Chapter 9

Amaya's pov 

The fever comes back at sunset.

I'm sitting on their couch, wrapped in a blanket that smells like all three of them, when the chills start. One minute I'm almost feeling normal—still weak, but better—and the next I'm shaking so hard my teeth chatter.

"No," I whisper. "No, no, no."

I was supposed to go home an hour ago. Was supposed to prove I could handle this on my own. But my body has other ideas, and when I try to stand up, my legs give out immediately.

Luciano catches me before I hit the floor.

"I've got you," he says, lifting me like I weigh nothing. "Javier! Alvaro!"

"I'm okay," I try to say, but it comes out slurred. Wrong.

Within seconds, all three of them are crowding around. Javier's hand on my forehead, Alvaro cursing under his breath, Luciano holding me against his chest.

"Fever's back," Javier says grimly. "Worse than before."

"Hospital," Alvaro says immediately.

"No." I grab Luciano's shirt with clumsy fingers. "No hospital. No pack doctor. Please."

They exchange looks over my head. Having another one of those silent conversations that excludes me.

"She's staying here," Luciano decides. "We'll monitor her through the night. If she gets worse, we take her in whether she likes it or not."

I want to argue, but another wave of chills hits and all I can do is burrow closer to Luciano's warmth. My wolf is whimpering, seeking comfort, seeking pack.

Seeking them.

Luciano carries me back to the bedroom and lays me down carefully. Someone—Javier, I think—is piling more blankets on top of me. Alvaro disappears and comes back with a cold compress for my forehead.

"Try to sleep," Alvaro murmurs, his hand gentle as he brushes hair off my face. "We'll be right here."

"You don't have to—"

"Yes, we do," Javier says firmly. He's already pulling a chair closer to the bed. "Stop arguing and rest."

I don't have the energy to fight anymore. My eyes close on their own, and I drift in and out of fevered sleep.

I wake up disoriented in the dark. The room is spinning slightly, and I'm soaked with sweat despite the chills still wracking my body. The clock on the nightstand reads 2:47 AM.

There's someone on the floor next to the bed.

I blink, trying to focus, and realize it's Javier. He's stretched out on the hardwood with a single pillow, still fully dressed, sleeping between me and the door. Like he's standing guard even in sleep.

My chest tightens.

A soft sound from the doorway makes me turn my head. Alvaro's there, leaning against the frame, watching. When he sees I'm awake, he pushes off and crosses to the bed quietly.

"How do you feel?" he whispers.

"Hot. Cold. I don't know." My voice is hoarse. "What are you doing?"

"Taking my shift." He gestures at Javier. "We're rotating. Someone's with you at all times."

"You don't need to do that."

"Yeah, we do." He sits on the edge of the bed, and his hand finds mine under the blankets. His thumb traces circles on my palm. "You scared us today, Amaya. We're not taking any chances."

I should pull my hand away. Should maintain the distance I've been fighting so hard to keep. But his touch feels good—grounding in a way that cuts through the fever fog.

"Where's Luciano?" I ask instead.

"Couch. He'll swap with me in a few hours." Alvaro's eyes are shadowed in the dim light. "You're stuck with us, baby. Might as well accept it."

There's that nickname again. Baby. It should annoy me, but right now, fevered and vulnerable, it just makes me feel safe.

"I don't understand you," I whisper. "Any of you."

"What's not to understand?"

"This. The way you just... care. Like it's easy." I swallow hard. "Nothing's ever been easy."

His expression softens. "It is easy. Caring about you is the easiest thing in the world."

Tears prick my eyes—from fever or emotion, I can't tell. "I've been awful to you."

"You've been scared," he corrects gently. "There's a difference."

Before I can respond, another chill hits. I curl into myself, shaking, and Alvaro makes a rough sound in his throat.

"Screw this," he mutters. Then he's toeing off his shoes and climbing into the bed behind me, pulling me back against his chest. "You need body heat."

"Alvaro—"

"Don't argue. Not tonight." His arms wrap around me, and instantly the warmth starts seeping through the chills. "Just let me help."

I should push him away. Should maintain my boundaries. But I'm so tired of being cold and sick and alone, and he's so warm and solid and here.

I let myself relax against him.

His chin rests on top of my head. One of his hands splays across my stomach, holding me close. I can feel his heartbeat against my back—steady, strong, alive.

The bond hums contentedly.

"Better?" he asks after a moment.

"Yeah," I admit quietly. "Better."

We lie there in silence. On the floor, Javier shifts in his sleep but doesn't wake. The apartment is quiet except for the sound of breathing.

"Alvaro?" I whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Why did you let Madison flirt with you yesterday?"

His arms tighten around me. "To get a reaction. Needed to know if you felt it too—the jealousy. The possessiveness."

"That's manipulative."

"I know." He doesn't sound sorry. "But you were pulling away so hard, I was desperate. Did it work?"

I think about the rage I felt watching her touch him. The way my wolf wanted to rip her apart. "Yes. It worked."

"Good." He presses his lips to my hair. "For the record, I didn't want her touching me. Only person I want touching me is you."

My breath catches. "Alvaro—"

"Sleep, Amaya. We'll talk when you're better."

But I don't want to sleep. For the first time in days, I want to talk. Want to ask him things, understand things. Want to figure out why being in his arms feels so right when it should feel like a trap.

Another wave of exhaustion hits before I can form the words, though, and my eyes drift closed.

When I wake again, it's morning. Pale sunlight streams through the curtains, and I'm alone in the bed—but I can hear voices in the kitchen. Smell coffee and something cooking.

I sit up slowly. The fever's broken. I'm weak and shaky, but the worst has passed.

There's a glass of water and more medicine on the nightstand—they must have come in while I was sleeping. The blankets are tucked around me carefully. Someone left a clean shirt folded at the foot of the bed—Luciano's, based on the size.

I can hear them more clearly now. Javier saying something about breakfast. Alvaro laughing at whatever Luciano replied. The domestic normalcy of it makes my chest ache.

This is what it could be like. This easy comfort. This sense of pack.

If I let it.

I climb out of bed on unsteady legs and pull on Luciano's shirt—it falls to mid-thigh, swallowing me. Then I pad barefoot toward the kitchen, following the voices.

All three of them are there. Luciano's at the stove, cooking eggs. Javier's leaning against the counter with coffee. Alvaro's setting the table.

They stop when they see me in the doorway.

"You should be resting," Luciano says, but there's no heat in it. Just concern.

"I'm okay." I hover uncertainly at the threshold. "The fever broke."

"Thank god," Javier breathes.

Alvaro's eyes track over me—lingering on his shirt that I'm wearing, on my bare legs, on my messy hair. Something hot flashes in his expression before he banks it. "Hungry?"

I nod.

"Sit." He pulls out a chair. "We made enough for four."

I should feel awkward. Should feel out of place. But as I sit down and they move around me—Luciano plating food, Javier pouring orange juice, Alvaro sliding into the seat next to mine—it doesn't feel wrong.

It feels like coming home.

"Thank you," I say quietly as Luciano sets a plate in front of me. "For taking care of me. For staying. For... everything."

The three of them exchange glances.

"You don't have to thank us," Javier says. "This is what mates do."

"I know, but—" I take a breath. "I haven't made it easy. I've been fighting you every step, and you still—"

"We're not going anywhere," Luciano interrupts gently. "No matter how hard you push. The sooner you accept that, the easier this gets."

I look at each of them in turn. Luciano with his steady green eyes. Javier with his calm assurance. Alvaro with his fierce protectiveness barely contained.

My mates.

The word doesn't terrify me as much as it did yesterday.

"I'm still scared," I admit.

"We know," Alvaro says. "That's okay."

"But I'm trying. To not run. To... give this a chance."

The relief that floods through the bond from all three of them is almost overwhelming. Javier's hand finds mine on the table. Luciano's shoulders relax. Alvaro's smile is brilliant.

"That's all we need," Luciano says. "Just try. We'll handle the rest."