Page 26 of Healed By the Grumpy Elf

I follow him through the clinic, down a long hallway that has undergone the same clinical transformation as the waiting area. Gone are the colorful posters and lighthearted messages Dr. Wells preferred. In their place is efficient, sterile minimalism.

When we reach his office at the back of the clinic, Lorian holds the door open for me, his arm extended in a formal gesture. I slip past him, acutely aware of his proximity.

His office is exactly what I expected. Immaculate desk with precisely arranged pens and a sleek computer. Medical textbooks organized by subject on bookshelves. Large windows overlooking the town square, though the blinds are partially drawn, casting the room in muted light. Nothing personal, nothing to reveal anything about the man behind the doctor.

"What have you found?" he asks, moving behind his desk but remaining standing.

"Bernice Banesman gave me this book. Her mother used to be a healer, before the Rift merged our worlds and Others came to live with humans." I pull a worn leather-bound book from my bag and place it on his desk. It's a handwritten medical text adorned with drawings of herbs and phases of the moon. “She says that when she was a little girl, Pixie-Pox was a common ailment and outbreaks were frequent.”

"A textbook from before the Rift?" Lorian's expression shifts from polite interest to genuine curiosity.

He leans forward slightly to examine the book's cover.

"The herbal ice pops I made for Millie came from this recipe here," I explain, opening to a marked page. "But there's more. According to this text, there's an herbal tonic that can potentially stop the outbreak entirely, preventing any new cases from popping up."

"Folk medicine," he says, but without the dismissal I expected. Instead, he sounds thoughtful. "Old folk medicine."

"Old folk medicine that works," I counter, tapping the page. "The ice pops have already helped four of the ten children eat and drink so far, which was our most immediate concern."

Lorian circles around his desk to stand beside me, leaning in to examine the text more closely. The scent of him, something crisp and subtle with notes of cedar, fills my senses as he moves closer. My heartbeat quickens, and I force myself to focus on the book.

"This tonic," I continue, pointing to a list of ingredients, "contains elderberry, thyme, and several other herbs that I know how to obtain. It’s worth a try."

"Interesting," Lorian murmurs, his breath warm against my hair as he leans in. "Traditional Orc healing practices were revered before the Rift. It’s too bad they were largely forgotten."

"Maybe they should be revived," I suggest. "The ice pops are already proving effective."

He's silent for a moment, studying the page with intense concentration. Then he straightens and looks at me directly, his ice-blue eyes warmer than I've ever seen them. It’s almost like they glow from within.

Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of how nonhuman he is. His features are too angular, too fine to be human. His long ears extend on the sides of his head, accentuating the intimidating perfection of his face.

"This is excellent work, Maeve," he says, and the use of my first name without hesitation makes something flutter in my chest. "I'm impressed by your research initiative."

The compliment catches me off guard.

"Thank you," I manage, suddenly aware of how close we're standing. "I thought it was worth exploring all options."

"It absolutely was." His voice has dropped lower, the usual detachment replaced by something that sounds almost intimate.

For a moment, Dr. Lorian Reizenhart—aloof, arrogant, impossibly proper—looks at me as if he sees nothing else in the whole world. My heart hammers dangerously in my chest and I find myself licking my lower lip.

Those piercing blue eyes latch on my mouth, and I struggle to think.

"I've been thinking," he continues, still standing close enough that I can see flecks of darker blue in his irises. "Perhaps we should coordinate our efforts more directly. Your practical experience with the children complements my medical expertise."

"I'd like that," I breathe out, unable to look away from his face. Has he always had that small scar above his right eyebrow? The barely perceptible dimple that appears when his mouth relaxes from its usual stern line?

The air between us feels charged, heavy. My heart pounds so loudly I'm certain he must hear it. His gaze drops briefly to my lips, then back to my eyes.

"Maeve," he says, my name sounding different in his mouth now, almost like a caress.

What happens next occurs in slow motion, like in a movie. Lorian leans forward, his hand coming up to cup my cheek with surprising gentleness. And then his lips are on mine, soft and questioning.

For a heartbeat, I'm too shocked to respond. Then instinct takes over and I lean into the kiss, my hands finding their way to his chest. His heart races under my palm. The kiss deepens, his arm sliding around my waist to pull me closer. Heat spreads through my body, and I make a small sound in the back of my throat that seems to encourage him further.

My hands slide up his chest, feeling the surprising firmness beneath his pristine shirt. Who knew the uptight doctor was hiding such a muscular frame? I trail my fingers higher, finally reaching his face, then tangle them in his silky blond hair. My fingertips trail the length of his pointed ear and he shudders with a guttural, male sound that turns my knees into jelly. The perfect ponytail comes loose under my eager touch, and his hair cascades around us like a silver-gold curtain.

I push against his hips, molding my entire body to his front.