Page 78 of Bound By Song (Evie Quad Omegaverse #1)

DANE

T he house is quiet when I wake, even though it’s late in the day.

Too quiet.

The kind that follows a storm – of weather, of heat, of hearts laid bare.

I sit on the edge of the sofa, scrubbing a hand over my face. My body aches in that dull, post-adrenaline kind of way. Every muscle is tight from holding back.

I’ve been holding back for days.

Not because I don’t want her. Fuck, if they knew how often I have to leave the room, just to keep from reaching for her like I’m starved. But wanting her isn’t the same as being ready to touch her like that.

Not when she’s like this.

Not when I’m like this.

Footsteps creak down the hall. Heavy. Measured. Xar.

I don’t look up when he steps into the room. Just reach for the jumper I tossed over the chair last night and drag it over my head.

“You need to talk to me,” Xar says, voice quiet but firm.

“I know.”

“You’ve been dodging this for days. You’ve done everything for her. You’ve bathed her, fed her, held her, braided her fucking hair. Fixed her nest. But you haven’t touched her, Dane. Not like she needs. Not like she wants.”

I clench my jaw. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Then say it. Say what’s stopping you.”

I exhale sharply through my nose. “She’s not like anyone else, Xar. This isn’t just heat-fuelled fucking. She’s Evie . And if I touch her like that…I don’t know if I’ll survive it.”

Silence. Then:

“She thinks you don’t want her.”

I snap my head up.

Xar’s watching me, gaze level. “She sobbed herself to sleep in Blaise’s arms last night. You should’ve heard her, Dane. ‘Why doesn’t he want me?’ That’s what she said. Over and over.”

My chest caves in.

“She thinks she’s done something wrong,” Xar continues. “Thinks maybe she’s not enough for you . You, the one who’s been looking after her like she’s made of spun glass.”

“She’s not glass,” I say roughly. “She’s fire. And I’m terrified I’ll burn.”

Xar crosses the room and grips my shoulder. Not hard. Just grounding.

“Then burn, Dane. She wants you . Not just your care. Not just your calm. She wants your teeth, your hands, your knot. She needs to know it’s not just Blaise and me. That you’re hers too.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

I know he’s right. I’ve known for days.

“I just…” My voice breaks. “I’ve never loved someone like this. Not like this.”

“Then show her.”

I nod, slowly.

“Tonight?” Xar asks.

“Tonight.”

He gives my shoulder one last squeeze before letting go. “She’ll wait for you, you know.”

“I won’t make her wait much longer.”

I hear her crying before I open the door.

Not quiet, not the kind you can pretend away. This is raw, aching, full-body sobbing – and I don’t even need to scent the air to know it’s Evie. Her grief hits me in the chest like a battering ram, sudden and suffocating, and my hands ball into fists at my sides.

I should go to her.

But I don’t.

Not yet.

Instead, I lean against the corridor wall, stare up at the ceiling, and breathe through the storm gathering in my chest.

Blaise is beside me before I can speak.

“You heard?” he asks.

I nod once.

He scrubs a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “She thinks you don’t want her.”

A sharp ache pulses behind my ribs. “I do.”

“Then why haven’t you touched her?” Blaise demands, voice low and simmering with pent-up rage. Rage I absolutely deserve to be on the receiving end of. “Three days, Dane. Every time she reaches for more, you back away.”

“I didn’t want to take advantage,” I admit, throat rough. “She’s vulnerable. She’s in heat.”

Blaise’s eyes narrow. “She’s also lucid. In control. It’s day four and I think she’s almost done. Don’t forget, we talked about boundaries before this started and you know damn well she meant them.”

“I know,” I grit out.

“So what’s really holding you back?”

I don’t answer right away. The words feel too big, too tangled. I think of her eyes – shining, desperate, hopeful. I think of the way she looks when she comes apart, the trust in her touch, the way she clings to me in her sleep like I’m the only safe place left in the world.

“I’m scared,” I say finally. “Not of her. Of...not being enough. Of letting her down. Of wanting too much.”

“Then let her decide,” Blaise says, frustrated. “Stop trying to protect her from feelings she’s already carrying.”

He claps my shoulder once, hard, then walks off.

But he doesn’t understand.

How can he, when I don’t even understand it myself?

I’m terrified of losing her.

Evie is only the second omega I’ve ever let close. The only one I’ve let touch the parts of me I’ve locked down for years. And every instinct I have screams at me to protect her – even from myself.

Especially from myself.

When my little brother presented, he was terrified. Not of being an omega – he’d known that was coming. He was scared of what it would mean . How the world would treat him. How even the people meant to love him would see him as weaker. A thing to use. To mark. To claim.

And I promised I’d keep him safe.

I promised .

But it wasn’t enough.

I wasn’t enough.

By the time I found out what had happened to him – what they’d done – it was too late. His scent was wrong. His spark was gone. I held his broken body in my arms, and something in me broke with it.

I never forgave myself.

And I never let anyone in after that.

Until Evie.

She slipped past every wall before I even realised I’d built them. One smile, one soft word, and I was already folding. She’s fierce and brave and brilliant, but underneath, she’s fragile too. Hurting. Healing. And I see her. I see her in a way that guts me.

And I’m scared.

Not of her – but of me.

Of what I want when I’m near her. Of how strong I am. How big. How rough I could be if I ever let go. How rough I want to be.

I’ve spent more than a decade keeping my instincts buried. I’ve never trusted myself with someone who mattered – who felt this much. My size, my strength, the darkness inside me...what if it’s too much? What if I’m too much?

She’s soft and sweet and already wrecked from three days of heat.

What if I break her?

And what if I don’t ?

What if I give in and she becomes everything – more than she already is – and then one day, I lose her, too?

I’d never recover.

So I hold back.

I sit in the nest and soothe her with steady hands, with care and tea and braided hair and cooling cloths on her brow. I kiss her forehead instead of her mouth. I bathe her, feed her, wrap her up in blankets and call her brave…but I don’t take what I want. Because if I do…If I let go…

There’ll be no taking it back.

By the time I’ve got the tray balanced with soup, bread, water, and electrolyte tabs, I’ve convinced myself I’m not going in there to give in. I’m just doing what I’ve done the last three days – taking care of her. Holding the line. Being safe.

But when I reach the doorway to the nest, I pull up short.

Xar’s just tucking a blanket around Blaise, who looks completely done in – flushed, shirtless, half-asleep with damp hair and the laziest smirk I’ve ever seen on his face.

“What the?—”

“She needs you now,” Xar says simply, rising and reaching for a hoodie slung over the corner of the dresser. “We’re tapped out. You’re up.”

“She’s—” I frown, shifting the tray to one hand. “You’re just leaving?”

Blaise cracks one eye open. “She’s been crying for you, mate. You really think we’d leave her if she didn’t want it?”

Xar claps me on the shoulder as he passes. “She’s in pain, Dane. You’ll smell it as soon as you step inside.”

“And we trust you,” Blaise adds, softer now, voice gone serious. “So does she. We’ve had our time. Now it’s yours.”

I want to argue. To say it’s too soon. That I’ll break her or scare her or some other excuse I’ve clung to like armour these past few days. But the second they disappear down the hall, her voice slices through the silence?—

“Dane.”

Just that.

One broken whisper.

And it nearly drops me to my knees.

The tray lands on the side table with a clatter. I move to the edge of the nest – and there she is.

Curled in the blankets, soaked with scent and slick and heat. Her skin glows, flushed with need. Her thighs tremble, knees drawn up, hips writhing in tiny, involuntary movements like she’s trying to rub out the ache on the nest itself.

And her eyes – god, her eyes – find me.

“Please,” she rasps. “I can’t— I can’t take it anymore.”

Everything inside me fractures.

The fear. The guilt. The walls I’ve kept between us.

Gone.

Because how can I not go to her?

How can I see her like this – desperate, hurting, undone – and not do something ?

I step into the nest, barefoot and breathing like I’ve run a marathon.

She reaches for me instantly. Not to pull me down, not yet, but just to touch . Her fingers wrap around mine like a lifeline.

And her voice, wrecked and raw, breaks me all over again.

“Why don’t you want me?”

Fuck. Fuck .

“I do,” I say, dropping to my knees beside her. “Evie, I do. You don’t know how much I do.”

“Then show me,” she whispers, dragging my hand to her face, pressing her cheek into my palm. “I need you , Dane.”

My name on her lips is holy. A plea. A prayer.

And this time – I’ll answer.

I reach for the water first, but she turns her head away.

“No,” she croaks. “Please don’t. Just go.”

The words slice deep. “Evie?—”

“You don’t want me.” Her voice cracks. “You didn’t come. You let them – Xar and Blaise – they were there and you weren’t and it hurts , Dane. It hurts so bad and you just – you just stayed away.”

She’s sobbing before she finishes the sentence, and it unravels me completely. I put the glass down, shift closer.

I ease onto the edge of the nest, heart thundering so loud I’m sure she can hear it. She’s trembling – shoulders hunched, face blotchy with dried tears, skin slick with heat. Her scent is wild, unbalanced. All need and hurt.

“I’m here now, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”