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Darren
I stand before her, my feelings shifting between red-hot lust and concern. I don’t like what I’ve found. Avon’s pulse is weaker than it should be, her skin translucent, and she looks as if she’s wilting right before my eyes. There’s a fragility seeping out of her pores that makes something pinch in my chest.
I clear my throat, struggling to keep my voice steady. "I'll be back tomorrow, and take your blood," I say, trying to mask the worry creeping into my tone.
She nods, her fingers fumbling to button up her dress. The sight of her delicate hands struggling with the simple task causes a low fury to simmer in me. I’ve always kept myself emotionally sterile, distant, and in control. But this is different. Avon is different. I try not to stare at her soft skin. Or the blush colored bra, decorated with tiny flowers. I shouldn’t lust after her. She’s too young. Sick. I’m sick too for wanting to examine her in unprofessional ways.
She stands and follows me out into the lobby, her steps unsteady. I keep a close eye on her, ready to catch her if she falters. When we reach the grand entrance, I turn to face her and choose to shake hands.
I usually don’t shake hands, don’t like touching my patients more than necessary but I like touching her. Her hand is small in mine. Weak. I could break those bones with one squeeze if I wanted to. I abruptly let go, disturbed by the fact that her poor health disturbs me.
"I’ll be at the manor tomorrow at ten o’clock sharp," I tell her, my voice firmer now.
She meets my gaze. "I’m looking forward to it.” A small, finally not so fragile smile plays on her lips. ”And hopefully you'll work on your bedside manners until then."
Before I can respond, she closes the door in my face. The sound echoes through my ears, leaving me standing on the doorstep, feeling like a complete bastard. She’s not entirely wrong. I should’ve handled the consultation better. Annoyed with myself, I turn and head to my motorcycle, my mind a mess.
I swing my leg over the bike and rev the engine, the powerful roar vibrating through me. As I drive out of the courtyard, I find myself wanting to circle back, drive straight back to that door and demand to have more time with her.
The wind whips past me, cool and sharp, but it does nothing to clear the confusion in my head. This morning when I woke up, I thought this would be like any other day. What I didn’t expect was her.
There’s no denying she’s gotten under my skin, and it’s going to take more than a logical approach to get her out.
And I’m not just racing away from a patient. I’m racing away from the unfamiliar emotions she makes me feel. Emotions I know will be the end of me.
***
Avon
I close the door behind Dr. Deathweather, my heart hammering in my chest. Leaning against the door for support, I listen to the sound of his motorcycle grow distant until it fades completely. The air in the house is almost oppressive, as if his presence still lingers, thick enough to cut with a sword.
I press a hand to my forehead, feeling weak and feverish. I’m not sure if it’s my illness or just the effect he has on me. His coldness, his piercing gaze—it excites me in ways I didn’t expect. Malva likes sweet guys. I thought I did too, but apparently not. My breath comes in short, shallow gasps as I make my way to my room, my legs trembling beneath me.
Sinking onto my bed, I reach for my laptop, my curiosity getting the better of me. I need to know more about the doctor and I type his name into the search bar.
The search brings up a flurry of results—articles, medical journals, and reviews from patients. I click on the first link, my eyes scanning the page eagerly. He’s a renowned physician, known for his unorthodox methods and impeccable success rate. There are numerous awards for his contributions to medical science, and even a few newspaper articles highlighting his most famous cases.
My cheeks grow warmer as I read. The more I learn about him, the more intrigued I become. His brilliance is evident, but so is his reputation for being icily detached. A man who lives and breathes his work, leaving little room for anything—or anyone—else.
Just as I’m finishing an article, Malva appears in the doorway. Her presence startles me, and I quickly close the laptop, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks. I don’t want her to know I’m cyber stalking him.
"How did the consultation go?" she asks, her voice a little hoarse.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "It was... intense. He’s coming back tomorrow to run some tests."
”So soon?” Malva says, her brow furrowing slightly. "I hope he’s not milking you for money," she murmurs.
Her comment makes my shoulders slump with disappointment. It’s not like that, I want to say, but I can’t find the words. Instead, I look down, my fingers twisting together nervously.
Sensing my unease, Malva’s expression softens. ”I’m just trying to look after you, you know,” she says in a cheerful tone, trying to lift my spirits. ”That’s what I do.”
I offer her a small smile, feeling a bit reassured. "I know you do," I reply softly. ”But I doubt he’s after my money. He’s a respectable doctor, just... very stern."
Malva moves closer to sit beside me on the bed. ”Hope he didn’t do anything wrong.” Her eyes widen a little. ”It’s not like he…touched you inappropriately or anything, right?”
I twitch. ”What? No," I gasp, horrified. "He wouldn’t take advantage of me like that."
She pats my hand gently. ”Just checking. But please be cautious around him for me. This isn’t an easy position you’re in and he could easily overpower you.”
