Page 28 of Aftershock
Oh, he will.
Just not as a delivery lady.
Next time, I’ll belong to Alaric.
5
ALARIC
The trauma bay has been quiet since that early emergency that rolled in this morning.
Not like I’m complaining. The downtime is how I ended up with the rare luxury of a late lunch break.
Close to Lilith.
I’m sitting with my back to the wall at the far end of the nearly empty cafeteria, my tray pushed slightly aside. The grilled chicken wrap and salad were decent enough, but I lost interest halfway through.
How am I supposed to think about food when Lilith is here?
And on top of that, when Harold remains a free man?
Knowing Mrs. Tobin’s life might be in danger the second she’s discharged, and it’s all my fault, has a ball of anger building inside me.
I pluck the pen I set on the table earlier, my grip tightening until my knuckles turn white. Crushing it won’t fix anything. If I do, I won’t be able to jot anything down on the napkin in front of me—a poor substitute for my notebook.
So I set it back on the table, just until I calm down.
Something I don’t see happening anytime soon.
Motherfucker.
Normally, it takes less than a day to map out the experiments I want to perform on my latest test subject. After that, I stock and arrange the storage unit, then snatch them within twenty-four hours.
Except this past week has been anything but normal.
Whenever there’s a gap between cases, I end up in the cafeteria, watching Lilith from one of the tables. At the end of the day, after I sign out, she’s usually long gone, and yet I still drift back to the cafeteria, my eyes drawn to the places she worked, as if they still hold traces of her.
Then, when I get home, I’m so hard that I have to jerk off three or four times a night to relieve this incessant need.
Meaning there’s not a spare moment to plot any goddamn thing.
However, obsession doesn’t mean recklessness, which is why I still keep my distance. Lilith and I exchange only a few words each day when I order lunch or grab a protein bar and a coffee.
I don’t do anything beyond staring when I’m not pretending to read emails. By some miracle, I don’t even walk up to her when someone lingers too long by theregister and flirts with her or asks her out. I stay very fucking quiet as she turns them all down.
A groan builds in my chest. Frustration crests. This isn’t me, this loss of control. I haven’t been even mildly attracted to a woman in ages, let alone lost my fucking mind over one.
And yet.
Because of Lilith, I’ve become that person. Consumed. Borderline unhinged.
Owned.
Even now, as she wipes the counter clean, she does something to my heart.
Aren’t you forgetting someone?
I’ll get to Harold. In a minute.
