Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AVA
I learned the rules. I followed them…mostly.
I sat at the table for meals. I ate what they put in front of me. I slept in the nest, alone, curled into a ball at the center of the soft things I'd unconsciously gathered.
I found ways to resist. Small rebellions.
Tiny acts of defiance that probably meant nothing to them but meant everything to me.
I sat as far from them as the table would allow.
I ate in silence, never meeting their eyes.
I flinched away from casual touches, a hand on my shoulder, fingers brushing mine when passing the salt.
I stayed in my nest as much as possible, emerging only for meals, retreating immediately after.
The nest was mine. The one space they'd promised not to invade without permission.
It had become my sanctuary, my fortress, the only place in this cabin where I could pretend I was still a person instead of a possession.
For two days, it worked. Sort of.
I could feel them through the bonds, of course.
Their presence was a constant hum in the back of my mind, Mason's warmth, Ethan's cool focus, Leo's restless energy, Caleb's patient intensity.
I couldn't escape them entirely. But I could minimize contact.
I could keep physical distance. I could maintain at least the illusion of autonomy.
On the morning of day three, I woke up wrong.
Not wrong like my presentation all those years ago.
Different. My head was pounding, a vicious throb behind my eyes that made the dim morning light feel like knives.
My stomach churned with nausea, and when I tried to sit up, the room spun so violently I had to grab the edge of the nest to keep from falling.
"What the hell," I muttered, pressing my palm to my forehead, my voice rough and groggy. I was clammy, my skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat despite the cool air. My hands were trembling.
I felt like I had the flu. Except I'd been perfectly healthy yesterday, tired and miserable, but healthy. Through the bonds, I felt them react to my distress. Four flickers of attention, four presences pressing closer against my consciousness.
I pushed them away. Or tried to. The door opened. Ethan stood in the doorway, fully dressed in slacks and a button-down despite the early hour, his green eyes sharp as they swept over me.
"You look terrible," Ethan observed, his voice clinical and detached, his head tilting slightly as he studied me like a specimen under glass.
"Thanks. That's exactly what every girl wants to hear," I croaked, my voice coming out rough and scratchy, my throat dry and aching.
"When did the symptoms start?" Ethan asked, stepping into the room but stopping several feet from the nest, his hands clasped behind his back, respecting the boundary even as his eyes catalogued every visible sign of my deterioration.
"What symptoms? I'm fine. Just tired," I said, my jaw tightening with stubborn denial even though I knew exactly what he was talking about.
"You're not fine," Ethan corrected, his tone matter-of-fact, his green eyes never leaving my face, missing nothing. "You're experiencing bond-separation symptoms. Headache, nausea, tremors, fever. Classic presentation for an Omega who's been avoiding physical contact with her bonded Alphas."
The words landed like stones in my churning stomach. Bond-separation symptoms. The same thing that had happened in the bathroom, but worse. So much worse.
"I've been following your rules. I eat with you. I sleep in the nest. I don't try to escape," I said through gritted teeth, my hands clenching in the soft blankets of my nest, my knuckles going white.
"You've been avoiding touch," Ethan countered, his posture straight and controlled, his voice as level as if he were discussing the weather. "Flinching away whenever one of us reaches for you. Keeping physical distance during meals. Retreating to your nest the moment you're allowed to leave."
"That's not against the rules," I pointed out, a bitter edge sharpening my voice.
"No. It's not. It's a clever workaround," Ethan agreed, a hint of something—admiration?
amusement?—flickering in his green eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly.
"But the bonds don't care about clever workarounds, Avalon.
They need physical reinforcement. Skin-to-skin contact. Proximity to your Alphas."
"So I'm addicted to you. That's what you're saying. My body is physically addicted to your touch," I said bitterly, the words tasting like poison on my tongue, my stomach lurching with revulsion.
"In a manner of speaking, yes," Ethan confirmed, no apology in his tone, no shame in his expression, just that clinical detachment that made me want to scream.
"The claiming bite creates a physiological dependency.
Your body now requires contact with us to maintain homeostasis.
Deny it that contact, and it will punish you. "
"That's sick," I spat, disgust dripping from every syllable, my lip curling with revulsion.
"That's biology," Ethan replied with a slight shrug, his shoulders lifting and falling with casual indifference. "It's designed to keep bonded pairs together. To prevent separation. It's actually quite elegant from an evolutionary perspective."
"I don't give a fuck about evolution. Make it stop," I snarled, immediately regretting the outburst as the movement sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through me. I pressed my hand to my mouth, swallowing hard, fighting to keep my stomach under control.
"You know how to make it stop. Let us touch you. Let us hold you. Stop fighting the bonds, and the symptoms will ease," Ethan said, his green eyes steady on mine, calm and unblinking.
"No," I refused, the word coming out hard and final despite the weakness in my voice.
"You'd rather suffer?" Ethan asked, his eyebrow arching slightly, the only sign of surprise on his otherwise impassive face.
"I'd rather suffer than let you win," I spat, pulling the blankets of my nest closer around me, as if they could shield me from the truth of what my body was doing to me.
"This isn't about winning. This is about your health," Ethan replied, his voice softening slightly, something almost like concern bleeding through his clinical mask, his brow furrowing just a fraction.
"The symptoms will only get worse if you continue to deny the bonds.
By tomorrow, you won't be able to keep food down.
By the day after, you'll be too weak to stand. "
"Then I'll be too weak to stand. At least I'll still have my pride," I said flatly, staring him down with all the defiance I could muster, my green eyes blazing despite my exhaustion.
"As you wish," Ethan said, turning to leave, his footsteps measured and precise on the hardwood floor.
He paused at the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder, his profile sharp in the morning light.
"But I should warn you, we won't let you suffer indefinitely.
If the symptoms become dangerous, we'll intervene. Your pride isn't worth your life."
He left, closing the door softly behind him. I curled deeper into my nest and tried to convince myself that the shaking was just from anger.
The day passed in a blur of misery. I skipped breakfast, my stomach too unsettled to even think about food. When lunch came, Leo appeared at my door with a tray, soup and crackers, something easy to digest.
"Ethan says you're not feeling well. Brought you something light," Leo said, his usual playful smirk softened into something almost gentle, his gray eyes studying me with genuine concern as he stepped into the room.
"Not hungry," I mumbled, not lifting my head from the pile of pillows I'd burrowed into, my voice muffled by the soft fabric.
"You need to eat. Rules, remember?" Leo insisted, crossing to the nightstand and setting the tray down with a soft clink, his movements careful and quiet.
"Can't. I'll throw up," I admitted, my voice weak and pathetic, barely more than a whisper.
Leo was quiet for a moment, his gray eyes flickering with something that might have been pain.
Then I felt the mattress dip as he sat on the edge of the bed, just outside the boundary of my nest, close but not crossing the line.
"You know what would help," Leo said softly, his voice lacking its usual teasing edge, his expression serious and open in a way I'd rarely seen.
"Don't," I warned, though the word came out more like a plea than a command, my throat tight with desperation.
"Just let me hold your hand. That's all. Just your hand. It'll help with the nausea," Leo offered, extending his palm toward me, his fingers long and elegant, his gray eyes earnest and pleading.
I stared at his outstretched hand, my vision slightly blurred from the headache. Through the bond, I could feel his sincerity—he genuinely wanted to help, genuinely hated seeing me suffer. But underneath that was something else. Patience. Certainty. The knowledge that eventually, I would break.
"No," I said, my voice cracking, and turned my face away, pressing my cheek into the cool pillow.
Leo sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment, his shoulders slumping slightly.
Through the bond, I felt his frustration, but he didn't push.
Just rose from the bed and retreated, his footsteps soft on the floor, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
The soup sat there for hours, going cold, untouched.
By evening, the tremors had gotten worse.
My whole body shook, fine vibrations that I couldn't control, that made my teeth chatter even though I wasn't cold.
The headache had evolved into a full-body ache, my muscles screaming like I'd run a marathon.
My skin felt too tight, too sensitive, like even the soft blankets of my nest were sandpaper against my flesh.