23
Lillian was a small woman in her mid-fifties. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut short and neat in a no-nonsense style. Her fingers were as quick and sure as the rest of her. The last time she'd treated my wounds, she'd had claws and greying fur.
I was sitting on an examining table in the basement of an apartment building. A building that housed lycanthropes and was owned by a shapeshifter. The basement was the makeshift clinic for the lycanthropes in the area. I was the first human they'd ever allowed to see the place. I should have been flattered, but managed not to be.
"Well, according to X rays you don't have a skull fracture."
"Glad to hear it," I said.
"You may have a mild concussion, but a mild one won't show up on tests, at least nothing we have the equipment for here."
"So I can go?" I started to hop down.
She stopped me with a hand on my arm. "I didn't say that."
I eased back on the table. "I'm listening."
"Grudgingly," she said, smiling.
"If you want grace under pressure, Lillian, I'm not your girl."
"Oh, I don't know about that," she said. "I've cleaned the scrapes and taped up your forehead. You were very lucky not to need stitches."
I didn't like stitches, so I agreed with her.
"I want you to wake up every hour for twenty-four hours." I must not have looked happy, because she said, "I know it's awkward, and probably unnecessary, but humor me. If you go to sleep and are injured more severely than I think you are, you might not wake up. So humor an old rat lady. Set the alarm or have someone wake you every hour for twenty-four hours."
"Twenty-four hours from the injury?" I asked hopefully.
She laughed. "Normally I'd say from now, but you can do it from the time of the injury. We're just being cautious."
"I like being cautious." Richard pushed away from the wall. He came to stand with us under the lights. "I volunteer to wake you every hour."
"You can't go with me," I said.
"I'll wait for you at your apartment."
"Oh, no driving for the night," Lillian said. "Just as a precaution."
Richard's fingertips touched the back of my hand. He didn't try to hold my hand, just that touch. Comforting. I didn't know what to do. If I was going to say no, eventually, it didn't seem fair to flirt. Just the weight of his fingers was a line of warmth all the way up my arm. Lust, just lust. Don't I wish.
"I'll drive your Jeep to your apartment, if you agree. Stephen can drive you to Guilty Pleasures."
"I can take a cab."
"I'd feel better if Stephen took you. Please," he said.
The «please» made me smile. "All right, Stephen can drive me."
"Thank you," Richard said.
"You're welcome."
"I would recommend you go straight home and rest," Lillian said.
"I can't," I said.
She frowned at me. "Very well, but rest as soon as you can. If this is a mild concussion and you abuse yourself, it could worsen. And even if it isn't a concussion, rest will do you more good than gallivanting around."
I smiled. "Yes, Doctor."
She made a small umph sound. "I know how much attention you're going to pay to my orders. But go along with you, both of you. If you won't listen to good sense, then be gone."
I slid off the table, and Richard did not offer to help me. There were reasons why we had been dating this long. A moment of dizziness and I was fine.
Lillian didn't look happy. "You promise me that this dizziness is less than it was."
"Scout's honor."
She nodded. "I'll take your word for it." She didn't look really pleased about it, but she patted my shoulder and walked out. She had made no notes. There was no chart to check. Nothing to prove I'd ever been here, except for some bloody cotton swabs. It was a nice setup.
I had gotten to lie back and relax in the car on the way here. Just not having to tote around naked men or drive helped a lot. I really was feeling better, which was great since I had to see Jean-Claude tonight regardless of how I felt. I wondered whether Gretchen would have given me a night of grace if she had put me in the hospital. Probably not.
I couldn't put it off any longer. It was time to go. "I've got to go, Richard."
He put his hands on my shoulders. I didn't pull away. He turned me to look at him, and I let him. His face was very solemn. "I wish I could go with you."
"We've been over this," I said.
He looked away from my eyes. "I know."
I touched his chin and raised his eyes to mine. "No heroics, Richard, promise me."
His eyes were too innocent. "I don't know what you mean."
"Bullshit. You can't be waiting outside. You have to stay here. Promise me that."
He dropped his arms and stalked away from me. He leaned against the other examining table, palms flat, all his weight on his arms. "I hate you doing this alone."
"Promise me you will wait here, or wait at my apartment. Those are the only choices, Richard."
He wouldn't look at me. I walked over to him, and touched his arm. Tension sang through it. There was none of that otherworldly energy, yet, but it was there below the surface, waiting.
"Richard, look at me."
He stayed with his head bent, hair falling like a curtain between us. I ran my hand through that wavy hair, grabbing a handful close to the warmth of his skull. I used the hair like a handle and turned his face to me. His eyes were dark with more than just their color. Something was home in his eyes that I'd seen only last night. The beast was rising through his eyes like a sea monster swimming upward through dark water.
I tightened my grip on his hair, not to hurt, but to get his attention. A small sound escaped his throat. "If you fuck this up through some misguided male ego thing, you're going to get me killed." I drew his face towards me, hand tangled in his hair. When his face was only inches from mine, almost close enough to kiss, I said, "If you interfere, you will get me killed. Do you understand?"
The darkness in his eyes wanted to say no. I watched the struggle on his face. Finally he said, "I understand."
"You'll be waiting for me at home?"
He nodded, pulling his hair against my grip. I wanted to pull his face to me. To kiss him. We stood there frozen, hesitating. He moved to me. Our lips touched. It was a soft, gentle brush of lips. We stared at each other from an inch away. His eyes were drowning deep, and I could suddenly feel his body like an electric shock through my gut.
I jerked away from him. "No, not yet. I don't know how I feel about you anymore."
"Your body knows," he said.
"If lust was everything, I'd be with Jean-Claude."
His face crumbled as if I'd slapped him. "If you really aren't going to date me anymore, then don't tell Jean-Claude. It's not worth it."
He looked so hurt. That was one thing I'd never meant to do. I laid my hand on his arm. The skin was smooth, warm, real. "If I can get out of telling him, I will, but I don't think Gretchen will make that one of my choices. Besides, Jean-Claude can smell a lie. You did propose, and I said yes."
"Tell him you changed your mind, Anita. Tell him why. He'll love it. That I'm not human enough for you." He pulled away from my hand. "Jean-Claude will just eat that up." His voice was bitter, angry. The bitterness was strong enough to walk on. I'd never heard him like that.