Page 8 of Dr. Danger

”Do not joke about this.” The nonchalance frustrates me. “You’re more unprotected than you realize,” I snap, my voice sharper than intend. “Vulnerable, especially in your condition.”

She tilts her head, studying me. “Why do you care? I thought you said you don’t care about your patients?”

I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my irritation. “There are times when I make exceptions.” My throat snares. ”This one time…I’ll make an exception. For you.”

She laughs softly, a sound that’s both soothing and infuriating. “Ah…a crack in your facade, Dr. Deathweather?”

It’s not a crack. It’s a dent. And it’s her fault.

We continue walking, neither speaking and I feel like I’m having my skin peeled. By her. As if she wants to find the soft core with her bare hands. I shouldn’t encourage this, should end it…but I’d rather shove a rocket up my ass.

”How many years has the property been in your family?” I ask, attempting small talk and I don’t usually do small talk, clearly bad at it.

”Hundreds, I think…,”Avon’s voice trails off mid-sentence, and her pace slows considerably. I glance at her, and my heart sinks. Her chest is heaving, and she’s panting, struggling to catch her breath.

“Avon,” I say sharply, but she doesn’t respond. Her steps become unsteady, and just as she wobbles, I curse under my breath and quickly move to support her. She collapses against me, and I lower her gently to the ground, propping her up against a nearby tree.

Her lids flutter, and she’s gone pale—too pale. I do a quick checkup, feeling her pulse and noting her rapid, shallow breaths. “Damn it,” I mutter angrily, more at myself than at her. “You overexerted yourself.”

She tries to say something, but I cut her off, my frustration evident. “You should’ve told me you were getting tired. You can’t push yourself like this.”

Avon blinks up at me, a mixture of apology and defiance in her eyes. “I just…wanted to stay out here with you,” she whispers, her voice weak.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. “You need to listen to your body first. It’s dangerous if you don’t.”

Once she has somewhat recovered, I pull her up to a standing position, my hands steadying her. “We’re going back inside,” I say firmly. “And no more walking for you today.”

She nods weakly, and I consider for a moment whether to carry her. But considering she’s trying to act as if she’s hunky-dory, I doubt she’d appreciate that. Instead, I keep a firm grip on her arm, as we make our way back to the house.

Each step is careful and measured, my annoyance simmering just below the surface. I can’t believe I let her overdo it. I should’ve been more vigilant.

We reach the house, and I lead her into the same room where I examined her yesterday. She sinks onto the chair, looking exhausted.

I kneel beside her, my eyes locked on hers. “Don’t ever do that again,” I say, my voice softer now but still firm. “Your health is not something to be trifled with.”

She nods, her expression weary. “I understand, Doctor.”

I watch her for a moment, a mix of frustration and something else—something I can’t quite identify—swirling inside me. This fragile, unprotected girl is testing me in ways I never expected.

Stepping back to give her some space, I open up my medical kit. Avon watches me quietly, wincing at the sight of needles. The equipment is laid out meticulously—syringes, vials, cotton swabs, alcohol pads, and bandages.

“Roll up your sleeve,” I instruct, my voice softened but still commanding. She obeys without hesitation, the fabric of her blouse sliding up to reveal her pale, slender arm. I take her wrist, feeling her pulse again, noting its irregularity.

“This might sting a bit,” I warn as I disinfect the area with an alcohol pad. She nods, her eyes fixed on mine, trusting.

I insert the needle carefully, drawing blood into the vial. Her skin is almost translucent, the blue veins stark against the white. As the blood flows, I can’t help but notice how delicate she is, how mortal. A part of me wishes she’d been made out of steel.

“You’re doing well,” I say, the words surprising even me. “Good girl.”

Her eyes widen slightly at the praise, a soft blush creeping into her cheeks. The tension between us heightens, an electric charge that crackles in the air. I try to ignore it, focusing on my task but my own cheeks are warming.

I fill several vials, each labeled and sealed meticulously. “These will go to the lab,” I explain, trying to maintain a professional demeanor. “We’ll have the results back soon.”

She nods, her gaze never leaving my face. “Thanks.”

I pause, my hand hovering over the last vial. Her gratitude makes my head spin, forcing me to blink. I cap the vial, placing it with the others.

“Hold this,” I say, pressing a cotton ball to the puncture site. She complies, her fingers brushing mine briefly, sending a jolt through me.

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