Page 61 of Bound By Alphas 1: Bound

“We know everything that happens in this house, little fox,” he replied, his voice dropping to a register that sent a shiver down my spine. He reached out and ruffled my already chaotic hair. The casual gesture was so unexpected that I froze, my brain short-circuiting at the feel of his fingers against my scalp.

“Breakfast is in twenty minutes,” he said, stepping back. “Elena made your favorite.”

“Cinnamon French toast?” I asked, unable to hide my enthusiasm.

His smile widened. “With extra maple syrup.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” I promised, already calculating how quickly I could shower.

Logan nodded, then moved past me, his hand brushing against mine in a touch that felt too deliberate to be accidental. I stood there for a moment, watching him disappear down the hallway, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through me from that brief contact.

What the hell was happening? First Keir with the hot chocolate and now Logan with the hair-ruffling and the promises of my favorite breakfast. It was like they were… but no. That was ridiculous. They were just being nice because I’d finally emerged from my self-imposed exile. That was all.

Shaking off the confusing thoughts, I hurried to my room to get ready for the day ahead.

By the time I made it downstairs twenty minutes later, the kitchen was already bustling with activity. Elena moved with practiced efficiency between the stove and counter, spatula in hand as she flipped perfect slices of French toast. Drew sat at the island with Jake and Tyler, all three laughing at something onTyler’s phone. The Blackwood cousins were nowhere to be seen, which was a small mercy.

“There he is.” Drew grinned when he spotted me. “Sleeping Beauty finally joins us.”

“Bite me,” I replied cheerfully, sliding onto a stool beside him. “Some of us need our beauty sleep.”

“Clearly not working,” he shot back, ducking when I aimed a swat at his head.

Elena placed a plate in front of me, the French toast arranged in a perfect stack and drizzled with an obscene amount of maple syrup. “Eat,” she commanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, digging in with enthusiasm. Elena’s French toast was legendary—crisp on the outside, custardy on the inside, with just the right amount of cinnamon.

I was halfway through my second slice when Cade entered the kitchen, his presence immediately commanding attention. He wore casual clothes—jeans and a navy Henley that made his eyes look even bluer—but somehow managed to make them look like designer wear.

“Morning,” he said, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on me. “Sleep well?”

There was something in his tone—a knowing quality that made me wonder if Keir had shared details of our sleeping arrangement through their weird alpha telepathy.

“Like the dead,” I replied, focusing on my breakfast to avoid meeting his eyes. “Keir’s bed is ridiculously comfortable.”

“I’m aware,” Cade said dryly, accepting a mug of coffee from Elena.

An awkward silence fell, broken only by the sound of my fork against the plate. I could feel everyone watching me, waiting for some kind of reaction. Drew looked like he was about to burst from holding in whatever comment was dancing on the tip of his tongue.

Thankfully, the Blackwood cousins chose that moment to make their entrance, both looking unfairly gorgeous in color-coordinated outfits.

“Good morning, everyone,” Sophia greeted, her smile brightening when she spotted Cade. “We were just discussing how perfect the weather is for our lake day.”

“Can’t wait,” I muttered into my French toast, not even trying to sound convincing.

“The lake is beautiful this time of year,” Mia added, moving to stand closer to Logan, who had appeared in the doorway. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing it.”

“We’re leaving in about an hour,” Drew announced, clapping his hands together. “So everyone better get their stuff together.”

As everyone began discussing logistics—what to pack, when to leave, who would drive—I felt a presence at my back. Keir had materialized behind me, his breath warm against my ear as he leaned down.

“Still planning your escape?” he murmured, his voice pitched for my ears alone. “Your expression is painfully obvious.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I whispered back. “I love lakes. And boats. And spending extended periods of time in enclosed spaces with people who make me uncomfortable.”

His laugh was a warm puff of air against my neck. “Liar.”

“It takes one to know one,” I countered, turning to face him.

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