That afternoon, Mason came up behind me while I was reading by the window. His hand landed on my shoulder, thumb tracing the curve of my neck, and I felt myself start to lean back into him automatically. I stopped. Pulled forward instead. Away from his touch.
His Alpha flared instantly, I felt it through the bond before I saw it in his eyes. That dark, possessive energy that demanded submission, demanded closeness, demanded mine.
"Ava," he said, his voice low and laced with warning, his fingers tightening on my shoulder.
"I'm just reading," I said without looking at him, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it, my eyes fixed unseeing on the page.
His hand tightened on my shoulder, and he pulled me back against him, firm but not rough. "You're pulling away." It wasn't a question. He could feel it through the bond, my walls going up, my instinctive retreat.
"I just wanted some space," I managed, my voice smaller than I intended, my body rigid against his chest.
"You don't need space from me," he murmured against my hair, breathing me in, his arms wrapping around me like he could physically prevent me from slipping away. "You don't need space from any of us."
I wanted to argue, to push back, demand he respect my boundaries, remind him that I was a person with autonomy and not just an extension of their pack. Instead, I let myself sink intohis warmth, because fighting felt exhausting and his arms felt safe, and somewhere along the way I'd forgotten how to want anything else.
The panic in my chest grew teeth.
The next day, I tried with Caleb.
He was carving in the living room, working on something small and intricate. I sat beside him like I always did, close enough that our thighs touched. He made a soft sound of contentment, and I felt the urge to purr rise up in response.
I swallowed it down. Kept my chest silent. Caleb's hands stilled. He looked at me, those pale eyes searching my face with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"Ava?" His voice was soft, uncertain, his brow furrowing as he set down his knife, giving me his full attention.
"I'm fine," I said, forcing a small smile that felt brittle on my face. "Just tired."
He didn't believe me. I could feel it. Instead of pushing, he just... shifted closer. Pressed his side more firmly against mine. His hand found my knee, his thumb tracing small circles through the fabric of my pants. He didn't leave my side for the rest of the day. Every time I moved, he moved with me. Every time I sat, he sat beside me. His neediness wrapped around me like a blanket, suffocating in its intensity.
By nightfall, I was crawling out of my skin.
Ethan was harder. He found me in the library the next morning, and instead of curling up to read while he worked like I usually did, I challenged him.
"Why do you track everything?" I asked, gesturing to the tablet in his hands, my voice sharper than I intended. "My sleep, my food, my heat cycles — why does it all need to be documented?"
He blinked, adjusting his glasses with that precise, measured movement I'd come to recognize. "Because it helps me take careof you," he said, like it was obvious. "If I know your patterns, I can anticipate what you need before you even have to ask. It's not about control, Ava. It's about making sure you're okay."
"What if I don't want to be monitored?" I pushed, sitting up straighter, my hands curling into fists in my lap. "What if I just want to exist without every aspect of my biology being tracked and analyzed?"
Something flickered in his gray eyes, surprise, maybe, or hurt. He set the tablet down, giving me his full attention. "Is that really what this is about? The tracking?" He studied my face, and I could practically see him cataloging my micro-expressions. "Your cortisol levels have been elevated for days. You're not sleeping well. Something's bothering you, and it's not my spreadsheets."
"Maybe I'm just tired of feeling like a science experiment," I snapped, rising to my feet, my voice cracking with frustration.
Ethan's jaw tightened, and when he spoke again, there was an edge to his voice I rarely heard. "You're not an experiment. You're my mate. And if paying attention to your health makes me the villain, then fine. I'll be the villain." He picked up his tablet again, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the hurt he was trying to hide. "But I'm not going to apologize for caring about you."
I wanted to scream. Instead, I stormed out of the library, my hands shaking with rage I couldn't name.
Leo found me on the porch that evening, huddled in a blanket, staring at the darkening sky.
"Trouble in paradise?" He lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his sharp features, casting shadows across the cruel beauty of his face. "The others are inside comparing notes on your little rebellion. Very cute, by the way. Really convincing."
"Fuck off, Leo," I muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders, not bothering to look at him.
His eyebrows rose, and something dangerous flickered in his pale eyes. "There she is. I was wondering when the claws would come back out." He took a drag, exhaling slowly, the smoke curling between us like a barrier. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Domestic bliss not everything you dreamed it would be?"
"I said fuck off," I repeated, my voice harder this time, my jaw clenched tight.
He moved closer instead, dropping onto the bench beside me, close enough that I could smell smoke and cedar and that dark undertone that was uniquely him. "You know what I think? I think you're terrified."
