"Hypothermic," Ethan said, his voice clipped and clinical even as his hands shook, joining Caleb's on my body, checking my vitals with efficient desperation. "And bond-sick. Severely. We need to get her warm, and we need skin contact. All of us. Now."
Arms lifted me. I didn't know whose. Didn't care. The bond was singing in my chest, weak but growing stronger with every touch, every brush of Alpha skin against mine.
Safe. Home. Alphas. All of them. Here.
"I'm sorry," I managed, forcing the words out through numb lips, tears streaming down my frozen cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry?—"
"Don't," Mason said roughly, his voice thick with emotion, his jaw tight as he helped lift me from the snow, cradling me against his chest. "Don't apologize. Just stay awake. Stay with us."
"I want to come home," I whispered, my voice breaking, looking up at them through blurred vision, at their terrified faces, at the love and fear and relief swimming in their eyes. "I want— I choose this. I choose you. I'm sorry it took me so long to understand?—"
"Ava," Leo said, his voice sharp, cutting through my rambling, his hand gripping mine tight enough to hurt, grounding me. His pale eyes were bright with unshed tears he'd never admit to. "Shut up. You can apologize and make declarations later. Right now, you need to stay conscious."
I tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. "Bossy," I managed, my frozen fingers curling weakly around his.
"Always," he said, but his voice cracked on the word, and I saw the fear he was trying to hide behind his sharp tongue. The fear that I'd almost died. That they'd almost lost me. They were carrying me somewhere. A car, maybe. An SUV. The leather seats were warm, someone had left the heat running — and I wasbeing passed from arms to arms, surrounded by warmth and Alpha scent, and the bond purred weakly in my chest, finally, finally satisfied.
More skin contact. Shirts being removed, bare chests pressing against my frozen back, my frozen arms, my frozen everything. Their body heat seeped into me from every direction, four Alphas wrapped around me like a living blanket, and I could feel the bond strengthening with every passing second.
"Stay awake," Ethan said, his face swimming above me, his gray eyes sharp with fear behind his glasses. "Ava, look at me. Stay awake."
"I’m trying," I slurred, my eyelids fluttering, fighting to keep them open. The warmth was making me drowsy, pulling me toward darkness. "Ethan, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I left like that?—"
"Later," he said, but his voice softened, his hand coming up to cup my face with infinite gentleness. "We'll talk about it later. Right now I need you to stay with me."
"No," Caleb said, his voice rough with desperation, his hand cradling my face, forcing me to look at him. His pale eyes were red-rimmed, wet with tears he didn't bother to hide. "Keep your eyes open. Look at me. Please, Ava. Please."
I tried. I really tried. The darkness was warm, and soft, and it promised peace. Promised rest. Promised an end to the cold and the pain and the terrible, terrible guilt.
"I love you," I whispered, not sure who I was saying it to, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. Maybe all of them. Maybe myself. The words I'd never said outside of heat, never said when I was lucid enough to mean them. I meant them now. "I love you. All of you. I'm sorry it took almost dying for me to say it."
"We know," Mason said, his voice raw and broken, his hand gripping mine so tight it should have hurt but I couldn't feelanything anymore. "We know, Ava. We love you too. Just stay with us. Please. Stay."
I wanted to. God, I wanted to. The darkness was stronger than I was, and it pulled me under like a wave. The last thing I felt was their arms around me, their warmth seeping into my frozen bones, their love wrapping around me like a blanket.
The last thing I heard was Caleb's voice, raw and desperate: "Don't leave us. Please don't leave us."
Then nothing.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
DAVID HARPER
The phone rang at six forty-seven in the evening. I was in my study, reviewing acquisition reports, a glass of whiskey warming in my palm. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows across the mahogany desk that had belonged to my father, and his father before him. Three generations of Harper ambition, distilled into dark wood and darker decisions.
Mason's name flashed on the screen. I set down the whiskey and answered on the second ring.
"Son," I said, keeping my voice measured, calm, the way I always did when one of my boys needed steadying. "How is our girl?"
"She's still not right," Mason said, his voice strained, exhaustion and fear bleeding through his usual composure. I could hear the wind in the background, the muffled sounds of movement — he'd stepped outside to make this call, away from the others. My eldest had always been the steady one, the leader I'd shaped him to be. Hearing him fray at the edges was... concerning. "We got her temperature back up hours ago. Shewoke up briefly, said a few words, but then she was out again. Ethan says the bond sickness isn't resolving the way it should. Her heart keeps— it keeps skipping. Even with all four of us touching her constantly."
I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking beneath me. "How long was she separated from you?"
"Five hours. Maybe six. She was in the snow for most of it, hypothermic and—" His voice cracked, and I heard him take a sharp breath, fighting for control. "She almost died, David. She was blue when we found her."
"But she didn't die," I said calmly, swirling my whiskey, watching the amber liquid catch the firelight. "You found her. She's home. Now we deal with the aftermath."
"That's why I'm calling," Mason said, and I could hear him forcing himself back into composure, that rigid self-control I'd instilled in him since childhood. "The bond sickness. It's not responding to skin contact the way Ethan expected. What else can we do?"
