Page 89 of Bound By Song (Evie Quad Omegaverse #1)

EVIANA

T he farmhouse looks the same from the outside.

Whitewashed stone, ivy curling up one side, a fresh coat of paint over old cracks.

New windows that gleam when the light hits just right.

The goats are still menaces – chewing through the vegetable patch Dane insists on replanting every week.

Blaise swears they’ve developed a taste for tomatoes, just to spite him.

But inside…everything’s different.

It feels like us now. Our home, not my childhood house.

The walls hum with music. The kitchen smells like rosemary and cinnamon and whatever terrifyingly god-awful combination Blaise is experimenting with.

There’s a lived-in softness to the place – the kind that only happens when you stop waiting for the next disaster and start building something that lasts.

The rebuilt studio smells like cedarwood and clean leather, with a faint trail of lavender from the diffuser Xar insists helps with “focus.” Somehow, I don’t mind the scent as much as I used to.

The sunlight spills across the hardwood, catching on scuffed edges and tangled cords. My notebooks are everywhere – half-finished lyrics, doodles, lines I’ve scribbled in the middle of the night and can’t quite let go of. My mic stand is permanent now, always ready.

And for once, I don’t lock the door behind me.

There’s no more hiding.

Just singing.

I’m halfway through recording my debut album – Honey, for real this time – signed under the same label as the guys. No masks. No shadows. Just me.

We haven’t made any big announcements. A few teasers on socials, a couple of leaks that may or may not have been deliberate. My voice is out there, but not my face. Not yet. And the truth is…I don’t care about the reveal right now.

I’m just having fun.

Creating. Playing. Finding the joy again.

I only paint to be creative now, it’s no longer my day job. A couple of my clients were disappointed but I put them in touch with an even better painter – my sister – and everyone is pretty happy with the outcome.

My following’s grown like wildfire. Thousands of new listeners flooding in.

DMs from strangers who say my songs cracked something open in them.

People who say my voice makes them feel seen.

Held. A few trolls too, obviously. Bitter fans who think I “stole their alphas.” Girls who say I’m not pretty enough, not omega enough, not enough, period.

But I don’t care.

I delete the nastiness. Report the threats. Then I put my phone down and go find Peanut, who lets me scratch behind her ears until she makes that ridiculous hiccup-squeak that always makes me laugh.

I’m not alone anymore.

And every time I catch sight of my reflection – of the faint silver bond marks on my neck like softened moons – I remember that.

They’re real.

They’re healed.

And they’re mine.

DANE

She laughs more now.

Not loud or showy – just soft, surprised sounds, like they slip out before she remembers to be afraid.

I notice it first in the kitchen, watching her steal bites from Xar’s mixing bowl, fingers dusted with sugar, eyes bright with mischief.

Or when she hums under her breath while watering the rosemary we planted out back, barefoot and sleepy in one of my old shirts.

Evie’s never been still. She vibrates with energy, always has. But now…stillness lives in her, tucked between the beats. In the way she sighs when she nestles against me at night. In how she doesn’t startle when I touch her waist. In the way she trusts the silence.

That stillness is hard-won.

And I’ll guard it with everything I have.

Some days, the memories claw back. The break-in. The headlines. The sheer helpless rage of not being able to protect her from it all. I check the locks more than I need to. I linger by the windows. I worry.

But then I hear her downstairs – working through a new chorus barefoot in the studio, voice rising like a tide – and I breathe again.

We made it.

She chose us.

And now, all I want is to give her the kind of peace she used to think she’d never deserve.

XAR

We built her a new nest.

All of us. Together.

Two weeks of hauling pillows and testing textures, of arguing over lighting and scent layering.

Dane measured the floor plan like he was blueprinting a fortress.

Blaise made it his mission to find the softest damn blanket in the country.

And me – I paid attention. Watched the way she reacted to touch, to fabric, to warmth.

Logged it all like it mattered more than lyrics.

Because it did.

The first time she stepped inside – barefoot, eyes wide, fingers pressed to her mouth – I thought my chest might crack open.

It’s not about the nest itself. Not really.

Not the plush rugs or the woven throws or the perfectly placed diffusers. Not even the soft light spilling across the room or the curve of her body when she melts into it like it belongs to her.

It’s what it means .

It’s hers.

Hers to rebuild.

Hers to protect.

Hers to rest in without fear.

I still run hot. That hasn’t changed. Rage lives just under my skin, flaring whenever I think too long about what was done to her. The cameras. The threats. The people who thought her life was theirs to dissect.

But I don’t let it consume me.

I pour it into sound. Into sharp chords and unforgiving lyrics. Into songs she helps shape with soft hands and brave eyes.

And when the day’s done, when I slide into the nest beside her and she sighs like the weight is gone?—

I let it all go.

Because she’s here.

Because she’s safe.

Because every time she reaches for me without flinching, I know she doesn’t need words to understand what’s in my chest.

She knows.

She’s mine.

And I’m hers, in every way that counts.

BLAISE

I never thought I’d get this far.

Not in music. Not in life. Not in love.

I figured I’d burn out early. OD in a hotel room. Get swallowed by the chaos I spent years chasing. Because that’s what I did – chased noise to avoid silence. Piled pleasure on top of pain until I couldn’t tell the difference.

Then she happened.

Evie is everything I never had the words for.

Brave. Sharp. Stubborn as hell.

Soft where it counts. Tough when it matters.

She sings like bleeding on purpose. Like tearing herself open to prove it’s still worth it to feel. And every time she crawls into my lap, presses her face to my neck and breathes me in like I’m enough – I believe it.

I name the ridiculous pink dragon plushie after myself just to make her laugh. Grow strawberries because she likes the smell. Sit on the floor of her studio while she sings the same verse a dozen ways and never get bored.

She brought me back to myself.

I’m not afraid of losing her anymore.

Because I know, deep down in the bone-deep places where no one ever touched me before?—

She’s ours.

And I’m hers.

EVIANA

The wildflower meadow is just beginning to bloom.

Yellow bursts of buttercup. Pale purple clover. Soft tendrils of new grass reaching for the light. It smells like spring and clean earth and salt from the sea.

Mochi and Gremlin are locked in their daily headbutt battle beside the picnic blanket.

Peanut is snoring in Dane’s lap, her little belly rising and falling like she’s dreaming of mischief.

Xar’s unpacking the basket like he’s about to stage a five-star lunch service, muttering about proper cheese pairings.

To be fair, he probably is. We eat like royalty now, mostly thanks to him.

Blaise lies flat on his back in the grass, one arm thrown over his eyes, the pink dragon plush tucked into the crook of his other arm like it’s sacred. He looks like sin and serenity all wrapped up in sunlit freckles and old scars.

And me?

I’ve got my guitar across my lap. Fingers resting on worn strings. Voice waiting to rise.

I start to play.

It’s not one of the album songs. Not yet. This one’s just for me.

A slow, soft melody that traces our shape – every fractured beginning, every second chance. Every storm we outlasted. Every night spent in fear. Every morning full of light.

A song of found family. Of fierce, imperfect, beautiful love. Of the girl who survived it all…and stayed.

When I look up, they’re watching me.

No masks. No doubts.

Just three men who love me.

And me – finally letting them.

I don’t need to run.

I don’t need to hide.

I just close my eyes, let the music fill the space between us, and sing us home.