs to the fire. Dane can’t make a decent fire for shit, stupid city boy. I’ll get this place nice and toasty for you. But maybe you have something warm you could put on your feet?”

I nod again, grateful for the distraction and look down at my bare toes. Should have put on socks. I can’t bring myself to look at him. My body is still humming with nervous energy, my mind spinning, and I can feel the need to do something, anything, to get my head straight.

Without thinking, I blurt out the words. “I may have some of my father’s clothes that will fit you.”

Dane, who’s been watching me closely, tilts his head slightly, his gaze never leaving me. “Thanks, but you don’t have to, we?—”

But I’m already moving, already halfway across the room before I realise it. I need space. I need air. I need to not be near them for a second. I can’t stand still anymore. I can’t let them see how much I’m unraveling under the pressure of everything – of the water, the rain, and them.

I race up the stairs, my pulse quickening.

The hallway feels like a maze, my footsteps echoing in the silence.

I can’t think straight. My father’s clothes – they’ll do.

They’ll be enough. I’ll grab myself a thicker jumper too.

I need something to hide in, something to break the tension. I need comfort.

I open the door to our old attic room. Until the other day, I hadn’t set foot in for years, and now it seems like I can’t seem to stay away from it. I’ve no idea why though, but this space makes me feel like I can breathe and just….be.

I make my way over to the chest under the window. The scent of old wood and dust fills the air as I drop to my knees and open it.

The box is full of things I haven’t touched in forever – my father’s clothes, some old t-shirts, worn flannel shirts, torn jeans.

A necklace that belonged to my mother. Grams’ bible.

A couple of gifts my sisters made for me when we were younger.

I run my fingers through the fabrics, pulling out a few pairs of faded jeans and flannel shirts that I used to love.

I hesitate, holding the clothes in my hands for a moment, letting the memories flood in.

My sisters and I used to play dress up in these clothes, used to imagine what our alpha father was like because Grams would never speak of him.

But I force myself to focus now, breathing deeply, trying to steady myself.

I have to keep it together. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.

I sink back onto my heels, breathing in deep, trying to calm myself. The emotions are rising too fast. The urge to hide is stronger than ever, the need to curl up and shut everyone out. But I can’t. I can’t keep doing this.