Page 13 of Bound By Alphas 1: Bound

“Hiding from your own party? That’s hardly proper birthday boy behavior.”

I turned to find Aunt Vivian approaching, two champagne flutes in hand. Even at a casual family gathering, she looked impeccable in a tailored navy pantsuit.

“Just getting some air,” I lied, accepting the glass she offered.

“Sparkling cider,” she clarified with a knowing smile. “I’m not about to cross Cade by giving you alcohol, even if you are technically an adult.”

I snorted. “Technically being the operative word. They still treat me like I’m twelve.”

“Do they?” She leaned against the railing beside me. “Or do they treat you like something precious that might slip away?”

I looked away, unable to meet her perceptive gaze. “It’s wrong. It has to be, this fated mate thing.”

“Is it?” She placed a gentle hand on my arm. “I’ve known those boys their entire lives. I watched Cade step up at twenty-four when his father died, taking on both the business and the pack. I’ve been in those board meetings, seen him build this empire. But even in the middle of million-dollar negotiations, if your name is mentioned, everything else ceases to exist for him.”

I swallowed hard, not wanting to hear this, not wanting the flutter of something that felt dangerously like hope.

“Logan returned from military service early when you had that fever three years ago,” she continued. “Left in the middle of specialized training because he sensed something was wrong with you. And Keir—I’ve seen that boy drop everything and drive through the night just because you mentioned having a bad day at school. Remember when you called about that art teacher who criticized your work? He was in Portland for a conference but showed up at breakfast the next morning with those special brushes you wanted.”

“That’s—that’s just family,” I insisted, my voice wavering slightly.

Aunt Vivian placed her arm around my shoulders in a gentle side hug. “You know, when your parents died, I was terrified I wouldn’t be enough for you. That I couldn’t give you what you needed.”

The unexpected admission caught me off guard. “You’ve been perfect, Aunt Viv.”

“Not perfect.” She smiled softly. “Just present. Sometimes that’s all we can do for those we care about—be there while they figure things out for themselves.”

Her warmth beside me was comforting, a steady presence when everything else felt like shifting sand. Through the glass doors, I could see guests mingling, laughing, completely unaware of how my world had tilted on its axis today.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted quietly. “Everything feels different now.”

“I know, sweetheart.” She gave my shoulders a gentle squeeze. “But you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Some revelations take time to settle.”

“What if I never figure it out?”

“Then you never figure it out,” she said simply. “The universe may suggest paths for us, Finn, but we choose which ones to walk. Always remember that.”

Her words were like a balm, offering space to breathe when I felt suffocated by expectation. Not pushing me toward or away from the brothers, just acknowledging my right to choose.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“For what?”

“For not telling me how I should feel.”

She smiled, the lines around her eyes crinkling with genuine affection. “I’ve never been able to tell you how to feel about anything, Finn. Not since you were eight and informed me very seriously that broccoli was, and I quote, ‘an abomination against art because green should never be that boring.’”

That startled a laugh out of me, the memory of my dramatic childhood declarations cutting through the tension. She pressed a kiss to my temple. “Don’t stay out here too long. It’s getting cold.” Then she was gone.

I stayed on the deck a couple of minutes longer when Drew found me.

“There you are,” he said, relief evident in his voice. “Cade’s looking for you. It’s cake time.”

I nodded, reluctantly following him back inside. The party had reached that point in the evening where everyone was pleasantly buzzed and the music had gotten louder. Cade stood by a massive cake decorated with artistic swirls of blue and silver frosting, looking impatient. His eyes narrowed, taking in Keir’s jacket still draped over my shoulders. Something flashed in his expression—too quick to identify—before he nodded toward the cake. “They’re waiting.”

The next few minutes were a blur of singing and candle-blowing and polite applause. I smiled and thanked everyone, played the part of the grateful birthday boy while feeling like an impostor in my own skin. All the while, I was aware of the three alphas watching me from different parts of the room, their gazes heavy with unspoken tension.

As the party began to wind down, I was cornered by an elderly wolf from a neighboring pack, enduring a lengthy monologue about the “good old days” when shifters didn’t hide their nature. I was nodding politely, eyes glazing over, when I spotted Logan across the room.

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