Page 89 of The Vanishing
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Lore and Lust book 3:The Awakening
Junichi
I’m too close to home for this shit. I shouldn’t be doing this.
Walking down the long hallway, I can smell the doctor already. It’s faint, but still strong enough to cut through the abundance of antiseptic and bleach, latex gloves, scratchy cotton gowns and all the other typical hospital smells assaulting my senses.
Humans are humans. I like them. I’ve had a bunch and they’re pretty much all the same. But something about this doctor stirs me. Ever since I laid eyes on him, something’s been nagging me, and I need to know why the hell.
My father would kill me. Literally. If he knew about the things I’ve done… the things I want to do right now to this inexplicable doctor. He’d rather see me dead than fraternizing with humans and low-level vamps—recklessly jeopardizing the one half of my “elite, purebred Takayama bloodline.”
Lucky for me, though, the old bastard is dead. Now all I have to do is manage my constant, addictive desire to feed from my evil-harpy purebred source. I have my father to thank for that bullshit. For attaching me to a monster, thinking I would bond with it.
I should not be doing this.
Moving down the hallway, I turn the corner and see that the doctor’s office door is open. Two weeks I’ve been flirting with this male. No tangible progress made. If anything, he’s getting a little agitated, which, in and of itself, is intriguing—the slow evaporation of some politically correct mask he’s been wearing.
It’s confusing, because Doctor Davies hasn’t told me to fuck off, either. Hasn’t said he’s engaged or doesn’t like men. Hasn’t tried to call security… not that calling security would solve anything. The doctor isn’t saying yes but he isn’t saying no, either. He’s told me he’s busy, but it’s not like he’salwaysbusy. He has to eat at some point, so why not with me?
This is going to sound arrogant, but he’s a challenge and I find that a little exciting. I haven’t had someone brush me off like this in a long while—if ever. At a hundred and thirty years old, not much excites me anymore.
I’m carrying a singular textbook in my hand—which is ridiculous, but I have a point. I grip the doorframe with my free hand and peek inside the office. Doctor Davies is reading something at his desk. There’s a window behind him and the bright morning sunlight is pouring over his back. He looks like a damn angel. His scent is just as sweet and heavenly.
I walk into the room, then sit in one of the two chairs in front of his desk. I smile and speak in polite Japanese. “Good morning, Doctor J. Davies.” I place the textbook at the edge of his desk. Waiting.
The doctor keeps his gaze focused on the file in front of him. “Please bring back all of my books next time?”
“If I do that, I won’t have a reason to visit you.” I sit back, bringing my leg up to cross my ankle at my knee. “Just think of me as a bespoke delivery man—returning your precious books one at a time.”
The doctor breathes a laugh and rolls his eyes, pulling his glasses from his face. He has a nice smile. His warm skin tone reminds me of buttermilk.
“See?” I smile, watching him. “I make you laugh. Tell me your first name and have dinner with me.” I could easily find his name. Easily. But where’s the fun in that?
Doctor Davies looks up at me, staring. His eyes are chestnut brown and shaped like sideways raindrops. He doesn’t speak. Angelic and expressionless. I look at the ambiguous name placard on his desk. It readsDoctor J. Davies, M.D.
“Is it… John?” I ask.
“No.”
“Jeremy.”
“No.”
“Juan? Juan-José? Juan-Manuel?”
“What?”
“I could look it up online.” I fold my arms. “Or ask someone. But it would be much more personable and meaningful to our story if you told me yourself.”
The doctor shakes his head. “It’s not online. We don’t have a story.”
“We could.” I smile. “‘Once upon a time, I asked Doctor Davies to dinner and he said yes. Little did he know, it was only the beginning.’”
At this, the doctor inhales a deep breath and blows it out. The action makes his subtle scent waft out at me. I blink my eyes, trying to ignore how lovely it smells. So fucking weird.
“How can you just waltz in here every week?” he asks. “This isn’t a coffee shop. Why are you hounding me?”
