Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
AVA
I became a spy in my own life.
It started the morning after I made my decision.
I woke in the nest, surrounded by their warmth, and instead of letting myself sink into it, I started cataloging.
Mason's arm across my waist, he always slept on my left.
Caleb at my back, he woke if I moved too quickly.
Leo's hand on my hip, possessive even unconscious, but he slept deepest of all.
Ethan, slightly apart, his breathing too even to be truly asleep.
Ethan was the problem. Ethan was always the problem.
I extracted myself slowly, carefully, murmuring something about needing the bathroom. Caleb stirred but didn't wake. Mason's arm tightened briefly before relaxing. Leo didn't move at all. Ethan's eyes flickered open, tracking me across the room before closing again.
He was always watching. Always aware. If I was going to do this, I needed to figure out when he wasn't.
The first week was observation.
I watched them the way a prey animal watches predators, cataloging patterns and weaknesses while pretending to be tame.
Mason left for supply runs every few days, usually taking Leo with him.
Caleb spent hours in his workshop, lost in his carvings, but he had an uncanny sense for my moods.
If I was anxious, he appeared at my side like he'd been summoned.
Ethan was the linchpin. He worked from the cabin most days, his attention split between his tablet and me. But there were times, rare, precious times, when his research consumed him completely. When he found a problem interesting enough, the rest of the world ceased to exist.
I needed to find that problem.
The hardest part wasn't the planning, it was the pretending. They could smell anxiety. Fear. Distress. Every negative emotion left a trail in my scent that they could read like a book. So I buried it. Pushed it down so deep that I almost forgot it was there. Almost.
I leaned into Mason's touch instead of pulling away.
Let him hold me, kiss me, murmur promises against my skin that made my chest ache with something I refused to name.
I purred for Caleb, let him press close, accepted his carvings with soft smiles that felt like lies.
I bantered with Leo, let his sharp tongue draw genuine laughs from my throat, pretended I didn't see the way his eyes softened when he thought I wasn't looking.
With Ethan, I asked questions. Drew him out about his research, his theories, his endless quest to understand how Omega biology worked. I watched his eyes light up when he explained something complex, watched the tension leave his shoulders when he thought I was finally, truly interested.
It was manipulation. Pure and simple. I was using their love against them, and the guilt of it sat in my stomach like poison.
But I didn't stop.
"You seem better," Mason said one evening, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my hip as we sat together on the couch. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting warm shadows across the room. Leo was reading in the corner, and Caleb was carving something small, a bird, maybe, or a flower.
"I am better," I said, letting my head rest against his shoulder, my voice soft and steady even as my heart raced beneath my ribs.
It wasn't entirely a lie. The constant vigilance had given me something I'd been missing: purpose.
A goal. Something to focus on besides the endless war between what I wanted and what I was supposed to want.
Mason pressed a kiss to my temple, breathing me in.
"Good. That's good," he murmured against my hair, his voice rough with relief, with love, with that desperate hope he tried so hard to hide.
His arm tightened around me, pulling me closer.
"We just want you to be happy, Ava. That's all we've ever wanted. " The guilt twisted deeper.
"I know," I whispered, turning my face into his neck, breathing in his scent like it was something precious, because pretending was easier than facing the alternative.
Two weeks in, I found my opening.
Ethan had been tracking some research on Omega bonding hormones, a new study that contradicted several of his theories. I watched his frustration build over several days, watched him retreat further and further into his data, barely surfacing for meals.
"You should take a break," I told him one afternoon, perching on the arm of his chair, close enough that my scent would wrap around him. "You've been staring at that screen for hours."
"The methodology is flawed," he muttered, not looking up. "They didn't control for pre-existing bond strength. The entire conclusion is compromised."
"So write a rebuttal," I suggested, trailing my fingers through his hair, watching the tension slowly drain from his shoulders. "Publish something that corrects the record."
"That would require access to their raw data. Which I don't have," he said, his brow furrowing, fingers tapping an absent rhythm on the edge of his keyboard.
"Could you get it?" I asked, keeping my voice light, curious, nothing more than an Omega interested in her Alpha's work.
He was quiet for a moment, thinking, his gray eyes going distant the way they always did when his mind was working through a problem. "Possibly. I still have contacts from my academic days. If I reached out to the right people..." He trailed off, already lost in the possibilities.
I hid my smile against his hair. "You should try," I said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "It's obviously bothering you."
Over the next few days, I watched him descend into the kind of focused obsession I'd been hoping for. Emails were exchanged. Arguments were drafted. Data was analyzed and re-analyzed. Ethan barely slept, barely ate, barely noticed anything that wasn't directly related to his academic vendetta.
The others worried. I soothed them.
"He's fine," I told Mason, pressing close to his side, letting my hand rest on his chest. "You know how he gets. Let him work it out of his system."
"He's not taking care of himself," Mason said, frowning at the closed door to Ethan's office, his jaw tight with concern.
"I'll make sure he eats," I promised, looking up at him with what I hoped was reassuring warmth. "I'll bring him meals. Check on him."
Mason studied my face for a long moment, something flickering in his dark eyes.
Then he pulled me close and kissed my forehead, his lips warm against my skin.
"What would we do without you?" he asked, his voice low and tender, full of a gratitude that made my stomach twist. The question hit harder than it should have.
I pushed the feeling down and smiled, reaching up to touch his cheek.
"Starve, probably," I said lightly, forcing a teasing note into my voice. "All of you are hopeless." He laughed, and the sound was so warm, so genuine, that I almost faltered. Almost told him everything. Almost begged him to understand why I needed to do this.
Instead, I kissed his cheek and went to bring Ethan a sandwich he wouldn't eat.
The day came on a Thursday.
Mason and Leo had left early for a supply run, a longer one than usual, something about picking up equipment from a town two hours away.
They wouldn't be back until evening. Caleb was in his workshop, deep in a commission that had been consuming him for days.
I'd made sure to bring him lunch, to press a kiss to his cheek, to tell him not to work too hard.
He'd smiled at me. That rare, beautiful smile that transformed his whole face. And something in my chest had cracked. I didn't stop.
Ethan was exactly where I'd expected him to be: hunched over his computer, three empty coffee cups forming a small army on his desk, his eyes bloodshot and his hair disheveled.
He'd been awake for almost thirty hours, running simulations, cross-referencing data, building a case that would tear apart the study that had dared to challenge his theories.
He didn't look up when I entered.
"Ethan," I said softly, moving closer, my footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor. "You need to sleep."
"Almost done," he muttered, his eyes never leaving the screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "Just need to finish this analysis."
"You said that six hours ago," I reminded him gently, coming to stand beside his chair, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him.
"Did I?" He blinked, seeming to notice me for the first time, his gray eyes unfocused and exhausted behind his glasses. "What time is it?"
"Almost two," I said, crouching beside his chair so I could look up at him, letting concern soften my features. "You're going to make yourself sick."
He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle despite his exhaustion. "I'm fine. I just need to—" He gestured vaguely at his screen, struggling to find the words. "This is important."
"I know it is," I said, covering his hand with mine, feeling the warmth of his palm against my cheek. "But so is taking care of yourself."
He smiled, soft and tired, the tension around his eyes easing just slightly. "You sound like Mason."
"Someone has to," I said, matching his smile with one of my own, even as guilt clawed at my chest. For a moment, we just looked at each other.
His hand was still in my hair, his thumb brushing my cheek, and I could see everything in his eyes, the love, the trust, the absolute certainty that I was finally, truly his.
My throat tightened.
"Finish your analysis," I whispered, forcing the words past the lump in my throat.
"I'll bring you something to eat in a bit.
" He nodded, already turning back to his screen, his attention consumed by the data scrolling across it.
I watched him for a moment longer, this man who tracked my sleep and my meals and my moods because he couldn't bear the thought of me being anything less than perfectly cared for.
Then I turned and walked out of the room.
I moved through the cabin like a ghost, gathering what I needed.
A jacket, warm, waterproof. Boots that wouldn't slip on ice.
A small pack with water and a few protein bars, stolen from the kitchen over the past week.
I didn't know where I was going. There were no roads for miles, no towns, no safe places for an Omega alone in the wilderness.
The cabin was the only shelter, the only warmth, the only refuge.
That was the point. If I made it out and wanted to come back, I'd know this was where I belonged. I could let go of the doubt, the fear, the voice in my head that kept screaming that staying was surrender.
If I made it out and wanted to keep running...Well. That would be an answer too.
I paused at the back door, my hand on the handle.
The bond pulsed in my chest, a five-way thread of emotion that had become as familiar as my own heartbeat. I could feel them, Ethan's focused determination, Caleb's quiet contentment, and somewhere in the distance, Mason and Leo's steady presence.
My pack. My Alphas.
Maybe my home.
I thought about all of it. The nest we'd built together, tangled limbs and shared warmth.
Mason's piano in the music room, the way his walls came down when he played.
Caleb's carvings, dozens of them now, a menagerie of love in wood.
Leo's sharp tongue and soft eyes, the poetry he'd never admit to writing.
Ethan's charts and data, his desperate need to understand, to predict, to keep me safe.
They loved me. Truly, deeply, in that all-consuming way that Alphas loved their Omega. And some part of me, a part that grew larger every day, loved them back. Love wasn't the same as choice. And I needed to know that staying was a choice.
I opened the door. Cold air rushed in, biting at my cheeks, carrying the scent of pine and snow. The world outside was vast and white and terrifying. I looked back once. Just once.
Then I stepped through the door and into the cold.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, too quiet for anyone to hear, the words stolen by the wind. "I have to know."
And then I ran.