Page 38 of Bound By Alphas 1: Bound

“Old man?” Cade raised an eyebrow. “I’m twenty-nine, not ninety.”

“Ancient in dog years,” I couldn’t help adding.

“Wolf years,” all three brothers corrected in perfect unison, making Drew and me exchange amused glances.

“Still creepy when you do that,” I informed them, feeling some of the tension ease from my shoulders.

“Speaking of creepy,” Drew said, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “Finn was telling me earlier how he’s been having these weird sensations lately. What was it again, Finn? Something about your lower back?”

I kicked him under the table, my face heating. “I wasn’t telling you anything. You were snooping through my journal.”

“I was not snooping,” Drew protested with mock indignation. “I was… researching. For science.”

“For science?” I repeated incredulously. “What kind of science involves reading my private thoughts about—” I stopped abruptly, realizing I was about to say too much.

Three pairs of alpha eyes fixed on me with sudden intensity.

“About what, Finn?” Cade asked, his voice deceptively casual.

“Nothing,” I muttered, stabbing another potato. “Just… weird fox stuff. Shifting pains. Nothing interesting.”

“Those scars on your lower back?” Drew prompted, ignoring my death glare. “The ones that have been tingling lately?”

I could have murdered him right there. “They’re just old scars from when I was a kid,” I said through gritted teeth. “From the accident. You know that.”

The “accident” was something I barely remembered—a childhood injury that had left me with three strange silvery scars on my lower right hip. The brothers had always been weirdly protective about them, insisting I keep them covered at the beach or pool, claiming they were still “sensitive” even years later.

“But they’ve been feeling different lately, right?” Drew persisted, a strange gleam in his eye as he glanced between me and the brothers. “You said they’ve been warm? Tingling?”

The rest of dinner passed in a similar vein, with Drew making oddly pointed comments that seemed designed to make both me and the brothers uncomfortable. By the time Elena brought out dessert—her famous tres leches cake—I was mentally drained and eager to escape.

“I’m going to shower before the movie,” I announced, pushing back from the table as soon as I’d finished my cake. “If we’re doing one of Drew’s marathons, I want to be comfortable.”

“Don’t take too long,” Drew called after me. “The movie waits for no fox!”

The hot water was a blessing, washing away some of the day’s tension. I stayed under the spray longer than necessary, letting the steam fill the bathroom as I tried not to think about what had happened in the studio.

But of course, that’s exactly what my brain decided to fixate on.

The way Cade had looked at me when he helped me into his shirt. The feeling of his fingers brushing against my skin as he buttoned it. The heat in his eyes when I’d unconsciously leaned toward him, my body seeking his without my permission.

And then that kiss—not on my lips where I’d wanted it, but on my forehead. Chaste. Brotherly. A clear message that he didn’t see me the way I apparently saw him.

“Stupid fox instincts,” I muttered, turning off the water with more force than necessary. “Stupid mate bond. Stupid universe with its stupid sense of humor.”

As I stepped out of the shower, I caught a glimpse of myself in the steamy mirror. Turning slightly, I could just make out the three silvery scars on my lower back—straight line, diagonal slash, curved mark—forming a strange triangular pattern. I traced them with my finger, frowning as they seemed to warm under my touch.

Drew was right about one thing—they had been acting weird lately. Tingling when the brothers were near, warming when I thought about them, sometimes even seeming to pulse in time with my heartbeat. I’d assumed it was just another manifestation of my defective shifting, like the ears and tail I couldn’t control.

I stepped out of the shower, dripping onto the heated marble floor of my bathroom. One of the perks of living in a mansion designed by obscenely wealthy werewolves—every bedroom hadits own spa-worthy en suite. Mine featured a rainfall shower big enough for four people—an irony I refused to contemplate—a soaking tub that could double as a small pool, and heated floors that made towels almost unnecessary.

Almost.

I grabbed one anyway, giving my hair a cursory drying before tossing it aside. The advantage of having a bathroom attached to my bedroom was the freedom to air dry if I wanted. No need for modesty in my own space.

I padded naked into my bedroom, fox tail swishing water droplets behind me, and nearly had a heart attack.

Logan was sitting on the edge of my bed, holding what looked like a book. His head snapped up at my entrance, his eyes widening as they took in my very naked state.

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