The devil doctor

Charity ball

*Wicky*

I’ve never been more terrified in my life. Something is wrong, dreadfully wrong, and I fear that if I tell anyone what’s happening they will send me straight to a mental asylum. So as people arrive for my charity ball, I stand at the foot of the stairs that lead into the grand salon and pretend nothing is amiss. With a warm smile, I thank the most influential and affluent members of the high packs for coming in support of my plans to build a hospital. It’s a grand undertaking, but managing the project has served to bolster my confidence.

I began hosting this event shortly after my first year of mourning. My mate died in a fire at Heatherwood, the Alpha of Claybourne’s ancestral estate. The reason for his being in the manor is still a bit murky, but his death is clear. I saw his charred remains and had the Alpha ring removed from the ash of his fingers. With his demise came my freedom… my freedom from pain, humiliation, and paralyzing fear. He was a brute, if I’m honest. Although only a handful of people know that truth. It’s not something one boasts about.

After greeting the latest arrivals, I experience a small respite and take a moment to glance around. The orchestra situated in the balcony is playing a waltz. Morning lilies, my favorite flower, are arranged in lovely vases, bringing their sweet fragrance into the ballroom. Through a nearby door, my guests wander into another room where they are greeted with an abundance of food and drink on long linen-covered tables. Champagne flows. Laughter floats through the rooms. I love the laughter most of all. Such a joyous sound when there has been little enough in my life for some years.

Where once arranging balls was a tedious ordeal that often undermined my self-esteem because my mate always found fault with one thing or another, now I enjoy the task immensely because my ball serves the purpose of repaying the man who quite literally rescued me from death’s door.

Glancing back up the stairs, I feel my heart give a little stutter as I watch Bill Grimley descending. With his blond hair curling about his head like a halo, he reminds me of an angel. My angel. He not only saw to my injuries, but provided me with sanctuary after the last horrible beating my mate gave me before his accidental death.

It is because of Bill Grimley that I host this affair every year. I very much intend to use the funds to establish a hospital in his honor as a way to repay him for all he’s done for me.

Finally he reaches me, takes my gloved hand, and presses a kiss to it. “My Luna, you’re looking lovely this evening.”

“Dr. Grimley, I’m so pleased you could join us.” I wish I didn’t sound so breathless, as though I were the one who had just descended the stairs, and descended them at a hurried clip. I don’t know why he always makes me struggle for breath, in a rather pleasant way that implies anticipation rather than dread. Considering the treatment I’ve endured at the hands of my mate, I am very much surprised that I don’t fear all men.

But there is something about Bill Grimley that has always put me at ease. The devilment dancing in the blue of his eyes perhaps or the way he smiles somewhat roguishly as though he were very adept at holding a she-wolf’s secrets, especially if he were the reason for those secrets. His is the face of Adonis, and while his evening clothes provide him with an elegance and veneer of civility, I know power resides beneath the fabric. He carried me with such ease three years ago. Barely conscious at the time, I was still extremely aware of being cocooned within the shelter of his strong arms. His voice issued quiet but insistent commands, urging me not to succumb to death’s clutches. I suspect most of his patients heal because of his unwavering insistence that they not do otherwise.

He takes in his surroundings with the attention of someone who never miss even the tiniest of details. “You have a rather nice turnout. I’m not sure I’d have been missed.”

I rub the bridge of my nose. “You would have been, I assure you. And you’re correct about the attendance this evening. This year’s donations will provide the funds to see that the work on the hospital begins in earnest.”

His blue gaze returns to me. “A hospital will be much appreciated. You’re very generous to give it your time and such devotion.”

“It’s no sacrifice, I assure you. Perhaps if you have a couple of spare hours in the next few days, we could discuss some of the details. I want to ensure that it suits your needs.”

“I trust your judgment.”

He will never know how much those words mean to me. My mate sought to control every aspect of my life, never trusted my judgment. In the end, I began to doubt it as well. “Still, I value your opinion.”

“My Luna, it should have nothing to do with me.”

It has everything to do with him. “Please,” I urge, knowing that next he will tell me again that he has done nothing out of the ordinary in caring for me. I like him, rather a lot, but he keeps a respectful distance and is always so formal with me. I know he grew up on the streets and is a friend to the Alpha of Claybourne. That’s how I met him; the Alpha also assisted that awful night. “It gives my life purpose. I’m going to build a hospital whether or not you assist me, but doing it on my own, I may muck things up.”

He smiles, a soft upturn of his lips. “I doubt you will muck things up, but I suppose I could add some insight regarding the needs of a hospital. I’ll make time in my schedule to look over your plans.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Now, can you make time in your hostess schedule to dance with me?”

Joy bursts through me. It’s the first ball where I haven’t worn my mourning garb. In my pale blue evening gown, I feel young again, not weighted down with the poor decisions of my youth. “I can indeed. My dance card is completely open. Widows are not nearly as sought after as young single she-wolves.”

“Personally, I prefer a she-wolf with some experience in life to the ones who are too innocent.” The strains of another waltz start up. “Will this dance suffice?”

I can’t contain my pleasure. “It will do very nicely.”

As he leads me onto the dance floor, I do experience a moment of disappointment. I would feel far more self-possessed if I were wearing the sapphire necklace that once belonged to my mother. It would go perfectly with my gown and would serve to distract from my misshapen nose that lists slightly to one side… a parting gift from Riverdale. But when I went to the safe earlier to retrieve the sapphires, they weren’t there. I don’t know how the necklace could have been stolen when the safe was secure and I’m the only one with the key. I try to remember when I last wore it, and if I might have placed it elsewhere, but I always take such care with the jewelry, more because of its sentimental value than its monetary worth.

But thoughts of the necklace slip from my mind as Bill Grimley takes me into his arms and sweeps me over the gleaming marble floor. My favorite part of the evening is always this singular dance with him. He will only ask me once. It matters not that no one else escorts me onto the dance area. After these few minutes, he won’t intrude on my evening again… as though I would consider any time spent with him an intrusion.

As his eyes hold mine, I wonder if he sees me as I am now or as I was. I don’t wish to be vain, but it seems that I am nonetheless. A diagonal white line mars one brow. I have a tiny scar on one cheek. Beneath my gown reside several others. Bill knows of their existence because he was the one to stitch me up, the one who held ice against all the various areas that had swollen and bruised. He was the one who spooned broth into my mouth when I could barely move my jaw.

I had been a married she-wolf who, within only a few days, began to hold affection for a man who wasn’t my mate. Then Riverdale was gone, and my guilt over my feelings toward Bill spiked. It was entirely inappropriate for me to think of him as anything other than my physician. And Bill, bless him, has never taken advantage of the situation, has never indicated that he sees me as anything other than a patient.

But now I almost believe I see desire smoldering in his eyes. We don’t speak. It seems there’s no need for words. But I am acutely aware of his hand holding mine tightly, his other hand pressing into the small of my back, his legs brushing against my skirt. He is tall, broad-shouldered, but I’m not threatened by his physical traits. Rather, I feel safe, protected.

Perhaps it’s a result of the days I’ve spent under his care. He had secreted me and my son away to his town home. His friend, Frannie, who later became the Luna of Greywind, had seen to caring for Ethan, while Bill had devoted all his time ensuring that I recovered from the ordeal. It’s more than the physical healing that had been required, and he sees to my emotional needs masterfully.

So many nights I awoke with a start from a nightmare to see him sitting in a chair beside the bed keeping watch over me. He filled my hours of recovery by reading Shakespeare and Dickens to me, playing chess, carrying me out to the garden so I could enjoy watching my son kicking a ball around with Frannie. He seemed to know what I needed without me voicing it. He was so attentive, and while I tell myself that it was only because he was seeing to my recovery, in a small corner of my heart I can’t help but believe that he enjoyed his time with me, that he welcomed excuses to be in my company a bit longer. Sometimes we talked about nothing in particular into the late hours of the night, until I drifted off into restful slumber. I always seemed to sleep better when I carried his voice into my dreams.

Now the music drifts into silence, and very slowly our movements come to a halt. He appears on the verge of saying something, asking for another dance perhaps. Or at least I hope those are the words he will utter. I don’t care if only two dances are proper. I will dance every one with him if he just asks.

Instead, he gives me a small smile and begins to lead me toward the sweeping staircase where I can be on hand to greet any latecomers. Once we reach our destination, he again takes my hand and kisses the back of it.

“Thank you for the dance,” he says.

“It was my pleasure.”

His eyes darken. “No, my Luna, as always it was mine.”

With those parting words, he strides away, becoming lost in the thicket of guests. I have little doubt that he’s off to search out his friends who are here. Others who have grown up on the streets with him support my efforts, more for the good doctor’s benefit than mine, I’m certain. He seems to instill loyalty in people. But then that probably isn’t unusual considering his skill at warding off death’s advances.

Yet I do often find myself wishing I had met him under different circumstances, that I had met him before I ever became a Luna.