“I’m not questioning your capabilities.” He set the pen down carefully. “I’m advising you, as your physician, that the position poses unnecessary risks. There are other options. The library, perhaps. Or?—”
“The library has a full staff. The archives need organizing, and I’m qualified to do it.” She stood, her movements stiff. “If that’s all, Doctor?”
It wasn’t. He wanted to forbid it outright, wanted to call Houston and explain exactly why putting a pregnant woman in that basement was criminally negligent. Wanted to offer her a position here, in his clean, safe office where he could monitor her every day and where Hyde could stand guard over her.
Insane. I’m being insane.
He rose as well, his jaw tight. “I’d like to see you again in two weeks. Petal will schedule the appointment.”
“Of course.” She moved toward the door, then paused, her hand on the handle. When she looked back, her expression had softened slightly. “Thank you. For the ultrasound. It was… it meant a great deal.”
The gratitude in her voice made his chest ache.
“Take care of yourself, Miss Bennington.”
“I will.”
She left, and the room felt suddenly hollow. He stood frozen, listening to her footsteps fade, the front door close.
Hyde howled, and he clenched his hands on the desk so hard the wood creaked, fighting the urge to go after her. To follow her to the town hall, to stand between her and Houston, to?—
The phone on his desk rang, shrill and demanding, and he snatched it up.
“What.”
“Mrs. Clarkson is on the line again,” Petal said calmly. “She thinks she might be having a reaction to her new medication. A slight rash on her left elbow.”
The sheer, mundane normalcy of it was a lifeline. He breathed out, a slow, shaky exhale, and Hyde receded, sullen but contained.
“Put her through.”
The rest of the day was a marathon of mundane complaints and minor ailments. Each one was a small victory, a reminder of who he had chosen to be. He was Dr. Victor Jackson, a man of science and control, not a monster ruled by instinct and obsession. He prescribed antihistamines for the rash, recommended a different ointment for a persistent case of eczema, and patiently explained to a were-badger why his winter hibernation instincts were causing his cholesterol to spike.
Through it all, the image of Chloe’s face, wet with tears as she stared at the screen, remained fixed in his mind.Mate.
By five o’clock, when the last patient left, he felt scraped raw, his nerves exposed. He needed to run. To exhaust himself until Hyde was too tired to whisper threats and promises in his mind. He needed control.
But instead of heading for the basement, he found himself at the front window, staring out at the street. The sun was setting over the mountains, painting the sky in shades of rose and lavender. The Town Hall’s white clock tower was just visible over the trees. The archives. In the basement.
He checked his watch. Five-fifteen. Her meeting with Houston had been at one. She would be gone by now, wouldn’t she? Surely even the most stubborn woman wouldn’t spend her first day in a dusty basement.
Unless sheisthat stubborn. And that alone.
Hyde surged in a primal wave of protective fury. Before he could stop himself, he was shrugging on his coat, grabbing his keys, and striding out the door.
“Going out, Doctor?” Petal called from the reception desk, her voice carefully neutral.
“A patient follow-up,” he bit out, not looking back. “Please lock up.”
The cool evening air did nothing to ease the heat of Hyde’s fury. The street was quiet, bathed in the golden glow of the old-fashioned streetlamps as they came on with the dusk. Fairhaven Falls was settling in for the night, curtains drawn, lights warm in the windows. This town was his sanctuary, one he’d built through years of discipline and control.
And now Chloe Bennington was here, threatening to dismantle it all with a single tear.
CHAPTER 5
Victor walked briskly towards the Town Hall, his long legs eating up the distance. He told himself he was just checking, making sure the mayor hadn’t been completely irresponsible. He told himself that it was a professional courtesy, a public health concern, anything but the frantic, possessive need driving him forward.
The lights were still on in Town Hall, and he sighed. He tried the heavy wooden door. Unlocked. Of course. Houston trusted everyone—an endearing quality in a mayor, but a security nightmare.
