"I hate you," Ava whispered against my throat, but her fingers were clutching my shirt, her body curling into mine like I was the only warm thing in a frozen world. "I hate you so much."
"I know," I repeated, carrying her toward the door, feeling her shiver against me. "But you're still mine. And I'm still going to take care of you." The others waited in the hallway. Caleb's scarred face was tight with anguish, his ice-blue eyes tracking every tremor that ran through Ava's body. Leo's usual smirk was nowhere in evidence, replaced by something softer, something almost like tenderness. Ethan observed with clinical attention, his green eyes cataloguing her symptoms, her responses, her condition.
"She's further along than I anticipated," Ethan said quietly as I carried her past. "Her scent has already shifted. Full heat could hit within forty-eight hours."
"Then we have forty-eight hours," I replied, climbing the basement stairs with Ava still clinging to me, her face buried against my neck, her tears soaking into my collar. "To decide how we handle this."
"Handle it?" Caleb's deep voice was rough with confusion. "We help her through it. That's what pack does."
"We could," I agreed, reaching the top of the stairs and moving toward the living room. Someone had cleaned up the worst of the damage while we'd waited, the broken glass swept away, the torn books removed, the shattered dishes disposed of. The space looked almost normal, almost like a home instead of a battlefield.
I settled onto the couch with Ava in my lap, her body still curled against mine, still shaking, still radiating that desperate heat. She'd stopped crying, but her fingers hadn't loosened their grip on my shirt.
"Or," I continued, looking at the others as they filed into the room, "we could use this opportunity to teach her something more important than consequences."
Ethan's green eyes sharpened with interest behind his glasses. "What are you proposing?"
"She's going into heat," I said, stroking Ava's hair, feeling her press closer at the touch. "Her body is going to be desperate for us. Aching for us. Every instinct she has will be screaming for our touch, our presence, our claiming."
"And you want to deny her," Ethan said slowly, understanding dawning on his face. "Controlled denial. Enough contact to prevent bond-sickness, but not enough to satisfy."
"Not just deny her," I corrected, my hand settling on the back of Ava's neck, feeling her pulse flutter beneath my palm. "Make her ask for it. Make her admit what she needs. She's been fighting her feelings by staying angry, by destroying things, by maintaining constant conflict. This time, she won't have that option. Her body won't let her."
"That's cruel," Caleb said quietly, his ice-blue eyes fixed on Ava's trembling form. His massive hands were clenched at his sides, every line of his body radiating discomfort.
"Yes," I agreed without flinching. "It is. And it's necessary. Because she's never going to accept us as long as she can keep running from her own desires. She needs to be confronted with them. Forced to acknowledge them. She needs to learn that we're not her enemies, we're her relief."
"And if she breaks?" Leo asked, settling into an armchair across from us, his gray eyes dark and serious. "What if we push too hard and she just... shatters?"
"She won't," I said with more confidence than I felt. "She's too strong. Too stubborn. She'll fight us every step of the way, right up until the moment she realizes she doesn't want to fight anymore." Silence fell over the room, heavy with implication. Through the bond, I felt their conflict—Caleb's protective instincts warring with his trust in my judgment, Leo's concern tempered by his understanding of our Omega's psychology, Ethan's clinical interest balanced against his genuine care.
Ava stirred against me, her face lifting from my throat, her green eyes hazy with exhaustion and the first stirrings of heat-need.
"What are you talking about?" Ava asked, her voice slurred, her gaze unfocused. "What are you planning?" I cupped her face in my hands, tilting her head up so I could meet her eyes. She was beautiful like this, vulnerable, stripped of her defenses, all that fire banked to embers.
"You destroyed something Caleb spent a lot of time making for you," I said softly, watching her flinch at the reminder. "You tore apart your nest. You wrecked the library. You shattered dishes and scattered glass that cut your own feet."
"I said I was sorry," Ava whispered, tears gathering in her eyes again.
"You were scared….I get that…," I corrected gently, brushing my thumb across her cheekbone. “but…you will be sorry. And you will mean it. By the time this heat is over, Avalon, you're going to understand exactly what you almost threw away."
"What are you going to do to me?" Ava asked, and there was fear in her voice now, but underneath it, something else. Something darker. Something that made my Alpha instincts purr with satisfaction.
Interest. Despite everything, despite the fear and the anger and the twelve hours in a concrete cell, she was interested. Her body was already priming itself for what was to come, alreadyanticipating our touch, already craving the relief that only we could provide.
"We're going to take care of you," I said, letting my voice drop to something softer, more intimate. "We're going to feed you, and bathe you, and keep you warm. We're going to touch you constantly, hold your hand, stroke your hair, rub your back."
Ava's breath caught, her pupils dilating further. "That doesn't sound like punishment."
"It won't be," I agreed, a small smile curving my lips. "It will be much, much worse. Because every touch will remind your body what it needs. Every brush of skin on skin will make the ache grow stronger. And we won't give you relief, Avalon. Not until you ask for it properly. Not until you admit what you need. Not until you stop fighting and accept what you are."
"And what's that?" Ava asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her body trembling in my arms. I leaned closer, pressing my forehead to hers, letting her feel the warmth of my breath against her lips.
"Ours," I said simply, the word heavy with promise and possession. "Completely, utterly, inevitably ours. And by the time this heat is over, you're going to know it. Not because we forced you to accept it, but because you won't be able to deny it anymore."
Ava stared at me, her green eyes wide, her lips parted, her whole body taut with anticipation and dread.
"I won't beg," Ava said, but her voice shook, and through the bond I felt the lie in her words. She was already closer to begging than she wanted to admit.
