Chapter 4
Lorian
I stare at the ivy-covered stone building of Saltford Bay Elementary, my jaw clenching involuntarily. The cheerful yellow banner welcoming visitors flutters in the morning breeze, mocking my discomfort. Children's laughter filters through open windows, high-pitched and relentless.
This is not where I should spend my morning.
I have patients to see, medical journals to read, a clinic to modernize.
Yet here I stand, because apparently Dr. Wells had a standing arrangement to give health lectures at the school.
A commitment Mrs. Beckham helpfully transferred to my calendar. Without consultation.
"It's tradition," she'd said this morning with a bright smile. "The children always look forward to the doctor's visit."
Children. I suppress a shudder. Small, unpredictable beings with sticky hands and no concept of personal space.
I straighten my tie unnecessarily and check my watch. Ten o'clock precisely. Time to get this over with.
Thirty minutes, maximum, I tell myself. Then I can return to actual medicine rather than babysitting.
The presentation I've prepared on nutrition is scientifically accurate and comprehensive. It should fill the time easily and leave five minutes or so for questions. How many questions can kindergarteners realistically ask, anyway?
Without allowing myself another minute of hesitation, I move on, pushing the front door open and stepping inside the reception area.
My senses are immediately assaulted by a wave of sensory stimuli that makes me wince.
Colors, sounds, smells, all combine for a chaotic effect that makes my palms go sweaty.
Construction paper cutouts of spring flowers dangle from the ceiling, swaying in invisible drafts.
The polished linoleum floor gleams under fluorescent lights that buzz with an almost imperceptible flicker.
"Dr. Reizenhart!" a booming voice echoes down the hallway.
A large troll male strides toward me, wearing a dark-brown suit over a light-blue shirt, each footfall sending small tremors through the floor. He smiles broadly at me, his gray-green skin shining softly under the light.
"We're absolutely thrilled to have an elf doctor visiting our humble institution.
" He extends a massive hand, engulfing mine completely.
"I’ve already told the children that elves make the best doctors.
If you need a doctor, look for an elf, I always say.
I mean, most of you stay at the High Court for a reason. Am I right?"
I extract my hand from his grip. "A doctor is a doctor, regardless of species."
And you can keep your stereotypes to yourself as well.
"Of course, of course." He waves dismissively. "This way, please. Ms. Grimsby's kindergarten class is eagerly awaiting your wisdom."
He leads me down a corridor lined with student artwork, crude finger paintings and lopsided clay sculptures all following the same theme.
Each classroom we pass reveals another scene that makes my palms sweaty.
Children sitting in circles on carpeted floors, gathered around tables covered in craft supplies, or engaged in what appears to be some form of regulated mayhem disguised as education.
"Here we are." Principal Braggstone stops outside a door decorated with handprints in various colors. "Ah, and here's our lucky classroom!"
A human woman stands by the doorway, and the moment I see her, something shifts in my perception. The cacophony of school sounds fades to background noise, and it’s like looking through a tunnel. All I can see is the woman.
I’m too shocked to even ask myself what’s happening to me.
She's petite, with a mass of shockingly red curls partially contained in a loose bun. If she wears any makeup or other artifices, I can’t decipher it.
She is wearing a simple cardigan over a floral dress, practical shoes, and a name tag that reads Nurse Maeve Callahan.
Freckles dust her nose and cheeks, standing out against fair skin.
But it's her eyes that catch and hold my attention, green as forest moss, alert and intelligent.
Her mouth is round, full, and soft-looking.
In a flash of uncharacteristically unprofessional thoughts, I wonder how that mouth would look wrapped around my cock. How those eyes would look hooded with passion as she comes under me.
What’s happening to me? I manage, through pure, sheer force of will, to dispel the images from my mind. Mostly.
"Dr. Reizenhart, this is our school nurse, Maeve Callahan." Principal Braggstone's voice sounds distant. "Maeve, this is our new town physician."
She extends her hand, and I take it automatically. Her skin is warm against mine, the contact sending an unexpected current up my arm. Her hand is small but her grip is firm, confident.
I feel the images swirling around in my brain, ready to come back to the forefront any second. This isn’t right. I am a doctor, a professional. I never react to women this way, not even attractive ones like her.
"It's nice to meet you, Dr. Reizenhart." Her voice is melodic, with a hint of huskiness that suggests laughter is never far away. "We're all very excited to have you here today."
I'm still holding her hand. Why am I still holding her hand?
I should say something. Anything.
"Likewise," I manage, the word coming out more stiffly than intended. “Ms. Callahan.”
“You can just call me Maeve.” She chuckles, and the sound feels like tingles across my face. “Or Nurse Maeve, as the children call me.”
Seconds trickle by as I nod at her, my mind a blank, my hand still holding hers as erotic images pop into my brain, unbidden.
Say something, you idiot.
“Very well, Maeve. You can call me Lorian. Or Dr. Reizenhart. Either is fine.”
Maeve Callahan’s brows lift and her gaze darts to our hands, still joined. I want to let go, I really do. But it’s like my body refuses to respond to my commands.
Principal Braggstone clears his throat loudly, and it’s like the breaking of a spell. I release her hand abruptly.
Finally.
"Well, then." The principal steps closer to Nurse Callahan, placing a meaty hand on her shoulder. "I'll leave you in Maeve's capable hands. She knows the school better than anyone."
I don't miss how she stiffens at his touch, her smile becoming fixed. Something protective and entirely unexpected stirs within me. Suddenly, I don’t like this troll principal. I don’t like him at all.
"Thank you, Principal Braggstone." Her tone remains professional, but there's a new tension in her posture. "I'll make sure Dr. Reizenhart finds everything he needs."
The principal nods, his hand lingering on Maeve Callahan’s shoulder a beat too long before he turns and lumbers down the hallway. Only when he's out of sight does she relax, shoulders dropping slightly.
"Ms. Grimsby is ready for you." She gestures toward the classroom door. "Just to warn you, kindergarteners can be a tough crowd, but they're usually won over by stickers or silly jokes."
"I don't do stickers," I reply automatically. "Or jokes."
She shoots me a gaze and her grin falters for a beat, then comes back. Her lovely brows furrow, and something flickers across her face. Disappointment? Amusement? I can't quite read it.
"Of course not. Silly me." She pushes the door open. "After you, Doctor."
The classroom beyond is a riot of color and sound.
Twenty small desks arranged in a semicircle face a larger desk clearly belonging to the teacher.
Every inch of wall space is covered by alphabet charts featuring magical creatures instead of mundane objects, children's artwork in various stages of artistic development, educational posters explaining basic concepts with cartoon characters.
A woman with ash-blond hair pulled into a French braid stands at the front of the class.
She wears a flowing dress covered in star patterns and gestures animatedly as she speaks to the children seated before her.
When the door closes behind us, she looks up, her eyes widening slightly as they land on me.
"Good morning, Dr. Reizenhart." The teacher approaches, extending her hand. "I'm Harriet Grimsby. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to visit us today."
The teacher turns her back to me and faces the children.
I can’t help but notice that Maeve Callahan comes to stand just by my side.
As she does, it’s like the entire side of my body that is close to her is on fire.
I barely manage to resist the urge to take off my tie and fan myself with my clipboard.
This reaction is not normal. What’s with this woman?
"Children!" Nurse Maeve claps her hands, immediately gaining their attention. "Our special guest has arrived! Remember our discussion about manners for visitors?"
Twenty pairs of eyes swivel in my direction, ranging from curious to suspicious to openly hostile. I resist the urge to straighten my tie again.
"Class, please welcome Dr. Reizenhart, Saltford Bay's new physician," Ms. Grimsby says to the children, who respond with a not-quite-synchronized "Good morning, Doctor" that varies in enthusiasm from exuberant to barely audible.
Maeve moves to a child-sized chair near the door, sitting with a grace that somehow makes the ridiculous furniture seem dignified. She catches my eye and offers an encouraging smile that inexplicably causes my heart rate to accelerate.
"Dr. Reizenhart is going to talk to us about the importance of eating healthy food," Ms. Grimsby continues. "Maybe he can answer some of your questions about being a doctor, too."
A small boy with furry ears and sharp canines immediately shoots his hand into the air.
"Is it true you cut people open to fix them?" He blurts out without waiting to be called on.
Before I can respond, a pixie girl with iridescent wings fluttering nervously adds, "Can you shoot magic from your fingers like in the movies?"