Chapter 51 In the Quiet Hours
Wynter‘s POV
I slipped my arms around his neck, letting my weight pull him backward into the room. The door clicked shut behind us, and I felt the lock engage—a soft sound that seemed too loud in the quiet.
"Creating an alibi," I murmured against his ear. "I went to the library, photographed a page on territorial treaties. If anyone asks, I fell asleep studying."
"Smart girl." He gently patted my head.
"Bedroom?" I asked, and he nodded.
What followed was a slow, intense build-up, Chase's touch deliberate and worshipful as he undressed me. He slid my shirt off, exposing my breasts, and his breath hitched. "God, Wynter, your breasts are incredible," he whispered, cupping one in his hand, his thumb circling the nipple until it hardened into a tight peak. I gasped, arching into him. "Chase, don't stop," I urged, my hands tugging at his shirt.
He shed his clothes quickly, his erection straining against his boxers before he kicked them off. I reached down, wrapping my fingers around his thick length, feeling him pulse in my grip. "You're so hard," I murmured, stroking him slowly.
With a low growl, he pressed me back onto the bed, his mouth trailing down to suck my nipple, teeth grazing gently as his hand slipped between my thighs. "You're so wet for me," he said, fingers sliding through my folds, teasing my entrance. I moaned, hips bucking. "Please, Chase, I need you inside."
He positioned himself, entering me slowly, filling me completely with his hard length. The Bond flared, our movements syncing—deep thrusts that hit just right, building pleasure with every stroke. I felt every inch of him, the stretch and friction driving me wild. "Yes, like that," I cried, nails digging into his back.
As climax hit, I held back from biting him in return.
"I'm sorry," I whispered against his shoulder, hating myself for the tears that leaked from the corners of my eyes. "I'm sorry I can't—"
"Don't." He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, the salt tracks of my tears. "Don't apologize for surviving. Don't apologize for protecting yourself."
He reached for the nightstand, pulling out the small vial of suppressant that Dr. Reeves had prescribed.
I drank it without question, feeling the desperate edge of need begin to dull—not disappear, but become something I could live with. Something that wouldn't drive me mad in the hours before I could touch him again.
"Thank you," I breathed, settling back against his chest.
His arms tightened around me. "I wish I could give you more than this. More than stolen hours and temporary relief."
"This is enough." I pressed a kiss to his collarbone, tasting salt and Chase and safety. "For now, this is enough."
"Sleep," he murmured. "I'll wake you before dawn."
And surrounded by his scent, his warmth, the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, I finally let go.
---
I woke to gentle shaking and gray light seeping through the curtains.
"Wynter. It's six thirty."
I sat up, disoriented, my body heavy with sleep. Chase was already dressed, moving with quiet efficiency.
"Combat Training's at eight," he said, handing me my clothes. "You should go."
I dressed quickly, trying to smooth the wrinkles from yesterday's outfit. When I was ready, Chase pulled me close for one more kiss—brief but thorough.
"Be careful today," he murmured. "Stone's class won't be easy."
Unease prickled down my spine. Stone's class. The class I'd been neglecting for weeks.
The class I was probably failing.
"I'll manage," I said, not believing it.
"I know you will." He cupped my face. "Whatever happens—I'm here. Through the Bond, always."
I nodded and let him walk me down. At the exit, he paused. "Text me if you need me."
"I will."
One more kiss, and then I was walking across the empty campus toward the gymnasium, my stomach tight with dread.
---
I was almost to the training hall when I heard Rosalie's voice behind me.
"Wynter! Wait up!"
I turned, forcing a smile as she jogged over. She was already in her training gear, her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. Her eyes swept over me—taking in my wrinkled clothes, my hastily combed hair.
“Why weren't you back last night?” she asked, her tone carefully light.
"Library chairs aren't comfortable." I started walking again. "Fell asleep studying."
"Mmm." She fell into step beside me, and I felt she didn't believe me’. "You know you can tell me things, right? If something's going on—"
"I know." I squeezed her hand. "I promise, I'm okay."
She didn't look convinced, but she let it drop. "Well, we picked a bad day to be tired. Stone's in one of his moods recently."
My stomach sank. "How bad?"
"He failed three students last week." She gave me a worried look. "Wynter, you need to be careful; he's been picking on you in your recent combat classes."
---
The training hall was already filling with students when we entered. I felt their eyes on me immediately—some curious, some hostile, some pitying.
Professor Stone stood at the front, his scarred face impassive. His eyes found me the moment I walked in.
When the bell rang, he didn't waste time. "Before we begin, we need to address some administrative matters." His voice carried easily across the space. "Miss Vaughn. Front and center."
The room went silent. I felt every eye turn toward me as I forced myself to walk forward.
Stone's expression remained neutral. "Your performance this semester has been subpar.. Without passing Combat Training, you cannot remain enrolled at Moonshadow Academy."
The words hit like a punch. Behind me, whispers erupted.
"However, your class's final exam is next week," Stone continued. "The Academy offers remedial tutoring." He turned to the class. "Is any student willing to tutor Miss Vaughn?"
Silence.
The kind that screams. I kept my eyes on Stone, refusing to look at the faces staring at me.
Then Scarlett's voice cut through, sweet and concerned. "I'd love to help, Professor, but I'm worried Wynter needs professional support rather than peer tutoring. I wouldn't want to make things worse."
Laughter rippled through the room. My hands clenched into fists.
Stone's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't reprimand her. "Anyone else?"
More silence.
"Very well." Stone's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "I'll assign someone. Mr. Fletcher—you have the highest scores. You'll tutor Miss Vaughn."
My head snapped up. Every head in the room turned.
Owen Fletcher rose slowly from the back, his expression calm. "Yes, Professor."
Owen's left hand rested casually in his pocket as he added. "I'm happy to help."
The gymnasium exploded into whispers.
Stone turned back to me. "Don't waste this opportunity, Miss Vaughn."
"I won't, Professor."