Page 28 of Beautiful Deception

Blood wells up from the thin cut, and a drop slides onto the floor like a sacrificial offering when the lantern seeks darkness’ embrace intimately.

A hiss tumbles from my pinched lips as I choke back a curse, something I’d like to shout from the top of the mountain about this cursed trip and its foul debaucheries.

“I left you alone for a bit.” Dr. Kian sighs as he emerges from the shadows, one foot over the tripwire, and hoists me up in one smooth breath before I realize he’s there.

“Clumsy,” he chides roguishly and takes off where he came from.

I sit in his arms, my mind skipping in a field of spring flowers as his fingers grip more firmly under my knees and hold me tighter against his chest. My heart preens, puffing out against my ribs as it beats and spirals to his touch.

Before we leave, his shoe kicks the metal hook screwed on the wooden baseboard, and the silvery wire lifelessly floats to the ground.

“Is it—”

“No,” he denies with a shake of his head. “Peter was with me.”

Neither of us says it, but there is someone in the group doing these uncanny acts. One culprit or a team of people; it’s hard to tell when I’ve been so focused on Peter.

“Remo should be back soon,” he mentions, “I’ll fill him in.”

He offers a bewitching smile and asks about my day, like the familiar routine of encouragement in his office, but I find haven with his heartbeats above my ear this time.

I don’t know what I said, but he didn’t interrupt, either. Maybe I’m babbling to block the troubled muteness or the vile pinch of fear lingering in the back of my mind. Still, I close my eyes and count his steady breaths.

Sometimes, they harmonize with a step or two, but mostly, they orbit its tune.

I open my eyes when he sets me down on his bed, and a whiff of his scent dances briskly as I can’t help but sneakily breathe it in.

“I feel like I’m doing worse, doctor.” I scratch my cheek, a nervous tic I started since I’ve been here.

He nods over his shoulder to indicate he’s listening as he gathers some first-aid items from his desk. It’s from the time Remo got hurt, and if Dr. Kian hadn’t put it away, then he must have been anticipating more injuries.

“I’m not being dramatic,” I mumble, wiggling my injured ankle to kick off the loose shoe.

I feel the pain. It throbs and burns, but I don’t register it. There is a barrier holding back a swirl of panic, worry, tears, and a hint of exhilaration.

Dr. Kian’s weight sinks the bed and lifts my ankle onto his lap, forcing my body to twist toward him with a small pout on my lips. He examines the wound; his warm but firm fingers press on the skin to gauge the depth and wipe the congealed blood around it.

“And why do you feel that way?” he intones as my toes curl at the stinging when the antibacterial wipe inadvertently brushes the reddened skin.

“I don’t know,” I admit truthfully, seeing there’s no reason to lie to him. I never did, and I don’t plan on starting.

“I guess I’m just glad I found out the truth about what happened to me and that nothing else mattered,” I rationalize, finally uncurling my toes as the wound starts to go numb from the cooling anesthetic spray he puts on.

He unrolls the clean bandage and wraps the wound, each careful touch speaking volumes, and then he rests his hand on the small knot.

“You’re not going to offer advice?”

He traces the neat edges of every layer peeking from the ones on top, carrying care and love on its path, yet the fiery pressure trailing after shows his discontentment.

He’s worried about me, I think, with blooming joy.

“I only take patients inside my office,” he lilts, chuckling at my furrowed eyebrows.

“So,” I squeak gracelessly and bite my inner cheek. “When we talked outside of that…”

“Friendly conversations.” His fingers caress up my ankle and breeze over the bruised skin as he taps there thoughtfully.

“At night, too.” My heart wants to explode from my chest or just cave in on itself to avoid this humiliating moment.

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