Page 9 of Dr. Danger

I bandage her arm, my touch gentler than ever. “You’re a good patient,” I murmur, clearing my throat. “You do as you’re told.”

She gives me a small smile, her eyes exhausted but warm. “I try. I do whatever I can to ensure you don’t bite my head off.”

I scowl and she lets out a choked snigger. Stepping back, I pack away the equipment, trying to regain my composure. As I finish up, I glance at her one last time.

She’s leaning back, eyes closed, her breathing steadying now. The vulnerability she displays is gut-wrenching, dangerous for someone like me. I’ve never really understood why some men would be willing to die for their woman, but now I suddenly do.

And I’d give anything to have it be me in that chair and not her.

5.

Avon

Dr. Deathweather packs away the last of his equipment, and the room falls into a heavy silence. I can still feel the pinch of the needle, the bandage scratching my arm. He stands there, his expression unreadable, the usual coldness in his eyes softened just slightly.

"Have you eaten anything today?" he asks abruptly, when my stomach groans.

I blink, caught off guard by the question. "No, I haven't," I admit, feeling a twinge of guilt.

He scowls, a deep furrow forming between his brows. "Then what’s the point of me doing all this if you can’t even take care of a basic need of yours?”

"I'm sorry," I murmur, genuinely contrite. His concern feels strange, almost out of place, coming from him.

To my surprise, he doesn’t just leave it at that. ”I have to make sure you eat something before I leave," he declares, ready to punch down on any argument.

I stare at him, stunned. The stern, unyielding doctor is not so stern anymore. It's unexpected, this flicker of care from someone so…machine like.

”If you insist," I say softly, pushing myself up from the chair. "Follow me."

We walk through the hallway, my steps slow and careful. The Doctor stays close, his presence grounding. I can't help but glance at him, wondering what’s going on in that complex mind of his.

The kitchen is the only room in the manor with its rustic charm intact and I take a seat at the wooden table, feeling suddenly self-conscious under the doctor’s intense gaze.

”I’ll call my maid to make me something,” I say but the doctor shakes his head, his posture rigid.

"I’ve got two hands and they’re pretty capable last time I checked. Just tell me what you want."

His offer surprises me even more. "Um, maybe some fruit?"

He nods, turning around with purpose. I watch as he moves around the kitchen, his actions efficient and precise. It's strange seeing him in this domestic setting, so out of his element yet he’s so focused.

As he prepares the meal, I take a moment to study him. There's something almost endearing about his awkwardness, the way he frowns as he chooses what fruits to pick from the fruit bowl. This man, who exudes such cold control, is here making me a snack. It's almost surreal.

A few minutes later, he places a plate with neatly sliced fruits in front of me. "Eat," he commands, sitting down opposite me.

I pick up a pear. The first bite is juicy and sweet, and I can’t help but smile. ”You didn’t have to do this."

He nods curtly, watching me intently. ”I had to," he says, his voice softer now. "You can't afford to skip meals."

His eyes never leaving me. For a moment, there’s a silence between us that feels almost…comfortable.

I finish the last of my plate just as Malva walks into the kitchen. Her eyes widen in surprise when she sees the doctor. She quickly masks her expression, but I can sense her annoyance. He seems equally displeased by her presence, his posture stiffening as he sizes her up.

If the doctor ever looked at me that way, I’d probably fall dead on the spot and I admire Malva for still standing.

"Ave, are you feeling alright?" Malva asks, her tone a bit sharper than usual.

"I'm fine," I reply, offering a small smile. "Just had a quick snack."

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