Elaris's POV
He moved for my lips, so I thought, until he shifted an inch and planted a gentle kiss on my cheek.
"Goodnight, doctor." He breathed against my skin, breath so warm, it sent a tingle wilding fast over every inch of me.
Then just as abruptly as he claimed my waist, he dropped me, and he turned away.
"Goodnight, Doctor Elara." He repeated over his broad shoulders again as he disappeared slowly down the long corridor.
I watched him leave. Was that part of his seduction, or was that as real as it almost felt? And why in hell did I feel that urge to want his kiss, to desire him, why the hell did I…
I shook my head, cringing at the abomination I'd almost committed. What had I almost done, almost let him do?
I followed his broad back, following each powerful swing of his legs, his powerful gait that carried his frame threateningly, and with some menace, but also made him more devastatingly handsome.
I snatched my eyes away from him and turned exclusively to my door.
I shouldn't be thinking of all that, I rebuked myself. I really shouldn't. There wasn't just the fact that I hated him because the bastard had abandoned my family and me when we needed him most, but there was also the threat of my vow to the lore, for Darius.
Vows to the lore were bound by the moon goddess herself, and she metes out punishment divinely when they are broken, and even something like a simple kiss on the lips was enormous to break my vows.
But why, I thought again, why had I desired it, craved it, when I should hate and despise the bastard for all he'd done to me.
I pulled the door and walked into my room. I tried my best to push away the barrage of thoughts that swarmed my head now, but no matter how hard I wrestled with those thoughts, I just couldn't.
Why had he said he desired me? Did he truly desire me?
And about Darius. No. I shook my head as I crossed the room to the closet. I shook my head again as I changed into my pajamas. I might not know the true extent of Darius' schemes. But one thing was sure, he wouldn't do anything to hurt or harm me, and he loved me just as much as I loved him. Whatever else doesn't matter. Whatever lies he was telling, secrets he was keeping, nothing matters. Nothing.
I repeated those words to myself to lull myself to sleep. Whether I believed them was another ball game on its own, but at least it chased away every doubting thought about Darius. I wouldn't let anyone corrupt my thoughts and feelings about him, especially not Karl.
I woke up as early as possible for the clinic. Even though the people of the Moonblood pack had betrayed my family, I still had a responsibility to them, and I could not let many suffer for the sins of a few.
So when I pushed the door and stepped into the new clinic, I was bombarded with a mix of emotion, a delicate mix of love and hate, peace and rage, both constantly battling for dominance in my head.
As Torren had promised, the new clinic was well furnished, and each patient had a bed of his own. Though they weren't much, there was still natural ventilation. The place was a large quarter of the palace, converted into a clinic. But what it lacked in natural ventilation, the blast of chill air from the air conditioners around covered for that.
I breathed in a hard sigh, my breath echoing through my nose mask. I shoved my prejudice and hate for the pack that had once betrayed me, and I strolled into the room to save their lives. That's what I was trained to do.
I moved straight to the first row of beds, wearing a latex glove on my hands.
I was leaning close to a patient when I heard Alex groan grudgingly from the doorway, where he stood. I glanced back. I was hoping to find him wrinkling his nostrils at the stench of death and decay in the hall. Instead, his furious gaze was bathing over the last man I also hoped to see this morning. My fingers steeled on the gloves.
Torren threw a wry grin my way, lips flattening in a mocking attempt at me. "Good morning, doctor." He growled, not hiding his disdain from his voice.
Then he tipped his whiskey to his lips and chugged at it hard, like it was water.
I hoped he choked on it. I thought as I watched him. I hated his presence as much as I hated him.
I hissed softly as I turned from the annoying presence of the man leaning by the doorway like a dark omen, and to the patients.
The sharp burn of his gaze followed me around like a tracker. I tried my best not to let it affect me.
Still, when I touched the forehead of my first patient, an elderly woman with deep ulcerative lesions across both forearms, my hand shook unprofessionally. Her fever, hot enough to burn my gloved palm, didn't help my nerves either.
Damn him, I grunted under my breath. Damn the bastard, Torren. But I tried my best and exhaled hard to clear my head of his presence.
"Fresh water," I ordered the attendants. They were my people, and they knew how I worked. Two of them moved at the first sound of my voice. "Clean clothes too. And the antibiotic tincture I prepared yesterday."
Two attendants moved to get what I'd asked, and another two walked closer to flank me and the patients.
I peeled back the stained wrappings around the woman's arms, my jaw tightening at the sight beneath. Inflamed tissue. Poor healing. Pus trapped beneath dead skin.
And all through it all, I forced my hands to remain steady. The woman needs me more than the bastard at the door needed my attention. I told myself repeatedly. She needs me more.