The local hospital in Arcanvale never slept. The fluorescent lights flickered with an uneasy insistence, the metallic smell of blood and antiseptic permeated the air, and the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the cold hallways. Mira Hristov was accustomed to this environment. She liked the predictability of medical chaos, the control she had over every diagnosis, every scalpel, every life that passed through her hands.

But there was something—someone—disrupting that balance.

Two months. Only two months, and it already felt like an eternity. From the first day that woman walked through the hospital doors, Mira felt the impact. It wasn’t something simple, rational. It wasn’t just about the cursed name she carried—Petrova—or the veiled threat her presence posed. It was something more instinctive, visceral.

An inevitable collision.

She remembered their first argument as if it were yesterday. A critically ill patient, two conflicting opinions on treatment, and neither willing to budge. The shock was immediate—sharp voices, incandescent gazes, bodies too tense for the cramped confines of the emergency room. Every shift they shared since then had been a new battleground. Mira pushed open the locker room door with more force than necessary, her fingers tightening angrily on the hem of her lab coat. The reflection in the mirror showed what she already knew: brown eyes flashing, lips pressed into a tight line, exhaustion weighing on her shoulders. Damn it. She was losing control. She ran a hand through her dark hair, taking a deep breath. But it was no use. Even now, alone, she could still feel her—the memory of her defiant voice, the way her scent lingered in the hallways, the way the tension between them always bordered on something dangerous. Hatred, she tried to convince herself.

That was all it was. But then why did her skin still burn every time she came near?

The locker room was silent, except for the sound of water dripping from a poorly sealed pipe and the zipper of Mira's lab coat opening with a controlled slide. She exhaled slowly, feeling the momentary relief of getting rid of the suffocating garment. The muscles in her neck were tense from hours of nonstop duty, and the headache throbbed at the base of her skull.

Then, the door creaked.

Mira didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The unmistakable scent invaded the space before she could even say anything. A different aroma from the hospital—something warmer, something that made her skin tingle in an uncomfortable way, to the point where her body felt damp in her lower parts.

Great. Exactly the last person she wanted to see right now.

The sound of firm footsteps echoed through the locker room, the echo amplified by the cold tile. Mira kept her gaze fixed on the open locker in front of her, fighting the urge to stare. But it was impossible to ignore her presence when she stopped beside her, opening her own locker.

The silence between them was sharp.

The fabric slid across her skin as Mira pulled her blouse from her pants, lifting her arms to take it off. She knew she was being watched. She could feel the gaze slide, hesitate for a second longer than necessary as she took in Mira's body, the way her breasts looked so beautiful hidden in that bra. And something inside her, something primal and unbearably stubborn, refused to ignore it.

"Enjoying the view, Petrova?"

Mira asked, her voice thick with irony, folding the blouse slowly before tossing it on the bench.

"There's no point in staring at me like that, you're not my type, sweetie."

She said sarcastically, rolling her eyes and turning away, the hairs on her body standing on end every second just from being near her. Her inner wolf screamed desperately to break free, to let herself be marked. Because, as much as she hated to think about it, she knew that for mysterious reasons, her inner wolf recognized this woman as her partner.

The silence that followed was short, but charged. Mira finally turned her face away. The electric tension in the air was almost suffocating, like a live wire about to spark.

Neither of them moved. Neither looked away.