Page 98 of Bound By Alphas 1: Bound

“I don’t cook,” Keir protested. “Remember the Great Pancake Disaster?”

“We agreed never to speak of that again,” Logan said solemnly, though his eyes glittered with amusement. “You can set the table.”

I snorted, remembering the infamous incident that had resulted in a kitchen ceiling so thoroughly splattered with batter that Elena had banned Keir from cooking duties for life. “He’s not even allowed to operate the toaster anymore,” I reminded them. “Elena put a sticky note on it that just says ‘No Keir’ with three exclamation points.”

Twenty minutes later, I was perched on a stool at the kitchen island, watching in fascination as Logan moved around the kitchen with surprising efficiency. For someone so physically imposing, he had an unexpected grace in this environment, his movements precise and economical.

Cade did indeed mostly stand around looking pretty, though he occasionally handed Logan ingredients or stole kisses when he passed. Keir had set the table with exaggerated care, as if expecting a formal inspection, before settling beside me at the island.

“He’s showing off for you,” Keir murmured in my ear, nodding toward Logan who was currently whisking eggs with far more flourish than necessary. “He never makes this much effort when it’s just us.”

“I heard that,” Logan called without turning around. “And I always make an effort. You’re just too busy inhaling food to notice.”

Mochi had positioned himself strategically between the stove and the table, his eyes tracking Logan’s every movement with the focused intensity of a dog who knew treats were imminent. Boba had finally emerged from the bedroom and was now flopped dramatically at my feet, emitting occasional sighs as if the very concept of morning was personally offensive. Pixel, who had been conspicuously absent until now, suddenly appeared on the counter, her one eye fixed judgmentally on the proceedings.

“No cats on the counter during food prep,” Logan said without even looking at her. “House rules.”

Pixel stared at him for a long moment, clearly communicating her opinion of both him and his rules, before deliberately knocking a spoon onto the floor and jumping down with offended dignity.

“She likes to assert dominance,” I explained, hiding a smile. “It’s a cat thing.”

“Reminds me of someone else I know,” Keir commented, nudging me with his shoulder.

Before I could protest this unfair comparison, Logan placed a plate in front of me with a flourish. The French toast was golden and perfect, dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon, with a side of fresh berries and real maple syrup.

“This looks amazing,” I admitted, picking up my fork.

“Taste it before you get too excited,” Cade advised, accepting his own plate. “He experiments.”

But the first bite was nothing short of revelatory—crisp on the outside, custardy within, with hints of vanilla and something else I couldn’t quite identify.

“Oh my God,” I moaned around the mouthful, closing my eyes to better appreciate the flavors. “This is incredible, as always.”

When I opened my eyes, I found all three brothers watching me with identical expressions of heated interest.

“What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” Logan replied, his voice rougher than before. “Just… enjoying the view.”

I realized belatedly that I was still wearing only an oversized t-shirt and my briefs, my fox ears fully visible, making those little appreciative twitches they did when I was particularly pleased about something. The way they were looking at me made it clear that breakfast wasn’t the only thing on the menu.

“Eat,” Cade instructed, though his eyes remained dark with promise. “You’ll need the energy.”

That simple statement sent heat flooding through me, and I focused intently on my plate to hide my reaction. Beside me, Keir chuckled softly, clearly not fooled.

Breakfast passed in a strange combination of domestic comfort and simmering tension. The conversation flowed easily—Keir discussing a new tech investment he was considering, Cade mentioning an upcoming business trip, Logan debating the merits of different martial arts for someone my size. It was so… normal.

Yet beneath the normality ran an electric current of anticipation. It was in the way Cade’s hand lingered when he passed me the syrup, in Logan’s eyes tracking my movements, in Keir’s thigh pressed against mine beneath the counter. They were waiting, I realized. Building the tension deliberately.

Two could play at that game.

I stretched elaborately as I finished my last bite, knowing full well that the movement would cause the shirt to ride up, exposing a strip of skin. Three pairs of eyes immediately zeroed in on the revealed flesh, and I had to suppress a smile at their predictability.

“I should shower,” I announced casually, sliding off the stool.

“Need help?” Keir offered immediately, earning an elbow from Logan.

“I think I can manage,” I replied with exaggerated innocence. “I’ve been doing it alone for years.”

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