Monster Doctor

Dr. Amelia Steele, known as the Monster Doctor, leaned forward in her chair, her curiosity piqued. The vampire sitting on her couch had a serious blood phobia, and she couldn't help but be intrigued by his unique condition. Her ballpoint pen tapped rhythmically against her lower lip as she listened attentively to him describing his little problem. “I just…can’t drink it. I tried taking the blood straight from a source.” The vampire, Maxwell Cross, glanced over at her with wide brown eyes, clearly distressed. “Ya know, like from someone’s neck.” Amelia nodded, empathizing with his struggle. She scribbled a quick note on her pad, jotting down "Scared to take directly." She had encountered various peculiar cases in her career as a renowned psychologist who specialized in treating supernatural beings, but this one was definitely intriguing. “But the minute my teeth actually touch someone’s skin—” Maxwell's voice trailed off, and a visible shudder ran through his too-thin body. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick.” Amelia couldn't help but imagine how unsettling the experience must be for both the vampire and his "source." Her mind raced with possible explanations and solutions. “Tell me, Maxwell, have you tried going to a blood bank?” she asked, her professional instincts kicking in. In her experience, some vampires had unique preferences when it came to blood, and perhaps Maxwell needed his blood cold, ice cold, and bagged like some gruesome monster takeout. As Amelia delved deeper into the mystery of Maxwell's blood phobia, she couldn't shake off her fascination with the case. Her determination to help her patient and uncover the root cause of his condition only grew stronger. With her expertise and unwavering commitment to her patients, Amelia was determined to unlock the secrets behind Maxwell's phobia and help him overcome it. Little did she know that their journey would uncover darker truths and put them both in grave danger, challenging her skills as the Monster Doctor in ways she never could have anticipated. He nodded and closed his eyes. “Been there, done that, Doctor. It just doesn’t work for me.” He exhaled heavily, and Amelia had to fight to control the curve of her lips. Vampires didn’t breathe, didn’t need any air, didn’t need anything but blood to live. But some habits were sure hard to break. Even for the dead. “I’m going to die.” A pause. His eyes opened, gazed at her office ceiling. “Again. ” His hands lifted in the air, began to gesture furiously as he announced, in a slightly shrill tone, “I’ve been a vampire for six days— six days! And I’m going to starve to death. I’ll be the first vampire in history to starve because he’s afraid of blood! I’m going to wither away, dwindle to nothing. There will be no bones left, no ashes. Just—” Oh jeez, this guy was quite the drama queen. Amelia leaned forward. Vamps were all alike. Always with the I–I talk. You’d think they were the only supernatural creatures who had any problems. Not being able to drink blood was a pretty serious problem for a vampire. And that was why Maxwell Cross had come to see her. She had a reputation for being able to help creatures like him. Amelia pulled off her glasses, rubbed the bridge of her nose as she thought a moment, then said, “Have you tried mixing the blood with something else?” He shot off the couch, began to pace the room, his skeletal body tight, his hands knotted into fists. “It’s blood! I can’t drink blood! I can’t—” Amelia took a deep breath and lowered the shield she’d erected in her mind. Slowly, carefully, she opened her thoughts up to the creature before her. Blood. Horrible, red, sticky blood. Dripping down my throat. Gagging me. Oh, the taste. Weak, stale. I hate it, hate it— Oh yeah, the guy had a bad blood issue. Amelia probed deeper into Maxwell’s mind, pushing past the fear, the disgust. There had to be more to Maxwell’s phobia. There always was. If she could just find a memory to show her… Amelia’s special gift in this world was her ability to touch the minds of others. She could peek inside their thoughts, feel the sting of their emotions, and that extrasensory ability made her the best damn psychologist in the state of Georgia. But, well, not everyone got to benefit from her little “bonus” power. Her gift only worked with supernatural beings—the Other— and that was why Amelia was known as the Monster Doctor. Of course, that wasn’t her technical title. Couldn’t very well post that in gold lettering on her door. “I can’t live this way!” Maxwell’s voice was a full scream now. He stood in front of her window, gazing down at the street below. His shaggy blond hair brushed against the windowpane. She refrained from pointing out that, technically, Maxwell wasn’t living. Damn. She wondered who’d been the brilliant guy to transform him. Maxwell really didn’t seem to be cut out for being undead. But it was her job to help him. And she was very, very good at her job. “Come here, Maxwell.” She didn’t like the way he was eyeing the street below. There was no way he’d survive a jump from twenty-three stories. Only a level-nine demon or one very strong shifter could survive a fall like that. His palms pressed against the glass. “If I can’t drink the blood, I’ll die.” Eventually. “You have a month,” she told him, pitching her voice low, trying to soothe him. “A vampire needs to feed only once every full moon.” And when he’d been transformed, he’d taken blood then. That gave him about three weeks before his next feeding. Amelia opened her desk drawer and pulled out her Rolodex. She took out a gray business card and held it up. “Take this.” Maxwell glanced back at her, brows knitted suspiciously. “What is it?” He crept toward her, lifted his hand. “A name and a number.” She handed him the card, met his gaze levelly. “A very private name and number. There have been others like you, Maxwell. Others who needed…help to feed.” He flinched. “Worst-case scenario—you call that number when the hunger gets too much for you. Tell the guy who answers I referred you.” “Wh-what will he do?” “He’ll give you a transfusion.” The alarm on her watch began to vibrate softly against her wrist. Their session was over. “A transfusion?” For the first time since he’d walked into her office, hope lit his face. “The blood can be pumped into me, so I don’t have to drink it?” Amelia nodded. “If necessary.” But that wasn’t a permanent solution. “Maxwell, you’re a vampire. It’s your nature to drink blood.” He couldn’t fight his basic nature forever. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to feed.” He swallowed. “But in the meantime, stop worrying so much.” She tried a smile. “You’ve got a backup plan now, so you know you aren’t going to starve.” His lips lifted in a faint grin, showing the hint of his fangs. “Yeah, I do, don’t I?” His fingers curled over the card. Her leather chair creaked softly as she pushed to her feet. “You and I are going to work through this.” He just had to trust her enough to let her fully into his mind so that she could help him to fight his fear. “I want you to come back next week, same time.” “A-all right.” Maxwell grabbed his battered leather coat and headed for the door. “Thanks.” He opened the door, heading into the empty lobby. It was after eleven P.M. and Amelia’s assistant, Vanessa, had left just as Maxwell arrived for his appointment. Maxwell looked back over his shoulder and said, “I’ll see you next week.” She pushed her glasses back on her nose as she followed him into the lobby. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be—” A loud knock sounded on her office door. Maxwell jumped. Amelia frowned. She didn’t have any other appointments scheduled for the night. No one else should have— A fist hammered against the wooden door. “Dr. Steele?” A man’s voice. Deep. Hard. Slightly annoyed. The doorknob rattled. Good thing Vanessa always locked up when she left. The vampire edged closer to her. “Do you…know who that is?” No, she sure as hell didn’t. But she was going to find out. Straightening her shoulders, Amelia marched forward, flipped the lock— “Dr. Steele, I know you’re in there!” —opened the door, and found herself staring at a tall, dark stranger, a stranger with a badge clipped to the top of his faded jeans. A cop. Alarm bells rang in her head. Anytime a cop paid her a call this late, well, it was never good. The cop blinked at her, blinked a pair of sky blue eyes, and lowered the hand he’d raised to slam against her door. Amelia felt her stomach tighten as she stared up at him. A shiver of foreboding slid over her. This man, he was dangerous, very dangerous. Her psychic gift told her that, and every instinct she possessed as a woman screamed the same warning. The cop was tanned a deep, dark gold. His hair was pitch black, a little too long. He had a hard, square jaw and a long blade of a nose. His cheekbones were high, glass sharp, giving him a slightly predatory look. His lips were thin and currently curved down in a frown of annoyance. The cop was a big guy. Tall, well over six feet, with wide shoulders and thick muscles that stretched the black T-shirt he wore. He was also glowing faintly. Shit. She knew what that hazy, shining light around his body meant. The cop wasn’t human. And there was only one kind of creature that carried a glow like a second skin. The guy was a shifter. Shit. s**t. Most people knew the legends about the shifters. Some folks called them Weres. They were creatures who could change their forms, shift into beasts. Her empathic ability let her see their second form, allowed her to see the soft, shining glow of the beasts the shifters carried. Sometimes those beasts took control. Shifters had been known to go mad, to attack, to kill— “Are you Dr. Steele?” His gaze darted over her shoulder to Maxwell, narrowed. “Ah, yes, yes, I am.” Oh damn, but she didn’t trust shifters. Never trust anything that was born with two faces…that was her motto. What kind of shifter was the cop? She’d met plenty of his kind in her time. Met shifters who could become panthers, snakes, even one who could become an owl. What was the cop? Something fairly safe like an owl or a snake? Or something dangerous…like a bear, a dragon, or God forbid, a wolf? The wolves were the worst. Uncontrollable, aggressive, with strong psychotic tendencies— The cop grunted, then said, “I need you to come with me.” He reached out his hand to her. She stared at his hand, at the long, broad fingers that reached for her. The hair on her nape rose. Go with a shifter? What, did she have the word stupid written on her forehead? She made no move to take his hand. Instead, she asked, “And just who might you be?” “Detective Ryder Kane.” He withdrew his hand, used it to pull out a black wallet, flashed her an ID card for all of two seconds. “Ah…I need to see that again.” Oh no, never trust a shifter.