The S class Guide belongs to the Duke

~Chapter 13~

His fingers locked around her wrist like iron, and every attempt she made to pull free only dragged more of her energy into the cracked void of his core.

"My lord— you need to let go of me so I can fetch someone."

A moan. Not an answer.

“I mean it. Let go."

Nothing. And under her collar the mark was beginning to warm.

A red system window flared behind her eyes.

[Warning: Stamina critically low. Guiding an S-Class Esper at current capacity will result in severe host damage. Estimated safe duration: Five minutes. Host is advised to terminate session immediately.]

Like I currently have a choice, she thought, almost cursing at the stupid system.

“Sir—Lord Cedric—I need to get help.”

Only a broken moan answered her.

She prayed to any goddess who might be listening. The prayer died unfinished when he hauled her forward. Her body collided with the hard plane of his chest. Heat flooded her cheeks. He buried his face against the side of her neck and inhaled like a drowning man finally finding air.

Elewisa froze. Her whole body went hot from the throat outward. She could feel the rasp of his stubble and the wet heat of his breath and the hard line of his nose pressed under her ear, and she could feel, too, the terrible dragging pull of him taking everything she had.

“Sir—"

She shoved at his shoulders. “Please—stop—”

“Don’t,” he rasped against her skin. “Please.”

One word. Rough. Desperate. Something in it made her hands go still.

His mouth opened against her throat. The first wet stroke of his tongue sent a shock straight down her spine. She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper, furious at herself because the sensation felt good—shamefully, stupidly good. He was a duke. An S-Class. A man who should never have touched a maid this way. Yet her body arched the tiniest bit closer. She stared at the ceiling and felt her own pulse hammering under his lips.

This was wrong. He was a duke. He was the Duke. He had told her she was a fool in front of two armies and she had told him to mind his own affairs, and now she was kneeling on the floor of an inn with his tongue at her throat.

She liked it. Gods help her, she liked it.

Another system warning pulsed.

[Warning: Host stamina critical.]

[Stamina: 18 %. Mark Concealment: 3 minutes remaining.]

Her vision blurred at the edges. Still he held her.

“More,” he growled, the vibration rolling against her throat.

His hand slid down slowly, caught the hem of her skirt, and dragged it upward. Rough fingertips traced the bare skin of her thigh. Electric heat followed every path they took. She sucked in a sharp breath.

“Fuck,” he muttered against her neck, already moving lower, mouth open, teeth grazing the sensitive place where her pulse hammered. His free hand found the ties of her blouse and tugged. The fabric loosened. Cool air kissed the upper curve of her breasts.

Cedric’s mind was half-lost in fever, yet the warmth pouring into him was unlike anything any Guide had ever given. Clean. Perfect. Addictive. He wanted to devour it, claim it, own every drop until nothing else existed.

Elewisa glanced down.

His eyes were open—dark, glassy, unfocused. He wasn’t truly present. The knowledge should have stopped her. Instead it only made the heat in her belly twist tighter. She looked away, cheeks burning, just as his mouth found the peak of one breast through the thin fabric.

He teased the hardened nipple with his tongue, then his teeth. A helpless gasp tore from her throat.

What is this feeling? she thought wildly. She had never been touched like this. Never wanted anything the way she suddenly wanted more of it.

He played with both peaks, rough thumb and wet mouth, until her back arched of its own accord. Then, without warning, he yanked the blouse and shift down, baring her completely to the dim lamplight.

The cold hit her first, and then the way he looked at her — up from under his brow, unfocused, starving.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, voice raw, staring at her bare breast as if the sight itself might kill him.

He latched onto one nipple and sucked hard.

Elewisa's head went back so hard her hood slipped and she moaned his name into the dark of the room like a fool. "Duke Cedric — please—"

She didn’t know what she was begging for. Only that the wet heat of his mouth and the rough drag of his thumb on the other breast were winding something tight and glowing at the center of her. Energy surged. Pleasure gathered, sharp and terrifying, ready to break.

Her fingers tangled in his dark hair and pulled him closer. Her hips shifted against him without permission. Something was happening—something she couldn’t name, couldn’t stop—

Then everything cut off.

The draining stopped. The heat vanished. Cedric slumped forward, dead weight across her lap, face pressed to her bare chest, breath suddenly even and deep.

Elewisa stared down at him, heart slamming, blouse still shoved beneath her breasts, skirt rucked to her hips. Footsteps thundered in the corridor. Voices. The door handle turned.

She barely had time to yank her clothes into place and dive for the narrow cupboard beside the wardrobe before the door swung wide.

“Oh my goodness—Captain!”

Nevan’s voice cracked through the room. He rushed to the figure on the floor, dropped to his knees, and hauled Cedric upright with surprising strength for a B-Class Guide.

“How did you fall off the bed, Captain? Talk to me.”

A second set of footsteps entered—quieter, measured. The healer, a thin man in gray robes, knelt at once and pressed two fingers to Cedric’s throat, then to the mark on the side of his neck.

“You’re saying this man was in full core collapse?” Nevan demanded. “Rampage threshold?”

“He was,” the healer answered, frowning. “His aura was shredding itself an hour ago. But look.” He gestured at the steady rise and fall of Cedric’s chest. “His Core’s stable.”

Nevan's head came round. "Stable?"

"That's what I said."

“Energy pathways clean. Pulse strong. He looks… fine.”

Nevan stared. “That’s impossible unless he received guiding. Proper guiding. And no one has ever been able to give him that in years.”

“Maybe he received guiding while you were away?”

“Still not possible,” Nevan thought for a while.

“The only Guide who tried tonight nearly put him through the floor with pain.”

The healer sat back on his heels, thoughtful. “Late reaction, perhaps. Delayed integration of residual energy. I’ve seen stranger things after an S-Class episode. Whatever happened, the patient is out of danger.”

Nevan exhaled hard, relief and suspicion warring on his face. “All right. Thank you. I’ll take it from here.”

He walked the healer to the door, spoke a few low words, and shut it firmly behind him. The latch clicked.

Silence settled.

Inside the cupboard, Elewisa pressed both hands to her chest, trying to quiet the frantic hammer of her heart. Her mark still burned faintly beneath the fabric. The concealment timer had to be nearly gone. One wrong move, one second of residual glow, and everything ended.

She waited until Nevan’s footsteps moved toward the bed again, then eased the cupboard door open just enough to slip out. The corridor beyond the room was empty. She stepped into it on silent feet, still clutching the front of her blouse closed.

“That was close,” she whispered to the empty hallway, voice shaking.

She risked one last glance through the half-open door. Cedric lay on the bed now, dark hair spilled across the pillow, face finally peaceful. The same face that had looked at her bare breasts like a starving man. The same mouth that had said don’t, please and then more.

Heat flooded her cheeks all over again.

She turned and ran—soft, desperate steps down the servants’ stair—before Nevan could glance up and find her standing there with the taste of almost-discovery still burning on her tongue.

Behind her, in the quiet room, Cedric’s fingers twitched once against the sheets, as if searching for something that was no longer there.