Page 9 of Bound By Song (Evie Quad Omegaverse #1)

XAR

“ B loody hell, mate, did you see the state of that place?” Blaise mutters, slamming the car door as he slides into the passenger seat.

He tosses his head back, shaking droplets of misty Devon rain from his riot of messy red hair like a fucking untrained dog.

That’s pretty much the first time he’s spoken to either of us all day, as if his sudden chipper attitude is going to somehow undo all of the fucking damage him and his girlfriend – sorry ex girlfriend – have done over the past few months.

“Falling apart at the seams, that house. She’s lucky the roof’s still standing. ”

Dane settles into the back, his long, thick legs stretched diagonally to fit more comfortably.

Stupid big fucker. He’s the reason I’ve been stuck with Blaise in the front seat beside me the whole drive down.

I wish we’d brought separate cars, but there wasn’t time to go and collect them and we got stuck with one of the label’s vehicles instead.

I swear Dane deliberately claimed the back seat to force Blaise and I to be closer together, thinking we’d crumble and start talking about our differences or some shit.

Joke’s on him – we’re both far too stubborn for that.

So we spent the last six hours, thanks to the fucking holiday traffic, in sullen silence.

The radio was a no-go the one time we turned it on and our name was all over the airwaves.

“The porch almost took my foot off,” Dane says dryly, brushing at a stray feather stuck to his shirt from one of the chickens that had clucked noisily nearby. “That’s a health hazard if I’ve ever seen one.”

Right. So we’re doing this are we? Ignoring our issues to hyperfixate on the girl who doesn’t want to know us. Fantastic.

The beautiful, terrified looking tiny slip of a girl with the biggest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and messy locks that looked like pure spun silk, so pale it appeared almost white-gold in the light.

The girl who made my alpha sit up and take notice for the first time in years .

Sighing, I grip the steering wheel but don’t turn the key.

“And she’s living there. Alone.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean, but the whole thing’s been niggling at me since we pulled up.

The door. The lock. The mess. The bloody scent neutralisers humming through the place.

What kind of person pumps that stuff out in their own home?

“Yeah, I noticed,” Dane says, his tone calm but edged with concern. “It’s not exactly safe for someone like her.”

“She told us to piss off, didn’t she?” Blaise says, grinning as he pulls a half-eaten pack of crisps from the glovebox, dropping crumbs everywhere in the process.

I bite back a warning growl, trying to play nice now that we’re finally talking at least. “Didn’t seem too fussed about safety then.

She was ready to bash us with that rolling pin, though. Fierce little thing.”

He says it with glee, and I just know that he’s hard from it. I have to admit, seeing her gripping that huge marble rolling pin in her tiny little hand did something to me too…but maybe it’s just the idea of someone finally silencing Blaise that has me almost smiling for the first time in weeks.

“Fierce,” Dane echoes, his tone flat. “Or scared. You saw how pale she went when Xar spoke. And she wasn’t just annoyed. She was…” He trails off, but we all know the word: afraid.

Blaise shrugs, stuffing crisps into his mouth and not bothering to swallow before he speaks.

My blood pressure spikes as shards of crisp fly out of his open mouth.

I’m in half a mind to turn back and ask that girl for her rolling pin to beat his head in my damn self.

“Yeah, well, you two come across like a pair of uninvited loan sharks. Bet she thought we were there to nick her chickens or something.”

I exhale sharply, ignoring his attempt at humour. “She’s an omega. Seemingly on her own. Living in that wreck of a house, with no evidence of a pack in sight. And she doesn’t smell like anything at all.”

Silence fills the car for a moment, broken only by the crunch of Blaise’s crisps and the grinding of my teeth.

“You think she’s in trouble?” Dane asks quietly.

I press my lips together. The thought crossed my mind more than once already in the short space of time we’ve been here. “I don’t know. But something’s off.”

“She told us to leave,” Blaise says, though there’s no real heat in his voice.

He tosses the empty crisp packet on the dashboard and sighs.

My eye twitches at the litter. “And we did. Let’s just find the bloody rental before this rain gets worse.

Fuck, this place is a dump. Why couldn’t we be banished somewhere hot like the Bahamas or something? ”

I hesitate, my eyes drifting back towards the farmhouse in the rear-view mirror. It’s barely visible now, shrouded in mist and shadows, but the image of her standing there, clutching that rolling pin like it was the only thing between her and the world, won’t leave my head.

And it’s not even because she’s an omega, though of course that has my protective alpha instincts stirring to life, it’s her.

There’s something about her that has me intrigued and wanting to know her.

I can’t explain it. I’ve never reacted like this to someone that I just met before, but there’s no denying that I want to see her again.

“Xar,” Dane says, his voice low but firm. “We can’t force her to talk. If she needs help, she can ask.”

I hate how reasonable he sounds. With a muttered curse, I turn the key and start the engine. The Range Rover rumbles to life, and I pull back onto the road.

“Bet we missed a turning,” Blaise says, fiddling with the sat-nav. “Knew it the second you insisted on taking the scenic route.”

I don’t reply. Not when I still want to punch his smug face again.

Instead, I grit my teeth and try to concentrate on the road and the worsening conditions.

Five minutes later, we find the bloody turning – a narrow lane half-obscured by a gnarled oak and no signpost in sight – and another ten minutes after that, the headlights sweep across the front of a stone cottage.

It’s already dark so frankly it was a miracle we managed to find the place at all really.

The cottage is, by all accounts, charming.

Ivy climbs the grey stone walls, and the roof is thatched in a way that looks picturesque rather than decrepit.

Fairy lights twinkle in the windows, and a wreath of pine and berries hangs neatly on the door.

Honestly, it looks like a scene out of ‘The Holiday’.

He’d deny it until he’s blue in the face, but that’s Blaise’s favourite Christmas film. That and Elf, because he has the same mental age and eating habits as the main character, and frankly, he’s a bit of a dick.

“Fucking hell,” Blaise declares, stepping out into the cold night air and stretching his arms. “It’s a bit twee,” he gripes.

“It’ll do. It’s fully stocked, too,” Dane says, pulling a note off the kitchen counter once we’ve carried the bags inside. “Owner left a message with Liv. Something about how they ‘anticipated our needs’.”

“Very thoughtful,” I mutter, dumping my guitar case against the wall. It’s everything the farmhouse wasn’t: neat, warm, inviting. And yet…

“It’s too perfect,” Dane grumbles, as if reading my mind. He tosses the note onto the counter and glances around, his sharp eyes scanning the space. “Feels like a show home.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Blaise says, already rummaging through the cupboards.

“Bloody hell, they’ve even stocked the posh biscuits.

” He pulls out a packet and waves it triumphantly before immediately ripping it open and diving in, despite the mountain of snacks, enough to feed a small army, that he devoured on the drive down here. “Luxury.”

But even he doesn’t seem entirely settled. We all feel it – the faint, nagging sense that something’s missing.

Dane brushes past me, his hand briefly grazing my shoulder. “Well, the place isn’t going to inspire much tonight,” he says. “And I’m not sure I’m in the mood to write another hit about the joys of Devon’s finest cottage rentals.”

Blaise barks a laugh. “Call it ‘Thatched Roof Blues’. It’ll be a banger.”

“Catchy,” I say drily, unzipping my guitar case.

“But not quite on brand for the alpha bad boys of rock reputation we have to uphold.” I pluck a few strings, but the chords feel hollow, disconnected.

Much like my words. It’s the ‘bad boy’ reputation that got us into this trouble.

But the truth is, our music has felt that way for a while now, and given a choice, I’m not sure we even want to be rockstars anymore.

But we don’t have a choice.

And my head’s not in it, it’s still back at that farmhouse. With her.

“Not tonight,” Dane says, sinking onto the sofa. “We’ll try tomorrow. Might as well do something vaguely festive instead.”

“Like what?” Blaise grins, already reaching for the remote. “A Christmas film? Don’t mind if I do. Fancy ‘The Holiday’, Dane?”

“Fuck off. Anything but that shit again.”

I sigh but don’t argue, instead lighting the fire that’s already been laid in the grate for us. There’s even a Christmas tree in the corner of the lounge, with wrapped gifts under it, which are no doubt down to Liv, our manager because we never buy anything for each other.

It’s not like I want to hang out with Dane and Blaise after being trapped in a car with them for so long, but what the hell else is there to do?

It’s too early to go to bed, but too late and too wet to explore, and music is the furthest thing from my mind, so I drop down into one of the wing-back armchairs and prepare myself mentally for playing nice.

Blaise flips through the channels until he finds something suitably seasonal and cheesy enough to piss off Dane, and we settle in, the sound of on-screen laughter and festive music filling the cosy but emotionally cold space.