Chapter 5- Interference
981 Words
Eirik felt it the moment he stepped into the hospital.
Not pain. Not blood.
Tension.
The kind that slid under his skin and refused to settle. His instincts sharpened as his gaze swept the corridor—too quiet, too charged, as if something unseen was coiling tight.
As Beta to Alpha Ronan of the Crescent Moon pack, it was his job to notice what others missed.
A guard brushed past him. “Ronan’s asking for you.”
“I’ll meet him shortly,” Eirik replied. “After I check the east wing.”
Foreign packs on Crescent Moon territory meant protocol. And Red Moon hadn’t arrived empty-handed—they’d brought wounded warriors and an Alpha-in-training with power humming just beneath the surface.
Eirik turned the corner—and stopped.
A man stood alone near the wall, posture controlled, eyes tracking movement with sharp awareness.
Bright blue.
Alpha energy rolled off him in quiet, restrained waves.
“Red Moon,” Eirik said calmly.
“Crescent Moon,” the man replied, voice steady.
Rhys.
Eirik cataloged him quickly—curly black hair pushed back, jaw tight, attention split between duty and something else. Something Eirik could almost feel.
And then—
The pull.
Not his.
Behind him.
Footsteps echoed down the hall, fast and familiar.
Mikaela.
Eirik stepped forward without thinking, shifting just enough to block the corridor behind him.
“Hospital access is restricted,” he said evenly, authority unmistakable. “If you need a patient, a healer will escort you.”
Rhys’s jaw flexed. “I was just leaving.”
Good.
Because whatever was stirring in the air felt like fate testing boundaries.
Behind Eirik, Mikaela slowed. “Eirik?”
Rhys stiffened.
The sound of her voice hit him hard—steady, calm, and devastatingly familiar in a way that made no sense. His instincts surged violently, every fiber of him screaming to turn, to look.
That’s her.
He didn’t know how he knew.
Eirik glanced back at his sister, assessing her in a single heartbeat—her pulse too fast, her focus fractured, that same unsettled edge he’d noticed all day.
“You’re needed in room three,” he said quickly, deliberately placing himself between her and the man she hadn’t yet seen. “They stabilized him, but Father wants your assessment.”
Mikaela nodded, though her gaze flicked past him, brow furrowing as if she sensed something just beyond reach.
“Okay,” she said softly. “I’m coming.”
She turned and hurried away, braid swinging, long dirty-blonde hair catching the light before disappearing down the hall.
Rhys forced himself to look away.
Control.
Eirik turned back to him, eyes sharp, Beta authority unmistakable.
“You felt it,” Eirik said quietly.
Rhys met his gaze, tension humming. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Eirik held his stare a moment longer, then inclined his head. “If you say so.”
He stepped aside. “Ronan will want to speak with you soon. Pack matters.”
Rhys nodded once and moved past him, every muscle tight, blue eyes dark with something dangerously close to awe.
As soon as he was gone, Eirik exhaled slowly.
That was too close.
Fate had pushed.
And as Beta, he’d stepped in.
Mikaela didn’t understand why her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Room three was calm now. The warrior’s breathing had evened out, his vitals steady beneath her fingers. Everything was under control—exactly how it should have been.
And yet.
She stepped back from the bed, chest tight, the sensation lingering like a ghost under her skin. That pull—sudden and sharp—hadn’t faded. If anything, it felt heavier now, as if she’d missed something important by seconds.
Someone had been there.
The certainty settled deep in her bones.
Not a patient. Not a healer.
Someone who mattered.
Mikaela frowned, replaying the moment in her mind—the hallway, Eirik stepping in front of her, the way the air had felt charged, almost alive. She pressed a hand briefly to her sternum, breath unsteady.
Why does it feel like I walked away from something?
She shook her head and forced herself back to work. There would be time to untangle her instincts later. Right now, the wounded needed her.
Still, the feeling followed her long after.
⸻
Ronan stood at the edge of the Crescent Moon training grounds, arms crossed as he watched the sun dip lower over the trees.
He didn’t turn when Eirik approached.
“You felt it too,” Ronan said quietly.
Eirik stopped beside him. “I did.”
Silence stretched between them—years of friendship and trust filling the space without words.
“It wasn’t hostility,” Eirik continued. “Or challenge. It felt… instinctive.”
Ronan finally glanced at him, brow furrowing. “From Red Moon?”
“Yes. Their Alpha-in-training.” Eirik’s jaw tightened. “And my sister.”
Ronan stilled.
“That strong?” he asked.
Eirik nodded once. “Strong enough that I stepped in without thinking.”
Ronan exhaled slowly, gaze returning to the horizon. “Fate has a twisted sense of timing.”
“That’s what worries me,” Eirik said. “Mikaela doesn’t even know who he is yet. She just knows something’s pulling at her.”
“And he knows?” Ronan asked.
“Enough to stop himself,” Eirik replied. “For now.”
Ronan was quiet for a long moment, the weight of leadership settling visibly on his shoulders.
“We’ll watch it,” he said at last. “Carefully.”
Eirik nodded. “And if fate pushes again?”
Ronan’s mouth curved into a grim smile. “Then we deal with it as a pack.”
The moon began to rise over Crescent Moon territory, pale and watchful.
And somewhere between duty and instinct, something ancient had already begun to choose.
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