19. Brody

The urge to protect her,to keep her safe until she's healed, is strong, but I know it wouldn't be right to hold her against her will. Ava, highlighted by the soft morning light, seems more vulnerable than ever, yet there's an undeniable strength in her gaze.

"Talk to me," I say softly, hoping she understands how much I need to hear her voice right now.

Ava looks at me, her eyes deep and insightful, reflecting the dim light in a way that mesmerizes me. Despite the tranquility of the dawn around us, her presence stirs emotions in me, reawakening feelings I thought I had long buried. Her mix of innocence and allure pulls me in, and I find myself captivated.

She sighs deeply, as if she's carrying the world on her shoulders, and closes her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength. Then, with a graceful movement that belies the chaos inside her, she leans back and holds her coffee cup closely, offering a fleeting glimpse of her leg that tempts me to lose focus.

"My dad called me yesterday," she starts, her voice holding a mix of resilience and softness that draws me back from my wandering thoughts.

"That's not unusual, is it?" I try to keep the conversation light, adjusting the breakfast tray between us and deciding to risk a breakfast taco, despite the potential mess.

"No, it's not," she says, her expression clouded with worry for a moment. "After Mom passed, he's been finding comfort in the community."

"The church?" I prompt gently, helping her navigate her thoughts.

"Yes," she confirms, her voice quiet but strong. "The men there…they put on a polite front, but something about them just feels off, as if they're not to be trusted."

Her words make me smile, not because of the situation, but because of her ability to find humor, even now. "You do have a way with words," I encourage, hoping to lift her spirits a bit.

"After Mom passed, everything changed. Dad… It's like he's become one of them, or maybe I just started seeing through them," Ava continues, her playful tone masking deeper pain.

I feel a protective urge surge within me, wanting to shield her from any more pain. "It sounds like you're seeing things for what they really are now."

She nods, looking away. "He insisted on having dinner this Wednesday. It was strange. He's never been that insistent before. He's always been more patient with me than with anyone else."

"What do you think this dinner is about?" Concern tugs at me, sensing there's more to this than just a family meal.

Ava hesitates, then drops a bombshell. "He plans to marry me to Elijah Castellon."

A surge of anger and an instinctual need to protect bubble up inside me. I struggle to maintain my composure, not wanting to frighten Ava with my reaction.

She looks at me, her expression a mix of disbelief and defiance. "Yeah, I had the same shockedexpression. I'm twenty-seven, not some chess piece he can move at his whim. I told him we're not living in the Middle Ages, but there he was, acting like he had every right."

The anger within me sends tremors through our pack bond, and instantly, Ethan and Tyler are with me, their concerns sharp in my mind. Tyler's worry feels like a soothing balm, while Ethan's steady presence helps me find my footing amid the chaos.

Is Ava all right?Tyler's voice, though only in my head, carries his usual soothing quality.

Ethan's voice, firm and authoritative, cuts in. What happened?

As the rage within me threatens to overflow, I make a quick decision. How tied up are you? I ask, probing the waters before diving into the depths of shared consciousness—a rarity among our kind, because it puts us into a vulnerable position.

Ethan's response is immediate. Just at the station, grabbing breakfast, he says, his solid presence reassuring me.

Share my consciousness. This conversation requires our unity, I assert, inviting them into the sanctum of my thoughts—a place where every hidden fear and whispered dream is exposed. The gravity of this act is not lost on me. It is a bond forged in the fires of absolute trust.

Ava's gaze catches the subtle shift in me. "You're connecting with the others, aren't you?" she asks, a touch of irritation hidden behind her casual sip of coffee. "Might as well. It saves me the trouble of explaining twice."

As Ethan and Tyler blend into my consciousness, the sensation is akin to merging streams into a single river—seamless yet profound. This ability allows them to hear my thoughts, see through my eyes, feel my emotions, and walk in my memories.

This shared space of minds is a double-edged sword, however, because although it offers an unparalleled intimacy, it also exposes us to the vulnerabilities of being physically unguarded. A hunter could easily take advantage of our divided attention, but Ethan and Tyler are within the safety of the station, surrounded by spiritkin.

"All right, Ava," I say, our voices melding into an echo that resonates with the essence of all three of us. "Repeat what you just told me."

Her reaction is immediate, a mixture of astonishment and discomfort. "That's creepy as hell. What just happened?" Her eyes, wide and reflecting a storm of emotions, search mine for answers.

"Aww, butterfly, we just couldn't stand to miss out," Tyler teases through our collective voice. His words, meant to be playful, are followed by air kisses.

"No more speaking. It's unsettling," she insists, a shiver cascading through her as she places a finger to my lips. It's a gesture meant to silence, but instead, it sends a ripple of warmth through us. "I really can't deal with this…whatever it is."

I ease Tyler and Ethan's presence back, letting my own voice emerge clearer. "At twenty-seven, a spiritkin has the right to choose their own path, beyond any destiny the moon might dictate," I explain, trying to blend wisdom with the simplicity she needs right now.

Her brows knit together, a shadow of skepticism and concern dancing across her features. "But why the Castellons? I want no part in their schemes, and my father… Pushing me towards them feels like a betrayal."

Her father knows something we don't. My thought drift through our bond.

Ethan's cautionary voice tempers our rising frustration. Don't jump to conclusions.

He's right. We're navigating blind, making guesses on incomplete information, much like Ava. We can't just assume her father knows about our mating rules. He can't possibly know we wait until that age for a fated mate, then after we are free to mate who we want.

"I don't have the answers," she admits, setting her coffee aside as if to distance herself from the conversation's weight.

Something nags at the back of my mind. "By twenty-seven," I muse, the significance of this age not at all lost on me, "if we were meant to find our fated, surely it would have happened by now."

She catches on quickly. "You're all older than that, and we've only just met."

Ethan's discomfort is a tangible presence in our connection. That's not entirely accurate, he finally admits, reluctance shading his tone.

Tyler jumps at the chance to tease. Oh, keeping secrets, big brother? That's hardly alpha behavior, he teases, pushing Ethan's buttons as only a brother can.

We'll circle back to that, I interject, steering the conversation back on course. To Ava, I say, "It isn't foolproof," though in the realm of spiritkin, it nearly is.

Ethan's confession slips out, a whispered memory between thoughts. I met her when I was ten. We can talk about it later. The silence that follows is heavy with unspoken questions.

"Human connections are vital to spiritkin growth," I explain to Ava, drawing her attention back. "Any human mate we're destined to be with is identified before they turn thirty."

"You think my father knows this?" Ava's skepticism is palpable, her disbelief a cloak wrapping tightly around her. "He's clueless about your world."

I sense her growing irritation rising. Pushing her will only drive her away, I caution Ethan and Tyler silently.

She isn't meeting with her father or Elijah, Ethan decides, his alpha authority bleeding into the command.

For once, I'm with him, Tyler concedes in a rare moment of agreement.

But we can't just forbid her, I counter, wary of the delicate balance between protection and control. That approach could push her further away. We'll find another way.

She isn't going, Ethan reiterates, his finality echoing in our minds before he withdraws, leaving the conversation with a sense of unresolved tension.

I'll talk to him, Tyler offers, his presence fading, leaving me to navigate the silence of my own thoughts again.

Turning my attention back to Ava, I opt for a gentler approach. "You should rest," I suggest, resisting the urge to probe further into her thoughts.

"I can't," she protests, setting her coffee cup aside with a sigh. "I feel disgusting. I need to wash my hair," she confesses, even as a yawn reveals her fatigue, her body sinking deeper into the comfort of the mattress.

After placing the tray on a side table, I turn back to find Ava's wild brown hair cascading across the pillow like a dark halo, inviting and soft. Before I can stop myself, I run my fingers through her hair, marveling at its silkiness. "Sleep. After your nap, I'll help you clean up," I tell her, feeling a blush warm my cheeks at the thought of seeing her naked.

"Promise?" she murmurs, another yawn cutting her off. Her eyes flutter shut, signaling her surrender to sleep.

Seizing the moment, I lean down and brush a kiss across her forehead. She turns her face up toward me in response, a small sigh escaping her as she drifts into a deep sleep. I watch her, ensuring her breathing evens out before I turn to grab my laptop.

Ethan.I reach out through our shared bond, seeking clarity. Tell me about when you met Ava.

The reluctance in his mental voice is clear. Can't keep it to myself, can I? he grumbles.

No, Tyler interjects sharply, a hint of impatience in his tone. You selfish bastard.

Fine, but we just got a call, so I'll make it quick. Ty, you drive, Ethan instructs. All right, I used to sneak over to that ice-cream shop on Merger Ave every time my dad sent me for a haircut. My little act of rebellion was getting ice cream.

The point?Tyler urges, cutting through Ethan's nostalgia. No one cares about sneaking in some forbidden ice cream.

I met her there. She sassed me, Ethan rushes out, a smile audible in his tone. She dared me to bite her.

Ethan's revelation weighs heavily on me, sparking a cascade of thoughts and a surge of curiosity. I turn to Ava, my movement quick and instinctive, driven by a sudden need to understand more. A suspicion takes hold, weaving through my thoughts, intertwining with both logic and intuition. This suspicion, elusive yet insistent, compels me to look closer, to question what lies beneath the surface of Ethan's confession and its implications for us all.

"You didn't," I murmur, the words escaping into the still air around me like a whispered secret.

I didn't.Ethan's voice echoes through our bond, his confession hanging in the air like a delicate mist. But I nicked her finger. The admission sends a ripple through our connection—a momentary silence that swells with significance.

With a deep breath, I retreat inward, severing our link with a decisive flick of my consciousness. My eyes close, shielding me from the world as I dive into the depths of my mind. There, amidst the swirling vortex of my thoughts, everything clicks into place, like a puzzle completing itself in the dim light of realization.

The digital labyrinth of the hospital's records beckons—a siren's call to my curiosity. I log on and navigate through Mystic's files with a familiarity that speaks of countless nights spent under the glow of a computer screen, updating charts and files. Technically, Ava falls under my care, a justification that threads through my actions like a thin silver line in the murky waters of morality.

Diving deeper than the usual medical records, I seek out the untouched segments of information. The absence of blood work in our initial examination now strikes me as serendipitous. When Mystic's files offer no revelations, I shift to Mercy Med with a mix of apprehension and nostalgia. My old credentials, a remnant of my past life, unlock the gates, reminding me of the challenges I once faced for being different.

With caution leading my actions, I request Ava's complete medical history, preparing for any consequences. Her life unfolds in the digital realm, a narrative stretching from her first cry to the present. I sift through the records, seeking the untold stories hidden in the mundane details of medical data.

The lore of our kind, woven from the threads of birth and transformation, casts a long shadow over my search. Spiritkin tread a fine line between two worlds, but it is the fated bonds with humans that bear the weight of our most poignant tales of loss and survival. A mere nick, an accidental brush with our true nature, can alter destinies.

And I suspect that Ethan didn't turn our Ava but merely woke something dormant inside of her.

Ava's birth records capture my attention, her first moments marked by the light of a full moon. The notes on her delivery hint at an innate calmness that belies the chaos of birth. Her introduction to the world, under the watchful eyes of the lunar deity, feels like a silent nod to our entwined fate.

The term cyanosis leaps from the page, a clinical descriptor for her transient journey into this world, but beneath the sterile lines of medical jargon, a story unfolds—a narrative woven from the very essence of spiritkin lore. The cold, unwelcoming embrace of her first cradle, a sterile bassinet, now seems like a mere backdrop to the unfolding mystery of her true nature.

I read on…

Lunar Affinity:Ava displayed an unusual reaction to the full moon's light. Her eyes opened briefly and seemed to reflect the moonlight with a subtle, silvery sheen. This was noted as an atypical yet benign neonatal reflex.

Temperature Regulation:Ava's body temperature was slightly higher than the average newborn's but within a safe range. It was stable throughout the initial examination and did not require any intervention.

Demeanor:Despite the common tendency for newborns to cry upon birth, Ava was notably serene, exhibiting a quiet attentiveness unusual for her age. Nurses attributed this to the tranquil atmosphere of the birthing room, enhanced by the full moon's light.

Physician's Remarks:Ava Martinez's birth was largely normal with excellent APGAR scores, indicating good health. The minor peculiarities observed are documented for future reference but are not immediately concerning. Recommended routine neonatal care and monitoring.

Lost in thought, I find myself tracing the contours of my teeth with my tongue—a habit that surfaces in moments of deep reflection. I allow myself one final sweep through the notes, desperate for clarity amidst the confusion. Pulling away from the screen, I glance at Ava. Her calmness stands in stark contrast to the whirlwind of questions within me. She rests, peaceful and oblivious, her steady breathing a quiet melody in the stillness. The slight parting of her lips, her eyelids fluttering with dreams, suggests a vulnerability that tugs at my heart.

The ordinary nature of her birth at Mercy Med, deemed unremarkable by human standards, gnaws at me. At Mystic, the very air thrums with the secrets of lineage, where under a different watchful gaze, her entry into the world could have been heralded as a sign of dormant spiritkin blood.

Turning back to the glare of my computer, I feel a momentary sting in my eyes. My next objective crystalizes with urgency—to uncover the secrets hidden within her mother's medical history. But access is denied, a digital sentinel blocking my way, prompting an impatient rhythm from my fingers against my thigh. It's time to delve deeper, to unearth the truths that lie buried.

After twenty minutes of relentless digital navigation, I finally pierce the veil of secrecy surrounding Isabel Martinez-Thompson and access the nurses' notes. Her name lights up my screen, her image—a mirror reflection of Ava—smiles back, bridging two worlds. A chill of realization sweeps over me, an uncanny feeling of being observed, as though Isabel's spirit hovers close by, watching my every move.

As I unravel the narrative hidden within Nurse Emily Gockley's meticulous notes, the mystery of Isabel Martinez-Thompson's insistence on solitude during Ava's birth begins to unfold. The deliberate exclusion of Christopher Thompson, Ava's father, from this pivotal moment paints a complex picture, each detail a deliberate brushstroke on a canvas of secrecy.

Leaning back, I catch myself pinching my lip in deep thought. The nurse's observations, usually dismissed as routine, now reveal an enigma that hints at a deeper, yet obscured, truth. Isabel's choices and the secrets she fiercely guarded stir a whirlpool of questions in my mind, but the essence of her actions, the core of her fate, remains tantalizingly out of reach.

With a cautious sign-off, I step back from the brink of my investigation, the revelations from the nurse's notes clutched tightly to my chest as I navigate the murky waters of understanding. The room around me, once a haven of silence, now feels laden with an oppressive air, as if the very walls are pressing in with the weight of untold stories.

What secrets did Isabel Martinez-Thompson guard so fiercely, and why was Ava's father exiled from witnessing the moment of her birth? All of this leads me to believe the impossible.

Is Ava spiritkin?