"The heat made you honest," Caleb said gently, his deep voice a soothing rumble, his ice-blue eyes soft with compassion. "That's all it did. The feelings were already there. You've just been too afraid to acknowledge them."
"Stop." Ava's voice was raw, broken, cracking on the word. She dropped her hands, her tear-streaked face twisted with anguish. "Just stop. Please. I can't—I need—" She looked around wildly, like a trapped animal searching for escape, her green eyes darting to the door. "I need to be alone. Please. Just give me a few minutes alone."
Every instinct I had screamed against leaving her. She was hurting, vulnerable, spiraling into panic and self-hatred. Everything in me wanted to gather her in my arms and hold her until she stopped shaking. Pushing her right now would only make it worse.
"Okay," I said softly, rising from the bed, my movements slow and deliberate. "We'll give you some time. But we're right outside if you need us."
Caleb looked like he wanted to argue, his scarred face tight with reluctance, his ice-blue eyes lingering on Ava's huddled form. He followed my lead, standing and moving toward the door, his massive frame somehow conveying both power and restraint.
I paused at the threshold, looking back at our Omega, curled against the headboard, tears streaming down her face, bite marks livid on her throat.
"Whatever you're feeling right now, whatever you're telling yourself—it's not the whole truth," I said quietly, my voice steady despite the ache in my chest. "The woman who purred in our arms, who asked for our bites, who said she loved us, that was you, Ava. The real you. The you that exists underneath all the fear and the anger. Don't hate her for being brave enough to show herself."
I closed the door before she could respond, the click of the latch impossibly loud in the quiet hallway. In the hallway, Caleb and I stood in silence, listening to the muffled sound of her sobs through the wood. Each one felt like a blade between my ribs.
"That went about as well as expected," Caleb said heavily, his deep voice tight with pain, his massive shoulders slumping.
"Give her time." I leaned against the wall, exhaustion suddenly weighing on me like a physical force. We hadn't slept much during her heat either—too focused on caring for her, claiming her, making sure she survived the intensity of it. "She needs to process. To grieve for the version of herself she's been clinging to."
"And then?" Caleb asked, his ice-blue eyes searching my face for answers.
"Then we start the real work." I pushed off the wall, heading toward the kitchen, my bare feet silent on the hardwood. I needed coffee. Food. Something to occupy my hands while I waited for our Omega to decide whether she was going to accept us or destroy herself trying to deny what she felt.
"Mason." Caleb's voice stopped me, his deep rumble echoing down the hallway. "Do you really think she'll come around? That she'll accept this?" I thought about the way she'd tilted her head back, offering her throat. The way she'd purred against my chest, content and safe. The way she'd said "again" when I asked if she wanted my bite.
"Yes," I said finally, looking back at him, letting him see the certainty in my eyes. "I do. It might take days, weeks, or even months. She might fight us every step of the way. But eventually, she'll get tired of running from herself. And when she does, we'll be here to catch her."
I just hoped we could survive the wait.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
AVA
I don't know how long I sat there after they left.
Minutes. Hours. Time had lost all meaning, stretching and compressing in ways that made my head spin. I huddled against the headboard, knees drawn to my chest, arms wrapped around myself, trying to hold the pieces together.
The bite marks on my neck throbbed with every heartbeat. I could feel each one individually—Mason's on the left side of my throat, Caleb's on my shoulder, Leo's just below my ear, Ethan's at the junction of my neck and collarbone. Those were just the most recent ones. Beneath them, layered, were older wounds, some barely scabbed over, others still raw and bleeding.
They'd marked me so many times. Every time one of them had knotted inside me, they'd bitten down, reopening the wounds, forcing my body to remember.
And I'd asked for it. The memory hit me like a physical blow, my own voice, desperate and needy, begging Mason to bite me again. Tilting my head back, offering my throat, saying "please, Alpha, again." A sob tore from my chest, ugly and raw.
What had I become? What had they turned me into?
I pressed my hands to my face, trying to block out the memories, but they kept coming. Wave after wave of heat-soaked images, sounds, sensations. The way I'd moaned when Caleb pushed inside me. The way I'd laughed at Leo's ridiculous jokes even while he fucked me. The way I'd told Ethan I loved him, looking right into his green eyes, meaning every word. The way I'd said it to all of them, over and over, like a prayer I couldn't stop repeating.
The purring. God, the purring. I'd purred for them like a contented house cat. Like a pet. Like an Omega who had accepted her place beneath her Alphas.
"I'm not," I whispered to the empty room, my voice cracking, my fingers digging into my own arms hard enough to leave marks. "I'm not theirs. I'm not." Even as I said it, I could feel the bonds humming in my chest. Four distinct threads, connecting me to four distinct men. I could sense them—Mason's calm authority, Caleb's quiet concern, Leo's restless energy, Ethan's watchful attention. They were just outside the door, waiting.
Waiting for me to break down completely so they could swoop in and comfort me. Waiting for me to accept what they'd done. Waiting for me to become the obedient little Omega they'd always wanted. Something hot and sharp surged through me. Not despair this time. Rage.
They thought they'd won. They thought the heat had broken me, that I'd wake up soft and pliant and grateful. That I'd crawl to them on my knees and thank them for claiming me. I pushed off the headboard, my body protesting the movement. Every muscle ached, every joint screamed, and the space between my legs was tender and swollen from days of use. I forced myself to stand anyway, forced myself to move despite the pain.
I needed a shower. I needed to wash their scent off my skin, scrub away the evidence of what they'd done to me. What I'd let them do.
What I'd begged them to do.
