Page 60 of Bound By Alphas 1: Bound

Not the creepy, horror-movie kind of watching—more like the intense, alpha-werewolf-cataloging-every-detail-of-your-face kind. Which, honestly, might actually be creepier.

Cracking one eye open confirmed my suspicion. Keir sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed in jeans and a fitted Henley, a steaming mug in his hand and a smile playing at his lips as he studied me.

“That’s not at all disturbing,” I mumbled, pulling the covers higher. “Do you always stare at sleeping people, or am I just special?”

“Definitely special,” he replied, his voice morning-rough in a way that did unfortunate things to my insides. “Sleep well?”

The annoying part was that I had. Better than I had in weeks, maybe months. Something about being surrounded by Keir’s scent, wrapped in his arms, had quieted the restlessness that usually plagued my nights.

“I’ve had worse,” I admitted grudgingly, stretching before I remembered I was wearing only shorts and a t-shirt that kept slipping off my shoulder. I quickly tugged it back into place,but not before Keir’s eyes tracked the movement with predatory focus.

“I made you this,” he said, offering me the mug. “Elena’s secret recipe.”

I accepted it cautiously, inhaling the rich scent of chocolate and cinnamon. “Hot chocolate?”

“You always liked it in the mornings.” He shrugged.

The fact that he remembered such a small detail about me—a preference I’d developed when I was ten—made something warm unfurl in my chest. I took a sip to hide whatever embarrassing emotion might be showing on my face.

“It’s good,” I conceded. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” His smile widened, satisfaction evident in every line of his body. “The others are already downstairs. Drew’s friends want to go to the lake today.”

And just like that, the peaceful bubble burst. Reality came crashing back—Drew’s friends, the Blackwood cousins, the way Cade and Logan had flirted with them at dinner. The memory sent a spike of something dark and possessive through me, which was ridiculous. I had no claim on any of the brothers, no matter what some mystical mate ceremony said.

“Sounds fun,” I lied, taking another sip of chocolate. “I should probably get ready.”

Keir’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he could read the sudden shift in my mood. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“And miss all the excitement? Perish the thought.” My sarcasm was a familiar shield, comfortable and well worn.

He studied me for a moment longer, then stood with that fluid grace that made my artist’s eye want to capture the movement on paper. “I’ll see you downstairs. Don’t take too long or Elena will send out a search party.”

After he left, I flopped back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling. My pets had already abandoned me—Pixel exploringKeir’s bookshelves, Mochi curled in a patch of sunlight by the window, and Boba snoring contentedly in his new plush bed. Traitors, all of them.

“This is fine,” I told the ceiling. “Totally normal. Just spend the day watching yournot really brothersflirt with beautiful werewolf women while pretending you don’t care. What could possibly go wrong?”

The ceiling, predictably, offered no advice.

With a sigh, I hauled myself out of bed, gathering my dignity and my pets. Time to face the day and whatever fresh hell it had in store for me.

The hallway was quiet as I made my way back to my room, pets trailing behind me in various states of enthusiasm. Pixel trotted ahead with her tail high, while Mochi stuck close to my heels. Boba brought up the rear, his stubby legs working overtime to keep up, punctuated by dramatic snorts of exertion.

I was so focused on not spilling my hot chocolate that I nearly collided with a wall of muscle as I rounded the corner.

“Whoa there.” Logan’s hands steadied me, his grip gentle but firm on my shoulders. “In a hurry?”

I looked up—way up—to find him watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. His hair was damp from a shower, his t-shirt clinging to his still-humid skin in ways that made my mouth go dry.

“Just heading back to my room,” I managed, acutely aware that I probably looked like something the cat dragged in—bedhead, wrinkled sleep clothes, and pillow creases on my face.

Logan’s eyes tracked over me, lingering on the shirt slipping off my shoulder again. “You look… rested.”

“Amazing what sleeping in an actual bed will do,” I quipped, trying to subtly tug my shirt back into place without sloshing chocolate everywhere.

His lips quirked up at one corner. “Better than the studio floor?”

“You know about that?”

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