Page 47 of Bound By Song (Evie Quad Omegaverse #1)

EVIANA

M y stomach keeps cramping, making me on edge as soon as I wake.

Xar is standing by the window, his arms folded, his gaze fixed on the storm outside. There’s a sort of restlessness in him, the tension of someone used to always being in motion. I wonder if the storm makes him feel trapped too, the way it makes the house feel small.

I grumble under my breath as another cramp fires through me, shooting Blaise a filthy look for the mess he’s made of the lounge.

“We’re not trying to intrude, you know,” Xar says, his voice drifting over to me. “But that storm doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon. Roads will be flooded this morning.”

“You’re intruding regardless,” I snap, regretting the words as soon as they leave my mouth. “Sorry. Slept badly. I really didn’t mean that.”

Xar’s jaw tightens, and Blaise, who’s sprawled across the sofa like he owns the place, raises an eyebrow.

“Charming as ever,” Blaise says with a grin, but his tone is softer than usual. There’s a gentleness beneath the teasing that I don’t know how to process. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning.”

I cross my arms over my chest, feeling the warmth of shame flood my cheeks. I’m embarrassed by my outburst after all they did for me yesterday and the nice evening we had.

I mean, I feel like they shouldn’t even be here, but what am I supposed to do? Kick them out in this weather?

The heat building beneath my skin doesn’t help. It started in the early hours of the morning – just a faint hum, easy enough to dismiss. But now, it’s spreading, igniting. Making me even more on edge than I previously was.

“Eviana,” Xar says, his voice softer now, his sharp blue eyes watching me with an intensity that seems to see through me. “We can stay out of your way today if you want. I promise.”

There’s a sincerity in his tone that makes my chest tighten, and for a moment, I forget how much I hate the way they make me feel – too exposed, too seen.

“Fine,” I mutter, climbing out of the nest I fell asleep in and turning on my heel. “But you stay in here. Don’t wander around, please.”

It’s no surprise that Blaise doesn’t listen.

Half an hour later, I find him in the kitchen, poking through the jars and tins Grams left behind.

I mean, obviously, things have been replaced since she died, but I still use all her old storage containers and things.

Besides, the woman had so many supplies she could have been a Doomsday prepper.

When I did my first initial clear out, I found tins that were eight years out of date.

“You don’t waste time, do you?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe, crossing my arms.

He looks up, holding up a tin of biscuits like it’s a trophy. “What can I say? Storms make me hungry. Want one?”

“No,” I say sharply, but his grin doesn’t falter.

“You’re awfully tense for someone tucked away in the middle of nowhere. Thought this was meant to be the good life or some shit,” Blaise observes, popping a biscuit into his mouth. “What’s a little distraction going to hurt?”

I hate how easily he gets under my skin, how his voice makes me want to snap and laugh all at once.

“Distraction is the last thing I need,” I mutter, snatching the tin from his hand and closing it with a snap. There’s no way I can paint with them here, or make music, and that has my stomach twisting in knots.

He raises an eyebrow at me, a playful glint in his eyes. “Come on, honeybee, lighten up. We’re stuck here for the foreseeable, might as well enjoy it.”

I shake my head, though there’s no real heat behind it. I can’t be bothered to argue with him. Today I just don’t have the energy. And anyway, Blaise’s teasing is so persistent, it almost feels like it’s meant to comfort me. And damn it, it’s working.

Later, as the wind howls louder, I retreat to the sitting room, unable to avoid them entirely.

Xar is standing by the window once again, watching the storm, while Dane sits quietly in the corner, flipping through one of Grams’s old books.

Blaise’s presence hums like a constant, insistent melody, stretching across the room and pulling my attention even when I try to ignore him.

“Do you think it’s safe to go outside?” I ask.

Dane looks up, brows raised. “Why?”

“I thought I’d better check on the chickens.”

“Oh, they’re fine. I checked on them and gave them some more food this morning while you were still sleeping.”

That’s…really kind actually. My cheeks heat as I struggle with wanting to protest and the manners Grams drilled into my rising to the surface.

“…Thank you.”

“Cozy place you’ve got,” Blaise says, strolling into the room like he owns the place. I bet he’s been snooping. His voice is low and casual, but I can sense something more behind his words. “A bit quiet though. Must get lonely.”

I stiffen, immediately defensive. “It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he says softly, his eyes not mocking, but thoughtful. There’s no teasing edge this time, and it catches me off guard.

I look at him, unsure of how to respond. He’s the last person I expected to say something like that.

Before I can answer, Xar speaks up, his voice cool, but with a quiet interest. “Where’d you get the art supplies?”

I blink, startled by the question. My paints and sketchbooks are stacked in the corner near the old armchair. I didn’t realise they’d noticed. The mention of art supplies brings an unexpected wave of vulnerability.

“They were my Grams’,” I say, keeping my answer short and not entirely truthful.

“Do you paint?” Dane asks, his voice breaking through the quiet. It’s low and curious.

I look down, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Not really,” I lie quickly, glancing away.

What is wrong with me? Why am I shutting them out now and being so short when we were happily opening up to one another last night?

Blaise raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Not really, or you do, but you don’t want us to know it?”

I try to suppress the nervous twitch of my fingers. It’s always the things I want to hide that Blaise seems to pick up on. His teasing is like an instinct for him, something that makes me want to snap, but I don’t. I can’t.

“It’s not important,” I mutter, trying to brush it off, but Xar’s gaze lingers on me. I feel the weight of it like a physical pressure.

“It’s important if it’s yours,” Xar says, his voice low, but unwavering. “Anything that’s a part of your life is something we want to know about and take an interest in, Evie. There’s no judgement here.”

The weight of their attention makes my chest tighten, and I feel the urge to snap again. To tell them to stop prying. But something about the way they look at me – it’s like they actually care. And that throws me off balance.

I clear my throat, crossing my arms in a defensive posture. “I paint. Sometimes. When I feel like it. That’s all. Grams raised all four of us to be accomplished, even if our home education was outdated and lacking.”

Blaise grins, his eyes lighting up. “That’s more than most people can say. What do you paint?”

“Nothing,” I lie again, my face warming as I feel my cheeks flush. Why can’t I just admit this is how I make my living?

“Nothing?” Blaise repeats, his grin widening. “That must be some impressive nothing, considering how much you’ve got stashed over there.”

I glare at him, my temper flaring, but before I can bite back, Dane cuts in, his tone calm, steady. “Leave it, Blaise.”

Blaise throws up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave – for now.”

I do not believe him for a second. I get the impression already that Blaise doesn’t even know the meaning of the word behave .

I take a deep breath and decide to just open up. “I paint for a living. Most of what’s stacked up over there are unfinished commissions but there’s a few paintings I’ve done for myself too. Just for fun.”

There’s a pause. Not an awkward one. Just long enough for me to regret saying anything – until Xar nods slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“That’s...really fucking cool,” he says, voice quiet but sincere.

Dane leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes on me like he’s trying to piece something together. “You make art. You build worlds people feel in their bones. You shouldn’t have to hide that.”

Blaise, for once, doesn’t crack a joke. He just watches me, head tilted, his expression unreadable but softer than I’ve seen it.

The conversation settles into a lighter, easier rhythm after that. The guys don’t push, but they also don’t leave me alone in my thoughts. I begin to relax, just a little bit, despite the storm howling outside and the overwhelming weight of everything that’s still unsaid between us.

But underneath the warmth of the moment, something starts to shift in my body. Subtle at first – a low, nagging pressure in my abdomen, a tightening in my chest I can’t quite explain. My skin feels flushed, too warm, and no matter how I shift, I can’t seem to get comfortable.

The cramps are dull but persistent, paired with a strange ache deep in my lower back. I chalk it up to stress, or the cold, or the aftermath of everything that’s happened. But there’s something else under it. A buzzing heat just beneath the surface. Restless. Wrong.

I push it aside, pretending it’s nothing. I can’t afford for it to be something .

Not now.

The tension that’s been hanging in the air begins to shift. Instead of pushing back against them, I start to let their presence seep into me, even if I don’t fully understand the way it’s making me feel yet.

The day stretches on, the storm showing no signs of letting up. We hang out together, playing cards and talking, even dusting off some ancient family board games to play. It’s nice. Weird to have company after so long. But not entirely unwelcome.

After dinner, as the evening drags, that restlessness increases and I try to retreat to my room, but it’s like the air in there is thicker than in the rest of the house, pressing in on me. I pace for what feels like hours before finally giving up and heading back to the sitting room.

They’re still there. Blaise has sprawled out on the sofa, Xar sits cross-legged on the floor playing Patience, and Dane leans against the wall, looking like he hasn’t moved an inch.

What’s his deal? Why can’t he just relax and make himself comfortable like the others?

Whoa, I want them to make themselves at home now?

“You’re still awake?” I ask, hovering in the doorway. The relief in my body as soon as I’m in their presence is inexplicable.

Xar glances at me, his expression calm, steady. “Storms keep us alert.”

Blaise stretches, flashing a lazy smile. “And the company isn’t bad, now at least.”

I shake my head, but instead of leaving, I find myself stepping further into the room.

“I’m making tea,” I announce, more to fill the space than anything else. “If anyone wants some.”

Dane looks up. “Tea would be nice. Thanks.”

I blink, thrown off by the quiet sincerity in his voice. It’s such a stark contrast to Blaise’s teasing and Xar’s intensity.

Without another word, I head to the kitchen, grateful for the excuse to leave. But as I fill the kettle, I can’t shake the way they’re slowly pulling me in, making me feel seen in a way that terrifies me.

When I return with the tea, they’ve moved around the room – Dane now sits in the armchair, his long legs stretched out, while Blaise strums an acoustic guitar I didn’t even notice him bring in.

Xar’s packed away the cards and is now flipping through another one of Grams’ books, his focus calm and steady.

I set the mugs down on the table, pretending not to notice the way Xar’s gaze lingers on me.

“Thanks,” Dane says softly, his voice breaking the quiet.

I nod, sitting down on the edge of the sofa, as far from them as I can manage. Blaise plucks at the guitar strings, humming something low and familiar.

“You know this one?” he asks suddenly, looking at me.

“No.” The lie comes out too quickly, too sharp.

Blaise narrows his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Don’t believe you.”

I glare at him, heat creeping into my cheeks. “Why does it matter?”

“Because it’s fun to watch you squirm,” he says, smirking.

“Blaise,” Xar says, his tone sharp enough to make Blaise hold up his hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine.” He strums a different melody, his grin softening. “But seriously. You’ve got good taste, I can tell.”

I sink further into the sofa, trying not to react, but the sound of the music makes something in my chest ache. It’s a song I know too well – one I’ve played a hundred times in the studio downstairs, back when I thought I could be someone else.

For a moment, I let myself close my eyes and listen. Just for a moment.

The melody wraps around me like memory, soft and bittersweet, tugging at something I’ve kept locked deep. It’s not just a song. It’s a piece of the version of me I buried years ago – the girl who dreamed, who created , who let herself feel things too deeply.

And now here it is again, in his hands. Blaise. Playing it like it’s just another tune he stumbled across. But it’s not. Not to me.

My throat tightens, and that strange heat pulses low in my belly again – sharp, insistent, wrong. Or maybe not wrong , just unfamiliar. I shift, trying to push it down, but it’s still there. Tension in my limbs. Pressure behind my ribs.

I open my eyes slowly, dragging in a breath that does nothing to steady me.

I should say something. Ask him where he learned the song. Tell them I’m tired. Lie.

But the words stick in my throat, and all I can do is sit there – still, silent, and unraveling from the inside out.

Outside, the storm hasn’t eased. And inside, something else is starting to build.

Something I don’t have a name for.

Not yet.