AVA
The next three days were the longest of my life.
They cared for me. That was undeniable. Food appeared at regular intervals, warm soup, soft bread, things that were easy to swallow and gentle on my recovering body. Medicine for my frostbitten feet, which had blistered and peeled in the days after my rescue. Blankets when I shivered. Water when I was thirsty.
They didn't speak to me. Not really. Not beyond the bare necessities.
"Eat." Mason's voice, flat and cold, as he set a bowl in front of me. His dark eyes didn't meet mine, his jaw tight with tension he refused to release, his whole body radiating a distant authority that made my chest ache with longing for the warmth that used to live there.
"Take these." Ethan's clinical tone as he handed me pills for the pain in my feet. His fingers brushed mine during the exchange, but the touch was perfunctory, mechanical, nothing like the careful attention he'd shown me before. He pulled hishand back the moment the pills were in my palm, already turning away, already dismissing me.
"Sleep." Caleb's single word as he guided me back to the nest at night. His hand on my elbow was impersonal, his grip firm but devoid of tenderness, and he released me the moment I was settled among the blankets, retreating to the far edge of the nest like I was something he couldn't bear to be close to.
That was it. No conversation. No warmth. No soft words or gentle touches beyond what was absolutely required. They touched me constantly, the bond demanded it, and they weren't cruel enough to let me suffer bond sickness on top of everything else. But the contact was clinical, perfunctory. A hand on my ankle while I ate. Fingers wrapped around my wrist while I slept. The bare minimum required to keep the bond fed and my body stable.
It was agony.
I hadn't realized, until those three days, how much I'd come to crave more than just physical contact. The touches I'd grown used to, Caleb's fingers in my hair, Leo's arm slung around my shoulders, Ethan's hand on the small of my back, Mason's palm pressed against my stomach, they'd been warm. Loving. Full of affection and possession and care.
This was none of those things. This was obligation. Duty. The absolute minimum required to keep me alive. My Omega keened constantly, a high, desperate sound that vibrated in my chest and escaped my throat in quiet whimpers I couldn't suppress. I needed more. I needed their love, their attention, their warmth. I needed them to look at me with something other than cold disappointment.
They didn't respond. Not to the keening, not to the tears that leaked from my eyes at random moments, not to the way I pressed into their touches like a starving thing desperate for scraps. By the second day, I understood. This was part ofthe punishment. The silence, the coldness, the withdrawal of everything but the bare essentials, it was designed to make me feel exactly what I'd done to them. I'd left them. I'd chosen to walk away from their love, their care, their protection. Now they were showing me what that felt like from the other side.
It was worse than any physical pain could have been.
Caleb was the hardest. He wouldn't look at me. Not once in those three days did his pale eyes meet mine. He touched me when required, his hand on my ankle during meals, his body pressed against mine at night in the nest but he kept his face turned away, his gaze fixed on anything but me.
The hurt I delved out was worse on him, I knew. He'd been the one to find me in the snow. He'd held my cold, nearly lifeless body and thought I was dead. And I'd done that to him. I'd put that memory in his head, that fear in his heart, and no amount of apology could take it back.
Leo's silence was different, sharp and brittle, like glass about to shatter. He made small, harsh sounds sometimes when he touched me, sounds that might have been anger or grief or both. His fingers dug into my skin harder than necessary, leaving bruises I didn't complain about because I deserved them.
Ethan was clinical, as always, but there was an edge to his efficiency that hadn't been there before. He checked my vitals with cold precision, monitored my recovery with detached professionalism, and spoke only in medical terms when he spoke at all. The warmth that had crept into his gray eyes over the past weeks was gone, replaced by something flat and distant.
And Mason... Mason watched me. That was worse than any of the others' reactions. He sat in the corner of whatever room I was in, his dark eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. He didn't speak. Didn't touch me unless absolutely necessary. Just watched, like he was waiting for something, likehe was cataloging every tear and whimper and desperate keen for later use.
By the third day, I was a wreck. My feet had healed enough that I could walk without wincing, but my heart felt like it had been scraped raw. The silence was crushing, the coldness unbearable. I would have done anything, anything, to hear one of them say my name with warmth instead of ice.
That evening, Mason came to me in the nest.
"You're healed enough," he said, his voice flat and hard, his dark eyes giving nothing away as they swept over my huddled form in the blankets. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, every line of his body radiating authority and control. The firelight from the hallway cast shadows across his face, sharpening his cheekbones, making him look like something carved from stone — beautiful and immovable and utterly unforgiving. "Come."
I didn't ask where. Didn't argue or hesitate. I just rose on shaky legs, wincing as my healing feet took my weight, and followed him out of the nest room, down the hall, into the living room.
The others were already there.
Caleb stood by the fireplace, his massive frame silhouetted against the flames, his pale eyes finally fixed on my face. There was something in his expression that made my chest ache, something wounded and angry and desperate all at once. Leo sat on the arm of the couch, his usual lazy sprawl replaced by a tense, coiled energy. He watched me with sharp eyes, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists on his thighs. Ethan occupied the armchair in the corner, his tablet nowhere to be seen, his gray eyes cold and assessing behind his glasses. He sat perfectly still, perfectly composed, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness around his mouth.
Mason walked past me to the center of the room, where a straight-backed wooden chair had been placed. He sat down, his movements deliberate and controlled, and fixed me with a look that made my knees weak.
"Come here," he said, his voice brooking no argument, no hesitation, no disobedience. The command resonated through the silent room, heavy with authority, and I felt it in my bones, the Alpha imperative that my Omega couldn't resist even if I'd wanted to. I walked to him on trembling legs, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat, my bare feet silent against the wooden floor. I stopped in front of him, close enough to touch, close enough to see the firelight reflected in his dark eyes, and waited.
"You know why you're here," Mason said, and it wasn't a question. His dark eyes bored into mine, searching for something, fear, maybe, or resistance. He found neither. I'd accepted this. I deserved this. His gaze softened almost imperceptibly at whatever he saw in my face, though his expression remained stern and unyielding.
"Yes," I whispered, my voice barely audible even in the silence of the room, my hands clasped in front of me to hide their trembling.
"Tell me." The words were a command, not a request, delivered with the quiet certainty of a man who expected to be obeyed.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight with emotion, my eyes stinging with the tears I was fighting to hold back. "Because I ran. Because I scared you. Because I almost died. Because I—" My voice cracked, splintering like thin ice, and I had to take a breath before I could continue, my chest heaving with the effort of holding myself together. "Because I hurt my pack."
