"You need to eat," Mason said, his honey-brown eyes meeting mine across the table, his voice gentle and patient like he was talking to a child.
"I'm not hungry," I replied flatly, my jaw tight, my hands clenched in my lap beneath the table.
"I didn't ask if you were hungry," Mason replied, setting down his fork and giving me his full attention, his posture relaxed but his gaze unwavering. "Your body needs fuel. You haven't eaten properly in days. The heat took a lot out of you."
"Don't," I snapped, the word coming out sharper than I intended, and I felt all four of them react through the bond, a ripple of attention, of interest. "Don't talk about that. Don't pretend like you're concerned about my health after what you did."
"I'm not pretending anything," Mason replied calmly, completely unruffled by my hostility, his fingers laced together on the table in front of him. "I am concerned about your health. You're our Omega. Taking care of you is our responsibility."
"I'm not youranything," I spat, my green eyes blazing with hatred.
"The marks on your neck say otherwise," Mason countered, his voice soft but implacable, his gaze dropping briefly to the bandage at my throat. My hand flew to my throat involuntarily, pressing against the bandage that covered Mason's bite. Pain flared, and underneath it, that sickening pulse of pleasure that wasn't mine. His pleasure. He could feel me touching his claim.
I yanked my hand away, my stomach turning.
"The rules," Ethan said, not looking up from his tablet, his voice cool and matter-of-fact, his green eyes scanning whatever data held his attention. "You should hear them. It will make things easier."
"Easier for who?" I demanded, my voice rising with frustration.
"For everyone," Ethan replied, finally looking at me, his green eyes sharp and assessing behind his dark-framed glasses. "Primarily for you. The more you fight, the harder this will be. The rules are designed to make the transition as smooth as possible."
"Transition," I repeated, the word tasting like poison on my tongue, my lips curling with disgust. "You mean my transition from free person to prisoner."
"From alone to claimed," Ethan corrected, no apology in his tone, his posture straight and confident. "From slowly killing yourself with suppressants to being properly cared for. From pretending you don't need anyone to accepting that you have a pack who loves you."
"You don't love me," I insisted, shaking my head, my red hair falling around my face. "You don't even know me."
"We've known you since you were ten years old," Leo interjected, his playful smirk fading into something more serious, his gray eyes holding mine with unexpected intensity. "We've watched you grow up. We know your favorite books, your favorite foods, the way you hum when you're concentrating. Weknow you cry when you're frustrated and laugh when you're nervous. We know the nightmares that wake you up in the early morning hours and the way you always check the locks twice before bed."
The words hit me like physical blows. Each one a reminder of how thoroughly they'd invaded my life. How long they'd been watching. How little privacy I'd ever truly had.
"That's not knowing me," I said, my voice cracking despite my best efforts, tears burning at the corners of my eyes. "That's stalking me."
"It's both," Leo admitted, completely unashamed, shrugging one shoulder with casual indifference. "We stalked you because we knew you. Because we loved you. Because we couldn't let you go." I had no response to that. No argument that would make a difference. They didn't see anything wrong with what they'd done. They never would.
"The rules," Mason said, drawing my attention back to him, his voice calm and authoritative. He folded his hands on the table, the picture of composed leadership. "There are five. They're simple, and they're non-negotiable."
I glared at him but didn't interrupt. What was the point? I was going to hear them whether I wanted to or not.
"One: you stay in the cabin," Mason began, his honey-brown eyes steady on mine. "No exceptions. The property is gated, the windows are reinforced, and the nearest town is forty miles away. Even if you somehow got out, you wouldn't make it far before the bond-separation symptoms started."
My stomach clenched. I'd already felt hints of those symptoms, the headache, the nausea, the bone-deep wrongness that came from being in the bathroom with the door locked, just fifteen feet from where they waited. The bonds didn't like separation. My body didn't like separation.
"Two: you eat every meal with us," Mason continued, ticking off the rules on his fingers. "Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. At the table. You don't have to talk, but you have to be present."
"And if I'm not hungry?" I asked through gritted teeth, my hands clenching tighter in my lap.
"You eat anyway," Mason replied simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Your body needs nutrition to recover from the heat and adjust to the bonds. Skipping meals isn't an option."
"Three," Ethan continued, picking up where Mason left off, his voice clinical and precise, his green eyes fixed on me. "You sleep in the nest. Your nest, which you built, in the bedroom. Not on the couch, not on the floor, not locked in the bathroom."
"The nest is yours," Mason added, his voice softening slightly, something almost gentle entering his expression. "We won't enter without your permission. That's the one space in this cabin that belongs to you. But you have to actually use it."
A small concession. A tiny scrap of autonomy in a sea of control. I should have been grateful. I wasn't.
"Four: you don't refuse physical contact," Mason continued, his honey-brown eyes holding mine with quiet intensity. "That doesn't mean we're going to assault you. It means when one of us reaches for your hand, you let us take it. When one of us wants to hold you, you allow it. The bonds need physical reinforcement. Denying contact hurts you more than it hurts us."
"How convenient," I said bitterly, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your rules just happen to require me to let you touch me whenever you want."
