Chapter 64 The Price of Suppression
Chase's POV
The world narrowed to three things: Wynter's burning skin against my chest, the thunder of my boots on stone, and Jax's voice tearing through the air behind me.
"What the hell did you do to her?" His roar echoed off the academy walls, raw with panic. "You're her mate—how did you not know she was this sick?"
I didn't answer. Every ounce of focus went into maintaining my grip on Wynter's limp form as I vaulted down the tower steps three at a time. Her fever was spiking—I could feel it radiating through her clothes, could smell the sickly-sweet taint of something wrong.
"Then help or get out of my way," I bit out, "but don't waste my time when she needs a doctor."
Rosalie's hand touched Jax's elbow and he jerked away with a curse.
I pushed myself faster toward the medical wing. Through the bond—that muted, fog-wrapped connection—I could feel her, but everything came through distorted. What should have been sharp pain registered as dull exhaustion.
The medication had turned the bond into a liar.
---
Dr. Reeves's head snapped up as I burst through the medical wing doors.
"Examination room three. Now."
I laid Wynter on the bed, forcing myself to step back as Dr. Reeves began his examination.
"What happened?"
"We were talking in the gardens. She said she felt dizzy, then collapsed." My hands clenched into fists. "She's been exhausted the past few days. I thought it was stress—"
"Temperature one-oh-four point six. Pulse one-forty. BP ninety over sixty." Dr. Reeves inserted an IV. "Rosalie—when did you last see her?"
"She's been coming back to the dorm at three or four in the morning these past few days," Rosalie said quietly. "Last night she finally admitted she's been staying with Chase. But during the day, she seemed pale. Off."
Something cold settled in my stomach.
"Chase—what are you feeling through the bond right now?"
"Exhaustion. Emptiness. But it's been like that for days. I thought it was emotional." I struggled to articulate it. "The bond feels muffled. Like there's fog between us."
"Since when?"
""Maybe two weeks ago?" The past weeks were a blur. "After things between us got complicated, she reached out to my friend and had him give me a vial, with instructions to take two drops daily. I didn’t want to take it at first, but after we finally broke the ice, I started taking it. I didn't take them consistently at first. Kept forgetting. But the past week or so, I've been more regular."
"What you're describing isn't dampening," Dr. Reeves said, his voice tight. "It's masking. The medication distorts the signal. Makes pain feel like fatigue. Makes distress feel like melancholy."
My stomach dropped. "So when I felt her exhaustion—"
"You were feeling her body shutting down. But the medication made it seem normal."
Dr. Reeves examined Wynter's abdomen. When he pressed below the ribcage, Wynter made a small sound of pain even unconscious.
"Her liver is enlarged and tender. Combined with the fever—acute toxicity." He drew blood. "Bond suppression drops contain wolfsbane extract. Overdose causes liver damage, systemic poisoning."
My mouth went dry. "She said it was safe."
"We've been under a lot of pressure investigating Owen these past few days," I said slowly. "Could she have increased the dosage because of that?"
"Possibly. She might've been feeling really agitated and weighed down, but didn't want you to notice, so she increased the dosage." Dr. Reeves suggested.
He then checked my pulse. "Elevated heart rate. Let me see your eyes." He pulled down my eyelid. "Slight discoloration. You're showing early signs of toxicity too. Much milder."
"But I've been taking it exactly as she said. And only consistently for the past week."
"That explains the mild symptoms—shorter exposure, irregular dosage." Dr. Reeves was already typing. "Mr. Vance. Bond Studies." He looked at Jax. "Can you get him? Emergency."
Jax left at a run.
---
Fifteen minutes later, Jax returned with Mr. Vance, who looked pale and shaken.
"Miss Vaughn is in acute toxicity from bond suppression medication," Dr. Reeves said sharply. "When did you prescribe it?"
Mr. Vance's face went gray. "Three weeks ago. She came to me in distress—the bond pull was unbearable. I gave her two vials, told her two drops daily, maximum four weeks safe usage."
"Did you monitor her? Track refills?"
"She came back twice," Mr. Vance said miserably, pulling out his ledger. "Once at the end of week two, once three days ago. Two vials initially—sixty drops. Then one refill two weeks in—thirty drops. Then another refill three days ago—another thirty drops."
"One hundred twenty drops in three weeks," Dr. Reeves said. "But if she took the first ninety drops over two and a half weeks at standard dosage, then picked up thirty drops three days ago—"
"And used all of them already," I finished, my voice hollow. "Ten drops per day for the past three days."
She'd been managing for weeks. Then Owen happened. Then the fear and stress pushed her over the edge.
"Why didn't you notice the accelerated refill?" Jax demanded. "Three days between visits?"
"She said she'd spilled it," Mr. Vance said weakly. "I had no reason to doubt—"
"You should have done your job," I said flatly. "Now give Dr. Reeves what he needs and get out."
He handed over papers with shaking hands and fled.
Dr. Reeves scanned the documents, then moved to prepare new IV bags. "I can treat this. Activated charcoal, IV hydration, liver support. The toxicity is severe but not irreversible. If we get her through the next twenty-four hours—"
"And Chase?"
"Much milder. Shorter exposure, irregular dosage. He'll need supportive care but should recover fully."
"Chase took about fourteen to twenty drops over two weeks—only consistently for the past week. Wynter took one hundred twenty drops over three weeks, with thirty in the past days alone. That spike in dosage—that's what caused the acute crisis."
He began setting up treatment. "The medication is only approved for four weeks maximum. She's at week three, but given her current state, I wouldn't recommend she take it anymore. Her liver needs to recover."
"So when she wakes up," I said slowly, "she'll have to face the bond pull without medication."
"Yes," Dr. Reeves said quietly. "The medication doesn't damage the bond—once it's metabolized in five to seven days, the connection will return. Full force. Without the distortion."
Wynter would wake to find her coping mechanism gone and the bond screaming the truth at her again.
She'd have to choose—complete the bond, or live with the agonizing pull.
And I would have to let her choose.
"I'm staying with her," I said, moving to Wynter's bedside.
Dr. Reeves didn't argue. "If you start feeling worse, tell me immediately."
I nodded, taking Wynter's hand. Through the bond—still muffled, still lying—I felt that whisper of connection. But now I knew what it was hiding.
The hours blurred together—monitor checks, medication adjustments, the quiet rhythm of waiting.
Around midnight, Dr. Reeves smiled slightly. "Fever's down to one-oh-one. Liver enzymes stabilizing. She's responding to treatment."
"She's going to be okay?" Rosalie asked.
"She's fighting. The next twelve hours are critical, but I'm cautiously optimistic."
Relief made me dizzy. I pressed my forehead against Wynter's hand.
"Thank you," I said, my voice breaking.
"Thank me when she wakes up," Dr. Reeves said gently.
---
Hours later, around three in the morning, Wynter's fingers twitched in mine.
"Wynter?" I leaned forward. "Can you hear me?"
Her eyelids fluttered but didn't open. Her lips parted slightly—not words, just a breath, but more than she'd given in hours.
"She's starting to respond," Dr. Reeves said, checking her pupils. "Her body is fighting off the toxins. This is very good."
"When will she wake up?"
"Hard to say. Could be hours, could be tomorrow. But these are positive signs."
I squeezed Wynter's hand gently. "I'm here," I whispered. "I'm not going anywhere. Take your time. Fight as long as you need. And when you wake up—we'll figure this out together."