***

The next morning, Clara opened her bedroom door to find the mechanical dog sitting in the hallway. Its eyes were black, intelligent, and oddly comforting.

“Hi?” she greeted it and cocked her head, leaning out to look down both ends of the hallway. “Did you chime the door?”

She stepped aside and allowed the animal to enter her space. The clicks of its metal paws and curved, pointed nails tapped on the cement floor and into her room.

“If you’re to lead me to medical, I’m almost ready.”  She watched the dog sit down beyond her door. “You must be one of the androids that Dr. Canis mentioned,” she murmured more to herself.

Although she’d found no cameras the night before, she knew she was being watched. Based on the conversation she had with the Cyborg yesterday, there was some A.I. technology somewhere keeping tabs on her. The lack of privacy was vaguely unsettling but it didn’t bother her as much as she expected.

Maybe because she chose it. Whatever gets me closer to my dreams.

Clara eyed the dog. It followed her with its eyes as she walked a semi-circle around it.

It was large—larger than any dog she had ever seen before—but then again, it was a mechanical one. The sky was the limit when it came to fabricating new creatures.

It acted like a dog, it looked like a dog, but it seemed far more than what it appeared. Never underestimate an android: you never know what they're programmed for.

Still, she liked having the companion with her; it made it less lonely and it made her feel safe. She took a step toward the canine and reached her hand out. It nuzzled her fingers and Clara smiled, moving her hand over its head and down its back.

Her phone rang, breaking the moment.

The dog shifted its gaze toward her purse where her phone buzzed. Its mouth opened to reveal sharp, metallic teeth.

Clara swallowed, left her new scary friend, and sourced out her phone. Pecos PD. She answered it.

“Hello, this is Clara.”

“Clara, it's Marsha, we spoke yesterday. Can you verify your information please?” The woman had a strange sense of urgency to her voice. She sat down on the edge of her bed knowing she wasn't going to like what she was about to hear. Clara stated her information.

“What's wrong?” She couldn't keep the breathy anxiety out of her question.

“We lost track of Santino.”

“Already? How? You said only yesterday you were tracking him in Spring Grove.” Her foot tapped the floor as of rush of fear pulsed through her. She tried to shake it, but it didn't go way.

“Yes, he was there until his personal IP network information went offline.”

“Couldn't that mean... that he could be dead?” Please let him be dead.

“Yes, but even so there are still traces... We’re worried about your safety. We'd like you to come down to the station.”

No one's worried about my safety.

Clara had to remind herself that Marsha was only trying to do her job. But something felt off. The years hadn’t gone by without her learning a thing or two to protect yourself. She took a moment before she answered, calculating her response.

“Okay,” she agreed. Her mouth ran dry but she still swallowed despite her parched throat.

“We’ll be able to keep you safe here and set up a protective patrol. I'll come and get you. Where are you?”

Clara licked her lips. “I'm out, but I'll head there right away. Are you sure Santino couldn't be dead?” Clara's stared at the dog which stood right beside her. It had moved closer without her realizing it. How did I not notice?

Marsha spoke up, “We can’t take chances with your safety, Clara. Are you sure you don't need an escort? Just tell me where you are.”

Nowhere I'm telling you. “On the road. I'll be there soon.” Clara hung up and squeezed the small, archaic phone in her hand. An inexpensive model, a throwback to a more primitive era of technological evolution. Vintage was cheap and always in style.

Santino knows. Marsha and the Pecos PD could no longer help her. It's only a matter of time before he finds me. A black light flashed, catching her eyes and driving them back to the giant metal canine beside her.

I'm safe here, she told herself as she stared at the beast. For the next three months, he can't get to me. For the next three months, she'd have a frightening giant metal dog to protect her. It did come with a warning sign.

Clara dropped her phone on the bed and walked into the bathroom, intent on washing away her fear, worry, and the ill-timed conversation with Marsha.

She wouldn't let it affect her chances.

***

THE DOG WAS GONE WHEN she left the bathroom but the moment she stepped back into her room, another chime sounded for access.

This is it. I'm about to be fixed.

Clara ran her fingers through her blow-dried hair, feeling alone now that her companion had once again vanished, and opened the door.

To him. Her heart skipped a beat.

A very angry, very cocky looking Cyborg doctor stood on the other side.

Previous worries drained away as Dr. Canis, once again, took up all the space and all her thoughts. He fit the door frame, shoulder to panel, his pushed back hair touched the top.

His eyes narrowed on hers and she narrowed hers right back. He eventually looked away and swept his gaze across her room.

She had neither unpacked nor made a mess. She preferred order and cleanliness since everything else around her seemed to be a chaos that she couldn't control.

And that chaos extended to the extremely attractive man in front of her. His appearance alone was enough to intimidate her. I shouldn’t be allowed in his presence...

“Is it time?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Yes, follow me.” His voice was clipped and strained and she didn't know why. In fact, she didn't know why he was here at all. Clara thought, hoped, that she would no longer be dealing with him.

“You're taking me? I thought there'd be another human... an android at least?”

“No. Only me. Who would want a human doctor anyways? That would be like asking a toddler to finger-paint your house and the androids are dealing with more important things.”

Wooow. Clara rolled her eyes.

Only him? It dawned on her. Only him. Only him... A shiver ran through her. Where’s the dog when I need protection?

She looked at the man walking in front of her, the meticulously arranged dark suit he wore and the obvious musculature that was barely restrained beneath it. Her stomach grew queasy with butterflies as she openly gawked, not even hiding it. The only thing that stopped her from running back to her room was the cold indifference that wafted from him in frigid waves; she was thankful for it because if he were a charmer, she might’ve been lured in.

Somehow, her skin warmed up despite the rapidly chilling temperature that only fell lower as they walked further into the building.

They stopped at a door. Only him? The flutter in her belly vanished as reality sank in.

She was in a daze as he typed in a code and a laser flashed over his face. The door opened shortly after. The medical lab revealed itself in all its pomp and sterile circumstantial glory.

He was her doctor. The handsome asshole was her fucking doctor.

Reid led her from the hallway and into a small private space, no different than a number of surgical labs she’d been in before except for the streamlined technology that assembled into one jumble: an expensive room with an extensive history of pain. But all she could really focus on was the cushy cryo-pod that took up a third of the room.

The pod she was soon to be lying on with him hovering over her.

Reality was such a nasty bitch.

Somehow, Clara knew that this moment was going to stay with her for a very, very long time. Even if it weren't a pivotal point where she took control of her life, it would remain erect as a precariously wrong situation. She glanced between the dangerously attractive man and the prominent oval medical bed.

Her mind wandered to all the wrong places. I’ve always had problems wanting the wrong men.

She already knew the answer to her question but she asked it anyway, “You're my doctor?”

He didn't turn to face her. Instead, he pulled off his jacket in such a mechanically indifferent way that she wanted to watch him shed all of his clothes off just to see if his control and authority went to all aspects of his life.

She pressed her legs together and hated herself for it.

“Yes, Ms. Warren, I am. Does that bother you?”

The door behind her shut, startling her. Once again she wished for the dog.

It does bother me, asshole. But it didn’t stop her from watching him step into a glass enclosure in the corner that sterilized his hands and clothing. Their eyes met through the glass.

“No. It doesn't bother me.” She pulled her gaze away from his and rejoiced in her small victory. Her hands clenched at her sides and sweat coated her palms. I can do this. I'm safe here. I'm safe with him. A Cyborg doctor would never botch this. He’s done this before.

Don’t freak out.

Exhilaration slithered through her.

It's really happening.

Her lips lifted. Her hands slid over her belly and its soft rounded curve to rub the spot where her scars were. Her wariness vanished, and suddenly she wanted to jump up and down and scream to the skies and move on with her life.

“Are you okay?”

Yes! “Yes, I'm more than okay.” She didn't try to suppress her smile and was taken aback when the Cyborg flashed her one in return.

“I guess my excitement is catching,” she laughed. He turned away and slipped on a pair of gloves.

“It is, and if you're ready we can get this over with.”

Clara nodded and wanted to dance. Afterward, she told herself. Once I'm healed, I'll dance the night away where no one can see me.

Next, Dr. Canis helped her into the same sterilization chamber, his eyes locked on hers as a gaseous mist coated her skin and clothes. When it cleared and the chamber reopened, he gave her a plastic-sealed medical shift to put on. He then donned a crisp white lab coat.

She moved to the corner, turned her back, and began to peel out of her clothes.

A cough sounded behind her. “I can leave.”

Clara didn't care; her giddiness and the nearness of her goals were at the forefront of her thoughts, not the handsome man who was locked with her in the medical lab.

She shook her head without looking back. “No point, I don't want to waste time, just turn your back if it’s modesty you’re worried about, it's not like you won't see me in a short while anyway.”

She didn't wait for a response, instead, pulling off her clothes and folding them. She slid on the shift and smoothed the wrinkles down.

Her skin was covered in gooseflesh and her nipples were taut, poking through the cloth of the medical dress. It was from the cold, and once again she told herself she didn't care. I'm going to be fixed!

Who cared that it was going to be a dangerously handsome, asshole Cyborg doctor—created to wage war—that was going to fix her? She squeezed her thighs together and told herself it was because of her lack of dress, and not because there was barely a scrap of tissue paper cloth between the two of them.

When he turned around and looked at her, she was ready for his cold indifference, not for the warmth and comfort that shone in his eyes. Eyes he kept fixed on her face.

Why does that disappoint me? Her grin didn’t budge as she scrambled to the bed. He offered his hand to help her into it. She clasped it without a thought.

The moment they touched, something shifted, something unassuming and potent as his large hand tightened around her small one. It wasn't the gentle stiffening of a helpful hand, but the tightening of a hand that wanted to feel more.

They locked eyes and a rush of heat slithered through her. So many shivers for so many different reasons, but as she stared into the depths of his dark eyes, a sense of familiarity poked her memories.

Before she could place it—and the look he gave her—he helped her maneuver into the oval pod. When she was lying down—at her most vulnerable with her heart racing and ready to burst from her chest—a twinge of nervousness returned.

He still has my hand...

“Don't be nervous. You're safe with me.” His face softened and a lock of hair fell over his face. Clara nodded and swallowed, and held back from reaching up and brushing his rebel hair away from his brow.

“I feel safe,” she mustered out. It was the truth. He gave her hand a slight squeeze. So handsome, so wrong. So wrongly handsome. She missed the asshole because she had no defenses against the kindness.

“This won't take long,” he told her. “You'll feel some discomfort when you wake up and you won't be able to lift anything heavy for a day or so, but I promise there won't be any pain.”

“I like that promise.” Clara couldn't take her eyes off his face and she didn't want him to let her go. “Will you be here when I wake up?”

“Yes, I'll be here.”

She briefly closed her eyes with relief. “Thank you, Dr. Canis.”

“Call me, Reid.”

“Reid,” she said softly.

Her body heated outward from where they were connected and she craved more of it. But Reid released her with a soft caress over her knuckles and Clara realized as he moved away that what she felt was the need to be held, comforted. Well, by the fantasy of him in her head. She was freezing and for a brief moment, he had warmed her up.

Reid had also given her a lifeline of hope that not all men out there were bad and...that was dangerous.

He’s dangerous.

She shook her head and looked at the room around her. This is neither the place nor the time to be thinking about men.

He turned back to her with a scanner in his hand and ran it over her body; the medical feed appeared on a screen beyond her view. His hand held her gaze, clasped over the device he moved up and down her body, and her toes curled, thinking, imagining, that he was doing it for an entirely different reason.

A non-medical reason.

What the fuck is wrong with me? She closed her eyes.

Reid was being entirely professional and she was on the verge of being an aggressor. Clara wanted to open up her legs and ask for a quick, blissful, non-committal climax to get whatever she was feeling out of her system.

Her eyes snapped open and back to him. His focus was on the readings, not her. His attention wasn’t on her.

Clara smiled, knowing he wasn’t looking, and imagined the scenario and shifted her hips a little without meaning to.

I'm fairly certain he'd kick me out of the facility if I did that. She bit back a laugh but couldn't stop the yawning ache between her legs and the idea of her fantasy coming to life.

“Are you ready?” His voice was rough and deeper than before. Her pulse skipped as she was thrown from her thoughts.

The softness of his features had vanished and his eyes had grown dark and menacing; his muscles twitched and strained under the lab coat. He looked mad, yet restrained, and Clara resisted the urge to cover herself up behind her arms.

There's no way he knows what I was thinking.

“I'm ready,” she whispered, letting her previous thoughts burn up in flames.

He brushed his finger over the back of her hand, dousing that fire. Before the pod closed up behind a glass shield and a euphoric mist filled up the space, he did it once more. Clara snatched her hand away from the contact. Their eyes met. He touched me by choice? Again?

She didn’t get a chance to ask why before the glass cut her off and another, thicker gas filled in around her. She sucked it into her lungs. It calmed her heart, took away her excitement, and her adrenaline; her body grew heavy while her thoughts went airy and light.

That touch of his fingers stayed with her until she succumbed to sleep.

***

CLARA WENT UNDER IN less than a minute. Reid studied her vitals. And when the mists dissipated and her body came back into view, a surge of primal instinct coursed him. It felt like a bullet to his gut and he took a step back. Her smell...

Something he did, she liked; he had made a mistake. He clenched his gloved hands around the scanner, hearing a plastic crack. Even now he could smell her excitement, the heady scent of arousal. His body hardened, his cock stiffened, and he swore to himself that it would pass as quickly as it had begun.

He turned around and counted to ten. Slowly. Then he did it again. It was enough for him to regain control over his beast.

His fingers relaxed at his sides and he sighed in relief as her smell was replaced by the clinical and antiseptic gas released from the machine. He looked upon her with indifference. At least that's what he tried to convince himself of.

The glass lifted away and he loosened the straps on either side of her shift, revealing the lower half of her body.

Reid stopped. He stared. The metal plates in his body expanded.

Every shred of control he had gained back vanished as his eyes traced her pelvic area. An anger rose inside him and his coding flared red alert throughout his mainframe. Clara’s belly was covered in crisscrossing white scars, a web of uncontrolled frenzy. It was chaotic, and even though they were healed, he could feel the pain of her old wounds inside him. The scars ran from one hipbone to the other and down below her pelvis where they vanished beneath the band of her underwear.

He’d read that she’d been stabbed—it was in her file—and even then it had angered him, but seeing them was worse.

A need arose in him to protect what was now under his care and his authority.

Reid wanted to shift his face and growl, to feel the rumbles of his anger vibrate through his body. He wanted to shift and seek out her attacker, whoever he was, and stalk him in the dead of night. He wanted to rip out the man’s throat and feel the slick essence of that bastard’s life force bleed over his gums.

He could already taste the coppery tang of the man’s blood in his mouth.

But it wasn't his place to insert himself into Clara’s life or her past. It certainly wasn’t his place to seek out her enemies. Reid allowed his heart to freeze over again. Right now, there were better things to do with his time: to do for her.

I can heal her, and I can make her future more secure, but I can't save her.

He hooked one finger in her underwear and pulled the top down to see how far down her scars went.

His mouth watered as a delicious, tart scent flooded his nose, and he ran his gloved fingertip through the soft, groomed curls between her legs. The scarring vanished within and left only small trails of white where her hair no longer grew.

So soft. He traced the scars with his finger until it stopped an inch above her clit. His gaze locked on it, pink and perfect, and unhidden. He leaned forward, wondering what it tasted like, what she tasted like and if it was anything like her scent. She’s just waiting to be played with.

Her pretty pink clit looked like a perfect target for his mouth. He wanted to practice.

Reid jerked back as if he’d been burned. The seam of her panties righted back into its position over her, hiding her from his prying eyes. What the fuck is wrong with me?

His jaw ticked as he stretched his tense muscles and he composed himself.

He got to work.