The devil doctor *Completed*

Holding her

*Bill*

The rain pelts my hat and coat as I stand outside Wicky's residence. It's half past four in the morning. She's no doubt asleep. If I unlock that door, walk into her residence, into her bedchamber, everything will change. There will be no going back.

As much as I want her, I don't want her under these circumstances. I hadn't expected my actions toward her to result in her welcoming me so quickly and swiftly. While my feelings for her might be honest, my reasons for pursuing her at the moment are not.

I should turn about and go home. But I'm the only one with the ability to stay near enough to her to protect them all. Staying close to her would certainly prove no hardship… at least not until she's no longer content with only the small part I would offer.

‘Do no harm.’ That's the mantra of my profession, but in her case I've failed to heed it, which is why I'm now standing in the blasted rain arguing with myself. I don't have to wake her. I could just sit in a chair and watch her.

That seems the way to go. To torment myself further by being near enough to touch her, but refraining. That would definitely qualify me for sainthood.

I march up the steps, slip the key into the lock, let myself in, and lock the door behind me. Within the foyer, all is silent, hushed. A lamp has been left to burn on a table. I've had far too many nights where lamps were left to burn for me as I sat vigil, striving to ward off death, but it snuck by me when it was good and ready. Alone in my residence, I mourn the loss of every patient while I analyze every step of the treatment, striving to understand why sometimes things work and sometimes they don't. There's always more to learn, so much more to learn.

If I don't go up those grand sweeping stairs, if they're correct about the danger, if something happens to her, I will analyze this night until the what-ifs drive me mad.

Leaving my damp hat and coat on a rack in the foyer, I grab the lamp and start up the stairs. I fight to tamp down the anticipation building with each step. I'm only going to watch her sleep, nothing more. But I can certainly take pleasure in that.

Three years ago, I was awakened in the dead of night to come here. Outside her door, I come to a stop as the images assail me: her battered face, her badly beaten body. I'd never seen anyone covered in so many bruises, and I've dealt with survivors of a train wreck.

I flatten my palm against the door. Unlike Claybourne and Jack, I've never had a penchant for violence, but that night, I thought if her husband had stepped into the room, I might have very well killed him. That a man could willingly inflict so much harm on another human being, on a she-wolf, on his mate… I am neither innocent nor naive but sometimes I do not understand the minds of men.

Quietly I open the door. A weak fire struggling to remain relevant chases shadows around the room. My heart lurches at the sight of the rumpled, but empty bed. Quickly I step farther into the room. Rain is coming in through the open windows, pooling on the floor. Then I spot her huddled in a corner, shivering uncontrollably. I rush across the room and crouch before her. "Wicky, sweetheart?"

She lifts a dazed gaze to mine.

Cautiously I cradle her face in my palm. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Jerkily she shakes her head and lifts a shaking hand, pointing with one finger. "I don't... know… how they got here."

Twisting around, I study the bed where she indicated. "What precisely?"

"On the table."

Unfolding my body, I stride over to the bedside table. My gut clenches as I pick up the two rings. I know them well. I'd placed them on a pauper's fingers. Inwardly, I curse harshly, but outwardly I give no sign of my alarm or trepidation. I halfway hope the blighter is still in the residence. If we cross paths, I'll be digging a grave before the night is out.

But when I turn back to Wicky, I know I can't leave her, not like this. Nor can I tell her the truth of it. At that moment she is all that matters. After slipping the rings into my trousers' pocket, I walk back over to her. "It's going to be all right."

Lifting her in my arms, I carry her over to the bed, gently lay her down, and draw the covers over her. "Would you like me to close the windows?"

She nods, and I march over to them, closing one and then the other. I take a moment to peer through them. ‘Are you out there, you bastard?’

With quickness, I draw the draperies closed. Aware of her gaze following me, I go into the bathing room, snatch up some linens, and return to spread them over the floor beneath the windows so they can soak up the water.

As I near the bed, I tear off my jacket, waistcoat, and cravat and toss them on a nearby chair. After pulling off my shoes, I sit on the edge of the bed. “Wicky, you appear to be in shock. You need to be warmed. I’m going to slip beneath the covers and hold you. That’s all, just hold you. All right?”

Her eyes wide and circular, she nods. “I’m going mad.”

“No, sweetheart, there’s an explanation for all this,” I murmur as I work my way between the sheets and draw her near, briskly rubbing my hands up and down her back, striving to generate enough heat to stop her trembling. Her teeth are chattering. I fear I might have to wake the servants to have a warm bath prepared for her. Although I suspect she wouldn’t want the servants to see her like this. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Snuggling up against me, she burrows her nose into the crook of my shoulder. “I was dreaming, and suddenly I began to feel as though a great weight was pressing on me and I was suffocating. I could smell Riverdale as though he were wafting through the room. I don’t recall opening the windows or building the fire. Or the rings. How did they come to be here? They were locked up safe at the family estate. Could I be doing these things in my sleep?”

At least she’s stopped trembling, I’m grateful for that. I slow my hands into a gentle caress. “It’s possible I suppose. I once had a patient who would wake up in the middle of the night to find himself standing in the stables with no recollection of how he came to be there.”

She tilts her head up to hold my gaze. “Truly?”

I give her a comforting smile. “Truly. He also was stark naked. Apparently, he removed his nightclothes before he began his trek.”

She releases a little huff that is almost a laugh. “Were you able to cure him?”

“No, I couldn’t determine the cause. It wasn’t physical and there’s a good deal I don’t know about the mind.”

“Do I belong in an asylum, do you think?”

“No, absolutely not,” I say with conviction.

She nestles her face back against my chest. “Is everything all right with the queen?”

“Yes. She ate something that upset her digestion.”

“She’s fortunate to have you.”

I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Go to sleep now. I’ll hold the monsters and nightmares at bay.”

“Yes, all right.”

I am acutely aware of her relaxing against me, her breathing slowing.

“I’ve never slept with a man in my bed before,” she says in a low voice, as though she fears disturbing me. “I rather like it. Riverdale always left right afterward.”

Naturally. The man didn’t appreciate what he once possessed. “I don’t.”

“I suspected that about you.” I think I can feel a blush warming her skin beneath my hands. “You’re always so kind.”

Her words are like a lash to my heart. If I were kind I would tell her everything right now and end her torment, only others are involved, those with whom I’ve grown up, those who have saved my neck on more than one occasion. Claybourne especially. If not for him, I would no doubt still be on the streets or worse, dead. “Try to sleep.”

I am acutely aware of the length of her body pressed against mine. One of her legs is wedged between mine and I fight not to consider that her leg is bare which means that her gown is hiked up. How far up, I can’t tell. At my side, her hand flinches, unfurls. Her breathing goes soft, softer.

I keep my arms around her, holding her close, hoping that with my presence I can hold her fears at bay.