Fever Pitch: Confessions in the Firelight

The fire's warmth had been comforting at first, but now my skin felt like it was crawling. Every breath seemed harder than the last, my throat parched and scratchy. Something was wrong with me, terribly wrong.

"I need water," I whispered to no one in particular, pushing myself up from the couch where we'd been gathered.

My legs wobbled beneath me as I made my way toward the kitchen, the others engrossed in conversation behind me. The cool tile against my bare feet provided momentary relief, but it wasn't enough. I fumbled for a glass, filled it from the tap, and gulped down the water so quickly some spilled down my chin.

It didn't help. If anything, I felt worse.

I needed air. Fresh air might clear my head. I stumbled through the unfamiliar layout of Mr. Vance's home, following the faint breeze until I reached a set of glass doors leading outside.

The night air hit my feverish skin, and I gasped at the sensation. Stars glittered overhead as I made my way across the patio, drawn by the gentle sound of water. In the distance, I could make out the shape of the pool, its surface rippling under soft lights.

And someone swimming.

I froze, realizing too late I wasn't alone. Mr. Vance cut through the water with powerful strokes, his broad shoulders glistening wet above the surface. I should have turned back immediately, but my feet seemed rooted to the spot, my eyes unable to look away from him.

He must have sensed my presence because he suddenly stopped, raising his head from the water. Our eyes met across the distance, and I felt an inexplicable pull in my core.

"I'm sorry," I managed to say, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears. "I was looking for some water. I'll go back inside."

Mr. Vance's expression was unreadable as he treaded water. "Are you feeling alright, Miss Thorne?"

"I'm fine," I lied. "Just a little overheated from sitting near the fire."

He studied me for a moment longer, clearly unconvinced. "Perhaps you should return to your bonds."

The word "bonds" sent an unexpected wave of heat coursing through me. I nodded quickly and turned to leave, mortified that he'd caught me staring at him half-dressed in his pool. But as I took a step, a searing pain shot through my abdomen.

I gasped, doubling over. This wasn't normal. Something was seriously wrong.

Somehow, I made it back inside, each step more painful than the last. My vision blurred around the edges as sweat beaded on my forehead. I needed to get back to my bonds. They would know what to do.

The hallway seemed endless. Another wave of pain hit me, and my knees buckled. I caught myself against the wall, breathing heavily.

"Rhys," I tried to call out, but my voice was barely a whisper. "Jax. Anyone."

My legs gave out completely. As I slid to the floor, panic set in. What was happening to me? Was I dying?

Through the haze of pain, I registered the sound of wet footsteps approaching rapidly. Strong arms scooped me up, and I found myself pressed against a cool, damp chest.

"Hazel."

Mr. Vance's voice rumbled against my cheek. I couldn't respond, could only whimper as another spasm wracked my body.

"You're burning up," he said, his tone urgent as he carried me effortlessly down the hallway.

The pain receded slightly, replaced by an entirely different sensation—a deep, pulsing need that made me press closer to him without thinking. His scent enveloped me—chlorine, pine, and something uniquely him. I found myself burying my face against his neck.

"What are you doing?" he asked sharply, his steps faltering.

"I don't know," I whispered, horrified but unable to pull away. "I'm sorry. I don't—I can't—"

"WAKE UP!" Mr. Vance suddenly roared, his voice thundering through the house. "ALL OF YOU! NOW!"

The harsh command jolted through me, and I curled tighter in his arms, trembling. Distantly, I heard the sound of doors opening, footsteps rushing toward us.

"What happened?" Rhys's voice, tense with worry. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing," Mr. Vance replied, his chest vibrating against my cheek. "She was getting water and collapsed."

More voices joined in—Jax's angry demands, Silas's concerned questions, Ronan's soft reassurances. I felt myself being lowered onto something soft, but when Mr. Vance tried to step away, panic seized me.

"Don't go," I pleaded, grabbing his wrist. The contact sent another shockwave through me, and I moaned involuntarily.

His eyes widened, and something like pained recognition flashed across his face.

"Hazel, let go of Mr. Vance," Rhys said gently, kneeling beside me. "We're here now. Your bonds are here."

I turned toward his familiar voice, his beloved face swimming into focus. The pull I felt toward him was immediate and intense—a visceral need I couldn't explain.

"Rhys," I gasped, reaching for him instead. "Something's wrong with me."

Gradually, I became aware of a conversation happening around me—urgent whispers about "heat" and "privacy." Landon appeared briefly before being ushered away. Then Mr. Vance was kneeling beside me, taking my hand when I reached for him.

"I'm here," he said, his voice strained. "We're all here."

The world blurred again as another wave of pain and need crashed over me. I heard more discussion, felt myself being lifted once more into Mr. Vance's arms. His skin was still damp from the pool, cool against my burning flesh.

After that, things grew confusing—a procession through hallways, being placed on a massive bed, concerned faces hovering above me. Hands touched me, checked my temperature, stroked my hair back from my sweaty forehead.

Someone—Silas, I think—was explaining something about female Greys and heat cycles, rare conditions and triggers. The words washed over me without meaning, drowned out by the roaring in my ears.

"She needs one of us," I heard Jax say, his voice tight with restraint. "Just one, at first. The rest should wait outside."

"Who?" Ronan asked.

There was a moment of silence, then Rhys said, "I'll stay with her. I've known her the longest."

No one argued. I felt the mattress dip as the others rose to leave. The door clicked shut, and suddenly it was just Rhys and me in the large, unfamiliar room.

"Haze," he said softly, brushing his fingers across my cheek. "Do you understand what's happening?"

I shook my head weakly. "Am I sick?"

"No, sweetheart. You're not sick." His smile was gentle but strained. "Your body is going through something natural for female Greys, especially powerful ones. It's called a heat."

"Like animals?" I croaked, mortified.

"Not exactly. It's more complex for us. But the need is similar." His thumb traced my bottom lip. "Your body is calling for your bonds, asking us to care for you. To help you through this."

The ache inside me intensified at his words, centering low in my abdomen and spreading outward. I clutched at his shirt. "It hurts, Rhys."

"I know. I can help, if you'll let me."

I nodded without hesitation, beyond embarrassment now. Rhys leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine, his breath mingling with my own.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his eyes searching mine.

"Yes," I breathed. "Please. I need you."

His lips met mine then, soft at first, then hungrier as my body responded instantly. The pain receded, replaced by an intense pleasure that made me gasp against his mouth. His hands moved reverently over my heated skin, his touch both soothing and igniting.

I pulled him closer, needing more, needing everything he could give me. His familiar weight pressed me into the mattress, grounding me when I felt like I might float away from the sensations overwhelming me.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against my neck, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin that made me tremble. "So perfect. I've wanted you from the moment I saw you."

His confession sent a new surge of heat through me, different from the fever—this was pure emotion, connection, belonging.

Our bodies found each other naturally, as if we'd done this a hundred times before. Every touch, every kiss seemed to dial down the frantic need, replacing it with something deeper, more meaningful.

I clung to him as we moved together, the physical pleasure intertwining with something much more profound. This wasn't just about satisfying a biological imperative; this was Rhys—my first friend in this strange new world, my confidant, my protector.

"I love you," he whispered against my ear, his voice breaking with emotion. "I love you so much, Hazel."

The words pierced through everything—the heat, the pleasure, the confusion. Tears sprang to my eyes as I looked up at him, at his beautiful face so open and vulnerable above me.

"I love you too," I whispered back, surprised by how true it was. I hadn't realized until this moment how deeply my feelings for him ran. "I love you, Rhys."

His smile was radiant, even as his eyes grew damp. He kissed me again, pouring everything into it—all his tenderness, all his devotion.

"I've wanted to tell you for so long," he confessed between kisses. "I was afraid it was too soon, that you might not feel the same way."

"I do," I assured him, running my fingers through his soft hair. "I didn't know how much until now."

We lost ourselves in each other after that, the connection between us transcending the physical. Each touch felt like a promise, each kiss like a declaration. The heat in my body cooled to a manageable simmer, no longer painful but pleasantly warm.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed when a soft knock came at the door. We lay tangled together, his arms wrapped protectively around me, my head resting on his chest.

"Hazel? Rhys?" Silas called through the door. "Is everything okay? Can we come in?"

Reality came crashing back. I was in Mr. Vance's bed, in Mr. Vance's house. And he had carried me here while I'd clung to him pathetically, practically nuzzling his neck like a desperate animal.

"Oh my god," I groaned, burying my face against Rhys's chest. "Mr. Vance found me like that. He saw me when I was—when I couldn't control—"

Rhys quickly tapped his ear, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. The gesture was clear: Vance might still be listening.

I froze, mortification washing over me in a fresh wave. Had the Headmaster heard everything? My declaration of love to Rhys? The sounds I'd made? My cheeks burned so hot I thought they might catch fire.

Rhys kissed my forehead reassuringly. "Don't worry about him right now," he whispered. "Focus on getting through this. We're all here for you."

But as Silas called through the door again, I couldn't shake the feeling that something significant had shifted tonight—not just between Rhys and me, but in the complex web connecting all of us, including the aloof, enigmatic Headmaster who had carried me in his arms when I needed him most.