Chapter 43
Wynter's POV
The library had closed ten minutes ago, casting me out into the cool night air. I stood beneath one of the old iron streetlamps near the quad, watching the way the yellow light poured down in a hazy cone, illuminating the swirling mist but leaving everything else in shadow.
I stepped into that pool of light, letting it wash over me, though it did little to warm the chill in my bones.
My mind was a tangled mess of dates, names, and bloodlines. For three days, I had buried myself in the dusty archives, tracing the origins of the three Packs, looking for friction points that might explain my father’s murder.
I had read about the mineral disputes, the border skirmishes, the fragile treaties signed in ink and broken in blood.
Did he know? I wondered, staring at my own shadow stretched long against the cobblestones. Did Dad find something in those old ledgers that signed his death warrant?
But my thoughts kept drifting from the past to the present. To a boy in my history class named Owen.
He was quiet. Unassuming. The kind of Beta who blended into the wallpaper. But yesterday, I’d watched him drop a quill, and he’d caught it with his left hand—a reflex, fast and sharp. Just like the masked figure who had handed me the letter in the grove. The voice changer had masked the tone, but physical habits were harder to hide.
I needed to find a way to verify it. I needed—
The scent hit me first.
Winter pine. Frost. The sharp, clean ozone of a storm about to break.
My heart hammered against my ribs, the Bond flaring to life so violently it nearly brought me to my knees. The suppressants I’d been taking seemed to evaporate in an instant, burned away by the sheer proximity of him.
I turned, and he was there.
Chase emerged from the darkness, looking like a wraith woven from the night itself. His uniform was rumpled, his hair windblown, and his eyes were burning with an intensity that devoured me whole.
"Wynter."
He didn't give me time to speak. He didn't give me time to breathe.
In three long strides, he crossed the distance, his hand shooting out to grip my wrist. He pulled me out of the expose of the lamplight and into the deep shadows of a stone alcove, pressing me back against the rough, cold wall.
"Chase, you're—"
He cut me off with his mouth.
He pinned my hands against the stone, his body a solid wall of heat and muscle caging me in.
He pulled back just an inch, his gray eyes locking onto mine in the darkness, searching, demanding.
Then he leaned in, his teeth grazing my lower lip in a soft, warning bite that sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core.
I gasped, my lips parting, and he took the invitation instantly.
He drove his tongue into my mouth, claiming me, tasting me. It was a duel—deep, wet, and desperate. I met him stroke for stroke, my tongue tangling with his, a frantic dance of you retreat, I advance; I retreat, you conquer.
He tasted of coffee and exhaustion and the wild, untamed scent of the forest. I melted against him, my knees weak, the ache in my chest finally soothing as his presence filled my senses.
When he finally broke the kiss, we were both gasping, our foreheads resting against each other.
"Are you okay?" His voice was rough, his hands leaving the wall to roam over my arms, my waist, checking for injuries. "Did anything happen while I was gone? Are you safe?"
"I'm fine," I breathed, my hands clutching his lapels to keep myself upright. "I'm safe. But you... you look..."
"I have answers," he said, his voice dropping to a grim whisper. "But not here."
He scooped me up into his arms, ignoring my weak protest, and carried me through the shadows toward the Alpha Tower.
---
His dorm room was exactly as I remembered—dark wood, leather, the scent of him everywhere. He kicked the door shut and locked it, the heavy click echoing in the silence.
He didn’t let me go. Instead, he strode over to the sofa with me in his arms, lowering himself into the cushions in one fluid motion.
I shifted forward on my own, sliding into his lap so I was straddling him, my knees pressing into the sides of his hips, my legs locking around his waist. His warmth seeped through my clothes, and the closeness made my heartbeat stumble.
"We found him," Chase said, his hands resting on my hips, grounding me. "The true culprit. It was Lord Matthias. My father's chief advisor."
I froze. "The advisor?"
"He hired the assassins," Chase said, his eyes hard and cold. "He’s been orchestrating everything from the shadows. The border attacks, the intelligence leaks... and your father's murder."
"Does your father know?"
"He does now. We arrested Matthias. He's in a maximum-security cell." Chase's thumbs rubbed circles into my hips, a soothing rhythm against the tension in his voice. "But Matthias refused to talk. He wouldn't give up who he was working for. I suspect he's not the top of the food chain. There's someone behind him."
"And your father?" I asked softly. "He really didn't know?"
"No." Chase shook his head, looking weary. "He was blindsided. He’s devastated."
"Why?" I asked, frowning. "Why didn't he suspect him before? If Matthias had that much power..."
"Because he trusted him too much," Chase said bitterly. "Matthias was his friend for twenty years. Sometimes, the people closest to you are the ones holding the knife."
I wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging him tight. I could feel the tension radiating off him, the betrayal still fresh and raw.
"I have something to tell you too," I whispered into his neck.
He pulled back slightly to look at me. "What is it?"
"I got a letter," I said. "Before you came back. Someone told me they had proof about my father. I went to the grove..."
Chase's grip on my hips tightened painfully. "You went alone?"
"I had backup," I lied smoothly, not wanting to worry him about Jax. "But the person who met me... he was wearing a mask. Using a voice changer. But I noticed something. He was left-handed. Distinctly left-handed."