Chapter 4 The Virgin Doctor and the Cunning Fox

Graham Marcus stood barefoot on the cold motel floor, blinking the sleep from his eyes as the first light of morning crept through the dusty window blinds. His neck ached, his back screamed in protest-another night spent on the floor. Across the room, curled like a cat in the center of the bed, Blair Walker snoozed peacefully, mumbling something incoherent in her sleep and kicking the comforter off with dramatic flair.

Graham watched her with a furrowed brow, one that deepened as he tried to make sense of her. *Is there actually such a thing as a real-life pixie woman with a genius for mischief and zero shame?*

He scoffed quietly. "She looks like a little gremlin who just raided a candy store."

Still, as his gaze lingered, he had to admit-there was something bizarrely endearing about her. The way her hair was a tousled halo of chaos, the way her cheek was pressed against the pillow like she'd been in the middle of a sugar crash.

And then she yawned.

Blair stretched lazily, rubbed her eyes like a sleepy child, and blinked at Graham. "Hey... why are you staring at me like a creeper? Never seen a beautiful woman before?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. She was insufferable.

And undeniably cute.

"Hello? You mute or something?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "You never even told me your name!"

Graham exhaled. "Graham Marcus."

"Virgo?"

"What?" he blinked, confused.

Blair cracked up. "Graham... Virgin... You look like one. That's your name now."

His ears went red. "It's *Graham Marcus*. Graham like the cracker. Marcus like... never mind. Can you *not* yell 'virgin' at me like we're in the middle of a sex ed class?"

Still giggling, she leaned over the bedframe. "So, serious question-are you a virgin?"

Graham rubbed the back of his neck. "If we're not counting last night's fever dream, then... yeah."

Blair rolled over in laughter, kicking off the rest of the blanket in the process-and that was when Graham's breath caught.

For a full second, he forgot how to blink.

She was in nothing but a thin cami and underwear, her smooth skin glowing in the morning light. The swell of her hips peeked out from under the shirt. Graham's thoughts short-circuited. *What would it taste like if I just bit-*

And then he saw it.

A single, vivid red dot on her upper arm.

He squinted. "What the hell is that?"

His curiosity overrode his sense of decorum. He scrambled up and straddled the bed, pointing to her arm. "Blair, hold still. What's that mark?"

"Excuse me?" she asked, blinking rapidly.

"That. That right there." He traced the crimson spot with a careful finger.

Blair's face froze.

"Don't play dumb," he said, his voice rising with excitement. "That's Shougongsha."

"Show... what?"

"It's an ancient mark. People used to crush cinnabar-fed geckos and drip the blood on a girl's arm. It stays until she loses her virginity. It's... it's called the Maiden Seal."

She blinked innocently. "Weird. I just thought it was a birthmark."

Graham stared at her. "You're lying."

Blair scoffed. "Okay fine! So what if I'm still a virgin? What does that have to do with you?"

"It means," he said, triumphantly, "that all that nonsense you spouted yesterday about 'replenishing your yin with my yang' was total crap. You played me."

Blair pouted. "A girl's gotta survive."

He let out a groan and delivered a firm smack to her backside.

Blair yelped. "Hey! You brute! You just hit me!"

"You deserve worse," he muttered, trying to fight the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "You conned me into sleeping beside you like I'm your personal hot water bottle."

Tears pooled in her eyes, theatrically. "You're a big, bad bully! Shameless! Abusive!"

He rolled his eyes. "Please. You faked needing me to survive, tricked me into thinking we-" He paused, his face darkening. "You kissed me."

"And you kissed me back."

He sighed and turned away, pulling on his boots. "I can't afford to babysit a menace. I'm out of here."

Blair wrapped the quilt around her like a burrito and blinked at him with wide, watery eyes. "Graham... where are you going?"

"Away from *you*."

Her voice turned into a sad whisper. "But where will I go? I don't know anyone here. No home. No friends. My stepmother's out to kill me. If you leave me, I'll be eaten by the wolves."

He stopped mid-lace, groaning. "God, you're impossible."

She sniffled. "You don't *care* that a little girl like me might get kidnapped?"

Graham turned around, arms folded. "How old are you?"

"Old enough to ruin your life with a false accusation," she said sweetly. "You leave me here, I'm calling the cops and telling them you kidnapped me."

Graham stared.

She winked. "Try me."

"You're... insane."

"And you're stuck with me."

---

They spent their last few dollars on a collapsible table, a couple of plastic chairs, and a hand-painted sign that read:

**"Graham Marcus - The Modern Miracle Doctor. Cures all illnesses. Walk in, limp out."**

They set up outside a swanky international hotel, hoping that rich guests would pay for novelty healing. Graham opened his old medicine case and began to arrange the herbs and tinctures by color.

Blair stood nearby, practicing her pitch.

"Step right up, folks! We cure coughs, migraines, broken hearts and ex-boyfriend infestations!"

A couple of guys walking past snorted. "What a joke. A miracle doctor? Kid looks like he just failed high school biology."

The other one whistled. "But I'd definitely get examined by her."

Blair's eyes flared. "Come say that to my face, you walking STDs!"

Graham pulled her back gently. "Ignore them."

"I could fight them."

"You'd lose."

She pouted. "So, tell me. What's your deal? Why come to Crestwood Falls? Was it for that medical competition thing?"

He nodded. "My late father arranged a marriage for me with a girl from the Rowan family. When I showed up to meet her, her parents laughed in my face because I was poor. She-Gwen-dumped me on the spot."

Blair's eyes turned into blazing fireballs. "What a spoiled rich brat!"

He chuckled at her rage.

She continued, breathless, "You're gonna enter that competition. Win the title. Rub it in her stupid face!"

"I don't care about her," he said coolly. "But my father's name deserves better. If I let them humiliate me and walk away... I've lost twice. And I don't lose."

For the first time, Blair saw it-the sharpness behind his calm demeanor. Beneath the quiet voice and patient tone lived a man who'd been forged in rejection and sharpened by pride.

She grinned. "You've got bite, Doctor Marcus. I like it."

Just then, a luxury car pulled up outside the hotel. An elderly man in a tailored silk suit stepped out, followed by a square-jawed assistant and four black-suited bodyguards.

The hotel guests all turned to look.

Blair glanced at the sign they'd set up. "Uh oh. Big fish incoming."

Graham tilted his head. "That old man looks pale. Trouble breathing. Weak legs. Definitely congestive heart failure."

As they watched, the old man suddenly collapsed onto the sidewalk, clutching his chest.

His assistant screamed, "Mr. Reynolds! Sir!"

The bodyguards scrambled, shouting for an ambulance.

Graham was already moving.

He reached the old man within seconds, pushing past a panicked crowd. Kneeling beside him, he placed two fingers on the pulse point beneath the jaw.

"Heart arrhythmia," Graham muttered. "He's crashing."

The square-faced assistant shoved him. "Back off, punk! Who are you?"

Graham held up his hands calmly. "The guy who's going to keep him alive until your ambulance gets here."

Blair darted to his side. "Trust him. He's weird, but he's good."

The assistant hesitated-then backed away.

Graham took out two acupuncture needles and aimed for pressure points on the old man's chest and left wrist.

"Breathe, sir," he whispered. "You're not dying today."