Page 37 of The Doctor and the Devil
“I have been busy,” I huffed, pushing him away from me. “I don’t need a nursemaid, Rafael. Especially one who has his own troubles.” I gestured to the healing wound on his chest. It looked much worse up close—the skin around it puckering and raw.
He did not smile. “Busy? Too busy to take care of yourself?”
By that point, Charlotte had climbed the stairs and regarded us with a mixture of annoyance and excitement. She practically vibrated with her struggle to keep both contained.
“She has been refusing almost every tempting morsel I’ve sent up to her,” she chastised. “Including almond cakes!”
Rafael’s eyes widened, and he turned an accusatory gaze back to me.
“And all day long I hear her pacing about in the house, stomping from room to room. She says she’s busy with her work on the blood plague and our plans, but if you ask me, it’s but one thing,” Charlotte continued, apparently set on revealing every ounce of my emotional distress over the last few days.
“Traitor,” I muttered.
“One thing?” Rafael echoed.
“Yes, I think she’s lovesick,” Charlotte stated matter-of-factly. I’d never thought ill of my friend, even before I knew her so well, but in that moment, I wished for the world’s strongest muzzle. I groaned inwardly. Attempting to change the subject to anything that wasn’t an exercise in torturous mortification, I coughed.
“Charlotte, have you been formally introduced?”
She tilted her head at me and stifled a giggle.
“No, but we’re very well acquainted. We are connected by blood, after all.”
“I didn’t mean…” I blushed again, embarrassed. “I knowthat.I just meant, have you had a proper introduction? You’ve been calling himthe man in blacksince you met.”
She laughed. “Please, Doctor, do introduce me to your—ahem—dear friend. Prince Rafael, is it? How would you prefer to be addressed, Your Highness?”
Rafael tried valiantly to cover his smirk, and I wished the ground would open and swallow me whole.
“Prince to a seized principality, Comtesse, and traveling discreetly. Rafael is fine,” he said.
“Oh, certainly he is,” Charlotte teased, winking at me. I scowled at Rafael’s throaty chuckle and snatched the velvet dressing gown that she’d been carrying, thrusting it into Rafael’s arms.
“Here,” I hissed. “Charlotte, do you have a room for him?”
Her eyes glittered with mischief. “Why, the rose room—right next to yours, of course.”
A garbled noise between a squeak and a curse slipped from my lips. Charlotte finally took pity on me as she turned to Rafael and curtsied politely.
“Rafael, I bid you welcome. As morning is nearly upon us, I’m sure you’d like to bathe, feed, and rest before we discuss our plans. I’ll send a bath up for you at once, and in your room, you’ll find a sideboard with spirits and fresh blood. Please don’t hesitate to ring for anything at all, and I shall see you in the evening. Mina,chérie.” She smiled at me as she turned down the hallway. “Do be careful.”
Rafael shrugged on the banyan and opened the door to the large guest room. The windows had been blacked out and long, dawn pink curtains hung in front of them, giving the room a fresh, yet cozy feeling. The spring evening had become chilly, and a small fire crackled in the white marble hearth. Rafael strode in and surveyed the room, nodding appreciatively.
“It’s not as grand as you’re used to,” I said anxiously, strangely defensive despite Charlotte’s palatial château. “It’s not a castle. But Charlotte keeps a warm and welcoming home.”
“I’ve spent far more days in far worse places than châteaus and castles,” he said softly, exhaling a little and rolling his shoulders. Weariness flowed off him like water. “This is the warmest welcome I’ve had in a long time, and one I deserve far less.”
Anyone else would be surprised by Charlotte’s willingness to overlook some of Rafael’s faults, especially considering he had turned her into a werewolf without her consent. I hadn’t had the chance to ask him if it had been intentional or an accident.
The atmosphere seemed to thicken with the tension of the last few days, and our stilted goodbye before that. I’d spent countless hours thinking about him—his words and his kiss. It had driven me to distraction and frustrated me beyond measure. I’d thought I was able to move on from him after twenty years of separation, but the last two weeks had proven me wrong. It was with grudging acceptance that I had to acknowledge my feelings for the vampire who’d long ago shattered my heart were as strong as ever.
Not that that would—or could—change anything.
I watched him silently, running his long, pale fingers over the heavy brocade curtains. His demeanor was diminished somehow, unlike the bold, brash vampire I’d known years ago and even unlike the passionate, dangerous man who’d showed up at the threshold of my clinic. Something had happened in the last few days.
“How—how are you?” I tried. It sounded like a stupid question, but my anxiety had the better of me and I’d never been eloquent enough to drip honeyed words like a courtier.
He turned to me, dark eyes filled with emotion, on the precipice of saying something when one of Charlotte’s housemaids interrupted us, bringing in the large copper bathtub. In the ensuing parade of servants who came through to fill the tub with piping hot water, I slipped out and stepped back into my bedchamber.
