Fangs & Fire

Chapter 2: Tempting Bite

The hospital was quiet, save for the soft hum of machines and the occasional shuffle of nurses in the hall. It was late, but the building never fully slept—there were always the few who lingered, the weary workers and those who couldn’t find rest.

Dominic Crowley walked through the sterile, brightly lit corridors with a kind of silent grace, his presence making the air feel heavier. His stride was long and measured, the soft click of his polished shoes a reminder of his approach, though no one dared acknowledge it. The nurses working the night shift felt his aura before they saw him. A subtle shift in the air, a whisper of something unnatural, followed him wherever he went.

As he passed, the nurses straightened, their gazes momentarily drawn to him. His appearance, impossibly handsome, would have been enough to make anyone stop and stare, but it was something more. There was an otherworldliness to him—a stillness in the way he carried himself, like the world moved around him, but he remained untouched by it.

He glanced at them briefly, acknowledging them with little more than a cool nod, though they felt the weight of his gaze more deeply than they cared to admit. His eyes—pale, cold—swept over them, and they immediately looked away, unsure if it was out of respect or fear.

Dominic didn’t need to stop and greet anyone. He had been here enough times, walked these halls enough to know every inch of the place. His eyes fell on the chief doctor’s office at the end of the hall, but his attention was drawn away by the faint sound of a heartbeat—erratic, labored.

He paused in front of a door, his fingers brushing lightly over the cold metal of the handle. Inside, a young man lay in bed, pale and frail, hooked up to life support, his breath shallow and quick. The terminal patient had been in and out of this hospital for months, each stay more desperate than the last. This time, there was no recovery in sight.

The young man’s pain radiated through the room—sharp, unrelenting. His body was failing him. Most doctors would look at him and see a lost cause, another statistic in a long list of people who couldn’t be saved. But Dominic didn’t see it that way.

The nurse standing by his side gave him a glance as he entered, but she didn’t speak. She knew better than to ask questions when Dominic was around.

Dominic didn’t speak either. He didn’t need to. Instead, he walked slowly toward the bed, his presence alone seeming to shift the atmosphere. As his eyes met the patient’s, he didn’t see just a man in pain—he saw someone suffering in silence, caught in the endless grip of agony. Dominic’s gaze softened, though only for a moment.

His hand brushed lightly over the patient’s forehead, a touch that felt both cool and piercing, reaching deep into the man’s consciousness. For just a split second, the pain lessened. The erratic heartbeat slowed, and the tension in the young man’s face melted away. A small moment of relief, something Dominic could give with a thought—a gift, or perhaps a reminder that he had the power to take it all away.

The nurse watched, her breath catching in her throat. There was no medical explanation for what she had just witnessed. It wasn’t a sedative or a painkiller—it was something else. Something that she didn’t dare try to understand.

Dominic stood still for a moment, allowing the man to drift into a more peaceful slumber. The pain had not been eradicated, but for now, it was dulled. It was a temporary kindness—a gift to those who suffered. But it also reminded Dominic of the price of immortality. He could heal for a moment, offer peace where there was none, but it was never permanent.

He turned away, his eyes catching the nurse’s questioning look, but he offered no answers. He had done what he needed to do. He didn’t need to explain himself.

Without another word, he continued down the hallway, leaving the nurse to process what she had just seen. His mind wandered back to the duties he still had to attend to, the responsibilities that stretched out before him. The weight of them pressed against his chest, but for a brief moment, as the young man slept soundly, Dominic found a strange comfort in the stillness of the night.

Dominic’s footsteps echoed through the hall as he made his way to the office at the end. The door to Dr. Marcus Hill’s office was cracked open, and through the small gap, Dominic could see the chief doctor hunched over his desk, scribbling something furiously onto a prescription pad, a half-empty cup of coffee beside him.

The glow of the desk lamp illuminated the lines on Dr. Hill’s tired face, his brow furrowed in concentration. He hadn’t noticed Dominic’s approach, but the moment the door clicked open, the doctor looked up, his eyes widening in surprise at the man who stood in his doorway.

“Mr. Crowley,” Dr. Hill stammered, standing quickly. “I didn’t expect—”

“Of course you didn’t,” Dominic interjected smoothly, stepping into the office without waiting for an invitation. His presence seemed to fill the room, though his movements were slow and deliberate. The doctor, caught off guard, straightened and adjusted his tie nervously.

Dominic’s eyes scanned the office, lingering on the open prescription pads, the papers scattered about—forms, brochures, advertisements. The overwhelming focus on pharmaceutical sales was almost laughable. It was no secret that Dr. Hill, like many others in the medical community, had been swayed by the pressure of sales quotas, the constant push to prescribe newer, more expensive drugs.

Dominic’s sharp eyes flicked back to the doctor, his voice low and laced with authority. “I trust you’ve been keeping up with your usual duties, Dr. Hill?”

Hill swallowed, trying to mask his discomfort with a nervous smile. “Of course, Mr. Crowley. We’ve been doing everything we can to manage costs, and the sales from these prescriptions are—”

Dominic’s gaze sharpened as he took a step forward, his voice growing colder. “Sales? You’re a doctor, not a salesman.”

Hill froze for a moment, clearly taken aback by the interruption. “Well… yes, but the reality of healthcare—”

“I’m not interested in the reality of healthcare. I’m interested in wellness.” Dominic’s voice didn’t raise, but it carried weight, each word more pointed than the last. “You’ve been prescribing more medications than necessary, focusing on sales quotas rather than the care of your patients.”

The doctor opened his mouth to defend himself, but Dominic continued, his tone cutting through the defense.

“I don’t run a business here, Dr. Hill. This is a hospital. A place for healing, not profit.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Your patients aren’t just numbers on a ledger. They’re people. You’re treating the symptoms, not the cause.”

Hill hesitated, glancing at the prescription pad in his hand, clearly rattled by the encounter. “But… the revenue is necessary, Mr. Crowley. Without it, we—”

Dominic stepped closer, towering over him, his voice low and steady. “Without it, you lose sight of why you became a doctor in the first place. To help people. You don’t need to sell pills to do that.”

The silence between them grew thick, and the doctor lowered his gaze, shame washing over his features. For a brief moment, it seemed as if he might argue back, but the weight of Dominic’s presence stilled him.

Dominic turned away from him then, his tone softer, though still filled with a quiet threat. “I expect you to reassess your approach, Dr. Hill. Now.”

With that, he walked to the door, pausing just before stepping out. “If you ever forget what your true role here is again, I won’t be so lenient next time. This hospital is not your personal business venture.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Dr. Hill, left in the silence, exhaled a shaky breath, the weight of the encounter still hanging in the air.

Dominic stepped out of the chief physician’s office, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. Disappointment settled over him as he walked down the hallway. The doctors, the nurses, the entire hospital—all of them were obsessed with the business of medicine rather than the healing. It was all about profit, prescriptions, and sales quotas, none of which had anything to do with true care.

His thoughts drifted to the elves, their superior healing magic, and their capacity for compassion. The elves had a way of healing that was as much about the spirit as it was the body—pure kindness, a magic that could not be replicated by humans no matter how much technology they threw at their problems. They didn’t just cure wounds—they mended the soul. But those days were lost, their kind nearly eradicated, their knowledge and compassion buried under the ruins of war.

As he walked, the frustration gnawed at him, but a sudden shift in the air caught his attention—a strong, sweet scent that pierced through the sterile smells of the hospital. It was almost hypnotic, irresistible, and it called to him, drawing him toward the ER with an intensity he couldn’t ignore.

His instincts sharpened as he followed the scent down the hall, the pull growing stronger with every step. He rounded the corner and nearly collided with the nurse who had just exited one of the ER rooms. She looked up at him, startled, stepping back as she carried a blood sample in her gloved hands.

“Sorry,” she muttered quickly, brushing past him without another word.

Dominic barely acknowledged her, his attention already on the room she had just left. His feet moved of their own accord, the scent of the woman inside almost overwhelming. As he stepped into the room, the sight of her took a moment to register.

She lay unconscious, her dark hair splayed across the pillow, her skin pale but unmarked by injury. The machines hummed quietly around her, but what caught Dominic’s attention wasn’t the sight of the woman—it was the scent. It was blinding, drawing him closer, urging him to inhale deeper. The sweetness was so intense, it threatened to cloud his senses entirely.

He couldn’t pull away. Her scent was unlike anything he’d ever experienced—powerful, almost intoxicating, like something pure, something deeply embedded in his mind.

Before he even realized it, he was standing over her, hovering close to her neck, his senses completely taken over. His breath quickened as he drew the scent into his lungs, the overwhelming sweetness flooding him.

Dominic’s mind raced. What was this? He snapped out of it, stepping back suddenly in disbelief. He hadn’t felt such an overwhelming reaction in ages, not since… not since the war.

He had to control himself.

He composed himself, brushing his hair back from his face and forcing his breathing to steady. This was no time for weakness. The woman was a patient, and he had no right to behave like this. He turned on his heel, heading toward the nurse’s desk with as much composure as he could muster.

The nurse looked up at him, but there was no surprise in her eyes—she was used to Dominic’s presence by now. She handed him the file without asking questions, and he quickly glanced at the details.

“Amara Campbell,” the nurse said, her voice soft. “She came in with a mild concussion. Her vitals are stable—healthy, actually, considering the impact. She was dropped off by a man, didn’t stay for admission. Just left her here.”

Dominic’s mind lingered on her name—Amara Campbell—and the sweetness of her blood. It was still so vivid in his senses. As he flipped through the file, he noticed there was something unusual in her readings. Despite the concussion, everything else seemed to be in perfect order. No abnormalities. Healthy.

And then, under her powerful scent, Dominic caught another trace of something—a faint but familiar smell, like an echo of something from the past. It wasn’t the same as the woman’s scent, but it was something he recognized—something tied to an old memory.

His eyes narrowed as he studied the file, trying to make sense of the connection. He had no answers yet, but one thing was clear—Amara Campbell was tied to something larger than just a concussion. And the faint scent beneath hers, though subtle, was a reminder that the past had a way of bleeding into the present.

Dominic’s fingers tightened around the file, his thoughts racing. He needed to know more.