Page 53 of Bound By Song (Evie Quad Omegaverse #1)
EVIANA
T he fire crackles softly, casting golden shadows that flicker across the lounge walls, and the weather outside has quieted to a steady rhythm of rain. It’s late, but none of us have said anything about sleeping. We just…exist here together, nestled into the calm after the chaos.
I’m curled up in the middle of the makeshift nest we built a few nights ago – blankets, pillows, a couple of Xar’s and Blaise’s shirts layered into something that feels less like a fort and more like a shelter.
Not a real nest. Not the kind instinct whispers for, deep in my bones.
But it’s enough for now. It smells like them. It holds warmth. It holds me .
My body is changing. I can feel it. The warmth that pulses in my belly has a slow, rolling weight to it now. Not pain exactly, not yet. But anticipation. My instincts are buzzing beneath my skin like bees in the walls, and every breath I take is tinged with something more.
Blaise is beside me, bare-chested, lounging like a smug tomcat who’s won his spot by the fire. One of his hands is tucked behind his head; the other is close to mine, like he’s waiting for me to reach out but doesn’t want to push.
Dane sits just behind me, his legs on either side of my curled-up frame, a quiet tower of heat and steadiness. One of his hands is pressed to my lower back, moving in slow, grounding strokes. Not demanding. Just present. Blissful.
Xar is the furthest away, perched on the edge of the nest with his guitar balanced in his lap, fingers gliding over the strings in that effortless way he always does when his thoughts get too loud to sit with.
The chords are soft, melodic. I don’t realise I’m humming along until Xar lifts his eyes to mine.
“I like that progression,” I murmur, my voice low, thick with the weight of sleep and warmth. “It’s soft.”
He tilts his head. “It’s yours. I built it around the tune you were humming earlier.”
My cheeks flush. I hadn’t even noticed he was listening.
“Think you can add to it?” he asks, voice low and even, like the question is sacred.
I nod and shift upright, drawing a blanket tighter around my shoulders. The movement sends a ripple of heat through my core – my thighs tense instinctively, breath hitching – but it passes quickly. Manageable. For now.
Xar plays the chords again, slower. And I let the hum rise up again, soft and steady. Then a lyric comes, unbidden, slipping out like breath:
“If home had a name, it’d sound like yours,
If breaking was safe, I’d crash on your floor.
I never knew I could fit in a place…”
Blaise lets out a long, low whistle. “There she is. Our gold-throated girl.”
I shake my head. “Don’t start.”
But I’m smiling.
Dane leans forward, his breath warm near my ear. “Keep going. That line – ‘I never knew I could fit in a place’ – what comes next?”
I hesitate, fingers fidgeting with the hem of a blanket. Then I sing again, voice a little stronger:
“Till you held me like nothing could take me away.
If home had a name…
It’d be yours.”
Xar strums a soft resolution, nodding. “That’s the chorus.”
Blaise nudges my leg with his foot. “Bridge should be something sharper. Something that pushes back.”
I grin. “Of course it should.”
We fall into a rhythm – lyrics, melody, harmonies passed between us like shared breath. I hum new lines, Dane occasionally offers a quiet lyric, and Blaise throws in suggestions that are either brilliant or utterly ridiculous. Xar steers the chord structure like he’s tuning emotion itself.
It’s the most natural thing in the world.
And somewhere in the middle of it, I forget to be afraid.
Blaise sings a wrong note on purpose and makes a dramatic face. I snort-laugh and smack his arm with a pillow. He retaliates by leaning back and drawing me halfway onto his bare chest and I have to resist the urge to swoon.
“You’re trouble,” he says, voice low, but his hand strokes gently down my side.
“And you’re annoying,” I mumble, even as I settle there.
Dane adjusts behind me so I can recline fully, letting my head drop into his lap. His fingers immediately find my hair, slow and careful, and the hand on my lower back stays steady, warm.
I feel...held. But not in a way that terrifies me.
And that wild, secret part of me – the part I’ve ignored, suppressed, feared – starts to stir. My omega. She stretches quietly inside me, not in need or pain, but in curiosity. In peace. She doesn’t want to run or lash out or hide.
She wants to purr .
I shift, nestling deeper between them. “I feel weird,” I mumble.
Dane glances down. “Weird how?”
“Like…warm. But not in a bad way. No cramps.” I exhale, letting it melt out of me. “I just feel like I’ve never been this relaxed and it’s confusing my entire system.”
“Good,” Blaise says, his voice right at my ear now. “Let yourself feel it. You don’t have to fight anymore.”
Xar doesn’t speak – just picks up the last line I hummed and sings it softly, building on the chords he’s been circling for the last hour.
It’s not perfect. But it’s ours .
Dane’s fingers comb through my hair. Blaise’s hand rests just beneath my ribs, firm and safe. And Xar, across from us, sings the melody like he wrote it from my skin.
Eventually, I stop singing. I stop humming. My eyes drift closed, the warmth in my core soft and slow like honey. There’s no fear. No shame. Just this steady, rhythmic comfort I never knew I could have.
My omega purrs – quiet, steady, content.
And for the first time in my life, I fall asleep surrounded.
Held. Heard. Seen.
Safe .