Chapter 8- Collision
1057 Words
Mikaela nearly dropped her phone.
Her hands were shaking—not from fear, but from bone-deep exhaustion that had settled behind her eyes and refused to move. She leaned against the cool stone wall of the hospital corridor, thumb hovering before she finally typed.
Mikaela:
Everything here is chaos right now.
We’ve got wounded warriors everywhere and I was up all night rotating between rooms.
I haven’t slept at all yet.
She hesitated, then added:
I’ll text you later when things calm down.
The message sent.
Rhys read it immediately.
He was already on edge—every instinct tight, every sense stretched thin. Seeing her words felt like pressure added to a fracture.
He typed back, erased it. Typed again.
Rhys:
Make sure you eat something.
Don’t push yourself too hard.
It sounded safe. Distant.
Not enough.
He shoved his phone into his pocket and stepped out into the corridor, intending to clear his head before morning drills. The hospital wing was quieter now, but not silent—footsteps echoed softly, voices murmured behind closed doors.
He turned the corner—
And stopped short.
So did she.
Mikaela sucked in a sharp breath as she nearly collided with a broad chest she hadn’t seen in time. Hands came up automatically, pressing against solid warmth to steady herself.
“I’m so sorry,” she blurted, already stepping back.
Rhys didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
Because the world had narrowed to the woman in front of him.
Long, dirty-blonde hair was pulled into a messy braid, strands escaping around her face. Her skin was pale with exhaustion, eyes shadowed, posture tired but unbowed.
And her eyes—
Blue.
Not just blue.
His.
The bond detonated.
Rhys felt it like a blow to the sternum, sharp and undeniable. His wolf surged forward, furious and elated all at once, clawing against restraint.
Mate.
Mikaela’s breath hitched as something pulled inside her—violent, dizzying, like gravity had shifted without warning. Her heart began to race, instincts screaming at her to step closer even as logic demanded distance.
“Are you alright?” Rhys asked, voice rougher than he intended.
She nodded too quickly. “Yeah—yes. I’m just… tired.”
Her gaze flicked over him briefly—curly black hair still damp from training, bright blue eyes far too intense for a stranger, presence heavy and commanding in a way that made her shoulders square instinctively.
She didn’t know why.
He swallowed. Hard.
“Long night?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“All of them lately,” she said with a faint, apologetic smile. “Hospital’s full.”
Something dark and protective flashed through him.
“Then you shouldn’t be running into people in the halls,” he said gently, stepping aside to give her space even though every part of him screamed not to.
She laughed quietly. “Fair point.”
They stood there a heartbeat too long.
Neither moved.
Neither understood why leaving felt like loss.
“Well,” she said finally, breaking the silence, “I should get back.”
“Yeah,” Rhys replied, though his feet didn’t cooperate.
She stepped around him, brushing past.
The contact—barely there—nearly broke him.
As she walked away, Mikaela pressed a hand to her chest, pulse racing.
What was that?
Rhys turned slowly, watching her disappear down the corridor.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Her name lit the screen.
And for the first time in four years, Rhys knew exactly what he was risking by keeping the truth from her.
Mikaela barely made it ten steps before her knees threatened to give out.
She leaned against the wall, pressing her palm flat to the cool stone, breathing through the sudden tightness in her chest. Her heart was racing for no reason she could name, skin buzzing like she’d brushed against something charged.
Get it together, she told herself.
Lack of sleep. That was all. She’d been running on fumes for days.
Inside her, her wolf stirred—weak, heavy, still half-buried beneath exhaustion. It didn’t rise fully. Didn’t push forward the way it should have.
But it whimpered.
A soft, aching sound that echoed through Mikaela’s mind like a wounded thing.
No… wait…
Mikaela frowned, fingers curling against the wall. “What’s wrong?” she whispered under her breath, unsure who she was even speaking to.
The answer didn’t come.
Not yet.
She straightened, forcing her legs to move, forcing herself back into duty. Another room needed her. Another patient. Another responsibility that didn’t allow space for confusion.
Her wolf sank again, dragged under by fatigue.
Passed out.
By the time Mikaela finally emerged hours later, sunlight streaming through high windows, something inside her snapped awake with violent clarity.
There.
Her wolf surged forward, no longer dulled, no longer weak.
Mine.
Mikaela staggered, catching herself on the edge of a supply cart as the force of it slammed through her chest.
“What—?”
MATE.
The howl tore through her mind, loud and unmistakable, reverberating down to bone and blood. Her breath left her in a sharp gasp as instinct flooded her senses all at once—direction, longing, loss.
She spun, eyes scanning the corridor wildly.
Too far.
The pull was there—but stretched thin now, like a tether pulled to its limit.
“No,” she whispered, panic flaring. “No, wait—”
She broke into a hurried walk, then a run, ignoring the ache in her legs, the dizziness that followed. Her wolf clawed forward, frantic now, urging her faster.
Find him. Find him.
She rounded the corner.
Nothing.
The corridor was empty.
The scent lingered faintly—warm, sharp, unfamiliar and devastating all at once—but it was already fading, carried away by distance and movement.
Gone.
Mikaela slowed, chest heaving, heart pounding in her ears.
Her wolf keened softly, wounded and furious.
You left him.
Tears stung unexpectedly at Mikaela’s eyes. “I didn’t know,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I didn’t know.”
The bond hummed painfully, awake and aware now—aching in the space he should have filled.
Somewhere far down the hall, Rhys paused mid-step.
His wolf snarled and turned back inside him, confused and enraged.
MATE.
But when he looked back—
There was no one there.
- Writer
