Chapter 4- Almost
490 Words
Rhys shouldn’t have been inside the hospital.
He knew that the moment he crossed the threshold.
The scent hit him first—antiseptic layered over blood, pain, and exhaustion. His warriors’ pain. His responsibility. He moved through the halls with quiet purpose, checking on those he could without interfering with the healers’ work.
And then the pull surged.
Not gradual. Not subtle.
Immediate.
Rhys slowed, boots echoing once against the stone floor before he stilled completely. His breath hitched, chest tightening as something sharp and instinctive twisted low in his gut.
Too close.
He turned his head slightly, eyes fixed on the corridor ahead.
Something—someone—was there.
Every instinct screamed to move. To step forward. To turn the corner and see what his body already knew was waiting.
His hand flexed at his side.
No.
He forced himself to stop.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t the time. He was here as Alpha-in-training, not a reckless wolf chasing an unexplainable pull through a foreign pack’s halls. His warriors needed him focused. Grounded.
Control first. Questions later.
Rhys took a steadying breath and stepped back, turning down the opposite corridor just as hurried footsteps echoed closer.
Mikaela was running.
Not recklessly—she’d learned better—but fast enough that her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her boots slapped against the floor as she moved through the halls, braid swinging down her back.
“Room three,” she muttered, gripping her clipboard tighter. “Room three.”
A warrior had taken a sudden turn. Pain spiking, vitals shifting. They needed her now.
She rounded the corner sharply—and stopped short, breath catching.
The hallway was empty.
Mikaela frowned.
That pull—stronger than ever—had flared so suddenly she’d nearly stumbled. Her chest felt tight, lungs struggling to draw in air as if she’d missed something important by seconds.
Get it together, she told herself.
She shook it off and pushed forward, boots echoing as she hurried past the intersection she hadn’t noticed twice.
Behind her, just out of sight, Rhys paused.
His spine went rigid.
There it was again.
Closer than it had ever been.
He pressed his palm briefly to the wall, grounding himself, pulse racing. Whatever he’d just avoided—whatever had nearly collided with him—had left the air charged in its wake.
He exhaled slowly.
You did the right thing, he told himself.
And yet, every instinct snarled in protest.
Mikaela burst into room three moments later, slipping seamlessly back into her role. Her hands steadied as she assessed the patient, voice calm, movements precise.
But beneath the surface, something lingered.
A sense of almost.
As if she’d brushed past the edge of something life-altering and hadn’t even known it.
Down the hall, Rhys straightened and continued on, jaw tight, blue eyes dark with confusion and restraint.
They hadn’t seen each other.
But the bond had.
And it was growing impatient.
- Writer
