"That," Leo said quietly, his voice soft as silk and sharp as a blade, each word precise and deliberate, "was a mistake."
Footsteps in the hallway, heavy and measured. Mason appeared in the doorway, filling the space with his broad shoulders and golden presence. His honey-brown eyes swept over the scene—my tear-streaked face, Leo's iron grip on my wrists, the tension crackling between us like static electricity before a storm. He was still wearing the apron from cooking, a ridiculous domestic touch that somehow made everything more surreal.
"What happened?" Mason asked, his voice calm but with an edge beneath it, steel wrapped in velvet, his gaze flicking between us.
"Our Omega decided to test some boundaries," Leo replied, not releasing me, his eyes still locked on mine with that cold, patient intensity. "Physical violence. Spitting. General defiance."
"I see," Mason said, and something in his tone made my stomach drop, made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. He pulled off the apron, folding it neatly, setting it aside with deliberate care. Then he moved closer, his presence filling the hallway, his scent—honey and sunlight—washing over me and making my traitorous body want to lean toward him even as my mind screamed to run.
"Ava. Look at me," Mason commanded, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of an Alpha's authority. I didn't want to. But the bond tugged at me, pulled at something deep in my chest, a physical sensation like a hook behind my sternum, and I found myself turning my head to meet his gaze.
Mason's honey-brown eyes were soft but implacable, warm but utterly unyielding. "You know the rules. You know the consequences. Physical violence against your Alphas is not permitted."
"He deserved it," I snarled, my voice rough from screaming, my throat raw and burning. "He deserved worse than that."
"Maybe," Mason acknowledged, his expression unchanging, his voice patient and measured like he had all the time in the world. "But that's not how this works. You don't get to decide what we deserve. You don't get to lash out whenever you're upset. You're our Omega, and there are expectations."
"Fuck your expectations," I spat, struggling against Leo's grip, feeling the bruises already forming around my wrists. "Fuck your rules. Fuck all of you."
Mason sighed, a sound heavy with disappointment that somehow made me feel worse than anger would have. He looked at Leo, something passing between them in that silent communication of a bonded pack. "Bring her to the living room."
Leo released one of my wrists, keeping hold of the other as he dragged me down the hallway. I fought, kicked and screamed and clawed at his hand with my free fingers—but it was useless. He was too strong, his grip unbreakable, and through the bond, I could feel his complete lack of concern. My struggles amused him. My fury delighted him.
The hallway seemed longer than usual, the hardwood floor cold beneath my bare feet, the walls pressing in. I caught glimpses of the cabin as we passed, the kitchen with dinner still steaming on the stove, the study with its walls of books, thebathroom where Mason had held me through the bond-sickness. Every room held memories now. Every corner of this prison was becoming familiar.
The living room was bathed in the warm amber light of late afternoon, dust motes floating lazily in the sunbeams that streamed through the tall windows. Ethan sat on the leather couch, his long legs crossed at the ankle, his green eyes sharp and assessing behind his dark-framed glasses. His tablet was nowhere in sight—unusual for him. He'd been waiting. They'd all been waiting.
Caleb stood by the window, his massive frame silhouetted against the fading light, his arms crossed over his chest like bands of iron. His ice-blue eyes tracked my every movement, missing nothing, his scarred face expressionless but somehow more terrifying for its blankness. Leo deposited me in the center of the room, releasing my wrist but staying close enough to grab me if I tried to run. The oriental rug beneath my feet was plush and expensive, a deep burgundy that reminded me absurdly of blood.
Mason entered behind us, closing the door with a soft click that felt like a gunshot in the silence.
"Ava attacked Leo," Mason announced, addressing the room, his voice calm and authoritative as he moved to stand before the cold fireplace. "Struck him multiple times. Spat in his face."
"I see," Ethan said, his green eyes flickering with something cold—clinical interest, maybe, or anticipation. His fingers steepled beneath his chin, studying me like I was an equation to be solved. "The first real test."
"What are you going to do?" I demanded, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to steady it, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I was sure they could hear it. "Beat me? Lock me in a cage? Starve me?"
"No," Mason replied simply, moving to stand in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes, close enough that his warmth and his scent wrapped around me like a physical embrace. "We're going to teach you."
"Teach me what?" I asked, my hands clenching into fists at my sides, my nails digging crescents into my palms.
"That actions have consequences," Mason explained, his honey-brown eyes holding mine, patient and implacable and utterly certain. "You attacked a member of your pack. You disrespected your bond. So now you're going to learn what happens when you do that."
He nodded at Caleb. Before I could react, massive hands gripped my shoulders from behind, the heat of Caleb's palms burning through my thin shirt. He spun me around with terrifying ease and pushed me down. I stumbled, my knees hitting the hardwood floor with a crack that sent pain shooting up my thighs. Caleb's grip kept me upright when I would have collapsed completely, holding me in place like I was nothing more than a doll.
"What—" I started, panic rising in my throat, my breath coming in short sharp gasps.
"You're going to kneel here," Mason said, his voice calm and patient, as if he were explaining something simple to a child. He settled onto the leather couch across from me, his posture relaxed and casual, one ankle crossed over his knee. "In the center of the room. For one hour. You don't speak unless spoken to. You don't move unless given permission. You just kneel, and you think about what you did."
"That's it?" I asked, disbelief bleeding into my voice, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my chest. "Kneeling?"
"For an hour," Mason confirmed, picking up a leather-bound book from the side table, his movements unhurried. "And if youmove, if you speak out of turn, if you try to get up—we start the hour over."
Caleb released my shoulders and moved away, his heavy footsteps crossing to the door where he took up position like a sentinel. Leo sprawled into an armchair to my left, draping himself over the worn leather with boneless grace, his gray eyes fixed on me with lazy, predatory interest. Ethan remained on the couch, pulling out his tablet, his attention seemingly elsewhere—but I could feel him watching through the bond, cataloguing every reaction.
One hour. It didn't seem so bad.
The first fifteen minutes were easy. Uncomfortable—the hardwood floor was unforgiving against my knees, the wood grain pressing patterns into my skin through my thin sleep pants—but manageable. I focused on my breathing, on my anger, on how much I hated them. The late afternoon sun crawled across the floor, warm on my skin where it touched, highlighting the swirling dust motes in the air. Through the bond, I felt their patience. Their calm. Their complete and utter certainty that this was right.
