My blood turned to ice. "You tampered with my suppressants."
"For the past eighteen months," Ethan confirmed, and there was no remorse in his voice, no hesitation. He said it matter-of-factly, like he was discussing the weather. "Gradually reducing their effectiveness, introducing compounds that would accelerate your body's natural resistance. By now, they're doingnothing at all. Your body has been fighting to break through for weeks. We simply... removed the barriers."
"That's—you can't—" I was shaking now, fury and terror tangling together until I couldn't tell them apart. My vision blurred with tears I refused to let fall. "That's assault. That's—I could die. Omegas can die from unsuppressed heats if they don't have?—"
"An Alpha to help them through it?" Ethan's smile widened, showing a flash of white teeth that looked sharper than they should. "Good thing you have four."
I lunged at him. I don't know what I expected to accomplish, he was bigger than me, stronger than me, and I was already weakened by the pre-heat symptoms turning my muscles to jelly. Rage had overridden reason, and all I could think about was wrapping my hands around his throat and squeezing until that smug expression disappeared.
I didn't even get close.
He caught my wrists before I'd taken two steps, his long fingers wrapping around my bones like steel bands. In one fluid motion, he spun me around and pinned my arms behind my back, his chest pressed against my spine. I struggled, kicked and thrashed and screamed—but it was like fighting a statue. He didn't budge. Didn't even seem to notice my efforts.
"That's twice now you've attacked one of us," he murmured against my ear, his breath hot on my neck. His lips brushed the shell of my ear, and I shuddered despite myself. "Mason won't count last night, you were in shock, and he's disgustingly lenient where you're concerned. But I keep track of these things, Ava. And eventually, there will be a reckoning."
"Let me go," I hissed, still struggling against his iron grip.
"Say please," he replied, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
"Fuck you," I spat, my body shaking with impotent rage.
He laughed—a soft, cold sound that made my stomach clench with something that wasn't entirely fear. "Eventually. But not today. Today, you're going to eat breakfast. You're going to drink water. You're going to take care of the body that belongs to us now, whether you like it or not. Then you're going to go back to your nest and wait."
"Wait for what?" I demanded, hating how breathless I sounded.
"For your heat to hit." He released my wrists suddenly, stepping back so fast I stumbled forward and nearly fell. "For your body to override that stubborn mind of yours. For the moment you stop fighting and start begging."
"I'll never beg," I told him, spinning to face him and giving him the dirtiest look I could manage. My wrists ached where he'd held them, and I rubbed them absently, knowing there would be bruises.
"You will," he said simply, already turning to go. He paused at the end of the hallway, looking back over his shoulder. The light caught his angular features, highlighting the sharp planes of his face, the predatory gleam in those green eyes. "They all do, eventually. You've been fighting longer than most, which means when you finally break..." A ghost of something crossed his face. Anticipation, maybe. Hunger. "It's going to be spectacular."
He left me standing in the hallway, shaking with rage and fear and something else—something hot and liquid that pooled in my belly and made my thighs clench together.
I didn't eat breakfast. I didn't eat lunch or dinner either. The next morning it was Leo who brought in breakfast. Sauntering into my room without knocking, setting a tray on the desk with a grin that made me want to slap him.
"You know," he said, his voice light and teasing as he sprawled in the armchair like he owned it—which he did, Isupposed, in every way that mattered—"the hunger strike thing is very dramatic. Very you. But it's not going to work."
Leo was the most conventionally handsome of the four of them, if you could call any of them conventional. Where Ethan was all sharp angles and cold calculation, Leo was warm colors and easy charm. His hair was jet black, falling in artful waves that brushed his collar. His skin was olive-toned, a hint of his Italian heritage that showed in the strong line of his nose and the fullness of his lips. But it was his eyes that always caught me, gray as storm clouds, sparkling with mischief that hid something darker underneath. He had the kind of face that made you want to trust him, to laugh with him, to let your guard down.
That was what made him dangerous. He was dressed more casually than Ethan had been, black jeans that sat low on his hips, a fitted black t-shirt that showed off arms corded with lean muscle. A silver chain glinted at his throat, and I noticed the edge of a tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. When had he gotten a tattoo? The Leo I remembered had been unmarked.
Three years. A lot could change in three years.
I was back in the nest. I hated that I was back in the nest, hated how right it felt to be surrounded by softness and warmth, hated the way my hands kept moving without my permission—adjusting blankets, repositioning pillows, building walls of fabric between myself and the world.
"I'm not hungry," I lied, not looking at him.
"Sure you're not," Leo drawled, stretching his long legs out in front of him. His gray eyes tracked my movements with an intensity that belied his casual posture. "That's why you keep looking at the food like it personally offended you."
"I'm looking at YOU like you personally offended me," I hissed, finally meeting his gaze. "Because you did. By kidnapping me."
"Technically, Caleb and I just met you at the airport," he said, flashing that dangerous grin—all white teeth and false innocence. He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Mason and Ethan did the actual kidnapping. We're accomplices at best."
"I'm sure the police will appreciate the distinction," I told him flatly, though I knew anything I said would have an answer or solution ready.
"The police aren't coming, sweetheart." His voice was still light, still playful, but something darker flickered beneath the surface. The smile stayed on his face, but his gray eyes had gone hard. He leaned forward in the chair, elbows braced on his knees, and suddenly he didn't look charming at all. He looked like what he was, a predator wearing a handsome mask.
"No one's coming," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "Your apartment lease was terminated last week. Your resignation letter was submitted to the hospital three days ago. Your phone is at the bottom of a lake somewhere between here and the airport. As far as the world is concerned, Avalon Lexton simply... disappeared."
