Chapter 43 Sutton
SUTTON
“And she’ll be discharged in the morning?
” I pause, staring at my front door with the phone pressed to my ear as Dean Bauer relays Sabrina’s condition.
A concussion and some stitches from where she hit one of the music stands as she tumbled into the pit—frankly, much less severe than any of us expected.
“Yes, her mother’s come to stay overnight. They’re only keeping her for observation. Scans showed no signs of internal bleeding or swelling from the fall, but you know the board wants us to be certain.”
“Anything to avoid a lawsuit,” I mutter. It’s why they’re so eager to cover up anything that happens here—all the murders and disappearances, the claims of the supernatural, the unfairness across the campus organizations and their exclusionary practices.
Avernia is the greased wheel that keeps Fury Hill functioning, and it only manages that balance because of how hard people work behind the scenes.
Otherwise, I’m certain the school would no longer be in operation. It likely wouldn’t have seen much past its conception had the founders not been the heart of the corruption.
Hanging up, I let out a long sigh and exit my foyer, stuffing my hands into my pants pockets. Elle sits on my couch with her knees pulled up, arms wrapped tight around them, staring off into space.
There are no lights on, only candles lining the coffee and end tables, casting shadows across her pale skin. She’s even more breathtaking surrounded by flames.
Quincy’s warning blares in my mind, a bright red alarm telling me to make her leave. To stop engaging this way with this student before it ruins our lives, but I can’t.
I don’t fucking want to.
“The good news is the neurological staff at Fury Hill Medical anticipate Sabrina will be just fine,” I say, moving toward the couch. “Bad news is she has to stay overnight, but all things considered…”
Flopping down next to Elle, I stretch my arm over the cushion back and reach for her chin, turning her face toward me.
“That’s great,” she says, moving away from my touch. She looks down at a loose thread in her skirt, wrapping it around one finger and tearing it from the fabric.
I hum in agreement, waiting for her to face me again. To melt into my embrace the way she normally does or at least let me get closer.
When I scoot forward an inch, she clears her throat and leans away. Rejection pulses in my forehead, and I narrow my eyes.
“What are you doing?”
She swallows, her gaze going to the coffee table now. “Nothing? I’m just sitting here.”
“You’re practically hanging off the couch trying to get away from me.” I pause, smoothing my hands over my knees. “Did I do something?”
“No. I’ve just been…thinking.”
My chest tightens. I rub at the sore spot in one of my pecs, a tendril of fear snaking around my spine. What if Quincy spoke to her already?
“All right. Thinking about what?” I force out, even though I don’t really want to know.
She uncurls her fingers, staring at them as if they’re not even attached to her own body. “What do you think this thing between us is?”
I scratch the back of my neck. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve said it before, right? That this… You don’t normally do things like this. That from the moment we met, our connection felt different somehow. Like…fate, maybe, or I don’t know.” Her cheeks burn bright pink. “Maybe not fate, but something that keeps you from being able to stay away?”
“Yes.”
“Do you…honestly believe that?” She glances at me for the first time since we came back to the apartment, her eyes distant. “You believe there could be greater forces at work and no matter how much we tried to resist, we’d still have crossed paths at some point?”
“I wouldn’t agree if I didn’t,” I tell her, cupping her jaw before sliding my hands into her hair. “I believe it, yes. Destiny, fate, kismet—whatever you want to label it. I do not think for a second that we weren’t inevitable.”
“What if that isn’t true though? What if you’re just deluding yourself into feeling better about risking everything for me?”
She exhales, the sound a bit strained, and I realize a beat too late that she’s panicking. Over what exactly, I’m not sure, but I find the fact that she’s this unsettled completely unnerving.
“I wouldn’t risk anything if I didn’t think you were worth it.”
She gnaws on her bottom lip, a blush staining her cheeks. “What if it’s just this school making us think this way? Avernia clearly has influence over its students’ thoughts and even their actions, so what—”
“Do you not think of me as a man capable of making conscious decisions? If I wanted sex, Elle—”
“You could get it, yeah, I know.” She glares. “But what if—”
“We can hypothesize all day long, and the results would remain the same. I would still want you, and you would still want me.”
She nods, leaning her forehead against mine.
I gently push her back until she’s lying flat on the couch and climb over top of her, skimming my hand up her side. She shivers, accepting my touch as it slips beneath the hem of her sweater, over the flat of her stomach.
“Elle.” I brush a strand of hair from her face.
She pinches her eyes shut, inhaling shakily. Two tears leak from the corners of her eyelids, and I bend down, kissing them away.
“What’s the real issue here, temptress?” I whisper, pressing my forehead to hers. “Talk to me.”
“I’m terrified.”
My eyebrows hike into my hairline, and I pull back. “Of me?”
She shrugs. “Of everything. Weird stuff is suddenly happening at rehearsals. I’m supposedly in danger because of Death’s Teeth.
People hate me because of my last name. I don’t know what I’m doing, I have no real plans for my future, and I’m…
scared that something I did a long time ago is catching up with me. ”
“Something you did,” I repeat, cocking my head to the side. “Like an ex? That idiot director you said—”
“No,” she says. “That’s definitely going to catch up with me. I accepted that a long time ago.”
Tension threads through my muscles, drawing them so tight that it becomes hard to move. “If he were to ever come near you, I’d kill him.”
That makes her laugh. “He’s a pretty well-respected director, you know.”
“He’s nothing.” Leaning down, I press a gentle kiss to her collarbone, aware that with every word, every kiss, every time I keep her in my presence, I’m just digging my grave deeper and deeper. But I can’t seem to stop.
Finally, her fingers come to my head, twisting in the ends of my hair. I bite back a moan at how good her touch feels because it’s more than a little pathetic how desperate I am.
“Don’t worry about the play,” I say into her skin, dragging my lips up the column of her throat. “The understudy will step in until Sabrina’s well enough to return, and we’ll move on as expected. It’ll be great. As for Death’s Teeth…”
I don’t have anything good to say about them, but my earlier sentiment remains.
I’d kill them too.
Anyone who intends to hurt her at all.
“Everything will be fine,” I say.
She doesn’t answer, instead rising up to meet me as I dive down for another kiss, done with talking for the night.
Sweaty and shaking, I rip myself from a nightmare—from the fresh scent of burning flesh and blood and eyes that were carved out, begging me to consume them.
My throat is tight as I jerk awake, drenched and struggling to control my heart, which feels like it’s going to beat straight from my chest.
The bedroom is dark, impossible to see even as I lift my hand in front of my face—just to make sure it’s still there. Numbness tingles at the edges of my fingertips, and I rub a circle against my pec, trying to regain sensation.
Heat seeps into my side, short breaths puffing against my collarbone, and for a moment, I tense up. Reaching down, I smooth my palm over the soft head of hair, sliding over the side of her face, familiarizing myself with the contours I learned long ago.
Before I was allowed to really touch her.
Not that this is technically allowed, but here in the secrecy of my home, at least we can pretend.
She stirs, trying to get closer in her sleep; her calf hooks around my waist, bringing her hot little cunt flush with my hip.
I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that she climbed in my bed with nothing but a thin T-shirt and cotton panties, and as I lie there trying to collect myself, I don’t think I’ve ever craved something more.
Wanton desire is nothing new when it comes to Elle, but right now, my body hums at her proximity, still half-asleep and totally enraptured by her.
I run my hands over my face and exhale, settling back on the mattress. My heart thumps erratically behind my rib cage, and as I inhale slowly, I get a whiff of her—honey, vanilla, and a tiny hint of saline clinging to her skin.
When she shifts again, rubbing her crotch lewdly against me, I pinch her cheek to get her to wake up. It takes a moment; she pushes onto her elbow, one hand hovering just above the band of my briefs.
Too close for comfort.
“What is it?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep.
Fuck, she’s sexy. Even the silhouette of her makes my cock throb, dying to be set free.
“Nothing, baby. Go back to bed. Sorry for waking you.”
She nods and starts to lie back down, but her hand slips lower—too low, brushing over the raging erection waiting for her.
I grit my teeth as she pauses, keeping her fingers on me. “Elle…”
“Did you have a nightmare?”
An incredulous laugh tumbles out of me. “I’m not a child, temptress. You don’t need to worry about my sleeping habits.”
“Sex helps keep bad dreams away,” she says softly.
“I’m fine, honestly—”
When she gives me a sharp squeeze over my briefs, I let out a noise of wicked contempt. The cheeky little brat knows what she’s doing, and she seems intent on getting her way this time.