5. Alaric
ALARIC
The trauma bay has been quiet since that early emergency that rolled in this morning.
Not like I’m complaining. The downtime is how I ended up with the rare luxury of a late lunch break.
Close to Lilith.
I’m sitting with my back to the wall at the far end of the nearly empty cafeteria, my tray pushed slightly aside. The grilled chicken wrap and salad were decent enough, but I lost interest halfway through.
How am I supposed to think about food when Lilith is here?
And on top of that, when Harold remains a free man?
Knowing Mrs. Tobin’s life might be in danger the second she’s discharged, and it’s all my fault, has a ball of anger building inside me.
I pluck the pen I set on the table earlier, my grip tightening until my knuckles turn white. Crushing it won’t fix anything. If I do, I won’t be able to jot anything down on the napkin in front of me—a poor substitute for my notebook.
So I set it back on the table, just until I calm down.
Something I don’t see happening anytime soon.
Motherfucker.
Normally, it takes less than a day to map out the experiments I want to perform on my latest test subject. After that, I stock and arrange the storage unit, then snatch them within twenty-four hours.
Except this past week has been anything but normal.
Whenever there’s a gap between cases, I end up in the cafeteria, watching Lilith from one of the tables. At the end of the day, after I sign out, she’s usually long gone, and yet I still drift back to the cafeteria, my eyes drawn to the places she worked, as if they still hold traces of her.
Then, when I get home, I’m so hard that I have to jerk off three or four times a night to relieve this incessant need.
Meaning there’s not a spare moment to plot any goddamn thing.
However, obsession doesn’t mean recklessness, which is why I still keep my distance. Lilith and I exchange only a few words each day when I order lunch or grab a protein bar and a coffee.
I don’t do anything beyond staring when I’m not pretending to read emails. By some miracle, I don’t even walk up to her when someone lingers too long by the register and flirts with her or asks her out. I stay very fucking quiet as she turns them all down.
A groan builds in my chest. Frustration crests. This isn’t me, this loss of control. I haven’t been even mildly attracted to a woman in ages, let alone lost my fucking mind over one.
And yet.
Because of Lilith, I’ve become that person. Consumed. Borderline unhinged.
Owned.
Even now, as she wipes the counter clean, she does something to my heart.
Aren’t you forgetting someone?
I’ll get to Harold. In a minute.
First, I let myself sit with the question of where I’ve seen Lilith before.
If you really cared about her, you wouldn’t.
Growling, I pick up the pen from the table. The tip of it hovers over the napkin.
My ideas are in order.
Then—Jesus.
Lilith. She’s refastening her red apron, the motion pushing her tits tight against it. I can almost feel the weight of each breast in my palm. How soft they’d be.
She’d moan when I roll her nipples between my fingers, turning them hard.
Then, once she writhed and begged, I’d stop being gentle and ram my cock into her.
I’d make her mine by pumping her full of seed and getting her pregnant.
We’d be bound for life.
Fuck.
Fuck.
No. I can’t entertain these thoughts. I can’t have my dick straining against my scrubs when I might be paged at any minute.
Harold. Harold. Harold.
The asshole’s name is the cold shower I need, shoving every filthy urge aside.
The moment I start jotting my ideas into a short list, my obsession with Lilith settles into something manageable.
It lingers there, but at least I’m able to work.
So for Harold, the first round of trials will focus on response timing after loss of cardiac function.
Later, I’ll test how long he lasts without intervention once exposed to kiwi.
Thanks to the access I have to his medical files, I know all about his life-threatening allergy to the fruit.
My lips twitch because, apparently, I haven’t failed Mrs. Tobin that badly. With Lilith on my mind nonstop, I just didn’t remember going through his files or—now that I think about it—buying kiwi juice on my way home the other day, but the preparation was done all the same.
Meaning that once I have him there, I can test the new epinephrine brand the hospital has started using. Trials supporting the company’s claim, and the FDA, say it can save patients’ lives.
I need to see it for myself.
I’m about to finish writing down how many trials I’m planning to run when I smell it.
The soft scent of coffee. Hot food. Sanitizer. A hint of the fragrance I’ve learned to associate with…
Lilith.
Soon enough, I hear her footsteps padding softly nearby. From the sound of it, she isn’t too close. I crumple the napkin and shove it into my bag anyway.
When I finally lift my gaze, I see her approaching. My entire body thrums as I watch the smooth sway of her hips.
She’s getting close, close, closer.
I should tell her to stay away. To not come anywhere near me.
Impossible.
Every step she takes makes my heart race faster. It strips my sense of decency until nothing’s left.
By the time she reaches my table, my cock is so hard it fucking hurts.
And as wrong as it is, I don’t ask her to leave.
The greedy bastard that I am, I follow her movements as she leans in to nudge my tray farther aside. She’s the most sensual creature I’ve ever seen, even while doing something as innocent as spraying disinfectant across the table before wiping it down.
“Hi, Dr. Lockwood.” Wipe, wipe, wipe. “Is there something wrong with your food?”
Her voice. Sultry. A little low. As if she’s whispering a secret instead of talking to me.
“The food’s great. And it’s Alaric.” I don’t like that ever since I came in with my tag pinned to my scrubs, she’s been calling me that. “We’ve talked about it.”
Needing something to do with my hands, I adjust the stethoscope around my neck. Otherwise, I’ll wrap my fingers around her throat and drag her in for a kiss. And then some.
“I know, but why don’t you like Dr. Lockwood?” She raises a challenging eyebrow.
The vilest ideas swirl through my head as she perches her hip against my table. I’d love nothing more than to lock her in my bedroom and wring one orgasm after another out of her with my hands, mouth, teeth, and cock.
“It’s not that I don’t like it.” I clear my throat, flattening both hands on the table. “I’ll tell you what.”
Her attention zeroes in on my hands, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.
Jesus Christ.
“Lilith.”
“What?” Slowly, she finds my gaze again.
Our eyes lock. My breath knocks out of me.
Tell her to leave, you idiot. To never look back. Someone better is out there for her.
Someone else? Fuck that.
I clear my throat. “If you tell me your last name, you can call me Dr. Lockwood.”
“What?” Her playfulness fades, a guarded edge taking its place, like her last name might give away something she isn’t ready to share. “What do you need my last name for?”
My curiosity is piqued.
I can’t entertain it.
Can’t push for more. Can’t do anything to bring us closer.
I need to ignore her and leave it at that.
“It’s only fair, since you already know mine,” slips out anyway.
Idiot.
As though my answer satisfies her, her shoulders relax.
“It’s literally on your tag.” Her eyes glimmer again. Her sassy tone makes it sound like she’s trying to rile me up, but in a good way. “Not to mention, I have to know it.”
I can’t stop the corners of my lips from lifting. “Explain.”
“I mean, what if Hope passed out or…” She sneaks a glance over her shoulder.
Becket and his girlfriend, Samantha, edge toward us. One look at my now hardened expression, and the nurses I work with choose another table.
“What if I needed medical assistance for whatever reason?” Lilith continues once they’re seated, her hushed voice going straight to my cock. “You won’t know it’s important if I just yelled Alaric.”
“Little devil.” The nickname, along with an old, base protective instinct, comes out of nowhere. And I, the fool, don’t question either. “Whether it’s Alaric or Lockwood, it doesn’t matter. When you call for me, I’ll come.”
She blinks at me, stunned and speechless. Moisture gathers in her eyes.
Fuck.
If she starts crying, I’ll no doubt leap out of this chair. She’ll be in my arms within seconds, in a murderer’s arms.
“Do you like it here?” The change of subject is abrupt but necessary.
Lilith sniffles. Swallows.
“Hey.” I’m seconds away from getting up and hugging her. But my damn conscience won’t let me. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
“Work’s great.”
Maybe if I asked her out, she’d tell me more. We could sit in an Italian restaurant. The lights would be dimmed low. A candle would flicker between us. I’d listen to her for hours while I watched her eat. I might even wipe tomato sauce from the corner of her mouth.
And all the while, a test subject would be rotting in your storage unit.
Fine, that’s out of the question. But I do want to learn about her. To help.
“Doesn’t sound like it.” I lean in. “Is anyone giving you a hard time? Someone here? Your landlord?”
“I don’t have a landlord.”
“You have a roommate.” Frowning, I recall the conversation I overheard between her and Hope about their place.
Usually, roommates mean rent.
“It’s our home, yes.”
Disappointment flares at the clipped answer. At how she keeps feeding me breadcrumbs that aren’t nearly enough.
I only have myself to blame.
Today is the first time I’m having an actual conversation with her, and I already want her to spill everything.
To what end? No idea.
What I do know is that my dick is throbbing. My chest is hot.
The need to hold her close twists into something far less innocent and much darker.
I don’t just want her to tell me everything. I need to fuck the truth out of her.
It’s sick and messed up.
When it comes to her, it’s all I have.
“Enough about me.” She sets the rag and spray on the table. Her minty breath fans over my lips as she levels her face with mine. “You were writing something on your napkin. What was it?”
My eyes dart to my backpack. To her fingers that start flirting with the zipper, lifting it ever so slowly.
If she reads what’s on the napkin…
If she understands what that list means…
“My secrets are mine.” My hand snaps around her delicate wrist.
A hushed gasp that sounds a lot like a moan tumbles past her lips. Her cheeks burn bright red.
Touching her, smelling her, looking at her this close, it’s all too much.
She should’ve stayed away. I should’ve done a better job of warning her.
Nothing to do about it anymore.
Now that I have her, I’m not letting go.
“But you…” Watching her pupils swallow the blue in her eyes gets me harder than ever. “You’re going to tell me yours. Every. Single. One.”