"I know what I am," I gritted out, my hands fisted in my lap, my thighs pressed together against the growing ache. "I don't need a lecture."
"You need to understand," Ethan corrected, moving closer, his hand reaching out to brush against my cheek. The touch was light, almost professional, but it sent fire racing through my veins. "You're fighting your own nature, Avalon. You're expending enormous amounts of energy resisting something that's as fundamental to you as breathing. And for what? Pride? Stubbornness? The belief that wanting us somehow makes you weak?"
"I don't want you," I said, but the words came out as a moan, my body leaning into his touch against my will.
"Your pupils are dilated," Ethan observed, his thumb tracing along my jawline. "Your skin is flushed. Your scent has shifted to something sweeter, more desperate. Every physiological indicator suggests you want me very much."
"My body wants you," I corrected, forcing the words through gritted teeth. "I don't."
"The distinction is meaningless," Ethan replied calmly, his hand sliding down to rest against my throat, feeling my pulse flutter beneath his palm. "You are your body, Ava. Your thoughts, your emotions, your desires, they all arise from the same biological processes. There is no separate 'you' that exists apart from your physical form."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that I was more than my biology, more than the heat consuming me, more than the desperate need clawing at my insides.
Instead, I keened. The sound escaped without my permission, high and thin and needy, cutting through myprotests like they meant nothing. Ethan's eyes darkened, his hand tightening slightly on my throat, his own scent sharpening with barely controlled want.
"There," Ethan murmured, his voice dropping to something rougher, less clinical. "That's what you really feel. Not the words you force out, but the sounds your body makes when you stop thinking. That's the truth, Ava. That's what we're waiting for you to acknowledge."
"Please," I whimpered, and I didn't even know what I was asking for anymore. Please stop. Please continue. Please make this end. Please never let it end.
"Not yet," Ethan replied, releasing my throat and stepping back, leaving me gasping on the couch. "You're not ready yet. But you will be. Your body will make sure of it."
By evening, I was desperate. The ache had grown beyond anything I'd ever experienced. Every nerve in my body was screaming for relief, for touch, for the completion that only they could provide. I'd soaked through my underwear hours ago, my arousal a constant, humiliating reminder of how thoroughly my body had betrayed me.
They gathered in the living room after dinner, arranged on the couches and chairs, watching me with patient, hungry eyes. Mason sat closest, his hand resting on my thigh through the thin fabric of my sleep pants. The warmth of his palm felt like a brand, marking me, claiming me without ever touching bare skin.
"How are you feeling?" Mason asked, his honey-brown eyes soft with something that might have been genuine concern.
"Like I'm dying," I whispered, my voice hoarse from hours of suppressed keening.
"You're not dying," Mason assured me, his thumb stroking small circles on my thigh. "You're just experiencing what everyOmega experiences during heat. The difference is that most Omegas have their pack to help them through it."
"I have my pack," I said bitterly. "You're all right here. Touching me constantly. Making it worse."
"Making it better," Mason corrected gently. "Without our touch, you'd be in agony right now. You'd be in distress so severe it would damage you permanently. We're keeping you stable, Ava. We're keeping you sane."
"This doesn't feel sane," I gasped as his hand slid slightly higher, still frustratingly appropriate, still nowhere near where I needed it.
"It will," Mason promised, leaning closer, his scent wrapping around me like a blanket. "Once you stop fighting. Once you ask for what you need." I felt something shift inside me. Some wall I'd been building, crumbling brick by brick.
Without thinking, I reached out. My hand found Caleb's wrist where he sat beside me, his skin warm and rough beneath my fingers. I lifted it to my face, pressing his wrist against my cheek, breathing in his scent, pine and woodsmoke and something underneath that was just him.
Scenting him. I was scenting him, seeking comfort the way Omegas did, the way I'd sworn I never would. The realization hit me like ice water, and I dropped his wrist like it burned, horror flooding through me.
"I didn't mean to," I gasped, scrambling backward, my face burning with shame. "I didn't... I wasn't..."
Caleb's scarred face had softened into something almost unbearably tender. "It's okay," he said quietly, his deep voice rough with emotion. "It's natural. It's what you're supposed to do."
"I'm not supposed to do anything," I snarled, but the defiance in my voice was cracking, crumbling, worn away by hours of need and denial. "I'm not your Omega. I'm not your anything."
"You're everything," Caleb replied simply, and the certainty in his voice made me want to scream. I fled to the bathroom, locking the door behind me, pressing my back against the cool wood. My whole body was shaking. My core was throbbing. Underneath the desperation, underneath the want I refused to acknowledge, something was shifting.
I'd scented him. Voluntarily. Without even thinking about it, I'd reached for him, sought comfort in his presence, and behaved exactly like the bonded Omega they insisted I was. Maybe they were right. Maybe I was losing this fight.
Maybe I'd already lost.
A keen built in my throat, high and desperate, and this time I didn't try to stop it. Just let it out, let it echo off the bathroom tiles, let it say everything I couldn't bring myself to put into words. Through the door, I heard an answering sound. A low rumble, deep and soothing, the kind of growl an Alpha made to comfort a distressed Omega.
They were right there. Waiting. Patient. Ready to give me everything I needed the moment I asked. I slid down the door, pulling my knees to my chest, and sobbed. Thirty-six hours left until full heat.
