"I don't give a fuck about evolution. Make it stop," I snarled, immediately regretting the outburst as the movement sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through me. I pressed my hand to my mouth, swallowing hard, fighting to keep my stomach under control.
"You know how to make it stop. Let us touch you. Let us hold you. Stop fighting the bonds, and the symptoms will ease," Ethan said, his green eyes steady on mine, calm and unblinking.
"No," I refused, the word coming out hard and final despite the weakness in my voice.
"You'd rather suffer?" Ethan asked, his eyebrow arching slightly, the only sign of surprise on his otherwise impassive face.
"I'd rather suffer than let you win," I spat, pulling the blankets of my nest closer around me, as if they could shield me from the truth of what my body was doing to me.
"This isn't about winning. This is about your health," Ethan replied, his voice softening slightly, something almost like concern bleeding through his clinical mask, his brow furrowingjust a fraction. "The symptoms will only get worse if you continue to deny the bonds. By tomorrow, you won't be able to keep food down. By the day after, you'll be too weak to stand."
"Then I'll be too weak to stand. At least I'll still have my pride," I said flatly, staring him down with all the defiance I could muster, my green eyes blazing despite my exhaustion.
"As you wish," Ethan said, turning to leave, his footsteps measured and precise on the hardwood floor. He paused at the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder, his profile sharp in the morning light. "But I should warn you, we won't let you suffer indefinitely. If the symptoms become dangerous, we'll intervene. Your pride isn't worth your life."
He left, closing the door softly behind him. I curled deeper into my nest and tried to convince myself that the shaking was just from anger.
The day passed in a blur of misery. I skipped breakfast, my stomach too unsettled to even think about food. When lunch came, Leo appeared at my door with a tray, soup and crackers, something easy to digest.
"Ethan says you're not feeling well. Brought you something light," Leo said, his usual playful smirk softened into something almost gentle, his gray eyes studying me with genuine concern as he stepped into the room.
"Not hungry," I mumbled, not lifting my head from the pile of pillows I'd burrowed into, my voice muffled by the soft fabric.
"You need to eat. Rules, remember?" Leo insisted, crossing to the nightstand and setting the tray down with a soft clink, his movements careful and quiet.
"Can't. I'll throw up," I admitted, my voice weak and pathetic, barely more than a whisper. Leo was quiet for a moment, his gray eyes flickering with something that might have been pain. Then I felt the mattress dip as he sat on the edge of the bed, just outside the boundary of my nest, close but not crossing the line.
"You know what would help," Leo said softly, his voice lacking its usual teasing edge, his expression serious and open in a way I'd rarely seen.
"Don't," I warned, though the word came out more like a plea than a command, my throat tight with desperation.
"Just let me hold your hand. That's all. Just your hand. It'll help with the nausea," Leo offered, extending his palm toward me, his fingers long and elegant, his gray eyes earnest and pleading.
I stared at his outstretched hand, my vision slightly blurred from the headache. Through the bond, I could feel his sincerity—he genuinely wanted to help, genuinely hated seeing me suffer. But underneath that was something else. Patience. Certainty. The knowledge that eventually, I would break.
"No," I said, my voice cracking, and turned my face away, pressing my cheek into the cool pillow. Leo sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment, his shoulders slumping slightly. Through the bond, I felt his frustration, but he didn't push. Just rose from the bed and retreated, his footsteps soft on the floor, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
The soup sat there for hours, going cold, untouched. By evening, the tremors had gotten worse. My whole body shook, fine vibrations that I couldn't control, that made my teeth chatter even though I wasn't cold. The headache had evolved into a full-body ache, my muscles screaming like I'd run a marathon. My skin felt too tight, too sensitive, like even the soft blankets of my nest were sandpaper against my flesh.
Caleb appeared at dinner. He didn't speak, just stood in the doorway, his massive frame filling the space, his ice-blue eyes taking in my deteriorated state, his jaw clenched tight with barely contained emotion. Through the bond, I felt his anguish. His desperate need to come to me, to gather me in his arms, tomake it stop. But he held himself back, respecting the boundary of the nest, waiting.
"I can carry you to the table. If you can't walk," Caleb offered, his deep voice rough with restrained emotion, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white with tension.
"I'm not eating," I whispered, my voice barely audible, each word an effort.
"You have to eat," Caleb insisted, his ice-blue eyes boring into mine, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"I'll throw up," I repeated, closing my eyes against the spinning room.
"Then you throw up. But you eat first," Caleb said, his jaw tightening, a muscle jumping beneath his scarred skin, his whole body rigid with the effort of holding himself back.
"Please. Please just leave me alone," I begged, and the words came out broken, desperate, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. Silence. Through the bond, I felt the war inside him, the need to obey Mason's rules about the nest versus the need to take care of me, to fix this, to make me stop hurting myself. His hands opened and closed at his sides, fighting the urge to cross the room.
"Mason. She's worse," Caleb called over his shoulder, his deep voice carrying down the hallway, his eyes never leaving my curled form. Footsteps in the hallway. Mason appeared behind Caleb, his golden hair catching the light from the hall, his honey-brown eyes widening as they found me in my nest.
"Oh, sweetheart. Why are you doing this to yourself?" Mason breathed, genuine distress in his voice, his handsome face creasing with concern as he took in my shaking form.
"Because I hate you," I said, but the words had no force behind them anymore, just exhaustion, just defeat, just the hollow echo of a fight I was losing. Mason studied me for a long moment, his honey-brown eyes full of something thatlooked almost like sorrow, his brow furrowed with worry. Then he squared his shoulders, his expression settling into determination, and stepped past Caleb into the room.
