"Stay as long as you need," Mason said, settling onto the tile floor beside the tub, his back against the wall, long legs stretched out in front of him. He looked almost human like this—relaxed, patient, the monster at rest. "Caleb will bring you dinner," Mason continued, his honey-brown eyes soft as he watched me sink deeper into the water.
"I'm not hungry," I mumbled, letting the heat soak into my screaming muscles, letting the water support my exhausted body.
"You'll eat anyway," Mason replied, his voice gentle but firm. "That's the rule."
The rule. Always the rules. I closed my eyes, letting the water rise up to my chin, feeling the pain slowly ease from my legs. Through the bond, I felt Mason's presence, calm, patient, loving. He genuinely believed he'd done the right thing. Genuinely believed this was how to teach me. How to shape me. How to make me theirs.
Maybe that was the worst part of all.
"Leo hurt someone," I said quietly, not opening my eyes, my voice echoing slightly off the tile walls. "He almost killed a man. For touching my hair."
"Yes," Mason agreed, no denial in his voice, no justification. Just acknowledgement, simple and absolute.
"And you're okay with that?" I asked, my voice cracking, turning my head to look at him through the steam.
"I'm okay with protecting what's ours," Mason replied simply, meeting my gaze without flinching. "By any means necessary."
I opened my eyes fully, studying him through the haze of steam. Golden hair, damp now from the humidity. Warm brown eyes, soft and patient. That gentle expression that hid the predator beneath, the wolf wearing the shepherd's smile.
"You're all monsters," I said, and it wasn't an accusation anymore. Just a statement of fact. Water dripped from my hair, sliding down my neck, pooling in the hollow of my throat.
"Yes," Mason agreed, his honey-brown eyes holding mine without wavering. "We are. But we're your monsters, Ava. And we'll do anything…anything…to keep you safe. Even from yourself."
I didn't respond. Just sank deeper into the water, letting the heat and the exhaustion pull me under, letting my eyes drift closed again. Through the bond, I felt their love. Their certainty. Their absolute conviction that they were doing the right thing.
I felt their patience. Underneath it all, buried so deep I almost couldn't sense it, I felt myself starting to break.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ETHAN
I’d studied her for years. Every habit. Every tell. Every micro-expression that flickered across her face when she thought no one was watching. Having her here, bonded, was different. Now I could feel her through the connection, every spike of fear, every flicker of anger, every reluctant moment of warmth that she buried so quickly she probably didn't even know it existed.
The data was exquisite.
I sat in my study, morning light streaming through the tall windows, casting long rectangles of gold across my desk. My tablet displayed a spreadsheet I'd been building since the claiming—tracking her responses, her patterns, her breaking points. The punishment yesterday had been illuminating. Two hours on her knees, and she'd learned that speaking without permission had consequences. Simple conditioning. Stimulus and response.
Mason's methods were blunt instruments. Effective, yes, but lacking nuance. My methods were different.
A knock on my door frame. I looked up to find Ava standing there, her red hair still damp from her morning shower, her green eyes wary as they swept over my study. She was wearing the soft gray sweater we'd provided, cashmere, expensive, designed to make her feel comfortable and cared for. Positive reinforcement through her environment.
"You wanted to see me," Ava said flatly, her voice carefully neutral, her body positioned to flee at a moment's notice. Through the bond, I felt her anxiety humming like a plucked wire.
"I did," I confirmed, setting down my tablet and gesturing to the leather chair across from my desk. "Please. Sit." She didn't move for a long moment, her green eyes searching my face for the trap. Smart girl. There was always a trap.
"Is this another punishment?" Ava asked, her chin lifting with defiance even as her voice wavered slightly.
"No," I replied, folding my hands on the desk, keeping my posture open and non-threatening. "This is a conversation. I find we haven't had many of those since you have been here."
Ava hesitated, clearly weighing her options. Through the bond, I felt her calculation—the risk of refusing versus the risk of compliance. Finally, she moved to the chair and sat, her spine rigid, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
"What do you want to talk about?" Ava asked, her tone guarded, her green eyes fixed on mine with wary attention.
"You," I said simply, watching her reaction with clinical interest. "Your adjustment. Your progress."
"My progress," Ava repeated, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, her fingers tightening in her lap. "Is that what you call this? Progress?"
"It's a process," I acknowledged, tilting my head slightly as I studied her. "You're fighting it, which is understandable. Natural, even. But resistance is futile–”
