Page 97 of Bound By Alphas 1: Bound

“On a Sunday?” I asked, suspicious of this convenient disappearance.

Drew rolled his eyes. “Yes, on a Sunday. Some of us have social lives that extend beyond being claimed by three alphas.”

I felt my face heat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, you don’t.” Drew grinned. “Your bedroom door isn’t soundproof, you know.”

If possible, my face grew even hotter. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best and you know it,” he countered. “That’s why I’m giving you the house to yourselves for the day. You’re welcome.”

“I hate you,” I muttered.

“Love you too, little brother,” Drew replied, already heading down the hallway. “I’ll be back around six. Try to be dressed by then!”

I closed the door and leaned against it, my heart racing with a combination of embarrassment and… anticipation? The thought of having the entire mansion to ourselves for the day sent a thrill through me that I wasn’t quite ready to examine.

I turned to find all three brothers awake, watching me with varying degrees of hunger in their eyes. Cade sat against the headboard, the sheet pooled around his waist doing little to conceal his impressive physique. Logan had propped himself up on one elbow, his torso bare and distractingly perfect. Keir lounged at the foot of the bed, already scrolling through his phone, though his eyes flicked up to me with predatory interest.

“You heard all that?” I asked, not sure if I should be mortified or relieved.

“Every word,” Logan confirmed, his eyes tracking my movement as I crossed back to the bed.

“Come here,” Cade said.

It wasn’t a request. The alpha command in his voice sent a shiver down my spine, my fox responding instinctively to the authority in his tone. I moved toward the bed before I’d consciously decided to do so, drawn by something deeper than physical attraction.

I hesitated at the edge of the mattress.

“Second thoughts, little fox?” Logan asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

“No,” I said, climbing onto the bed with more confidence than I felt. “Just… processing.”

“Process later,” Keir suggested, setting his phone aside and reaching for me. “Feel now.”

I allowed myself to be pulled between them, immediately enveloped in their combined warmth and scent. Cade’s hand found my hair, fingers threading through the strands with surprising gentleness.

“I’m starving,” I announced, breaking the moment with all the grace of a bulldozer through a china shop. My stomach chose that exact moment to growl loudly, as if to emphasize the point.

Logan burst out laughing, the sound so unexpected and genuine that I couldn’t help joining in. Even Cade’s lips twitched with amusement.

“Always at the most inconvenient times,” Keir sighed dramatically, though his eyes danced with mirth. “Your stomach has the worst timing.”

“Sorry,” I offered, not feeling sorry at all. “Apparently sleeping surrounded by werewolves makes me hungry.”

“Can’t have that,” Logan said, pressing a kiss to my temple before sliding from the bed. “French toast?”

“French toast?” I perked up immediately. His military precision extended to the kitchen, where his cooking was one of the few skills that even Cade acknowledged superior to his own. His French toast was legendary in the Sinclair household—oneof the few culinary bright spots during our teenage years when Elena had her annual two-week vacation. “With the cinnamon-vanilla custard?” I asked hopefully, already sliding off the bed.

“Is there any other way to make it?” Logan replied.

“I’ll assist,” Cade offered, also rising from the bed.

“By which he means he’ll stand around looking pretty and occasionally hand me ingredients,” Logan clarified with a smirk. “But I’ll take what I can get.”

Keir remained sprawled on the bed, showing no inclination to move. “I’ll stay here with Finn,” he offered magnanimously. “Make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.”

“Nice try,” Cade said. “Everyone helps.”

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