Demon's Mark: The Complete Series

by Nora Ash

  “I... I’m sorry; I... don’t recall the details so well.” She wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt at getting rid of the sinking feeling of despair. She would never escape the waking nightmare that was her illness.

  The warm hand patted her soothingly on a linen-covered knee, transferring heat to her skin through the fabric. “That is quite alright, Selma. I know you must have been very frightened. Would you mind elaborating on what you mean by ‘it never is’? Have you been hurt by people you see as monsters before?”

  Of course he’d picked up on that. She bit her lower lip, nodding. “A few times. Only one time really bad.”

  His orange gaze narrowed, something reminiscent of anger flickering behind it for a short moment, before he managed to regain that soothing therapist-expression. “Sexually?”

  “Oh, no!” The idea made her blush furiously. Did he think she had some sort of perverse, obsessive thoughts about being taken by monsters? “No, never, just...” She was about to say ‘normally’, but thought better of it. Instead, she rolled up the loose leg of the white, comfortable ‘institution pants’ she’d been given upon arrival, twisting her leg a little so the long scar down the calf was visible.

  A warm finger trailed up it, causing electrical charges to fire off through her nerves, and the random thought that she was happy she’d shaved her legs the morning before to spark in her mind. Blushing even brighter at that— completely irrelevant— contemplation, she resolutely stared directly at the horns sticking up from his wavy locks. Goose bump inducing touch or no, horns did not belong on a man’s head, and they certainly subtracted from the charms of his firm jaw and wide shoulders!

  “This was vicious,” he said, the softest touch of his breath gracing over the back of her knee, just below where the pants were bunched up. “And certainly not a figment of your imagination. Did anyone catch the perpetrator?”

  ‘Horns. The guy has horns’. Selma subtly pulled her leg back, shifting it so the fabric slid down and covered her skin again. “No. Some passerby saw her, though. Said it was a redheaded young woman. She ran when he came to help me.”

  “And to you it was...?”

  She bit her lip, “A monster.”

  Dr. Hershey leaned back in his chair, staring straight into her eyes with that odd fire and ignoring her uncomfortable fidgeting at the intense scrutiny. “Are the monsters always evil, Selma? Is that what you see? A physical manifestation of inherently dangerous people?”

  Before even realizing what she was doing she was shaking her head, somewhat to her own surprise.

  “No?”

  She flushed again—he seemed to have that effect—and glanced at his pointed ears. “Uh… well, I don’t know for certain. Many of them have left me alone, even when I… was staring at them. Or crying and pointing, when I was little. But I don’t know if they are dangerous in other circumstances.”

  A small smile tucked at his full lips. “Do you see me as one of these monsters?”

  The excess blood—and then some—immediately drained from her face. Oh god, how did he … ?

  “No.” It came out as a squeak.

  One of those dark eyebrows was raised in challenge. “Selma... I thought we had an understanding about telling the truth?”

  Her brown eyes widened. Did he honestly expect her to explain that yes, she saw him as some form of nightmare creature—albeit a handsome one?

  The challenging stare said that that was very much the case.

  Shame hadn’t rested this heavily on her since she had been forced to apologize to Mr. Hubert; the physics teacher she’d confessed to suspecting was some form of demon. Gaze resting firmly on her knees she nodded shortly.

  “What do I look like? Please, describe what you see.”

  Defeated, she lifted a hand and made a vague gesture towards his head. “Horns, pointed ears...”

  “Is that all?” He sounded idly amused, which really wasn’t very polite.

  Selma shot him an annoyed glare; she didn’t enjoy feeling like the butt of a joke, having spent much of her life like that. However, the flaming eyes caught her the second she looked up again, and the interest in them far overshadowed any indication of humor.

  “Your eyes are like fire, but apart from that, you look... normal.” She grimaced, feeling several shades of ridiculous. It was always uncomfortable to talk about her illness, but the fact that he was so... intrigued just made everything worse. Maybe it was his age; Doctor Hershey could not have been out of college for many years, and she was possibly his first non-standard patient.

  He was, at least, looking at her as if she was some kind of rare and valuable find. “What color are my horns, then?”

  The brunette blinked, glancing up at said horns. “Er... black, with a bit of gray. Why?”

  Something shifted in the orange flames, as if a conclusion had been reached somewhere behind their depths. He smiled, turning his attention back to the computer screen that had gone into sleep mode, pushing the mouse to revive it. “Simple curiosity. Now...” He tapped on the keyboard and looked at what she assumed was her file. “Have you ever heard about Sigmund Freud, Selma?”

  “Yes.” Who hadn’t heard of that nut ball?

  Her apprehensive tone drew another, wry smile from his defined features. “I take from your expression that you are not a fan. I hope you will keep an open mind, though, because there is a very good chance that we can help you by applying some of the newer theories that have their origin in his philosophy.”

  “Help me?” She had heard those airy words before, and each time had been a letdown. “Is there a new drug?”

  Dr. Hershey shook his head, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Pharmaceuticals... It may be slightly unorthodox, given my profession, but I rarely support attempts at altering brain chemistry with the use of drugs. The human mind is such a fascinating organism, and so much can be done with the aid of a person’s own body.”

  Selma furrowed her brows at him—that was certainly unorthodox thinking for a psychiatrist, based on their normal trigger-happiness when it came to dispensing pills to ‘soothe’ her problem.

  “The paramedics did some blood samples on you last night, do you remember?” he continued, ignoring her obvious doubt.

  There was a hazy memory of being pricked with a needle, but she’d not realized that they did anything other than give her some sedatives. She nodded anyway.

  “There is an indication of a pretty rare hormonal imbalance in your tests, one we haven’t been able to test for up until about four years ago. I suspect, and new research supports, that this can be the core issue with your illusions.”

  That sounded really, really far-fetched. Almost as much as the horrible child psychologist who had suggested she needed some real life scares to overcome the fear of Bogeymen. “But I have had them since I was a child,” she pointed out.

  The doctor turned his body fully towards her, leaned forward and held out one large hand, palm facing up in an inviting gesture.

  Tentatively, because that was his obvious wish, she placed her right hand in his, glancing at his face.

  “Selma...” His finger constricted slightly around hers, making them appear ghostly pale against his olive skin, even though heat rushed through them from his touch. “I understand that you have been through many failed treatments and theories, and how that must have affected your life. That you have chosen to deal with this disorder on your own for an entire decade makes it very clear that you have little trust left for any part of the medical profession, which I cannot fault you for. But this... this will change your life, I can almost guarantee it.”

  It wasn’t that she believed he was right, exactly, but the conviction on his attractive face was hard to ignore... or remain unaffected by. And he wasn’t going to use some experimental drugs on her, so what harm could there really be in giving it a try? “Okay.”

  “Good girl.” The warm hand around hers squeezed again, firmer this time, before he let go and sat up st
raight, the professional persona overtaking his posture again. “The main goal is to even out your hormonal balance and encourage your brain to create new neurological pathways using physical and mental stimuli. That you see me as a monster will be helpful.”

  Selma cocked her head, taking in his words. “Why?” The only thing his monster-appearance helped her with was to refrain from acting like the giggly nurse had.

  That brilliant smile returned. “If you are subjected to pleasant stimuli that adjust your hormones from someone with the appearance of one of your demons, it will really aid your brain in building the new pathways that can break the illusions you see.” He opened a drawer in the desk and pulled a notebook and a pen out. “But first, I need to ask you some questions about your general health, to establish a pattern for the treatment.”

  ‘Pleasant stimuli’. For a moment she’d feared he would be delving into electric-therapy, but this sounded a lot more agreeable. She returned his smile, a feeling of lightness in her chest settling in for the first time since that horrible incident the night before. If there was even a remote chance that her condition could be improved by looking at puppy pictures and listening to recordings from the rainforest, she was more than happy to give it a shot.

  “Are you a virgin?”

  Selma blinked, taken aback by the abrupt and fairly unexpected question. “Uh...“

  But the handsome doctor was all business, which made her able to fight off a blush. She was twenty-seven, after all; there was no need to get embarrassed about sharing her history with a medical professional. “No.”

  “How many partners?”

  “Three.” One drunken one night stand and two attempts at dating that had lasted a little less than three weeks, combined, but he hopefully wouldn’t need the specifics.

  That large hand swung the pen elegantly across the page of the notebook, and she stared at it creating beautifully curled script across the paper, somewhat mesmerized by the movement. He seemed to be adding a whole lot more than just her one-word answers.

  “Have you ever been, or tried to become, pregnant?”

  “No.” She had made her peace with never getting to bring a baby into the world long ago; no one deserved a mother who struggled with this kind of illness.

  “Are you on birth control?”

  One would have to have a sex life for that to be relevant. “No.”

  “How long since you were last sexually active?”

  Selma blinked awkwardly; professional setting aside, admitting to a probably-rather-attractive-without-those-horns male that she had a sex life most nuns would scoff dismissively at was still pretty humiliating.

  “Two years.” It was an embarrassed mutter.

  The pen paused as he looked up. “How often do you masturbate?”

  There was no fighting the blood rushing to her face this time, coloring it a startling bright red. “I... do you really need to know that?”

  “I need to know everything that affects your hormonal production,” was the calm answer.

  Well! Selma rubbed her suddenly clammy hands against the white linen pants covering her thighs, wishing he’d look down at the paper again. “Maybe...uh, maybe... three times a... week?” It came out as a question.

  His forehead furrowed, and she managed to feel like a complete pervert before he said, “That won’t do. Make sure you increase it—your body needs the surge in hormones. Do you have a healthy diet?”

  Did he really just prescribe orgasms? She managed a weak nod to his question about eating right, as well as answering if she exercised.

  “Excellent.” Dr. Hershey snapped the notebook shut and got to his feet, gesturing towards a wooden door at the back wall she’d not paid much attention to before. “Please, come with me. I will give you a quick physical, to make sure the imbalance hasn’t impacted on your body’s response levels, and then we will proceed with the therapy. Does that sound good?”

  It really didn’t; being prodded at by doctors was never fun, and after the general theme of his questions, she wasn’t much in the mood to strip down and be even more exposed to this young doctor.

  Nevertheless, she got off the chair and followed him through the cozy office to the door that he opened and held for her; at least a physical by a psychiatrist should be less invasive than the tests and scans she’d endured from physicians through the years.

  However, the sight of the small room on the other side of the door made her stop abruptly in her tracks, her heels practically digging into the floor before she even crossed the threshold. Stunned, she whipped her head around, staring up at him with wide eyes. Surely, this was taking it a bit far?

  “Is this really necessary?” She shuffled one foot backwards, only to meet the gentle yet firm resistance of a large, hot hand against the back of her white linen top.

  “I’m afraid so.” His voice rumbled soothingly down at her—why was he so tall? —but the slight pressure against her spine didn’t ease up until she took a hesitant step into the room. “If you are uncomfortable with the process, I can ask the nurse to return and oversee it?”

  Selma glanced from the intimidating gynecological chair centered in the room to the hand he had resting on the doorknob of the slightly ajar entrance. She was being silly and she knew it; he was a medical professional, flaming eyes and smoldering looks aside, and as most women her age she had had gynecological examinations done before. Besides, the thought of the nurse flirting with him over her spread legs was a humiliation she didn’t care to sit through.

  “No, it’s... fine.” Selma took a deep, calming breath before finally walking all the way into the center of the room, eyes trained on the leg rests featuring some rather disturbing leather straps clearly intended as restraints.

  Best not to think too hard about that. She forced her gaze from the chair to the rest of the room, noticing a metal tray on wheels containing a few unpleasant-looking tools—best not to think about those either—and the white, clinical-looking tiles covering the floor and walls. There were no windows or decorations in the small room, the only items in there being the gynecological chair, the tray with the tools, a metal sink in one corner and a chair for the doctor’s comfort. Nothing pleasant to focus on.

  At least it wasn’t cold.

  An ominous ‘click’ from the door closing behind her made her flinch involuntarily. Why was this so… so off? Was it just that he was one of them? As far as doctors went she’d probably never had one as caring or pleasant—or optimistic in regards to managing her illness. She looked over her shoulder at him, dark brown hair falling in front of her eyes and obscuring what she sensed was an encouraging smile. Of course, she’d never had a psychiatrist insist on giving her a gynecological checkup, but the chair made it pretty clear that this was standard procedure for Doctor Hershey.

  “Have you done a lot of these tests?” The question slipped out before she managed to stop herself, but a rather large part of her needed to know that she wasn’t a complete guinea pig.

  The black haired man turned fully towards her, cocking his head slightly. “Yes; I was a leading researcher in this field of psychiatry before I came to Ravenswood House six months ago, and while it is not an appropriate procedure for every patient here, many have experienced great progress from it. I can show you my statistics after we are done if you wish, but you need to trust me, Selma. I am an expert in my profession, and I will help you.”

  A blush crept over her cheeks as she nodded and bent her head, realizing that her hesitation only served to make the situation more awkward. The more she resisted, the more it would seem like she thought he was some lewd hoping for a fondle, and not a highly regarded professional.

  “Of course... I’m sorry.” It came out quite shakily, and his face softened.

  “No need for apologies; I appreciate that you are hesitant to trust one of us.”

  He didn’t specify if he meant a doctor or a monster, and Selma didn’t really want to ask. She fidgeted with the buttons of the linen s
hirt, glancing back at the chair. “So should I...?” It wasn’t exactly that she was eager to get started, but she wanted to prove that she, too, saw this as nothing more than the checkup it was.

  That clear-cut face regained the full, somewhat detached, professional expression. “Yes, please. If you would take off your pants and underwear, and open your shirt before climbing up.”

  However much she’d appreciated the gentleness he’d conducted the previous part of the consultation with, she was somewhat relieved at the subtle change; having a compassionate man poking around between her legs was not going to help the awkwardness of the situation any.

  She quickly slipped out of pants and panties, folding them in a bundle and placing them on the floor next to the chair before starting on the shirt. Her fingers were fumbling with the buttons, the knowledge that she was bare from the waist down making her muscles stiff with discomfort. The shirt was just long enough to skim the bottom of her cheeks, providing the flimsiest of modesty, but as soon as the last button had been undone it split open and revealed her dark curls.

  ‘Right, well he’ll be seeing a lot more of that anyway,’ she thought grimly, fighting the urge to huddle up and cover herself while climbing up on the chair. It was comfortably reclined, and she leaned back rigidly, keeping her thighs pressed together and the shirt covering both breasts and as much of her groin as possible before looking up in the direction of Dr. Hershey.

  He seemed to take the movement as an indication that she was ready for the examination and strode across the floor from where he’d been leaning against the wall by the door, waiting for her to undress.

  Why did he have to stare at her like that? While his expression was firmly professional, that burning gaze was really hard to not cringe under, the sensation of being evaluated making her feel even more exposed than her semi-nude state.

  Dr. Hershey walked to the end of the chair, placing his big, warm hands on her knees. Without pause his palms slid up her thighs to land around her hips, underneath the shirt, and her sharp intake of breath at the unexpected caress turned to a startled squeal when he lifted her, strong fingers digging into the flesh as he brought her all the way to the edge of the chair before sitting her down again.