Chapter 5 Selma
Selma
Selma’s breathing was slow to calm. Echoes of too many sensations still sang in her blood, and her clit still trembled from the pained orgasm. The ring was no longer too tight, but its heavy presence was undeniable. It didn’t hurt, but it was there, its grasp firm and inescapable.
She lay in silence while Marathin pulled his fingers from her wet sex, post-orgasmic peace washing away the memory of that voice screaming at her to flee. It seemed like nothing but a dream now. A nightmare.
“How long before I can take it off?” she rasped, voice still raw from shrieking.
“Does it hurt?”
“No. It’s just…”
“I know.” He stroked his warm hand soothingly up her thigh as he got to his feet. “I’m afraid it’ll have to remain in place, if you want your delusions to stay gone.”
Selma removed her gaze from the ceiling then, lips halfway parted in protest, but when her eyes landed on Marathin, the words died on her tongue.
His black hair was horn-free and his eyes were deep amber. There were no flames, and no pointy ears. How was that even... possible?
She reached up, and he obligingly bent his head so she could stroke through the glossy strands. No bumps met her fingers, just soft, silken hair.
“You...” The implication slowly set in as he straightened back up, his now-human eyes evaluating her like any doctor would after a treatment.
“You cured me?” She couldn’t quite make it into a statement, her voice rising questioningly toward the end. A lump she hadn’t been aware of was building in her throat and made her swallow thickly, attempting to press back the tears building in her eyes. She was free. She was finally free.
“It is not a full cure, Selma.” He grabbed her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.
“You need to take good care of yourself and maintain your hormonal balance—eat well, take the vitamins I’ll give you, do some yoga for stress relief.
It’s all about management now, but yes; you should no longer see monsters. ”
There was nothing she could say, and nothing she could ever do to repay this man. Her tears spilled as she clutched at his hand, all resentment forgiven.
“Thank you, doctor. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
The exhaustion following her treatment was bone-deep and lasted the rest of the day. If it wasn’t for the nurses’ kind, but strict insistence that she get up to eat and stretch her legs, she’d have happily stayed in bed.
Dr. Hershey—Marathin—had told her she was to remain at Ravenswood House for ten more days. She would see him every day to check on her continued progress and spend the rest of her time relaxing and getting into a routine of meditation, yoga, and regular meals.
Selma fought back a blush as she walked to the small en-suite attached to her room to get ready for bed. Considering how much she’d dreaded seeing the doctor that first time, she had a distinct lack of reluctance now.
He’d been more than kind after the treatment, helping her to her room and praising her for how well she’d responded.
And since she no longer saw a monster when looking at him, it had been hard not to feel a little flutter in her stomach as he gave her hands a final squeeze, wished her a good night, and told her not to hesitate to call on him.
Not that there was any real chance of him dating his patients—not even the ones he’d gotten to know as intimately as he had her.
She smiled as she cranked the shower on and got out of her white pajamas while waiting for the water to heat.
How many of his patients had developed a crush on him?
She was willing to bet the number was high, even if their treatment didn’t consist of spine-shatteringly powerful orgasms, what with his handsome—and hornless—looks and kind mannerisms. Add to it that he saved minds for a living. ..
Selma sighed softly, stepping into the shower. She was well-aware that her sudden onset of interest had everything to do with the fact that he was the one to make her hallucinations go away and nothing to do with actual emotions.
However, as the hot spray from the shower worked on loosening her muscles, she found her thoughts wandering back to that room and how good it had felt as he prepared her for the ring.
She gingerly rubbed her slick folds, careful not to press too hard on her still-tender clit, and leaned against the wet tiles while breathing deeply, letting her climax build.
Hazy thoughts of what it would’ve been like if he’d crossed the boundary from doctor to lover ran through her mind. Her hips jerked in response, and she had to keep them pressed against the wall to not over-agitate her ringed clit as her pussy clenched, bringing her over the edge with a whimper.
Panting, Selma rested her head against the tiles.
She’d probably have to figure out a way to explain the ring to future lovers, but…
she might actually be able to have a true relationship now, one where she wouldn’t have to worry that her condition would drive them away. She might even be a mom one day.
A smile pulled on her lips, even as she reminded herself to talk to Dr. Hershey about the risk of the illness being hereditary.
There was a chance that she could have a family of her own now, and she found years of suppressed dreams suddenly flurrying up inside of her as she imagined a white picket fence and serving lemonade to her blue-eyed kids.
She finished up in the shower, catching herself humming along to a tune she’d heard on the radio last week as she stepped out and dried herself. How much would her life change now that she didn’t have to spend so much energy pretending everything was all right?
When she wiped the mirror free from steam, the wide grin on her reflection seemed so alien, yet so right. She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt this happy—this hopeful.
Happily planning her future she brushed her teeth, humming around a mouthful of toothpaste with sheer joy. She continued the cheery tune while rinsing out her mouth with water from the tap.
It was when she straightened back up to grin widely at the mirror that she noticed it.
The faint shimmer on her forehead cut the melody short, her expression faltering as she leaned in closer.
There in the middle of her forehead, where Marathin’s hot hand had touched her just before her orgasm, was a round, silvery mark so faint that it almost blended in with her pale skin.
If it hadn’t been for its shimmer, she might not even have noticed.
But there it was, approximately the size of a walnut with odd symbols following the curved outer line branded into her forehead.
Was it another delusion? Had their nature simply changed?
Panic tightened in the pit of her stomach, and she staggered away from the mirror.
No! This was too cruel, too unfair. Maybe it was just a normal side-effect that would disappear over time?
Marathin would be able to tell her, to help her.
.. and if there was any sliver of justice in the world, he might still be in his office doing some after-hours paperwork, because if he wasn’t, she wasn’t sure how she’d make it through the night.
Spinning around, Selma ran back into her room and fumbled into her clothes before trying the door. It was unlocked.
She thanked every deity she could think of for having been moved off the at-risk list as she ran down the empty hallways to the staircase leading to the doctor’s office.
It was a bit later than she’d realized; darkness stared back at her through the windows she hurriedly passed, and the upstairs offices seemed deserted for the night.
Selma didn’t slow down until she came to the hallway housing Marathin’s office, and she could have fainted from relief when she saw a small stripe of light shining out from underneath his door.
With about the same desperation as a thirsting man stumbling upon an oasis in the desert, she threw herself at the door, knocking quietly but with an urgent rhythm.
“Dr. Hershey!” she called, knocking again. “Marathin, please, I need your help!”
No reply came through the heavy wooden door, so she hesitantly turned the knob.
The door opened, and she had a moment of reconsidering practically breaking into his office like a desperate drug addict, but the alternative—a night of not knowing whether she was really cured—drove her to step in and close it behind her.
“Marathin?”
There was still no reply, and the man himself didn’t seem to be in the room.
But some paperwork was scattered over his otherwise neat desk, and the light coming from his computer screen indicated that he probably wasn’t far away.
She walked closer, glancing to see if he’d been away long enough that it had locked his user profile.
It hadn’t, and she forced a deep breath through her lungs. He’d be back soon, and he would help her.
She sat in the same chair she had earlier that day, brushing her hands through her still-damp hair and letting her gaze wander.
She hadn’t noticed the many tribal-looking sculptures adorning his shelves among the thick books the first time she was here, and in the limited light, they were almost frightening.
She looked at the papers on his desk instead, wondering what her file now said about her and the treatment she’d been through.
Maybe the file was hers...? Feeling just a little guilty, she leaned closer, glancing over the pages of what appeared to be hand-written entries on top of a medical file. A file with her name on it.
No longer concerned about breaching any ethical standards, she moved to the other side, leaning against the desk as she let her fingers dance over the neat handwriting.
What she read made color fill her cheeks; the first page was a detailed description of her reaction to everything he’d done to her that morning and she quickly flipped the page, not entirely sure she wanted to know what else he had to say on that subject.
She let her eyes roam the next sheet for something less mortifying, but when she spotted a small diagram lower down on the opposite page, her heart skipped a beat and blood rushed in her ears.
It... it was…
She bent even further over the papers, staring at the small circle and the symbols within it. It was an exact copy of the image she’d seen on her forehead.
He’d... put it there?
The realization struck as a bolt of lightning, and numbness spread through her fingers where they pressed against the drawing. She didn’t know how, but he’d marked her.
Selma shook her head, trying to clear her confusion. Why would he have done that? Even if she ignored the how, it made no sense. She brushed a hand over her forehead, eliciting an odd pulsing sensation against her fingertips when she touched the mark.
There had to be an answer on the pages.
Her pulse quickened as she refocused on the paper, finally reading the jarring words underneath the circle.
As suspected, Selma Lehman is a Breeder.
Application of the blinding mark removed her ability to see through my human disguise. Attachment of the breeding ring instantly enhanced her scent. She no longer fears me. No longer fears my presence; she will be ready for auction soon.
She didn’t read any further, because when her eyes darted over the word “auction” for the second time, trying to find some meaning in it that didn’t make her tremble, someone politely cleared their throat.
Selma jumped and tore her gaze from the paper, only to have it land on Dr. Hershey’s tall form looming by the door.
He cocked his head, giving her the impression of a cat watching a mouse, as a wry smile spread across his handsome face. This time he made no attempt at hiding the devious quirk to it.
“Why, Selma... whatever are you doing in my office this late? Is there something you wish to discuss?”
She swallowed thickly, ignoring the teasing note to his question. He knew without a shadow of a doubt what she’d seen.
“What did you do to me?” she whispered, trying her best to stop her hands from shaking. “What is that mark?”
He narrowed his amber eyes at her before twisting the doorknob so it locked with a menacing click. “That document was not for your eyes, sweetheart. But since you’ve seen it, I suppose you might as well learn what it means a little sooner than planned.”
Taking his time because there was nowhere for her to run, he walked toward her, his shadow growing larger with every step.