His Forbidden Obsession

(Amara's POV) The blood wouldn't stop. It kept spreading…. The dark, thick liquid was soaking through the gauze beneath my hands like it had no intention of slowing down. "Pressure," I muttered under my breath, pushing harder against the wound. "Come on… don't do this." The ER was loud as monitors kept beeping, footsteps rushing in, voices overlapping but everything around me faded into background noise. Right now, there was only one thing that mattered. The man bleeding out on my table. "BP is dropping!" a nurse called from behind me. "I know," I snapped at her without looking up. "Get another IV line in—now." It was a gunshot wound on the lower abdomen with Severe blood loss. He had no ID on him and no police information either. That alone should have told me something was wrong. But in the ER, you don't get to choose who deserves saving. You just do it, no questions asked. My hands moved automatically, muscle memory taking over as I worked to stabilize him. I clamped his wound, added pressure and monitored. I kept doing so on repeat. "Don't think. Just act," I said to myself. That's how you survive this job. That's how they survive you. "Stay with me," I said, leaning closer, my voice lower now. "You're not dying on my shift." For a moment, nothing happened. Then his fingers twitched. I barely noticed it at first. Just a slight movement against the bedsheet. I thought it was involuntary until his hand shot up and grabbed my wrist hard. A sharp breath caught in my throat. "What the—" His grip tightened, cutting off my words and my blood circulation. That wasn't the strength of a man slipping into unconsciousness. That was control. It was deliberate and dangerous. "Sir, you need to let go," I said, forcing some calm into my voice even as my pulse spiked. "You're in the hospital. You're safe." His eyes opened and everything in me went still. They weren't dazed or unfocused like I expected from someone who was bleeding out. They were clear and sharp as they watched me. He was assessing me like he had been awake this whole time. A chill slid down my spine. "Easy," I added, trying to gently pull my wrist free but his grip only tightened as pain flared up my arm. "Don't," he said. His voice was rough and low obviously strained from blood loss but there was nothing weak about it. Nothing uncertain or anything that showed fear. I swallowed but i managed to find my voice. "Sir, if you don't let go, I can't help you." For a second, he just stared at me. Not at my face but at my eyes, like he was memorizing them. Then his gaze dropped to my hands pressed against his wound… to the blood… to me. Something shifted in the air right then. "You shouldn't have touched me," he murmured. My brows pulled together in confusion. "Excuse me?" His thumb brushed slowly against the inside of my wrist. It was intentional, controlled and completely inappropriate for someone in his condition. My heart skipped. "Let go," I said, sharper now but instead, he pulled me closer. Not much—but enough. Enough that I could feel the heat of his body, smell the faint metallic scent of blood mixed with something darker… something dangerous. "Now you've seen me," he said quietly. My stomach tightened at his words. There was something in his tone—something final and firm that made my instincts scream danger, real danger. "I'm a doctor," I said firmly. "I save lives. That's it." A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. "No," he said. His grip tightened once more. "That's not all." Before I could respond, his eyes rolled back. His hand loosened from his grip and just like that…..he was gone again. He was now unconscious like the moment never happened. Like he hadn't just looked at me like I belonged in his world. I yanked my hand back, my pulse racing. "What the hell was that?" I muttered. "Dr. Amara!" someone called. "We're losing him!" I snapped back into motion immediately, pushing everything else aside. "Get me blood—now!" I ordered. "And page surgery, stat!" There was no time to overthink. No time to question strange actions. I just needed to save him. The room exploded into motion. A crash cart was wheeled in beside me. Someone shoved a unit of blood into my hand. Another nurse adjusted the monitor as the steady beeping turned erratic. "Pulse is thready!" Someone shouted. "I see it," I snapped, already moving. "Hang the blood…wide open. We're not losing him." I pressed harder against the wound, my arms starting to ache from the strain. "Where is surgery?" I demanded. "On their way!" "Not fast enough," I muttered. His skin was growing colder beneath my touch. The color draining from his face told me exactly how close we were to losing him. Not on my shift. "Stay with me," I said again, more firmly this time, leaning closer. "You don't get to die after grabbing me like that. You hear me?" "BP crashing!" "Damn it." I sucked in a breath. "We're going in. Prep him now." "Here?" one of the nurses asked, startled. "Yes, here," I shot back. "We don't have time to move him. Clamp set—now." If we lost him before surgery got here, that was it. No second chances and no miracle saves….just another body. And for some reason… that didn't sit right with me. I worked hard and tried to reduce the bleeding as everything was now reduced to instinct. At some point, surgery finally burst through the doors, taking over with practiced urgency. I stepped back with my hands stained, my chest rising and falling too fast. "Good work stabilizing him," one of the surgeons said quickly before turning his full attention to the patient but I barely heard him. My eyes stayed on the man on the table. Even when unconscious, he didn't look weak. He didn't look like someone who almost died. If anything… he looked like he was waiting for something….or someone. A shiver ran down my spine as I turned away. I forced myself to look away because something about him unsettled me in a way I couldn't explain. Not the blood… Not the injury…. Him. Everything about him felt wrong. Like he didn't belong in a place meant to save lives.