The devil doctor

His emotions

*Bill*

Standing in a darkened corner of the terrace, I sip the whiskey I’ve pilfered from the library. I prefer the bite of hard liquor to champagne. It’s more in line with the darkness that resides inside me.

Dancing with Wicky, the Luna of Riverdale, is my favorite moment of the year. Even though the activity is pure torment.

Three years ago, I did what was necessary to save her, although not everything was exactly legal. Not that I’ve ever suffered any guilt over skirting the law. But I’m not certain she would be as accepting of my wrongdoing. As a matter of fact, I’m rather certain she would despise me for my role in her husband’s demise, and so I keep my distance when I would prefer to close the gap between us.

Or at least explore the possibility of closing it. I’m drawn to her in ways I’ve never been drawn to another she-wolf. She possesses a vulnerability that I suspect hides a reservoir of strength, and I would dearly love to help her uncover that secret about herself, but I fear her discovery of my secrets.

My secrets that could very well destroy not only her but every other soul I care about.

So for two years now, I have come to this blasted ball. I dance once with her. I inhale her jasmine fragrance, feel the heat of her skin seeping through her clothes and my gloves to mingle with the warmth of my hands. I gaze into her somber brown eyes, and wish to the Goddess that I possessed the power to make her laugh.

I study her crooked nose, which in spite of its origins I find endearing, and wonder if she’s aware how many times she rubs the bridge of it, how many times she seems to try to hide it. I’m familiar with the scar across her eyebrow, the one on her cheek, and the faint one on the underside of her chin that she might not even know is there. I find no fault with them, as they are signs of survival, but I loathe the reasons that she possesses them.

Still, I often think of how it would feel to trail my mouth over them, and wonder if in the process I would heal the inner hurts with as much success as I’ve managed to heal the outer ones.

I long to remove the pins from her mahogany hair. I doubt she’s aware that during some of her moments of delirium I brushed it to keep it from becoming so infested with tangles that it would need to be shorn. It falls to her waist, and is so beautiful. As beautiful as she is. I could gaze into her brown eyes for hours, but I’ve done all the gazing I allow myself for the night. One dance. A few moments. I dare not torture myself further by taking more. My ability to resist her is on a weak tether.

I down the contents of the tumbler before setting it aside on the railing. Time to be off, to find another she-wolf to distract me from my desires. Although unfortunately, since I’ve met her, all other she-wolves pale in comparison, leaving me wanting. I often work myself to exhaustion simply so I won’t carry her into my dreams, because she never wears a stitch of clothing there, and my frustration with past actions merely increases. But even knowing the price I pay, I would do it again without hesitation. I would do anything at all to protect her.

Turning on my heel, I pause as I see the Luna descending the steps that lead into the garden. I shouldn’t follow her. She might have arranged a tryst, but I seem incapable of stopping my legs from making short work of closing the distance separating us. “My Luna?”

Stopping, she faces me. Within the pale light cast by the gas lamps that line the path, I see her slight smile. Gentle, warm, welcoming. She is the kindest person I’ve ever known. In my youth I longed for one kind touch, one sweet caress that would ease all the hurts. I imagine she would be a balm to my harsh soul.

“I do wish you would call me Wicky,” she says softly.

“You’re a Luna; I’m a commoner.”

“A commoner who serves as one of the queen’s many physicians. I would say that makes you uncommon, Dr. Grimley.”

Ignoring her argument… I need nothing to create a sense of intimacy between us that might weaken my resolve to remain aloof… I say, “Should you be out here alone?”

“It’s my garden. As a widow, I have no need of a chaperone.” She looks back over her shoulder. “It’s such a crush in there, which is a great benefit to the cause, but I was beginning to feel as though I were suffocating. I just needed a bit of fresh air, so I thought to take a quick turn about the garden. Would you care to join me?”

I know the correct answer, the safe answer. Instead I hear myself uttering neither. “I would, very much.”

Then I do something equally stupid: I offer her my arm. She places her small hand on the crook of my elbow, and while I wear a shirt and jacket, I can still feel the indentation of each finger through the cloth until I would swear that she is burning a brand onto my skin. Her head is a good six inches below my shoulder. She is such a tiny thing, which makes me even angrier when I think of her brute of a mate taking his fists to her, before holding her down and forcing himself on her. He got what he deserved, and I have no regrets about it. If it adds the weight of guilt to my own conscience so be it. It wasn’t the first time.

A cool breeze wafts through the lovely summer evening, holding the fog at bay. A few other couples are walking about. The whisperings of some who have strayed from the path mingle with the chirping of insects. The darkness creates an intimacy that makes it easy to believe that secrets can be kept here.

“Why does the queen require so many physicians?” the Luna asks.

Because she suffers greatly from hypochondria. Not that I am about to share that information. I do not discuss the ailments of those I attend. “She’s the queen and wants to ensure she stays healthy for her subjects. Sometimes it helps to have more than one opinion on a matter. Medicine is not an exact science, and we still have much to learn.”

“It must be fascinating, though, to see all that you do.”

“Fascinating, heartbreaking. I prefer the days when my patients recover to the days when they don’t.”

“Strange, but I never considered that you lose patients. I suppose I was so near death when you brought me around that I believe you can accomplish miracles,” she says.

“Hardly. I am but a man, not a miracle worker.”

We are farther into the garden now, away from the lights, but my eyes have adjusted and I can see clearly where we are going. No other couples seem to be about. We should turn around. But then I don’t always do the things I should.

“Do you know much about the workings of the brain?” she asks.

“I’ve managed to remove a tumor or two, quite successfully. Are you experiencing headaches?” I don’t like the notion of her suffering further. She’d experienced enough pain at the hands of her mate to last a lifetime, but I am well acquainted with the fact that people don’t always get the carefree existence they deserve.

“No, not at all. It’s forgetfulness mostly. It’s silly really. I have a sapphire necklace that I’d planned to wear with this gown but when I went to retrieve it from the safe in my bedchamber, it was gone.”

“Stolen, then.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know. The safe was closed up tight. Who would steal it? The servants have been in my employ for years. Why would they suddenly begin pilfering? Although to be honest, it’s more than that single incident. There have been other things happening that have given me cause for concern.”

“Such as?”

“It seems that I keep misplacing things. I don’t know why I’m so forgetful of late.”

I stop walking, place my hands on her shoulders, and turn her so she faces me directly. I’d removed my gloves when I’d left the salon in search of a stronger drink. It takes all my inner strength to not take my palms on a leisurely sojourn over her silken bared skin, not to peel off her gloves, not to toy with her hair, not to take advantage of this moment when she is gazing at me with such earnestness.

Forcing my errant thoughts back to the matter at hand, I wish I had more light, had my instruments with me so I could examine her eyes more closely. From caring for her before, I am quite familiar with the brown depths, the darker circle around her iris, the small golden flecks that catch the light. “You took quite a blow to the head three years ago. What you’re experiencing could be a result of an injury that I failed to properly diagnose.”

“But why only now?”

“When did it start?”

She shakes her head, and I find myself wishing that her movements would loosen the pins, until her hair escapes its bonds and I could tunnel my fingers through it. Why is it always so hard with her to be the impersonal physician I have been trained to be? I am supposed to look at her as an object to be analyzed, not a she-wolf to be explored.

“Two, three months ago,” she says lightly, completely unaware of the turmoil wreaking havoc with me. “Right after I came back to Blackrock city for the mating Season. Would damage to my brain take that long to manifest itself?”

I don’t think so, but as I’d told her, the medical community is still learning things about the body and conditions still. “Have you had any other blow to the head recently? Any accident? Have you fallen?”

“No, nothing. And I’m sorry.” She laughs lightly, a tinkling of bells that causes my gut to tighten with the memory of the first time I’d heard the sweet sound. She was watching her young son play with Frannie in my garden, and her delight had given me my first sprig of hope that she would indeed recover, that I had managed to discover every injury that needed tending. But now I have to wonder if I have overlooked something, something vital that might plague her for the remainder of her years. “I didn’t mean to cause you undue worry. Tonight is supposed to be for merriment.”

But I am concerned. People can appear perfectly fine, but something dark and sinister could be lurking, waiting to snatch away life. In my youth, I’d been far too familiar with dark and sinister, and my fears had led to disaster. No matter how many lives I save, I cannot make amends for the life that has been forfeit because of my weakness. “I want you to come to my office tomorrow for an examination.”

“Do you really think that’s necessary?”

“I won’t know until I have a look. And I’ll send word ’round to Inspector Swindler. I’m not an expert on safes. They weren’t my purview when I lived on the streets, but he should be able to examine yours in order to determine if someone without a key managed to break into it.”

“I forgot you were once a thief. I’ve only heard bits of rumors about your past. Was it horrid?”

“Not all of it.” I cradle her face between my hands. A mistake. Her skin is so smooth, like the finest of silk. At her throat, I can feel her pulse thrumming against my fingers. “I want you to promise that you will come see me tomorrow.”

“Yes, all right. Is it still the place where you took me all those years ago?”

I can’t help myself. I skim my thumbs over her cheeks. “Yes. I can send a carriage round for you.”

“No, I remember where it is. I can find it. What time?”

Tracing the outer line of her lips, I hear her soft intake of breath. “Whatever time works best for you.”

She simply nods, her gaze fastened on me. Considering what I know of her past, I am surprised that she doesn’t run screaming back to the residence.

“I don’t want you to be afraid, Wicky.” I curse myself for the ease with which her name rolls off my tongue.

“I’m not when I’m with you.”

You should be, I think. The Goddess help her, but she should be. Whatever reservoir of control I possess dissipates.

With a harsh curse echoing between us, I lower my mouth to hers. Her lips are as plump and soft as I’d always imagined, parting slightly, hesitantly, inviting me to take further liberties. And I am scoundrel enough to accept the invitation.

She moans as I sweep my tongue through her sweet mouth. She tastes of champagne, and I wonder if she is at ease with me because she’d had a few glasses too many. Then my wondering turns to wonder as her tongue explores my mouth with equal fervor. The advantage to being with a widow. She isn’t innocent. Dear Goddess, I know she is far from that. She clutches the lapels of my jacket. Closing my arms around her, I bring her in closer to me, until her body is pressed against mine. I can feel her curves, her dips and swells. I curse the clothes separating us.

Her nails scrape my scalp just before her fingers trail along my jaw. Sighing, she winds her arms around my neck, bringing herself in even nearer.

For three years now, I have dreamed of this moment, fantasized about it, envisioned it, but had never dared believe I would ever possess it. I don’t want to give it up, don’t want to stop. I delve deeper, unleashing the hunger I’d held in check… for her, only for her.

She deserves someone far better than me, someone who doesn’t lie, who doesn’t hold secrets, who could sit with her before a fire and never fear being honest. But with her, I will always have to watch my words, always take care in what I reveal. She has said she isn’t afraid of me, but I know that if she understood exactly what I am capable of doing she would be terrified. She wouldn’t trust me. I doubt that she would like me; she most certainly would not love me.

Even kissing her has the possibility of leading to disaster… and I am not the only one whose life might be ruined. I should pull back now. And I will.

After one more moment.

One more moment of her sighs and moans. One more moment of her lush body writhing against mine. One more moment of her arms entwined tightly around me as though she would never let go.

I want to undo fastenings. I want to lift her into my arms and carry her to her bedchamber. I want to do all the things I shouldn’t. But indulgences come with a price, and I can’t in all good conscience ask her to pay it.

With a groan of frustration, I draw back. Releasing quick, short breaths, she stares up at me with expectation. Better to disappoint her now than to risk destroying her. Being too long in my company would not be wise for either of us.

“Goodnight, my Luna.” Pivoting abruptly on my heel, I stride toward the back gate that will lead me into the mews. For a few moments, I have experienced heaven, and I know without doubt that I will spend the remaining hours of my night languishing in the depths of hell.