"H-hate you," I managed, but it came out barely a whisper. "Hate... all of you..."
"I know." Mason leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead. His lips were warm and soft, and I hated how good they felt. Hated how safe. "Sleep now, Ava. When you wake up, you'll be home. And everything will be different."
I wanted to tell him I'd never stop fighting. Wanted to tell him I'd find another way to escape, that I'd make them regret ever coming after me, that I'd burn down his precious cabin with all four of them inside if that's what it took.
My mouth wouldn't cooperate. My eyes were sliding shut, too heavy to keep open. My body was sinking into Caleb's arms, surrendering to the warmth and the scent and the overwhelming pull of unconsciousness. The last thing I saw was Mason's face, golden and beautiful and terrible, watching me with an expression of absolute devotion.
Then the darkness swallowed me whole.
CHAPTER FIVE
AVA
I woke to warmth.
That was the first thing I noticed, warmth surrounding me, enveloping me, sinking into my bones like I'd been cold my entire life and only now discovered what it meant to be heated. Not the harsh burn of fever or the suffocating press of too many blankets, but something softer. Gentler. Like being held by someone who would never let go.
The second thing I noticed was the smell.
Honey and sunshine and fresh-cut grass.
Pine and woodsmoke and bitter winter cold.
Cedar and old books and the sharp crackle of ozone.
Dark chocolate and whiskey and something warmly spiced.
All four of them. All at once. Everywhere.
My eyes flew open.
I was in a bedroom. Massive, easily three times the size of my entire apartment back home, with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over a vista of snow-capped mountains and evergreen forest. The walls were warm honey-colored wood,polished to a soft gleam. The furniture was expensive but comfortable—a dresser, a writing desk, an armchair positioned by the window. The lighting was soft and golden, coming from lamps that seemed designed to soothe rather than illuminate.
I was lying in the middle of the most elaborate nest I'd ever seen.
Blankets. Dozens of them. Every texture imaginable—fuzzy throws and silky quilts, weighted blankets and fluffy duvets, all layered in a perfect cocoon around me. Pillows everywhere, creating walls that rose almost to my shoulders, forming a protective barrier between me and the outside world. Cushions tucked into corners. Soft fabrics arranged with obsessive precision.
There, tucked under my head like it belonged there—my cashmere throw. The one from my apartment. The one I hadn't been able to leave behind. The one that smelled like honey and sunshine.
The one that smelled like Mason.
I sat up slowly, my head spinning from whatever sedative they'd pumped into my veins. The movement made the blankets shift around me, releasing fresh waves of Alpha scent—all four of them, embedded into every fabric, saturating the air until I couldn't breathe without tasting them.
My clothes were gone. The realization hit me like a splash of cold water, cutting through the fog in my brain. Someone had undressed me while I was unconscious. Stripped off my jeans, my sweater, my bra, and replaced them with an oversized t-shirt that hung to my mid-thighs and nothing else.
The shirt smelled like Caleb.
I should have been furious. Should have been screaming, raging, tearing the room apart in my anger. The violation of being stripped while unconscious, of being touched withoutconsent, of waking up in unfamiliar clothes surrounded by their scents—it should have sent me into a spiral of panic and fury.
Instead, I just felt... numb.
Somewhere beneath the numbness, something worse.
Relief.
The nest was perfect. That was the most horrifying part. It was everything my Omega instincts had been craving for six years, soft and warm andsafe, saturated with the scents of Alphas my body recognized asmine. Every blanket was exactly the right texture. Every pillow was positioned exactly where I would have put it. Every detail was calibrated to soothe my fractured nerves and silence my screaming mind.
I hadn't built this nest. I couldn't have—I'd been unconscious. Looking at it, studying the precise arrangement, the careful layering, the obsessive attention to my preferences...
