Playing With Fire

“You need to do it. Just do it.”

A dog’s determination to avoid a much-needed poo never ceased to amaze me. This wasn’t a lucky surprise—it was a test of patience I wasn’t asking for.

The large rottweiler spun, refusing to squat and end this ordeal. Before his surgery, his owners—a friendly newlywed couple—had warned me he had bathroom anxiety and would need coaxing.

Treat. Check.

A hundred good boys. Check.

Begging. Check.

“Ravioli,” I murmured tiredly.

He kept circling, each turn getting quicker, still refusing to settle and do his business.

The yard of the Paws and Hearts veterinary clinic held the smell of pine trees and freshly cut grass. I’d run the mower this morning before opening, with heavy eyes and yawns that caused the early hour bugs to forcibly give me my protein for the day. Old chain-link fencing surrounded the area, keeping the dogs in my care safe. Another smaller area near the painted white double doors, with blurry glass, was for smaller animals, mostly rabbits. I was debating making an enclosed space for the cats so they could get some fresh air that wasn’t an open window. But that would take money.

And I had none.

Fading sunlight touched the green grass. Late summer meant cool evenings, but not cold, and my dark purple scrubs kept me comfortable.

“Okay,” I said, moving towards the dog, spinning and spinning. “We’re going to try again later.” I reached for his dragging leash. “Alri–”

Bang.

I spun.

That came from inside the clinic.

Snatching Ravioili’s leash, I brought him indoors. It was probably a customer, which surprised me because it was so late, but I wouldn’t know until I walked into the front. The area directly inside after coming in from the yard went left and right. Left led to my office, surgery, and the foyer. Right, went to the kennels. Going right, past the long, cream-painted hallway, I put Ravioili back into the cage that would be his home for the next twenty-four hours.

After some pets, I couldn’t resist while he gave me that look, he whined up at me.

“No,” I told him, wagging my finger. “You had your chance. You’ll have to wait for a little while.”

Just in case, there were a few newspapers over a plastic mat in the corner. Not ideal, and not a place I’d want dogs to go, but it would do in a pinch.

I exited the cage, latched it behind me, and left the kennel area, walking to the front. A fern beside the doorway that led to the glass windows, which overlooked the parking lot outside, needed watering badly. I’d do it afterwards.

But afterwards became a distant dream when I stepped foot into the reception area. Behind the long, white counter where I took clients, I gawked at the horror scene greeting me.

“Oh my god,” I breathed.

A man sat on the ground. Slumped against the windows. The glass was smeared with blood. Blood from him. He was covered in it. His blonde hair was stained pinkish. He appeared unconscious, with light lashes grazing his cheeks and eyes shut.

I rushed to him.

Crouching beside him, I realized all at once how stupid approaching him was. He could be anyone. But he needed help, and I’d taken an oath. Well, not literally. I’d given an oath to help animals in need, no matter if they bit or scratched me for trying, and humans were animals, so this counted. Right? Even if he was a killer who would wake up and stab me, I couldn’t just do nothing. First, though, I’d call the cops.

Taking my phone from the pocket of my scrubs, my fingers shook as I unlocked it. My thumb was inches from pressing the call button when a bloody hand grabbed my fingers and stopped me.

I nearly screamed, but the throaty noise came out more as a squeak.

“Don’t,” the man whispered. His eyes were still closed. Slowly, they opened, lashes fluttering slightly. Browns stared at me, red-rimmed and in pain.

“I have to call the police,” I said. He was strong, even so battered, bruises darkening his face. His leather jacket was open, revealing a white shirt beneath, stained red. His jeans were darker in spots where blood soaked through.

“I’m asking you not to,” he returned, strained.

“Sure,” I lied.

His face twisted, nearly ugly, which wasn’t easy because he was definitely handsome. Not that I was appraising, I just wasn’t blind. “I’ll pay you,” he rasped.

I licked my lips. “How much?”

Could you blame a woman for having boundaries? I knew when to drop them and forget my morals. Especially when I was broke, with bills piling up, and thus, my life was about to be thrown in the trash.

A smile stretched across his face. “That was easy.”

I pressed the call button.

He hung up with a tap of his finger, leaving a smear of blood on the screen.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. His smile softened. “Thousands. However much you want. In reason, of course.”

“Of course… Thirty thousand?”

Was I greedy? Oh, yeah, I wouldn’t deny it. Right now, I have my hand in the cookie jar, got caught, and asked for more. But I needed at least that to keep my clinic open for another year.

He laughed hoarsely. “Will you save me? I think I’m dying.”

There was a lot of blood.

“I’m a veterinarian.” I felt the need to clarify.

“Animals can’t be that different.”

They were, but we didn’t have the option to be picky. “Take off your shirt,” I told him, not sure he could handle it while he looked so pale. I stood and shook as I crossed the reception area, practically running to surgery.

The only resident we had today was Ravioli, and I could hear him whining. Poor guy. He was probably missing his parents. I would’ve gone to spend time with him if I weren’t caught up trying to save a life. Grabbing the first aid kit on a small metal card near the operation table, I rushed back to the foyer.

My breath caught.

Not because the man had taken off his shirt, and I could see his wounds. A deep, nasty gash to his left side. Blood spilled from it as it rose with each of his laboured breaths. I suddenly felt dizzy because I was apparently a creep. His abs were defined with tattoos spanning his injured torso. He was built like a god.

“I…uh…have this.” I walked closer, crouching. Placing the first aid kit beside me on the ground, I opened it. I took a curved needle and began to thread it. “I’ll stitch you and do everything I can to make sure you don’t get an infection, but you really should go to the hospital afterwards.”

“Thanks,” he said, smiling a little.

“So, you’ll go to the hospital?”

“Oh? No.” He laughed.

“You could die.”

His brown eyes suddenly went cold. “That might not be such a bad thing. If you knew me, you’d let me.”

I shivered. “You’re not convincing me that helping you is a good idea.”

“Never said it was.” He was so close. My face warmed as I leaned in to assess the wound on his hip, and I felt the warmth of his breath on my cheek. He watched me. I felt it, burning me.

“This will hurt,” I whispered shakily.

His muscles tensed as I brought the needle to his skin. To his credit, he didn’t move or make a sound when I began stitching, just a sharp inhale, and that was all he allowed himself, impressive abs pulled tight as I focused on putting his skin back together.

“Could you distract me?”

I peered at him through the curtain of my bangs that had fallen over my face. He was staring hard. I should feel uncomfortable, but I didn’t. I felt exhilarated. I shoved it down, embarrassed by my reaction, assuming it was the late nights these past few weeks messing with my head.

I didn’t think he needed to be distracted, but I humoured him. “How?” I focused on the needle, carefully pulling it through his bloody skin.

“A kiss.”

A flinch, the word caused me to nearly give him a stitch he didn’t need high on his hip. “A what?” I squeaked, refusing to look at him. I froze. His breath remained on my cheek, reminding me that if I turned just slightly, I could press our lips together.

Not that I would…

No…

I wasn’t even thinking about it.

That would be…wrong.

“I need to focus,” I said softly.

“Sorry,” he rumbled.

Silence stretched between us as he let me work. When I was nearly finished, pulling the thread tight and cutting it with small scissors from the first aid box, he spoke.

“Marco,” he said.

“Hm?” I held the thread end and glanced at him. All I needed to do was knot it.

“My name,” he said with a smile. “Now you know mine, it would be nice to know my pretty saviour’s name.”

I swallowed. How could a man have a smile that was so bright, cocky and slightly unsure, like he knew just how attractive he was, but didn’t hold the ego needed to weaponize it.

Before I could stop myself, my eyes flicked to his lips.

They rose higher.

“Clara,” I said.