AVA
The hours blurred together after that.
I lost track of time somewhere between the third cold shower that didn't work and the fifth orgasm that left me more desperate than before. The fever had become a living thing, a creature that had crawled inside my skin and taken up permanent residence, burning through every defense I'd ever built. I stopped trying to fight it. Not because I'd given up, I hadn't, not yet, not completely, but because fighting took energy I didn't have anymore. Every ounce of strength I possessed was being consumed by the fire in my blood, leaving nothing left for resistance.
I lay in my nest, surrounded by their scents, and let my body do what it wanted. It wanted a lot of things I refused to think about. The cramps came in waves now, rolling through me every fifteen or twenty minutes, each one worse than the last. I'd read about this, the biological punishment for denying a heat, the body's way of forcing compliance. Without an Alpha to easethe symptoms, the pain would only intensify. Some Omegas had been hospitalized. Some had died.
I wasn't going to die. They wouldn't let me. But I was starting to wish I could.
"Make it stop," I whimpered into the pillow that smelled like Caleb. "Please, just make it stop." No one answered. No one came. They were giving me space, I realized dimly. Letting me exhaust myself. Waiting for the moment I broke completely.
Smart. I hated how smart they were. Another cramp hit, and I screamed, a raw, animal sound that tore out of my throat without permission. My back arched off the mattress, every muscle seizing, the pain so intense I saw white. Slick gushed between my thighs, soaking through the sheets I'd already ruined, and my body clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled.
"Alpha," I heard myself sob. "Alpha, please, Alpha—" The word kept falling from my lips like a prayer, like a curse, like the only thing left in my vocabulary. I didn't mean it. I didn't want it. But my body didn't care what I wanted anymore.
The door opened. I couldn't see who it was, my eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming down my face, my whole world narrowed to the agony pulsing through me. But I smelled him. Honey and sunshine and fresh-cut grass. Mason.
"I'm here, Red." His voice cut through the haze, steady and calm and so fucking gentle I wanted to scream. "I'm right here."
"Hurts," I gasped, reaching blindly toward the sound of his voice. "Mason, it hurts, I can't?—"
"I know." The mattress dipped. He was on the bed now, outside the nest but close, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "I know it hurts. Let me help you."
"No." But even as I said it, my hand was grabbing at him, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt. "No, I don't want—I can't?—"
"You can." His hand covered mine, warm and steady. "You're so strong, Avalon. Stronger than anyone I've ever known. You don't have to be strong right now. You can let go. I'll catch you."
Another cramp slammed through me, and I curled into him without thinking, pressing my face against his chest, breathing in his scent like it was oxygen. The relief was immediate, not complete, not nearly enough, but something. The edge of the pain dulled. The fire banked slightly. My body recognized Alpha, recognized pack, and some of the desperate tension leaked out of my muscles.
"There you go," Mason murmured, one hand coming up to stroke my hair. "That's it. Just breathe."
"I hate this," I whispered against his chest. "I hate what you've done to me."
"I know."
"I hate that it helps when you touch me." I told him, my voice barely more than a whisper.
"I know that too."
"I hate you." His hand stilled in my hair for just a moment. Then it resumed its gentle stroking, and when he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion he rarely showed.
"You don't. Not really. But it's okay if you need to believe that for now." I wanted to argue. To insist that I did hate him, that nothing about this was okay, that his touch was a violation no matter how much my body craved it. Another wave of need crashed through me, and all I could do was whimper and press closer.
"More," I heard myself beg. "Please, Mason, I need more."
"I know what you need." His arms tightened around me, pulling me fully against him. I was naked, I'd stopped bothering with clothes hours ago, and the thin cotton of his t-shirt was the only thing between my skin and his. "But not yet. You're not ready yet."
"I am." The words came out slurred, desperate. "I'm ready, I need it, please?—"
"No." He pressed a kiss to my forehead, achingly tender. "When we claim you, you're going to be present. You're going to understand what's happening. You're going to remember everything." Caleb had said the same thing. They'd talked about this. Planned it. Decided together how they would take me apart. The thought should have terrified me. Instead, it sent a pulse of dark heat through my core that had nothing to do with the fever.
"I'm not going to survive this," I whispered.
"You are." Mason pulled back just enough to look at me, those honey-brown eyes boring into mine. "You're going to survive this, and then you're going to thrive. You're going to let us take care of you the way we've always wanted to. Someday, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week, but someday, you're going to be happy."
"You don't know that." I told him with disbelief.
"I do." He smiled, soft and certain. "I know you, Red. Better than you know yourself. I know that underneath all that fear and anger, there's a part of you that wants this. That's always wanted this. You just have to let yourself admit it." I couldn't respond. Couldn't think. The fever was spiking again, the brief respite from his touch already fading, and my body was demanding more than comfort.
