Page 3 of Bound By Song (Evie Quad Omegaverse #1)

BLAISE

T he roar of the crowd fades into a dull hum as I step off the stage, each footfall heavy with the weight of Xar’s earlier revelation.

He claimed Lena, my girlfriend, had come onto him before the show, and that he had turned her down.

The accusation blindsided me, a sucker punch to the gut that left my mind reeling and my heart pounding with a volatile mix of anger and betrayal.

And of course, when I flipped the narrative, stating that he must have come on to her and was only telling me now when she wasn’t here to defend herself, he also sucker punched me.

Literally. Right in the fucking face and I can already feel the black eye forming.

Dickhead.

The corridor backstage is dimly lit, the flickering fluorescents casting erratic shadows that mirror my turbulent thoughts.

My breaths come in sharp bursts, each inhale laced with the acrid scent of sweat and stale beer.

Could Lena really have done that? And why would Xar choose to tell me right before we hit the stage?

It feels calculated, a deliberate move to throw me off balance.

The tension between us has been simmering for weeks, but this feels like a betrayal that cuts deeper than any creative disagreement.

I don’t believe him. Lena isn’t like that. She wouldn’t. So what’s his game here?

Pushing open the heavy metal door at the end of the hallway, I step into the cool night air.

The city’s neon lights blur into a kaleidoscope of colours, and the distant hum of traffic offers a strange sense of anonymity.

I need to escape, to drown the chaos in my mind with something stronger than the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.

The bar I stumble upon is a hole-in-the-wall joint, the kind of place where the broken come to forget.

The dim lighting casts long shadows, and the air is thick with the scent of cheap whiskey and unspoken regrets.

I slide onto a cracked leather stool, the bartender acknowledging me with a curt nod before pouring a generous measure of amber liquid into a smudged glass.

I down it in one gulp, relishing the burn as it sears a path down my throat, momentarily eclipsing the turmoil within.

The hours blur together, each drink blunting the edges of my anger and confusion.

I replay Xar’s words over and over, each iteration fuelling the fire that’s been smoldering inside me.

Lena’s face flashes in my mind – her laugh, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners, the eagerness of her touch.

Could she really have betrayed me like this?

And Xar…we’ve been through hell and back together. Why would he drop this bombshell now?

Besides, we’re a pack. Sharing a woman – even if Lena is a beta not an omega – shouldn’t be that wild of a suggestion.

I don’t understand why he and Dane have never shown any interest in Lena.

Not only that, but they seem to outwardly dislike her, even if they’re always cautiously polite around her.

Come to think of it, most of the tension between us has been since Lena came into our lives.

Unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, I pull out my phone and dial Lena’s number. The call connects, and her voice, sweet yet edged with annoyance, filters through.

“Blaisey-boo, it’s late. What’s going on?”

I listen carefully to the noises in the background.

It is late and Lena said she couldn’t come to tonight’s show because she had a migraine.

She begged me to pay for a hotel for her so that she could get a decent nights’ sleep.

So why can I hear voices? Is she watching a show?

It seems too loud, too real for that, like she’s in a club or something…

“I need to know the truth, Lena. Did you come on to Xar?”

There’s a brief pause before she sighs dramatically. I can picture her rolling her heavily made-up eyes, fake lashes fluttering. “Does it matter, boo? You’re always so wrapped up in your little band drama.”

Her dismissive tone sends a chill down my spine. “It matters to me. To us.”

She laughs, a cold, mirthless sound, dropping the falsely-sweet act. In the background a male voice calls ‘come back to bed, sweet cheeks’ and I have to grit my teeth. Who the fuck is that?

“Us? Oh, Blaise. There was never an ‘us.’ Get real. I thought being with you – all three of you – would catapult me into the spotlight. But clearly, I overestimated your band’s abilities, just like all of your sad little fans.

I’ve found someone even better to help me with that now.

I was going to end it once the hype from your tour died down.

Figured you’d be grateful to be thrust back into the spotlight once more. ”

The revelation hits like a punch to the gut. “You were using me for fame?”

I don’t love Lena. I know that. But still. To hear the woman I care about talk to me, to talk about us, so callously, fucking hurts.

“Isn’t everyone using someone? You used me for a good time. But don’t worry, Blaisey-boo. If you even think about ending things with me without a pay-off, I’ll make sure everyone knows about your little drinking problem. The press would love that, don’t you think?”

Anger surges, burning away the remnants of affection I once held. “Go ahead, Lena. Tell whoever you want. I don’t give a damn anymore. It’s over. And you’re not getting a penny out of me. Get your shit off the tour bus tonight, you fucking leech.”

I end the call, the weight of betrayal settling heavily on my shoulders. Then I quickly fire off a text to our head of security, Marcus, to inform him that after tonight Lena no longer has any security clearance. In his response, he seems glad.

Fuck. Did everyone hate Lena? Was I the only one who fell for her charms?

I’ve been a fucking idiot.

The bartender glances my way, and I nod for another drink, hoping to drown the bitter taste of deceit and shame.

A movement at the end of the bar catches my eye.

A woman sits alone, her posture a blend of confidence and vulnerability.

Her eyes, a deep shade of blue, meet mine, and there’s a flicker of recognition – two souls seeking solace in the chaos.

I find myself drawn to her, not just by the allure of her presence, but by the promise of distraction she offers.

I approach her, the alcohol in my system lending a false sense of bravado.

I never normally approach women – they come onto me – and especially not omegas, which this woman clearly is I realise as I get closer.

Normally, I have no desire to spend time with or around them, but tonight I’m feeling reckless.

What’s one more crazy act of rebellion? I’m meant to be a rock-god. It’s what we’re known for, right?

We exchange words – trivial pleasantries that neither of us will remember come morning. Her laugh is a soft melody, a stark contrast to the dissonance in my mind. She places a hand on my arm, her touch warm and grounding, and for a moment, the storm inside me calms.

She smells fine. Nice even. Something soft and sweet and floral. It does nothing to stir my inner alpha, but it doesn’t repulse me either. She’ll do.

We leave the bar together, the cool night air a sobering counterpoint to the anticipation building between us.

Her apartment is a modest space, sparsely decorated but imbued with a sense of comfort.

We stumble through the door, a tangle of limbs and whispered desires, promises neither of us intend to keep come morning.

The night unfolds, two strangers finding temporary refuge in each other’s arms, but it’s nothing to write home about, barely even worth remembering. I certainly didn’t knot her, and she didn’t ask. But as dawn’s first light filters through the thin curtains, reality crashes back in.

I disentangle myself from the sheets, from her, careful not to disturb her peaceful slumber. Looking down at her, I feel nothing. I don’t even know her name, but there’s no guilt on my part because I never gave her mine either. She either knew exactly who I was or simply didn’t care.

Guess we both got what we wanted. Unlike my situation with Lena, despite her claims that I was simply using her for a good time.

Dressing quietly, I take a moment to study her face – serene, untroubled by the chaos that defines my existence. That’s when a pang of envy tugs at my heart, but I push it aside.

As I step out of the dimly lit apartment building, the early morning sun pierces through the haze of my hangover, each ray a sharp reminder of the previous night’s debauchery.

The city’s usual morning bustle feels like an assault on my senses, every sound amplified, every movement too swift.

I fumble for my phone, the screen lighting up with a barrage of notifications – missed calls, unread messages, and a flood of social media alerts.

My heart sinks as I skim through the messages.

Fans are livid, their tweets a mix of confusion, betrayal, and anger.

“How could he walk off stage like that?” one reads.

I laugh at the next comment accompanied by a shit emoji, “When you’ve gotta go, you gotta go, man.

” But another stings deeper: “We paid to see a full show, not your tantrum.” The realisation of the magnitude of my actions begins to set in, each message highlighting my failure and just how badly I screwed up.

I let my temper get the better of me, bottling up my anger and resentment through the whole show until I just…

exploded. The fans don’t know that by leaving I did the best possible thing in the moment, but the fact remains, it shouldn’t have even come to that.

I think I need to get help. And it’s not just about Lena.