20. Fever Dreams
Fever Dreams
~ELIZABETH~
" W here are we going?" I ask as James guides me through the halls, his hand steady at the lower part of my back.
The warmth of his palm seeps through my uniform, a constant reminder of his presence that both comforts and unsettles me.
I’ve missed him…
It’s hard for me to admit that to myself.
That time has passed so swiftly…to lead us to this moment that feels like a typical day back then when we walked through the locker-filled halls with determined hopes and dreams.
Neither of us knew our lives were going to change.
Me…becoming an Omega…
And I guess him…ending up being an Alpha.
"You'll see," he replies, his voice carrying that familiar tone of amused confidence I remember so well from our Harvard days. "If you trust me, you won't panic about it."
I frown at that, though I can't deny the truth.
I do trust him.
Could be proven stupid, but I don’t see him betraying me. He could have back there, but instead, he saved me from my inevitable demise.
Even after five years…after everything that's happened, some part of me still instinctively knows James won't lead me into danger. It's the same part that recognized his scent earlier and felt a sense of peace despite the turmoil brewing at the surface.
The suite he leads me into takes my breath away.
It's not just nice — it's spectacular.
The space opens into a living area that would make five-star hotels jealous. Cream-colored walls adorned with abstract art in muted golds and blues, create an atmosphere of refined luxury. The ceiling features subtle recessed lighting that bathes everything in a warm, welcoming glow.
A massive L-shaped sofa in rich navy leather dominates one corner, accented with pillows in various textures that look soft enough to sink into. Beside it, a hand-knotted Persian rug in deep blues and golds anchors the space, its intricate patterns drawing the eye.
The air itself feels different here — cleaner, fresher, with subtle notes of sandalwood and vanilla. They must filter this atmosphere to match the prestige appearance that make any commoner feel like they entered another country.
It's such a stark contrast to the musty staleness of my dorm that it almost makes me dizzy.
Through an archway, I catch glimpses of what must be the bedroom. The king-sized bed is a masterpiece of luxury, dressed in what looks like Egyptian cotton in a deep charcoal gray.
Above it, a crystal chandelier casts prismatic patterns across the walls.
How can this exist in Knot Academy? How have I never known about these spaces?
My mind spins as I try to process not just this hidden luxury, but everything that's happened this morning.
The confrontation in Phillips's office feels almost surreal now, like something out of a fever dream. The past few days have been overwhelming enough with Carter, Felix, and Holmes entering my life, but now with James's sudden appearance and the revelation of his true power in this grand society...
It's all too much.
Everything feels like it's moving too fast, events spiraling beyond my control. The James I knew at Harvard was ambitious, yes, but this version of him, this powerful, dangerous Alpha who can make administrators tremble with a look and acknowledgment of his surname, make me feel like meeting a stranger wearing a familiar face.
A stranger who still makes my heart race when he looks at me.
"Sit," he instructs, guiding me toward the sofa. The leather is butter-soft against my skin, and I sink into it before I can stop myself.
Wow. This has to be imported because there’s no way it was made here.
"If this is your way of sweetening me up," I say, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy despite how the room seems to be slowly tilting, "it's kind of working."
His smirk is achingly familiar as he disappears into what must be the bathroom - all marble and chrome from what I glimpse — returning moments later with a cold towel.
“Do you take heat suppressants?” His question is random, but then again, with everything that happened, maybe it’s a reasonable question.
“Yes,” I admit, trying to think of when I last took my dose. It’s a daily thing, which means I should have took it today…and yesterday…
Yet, I can’t recall when the last day I took it was.
Was it two days ago? Maybe on audition day? Or the night before cause I always take it at night because it makes me drowsy? I…hmmm. It’s so hard to think right now.
"Lie down," James says, his tone leaving no room for argument. The command in his voice sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with my rising temperature.
"Why?" I can see why with how the room is spinning but I don’t want to lose in whatever argument this is brewing to become.
I can’t fathom losing in general.
"Can you not be stubborn for once?" he suggests.
"I'm not stubborn," I protest, crossing my arms. "I'm observant."
"Oh?" His eyebrow arches. "If you're so observant, maybe you would have noticed you're burning up."
Am I? Nah. He’s hallucinating.
"I'm not!" I press my hand to my forehead for emphasis. "See? Cold as ice."
To be fair, my hand feels clammy in comparison to my forehead that I realize is drenched with beads of sweat, but I’m not admitting that shit. I’m too far gone now.
He groans, moving my hand aside to replace it with his own.
"Fuck, Elizabeth, you're hot as hell."
I grin like he’s caught onto my diabolical come back.
"I know I'm hot as hell," I quip, trying to deflect. "No need to state the obvious."
Another groan escapes him.
"Just be pretty and shut up."
"Make me."
The words hang between us, charged with five years' worth of tension. His eyes darken as they meet mine, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
Then he looks at my lips…as though they’re forbidden fruit he absolutely can’t touch.
"God, you're tempting the devil," he mutters, but then his lips are on mine in a heartbeat, and thinking becomes impossible.
The kiss is both familiar and new — his lips moving against mine with the same passionate intensity I remember, but there's an edge of desperation now that wasn't there before. His hand cups my face, thumb stroking my cheek as his tongue traces the seam of my lips.
Memories flood my mind: late-night studying that turned into make out sessions, stolen kisses between classes after heated debates and venomous glares. The way he used to look at me like I was the only person in the world who could ever challenge him.
Would things be different if I hadn't run?
The thought brings others with it — questions about his father, about his involvement in the mafia.
Was he always part of that world and I never noticed? Or did something happen in the years I was gone?
The room starts spinning as the lack of oxygen makes my head light.
I break the kiss, intending to ask at least one of the questions burning in my mind, but the world tilts sharply.
"I got you," James's voice comes from somewhere far away as strong arms catch me. I want to protest, but a weak whimper leaves my parted lips instead.
He lowers me gently to the sofa, and I try to focus on his face, but my eyes won't cooperate. They’re rolling back as if they can’t help the drop, my body tingling with various sensations, yet feeling numb all at the same time.
Everything feels too hot, too intense, but I can’t control anything as I’m a victim of this spiraling catastrophe of sensations.
The last thing I register is the cool press of the towel against my forehead and James's worried voice saying something I can't quite make out.
“Rest…baby girl…I’ve…always…” I strain to hear the final words. “Got you. Always, Eli.”
Then darkness claims me.