The emergency ward hated full moons. Machines failed more often. Patients came in louder, angrier, bloodier. Security doubled. Windows stayed locked.
Penelope Wood learned early not to question it. She just had to do her job because even if she questioned, she knew she would only get veiled excuses.
By 2:47 a.m., she was already on her third call.
"Trauma Bay Three," dispatch said.
"Equipment malfunction. Immediate response."
She exhaled slowly, grabbed her kit, and headed down the corridor. Industrial zone cases always came in like this—late, quiet, untraceable.
No media.
No explanations.
Just bodies delivered fast and bleeding. The hospital was responsible only for treatment
The doors burst open as she arrived.
The gurney rolled in hard.
"BP dropping!"
"Deep tissue trauma—doesn't match the report!"
"Monitor's glitching—again!"
Penelope moved automatically towards the monitor, trying to figure out what was causing the issue with the device they just received two days ago which worked just fine in the morning.
She wasn't the medical staff. She didn't give orders. She fixed what kept people alive while others did the saving.
Penelope pressed the buttons before turning it on again. Under her practiced hands, the monitor started working just fine.
With one hand on the monitor, Penelope took a good look at the patient under treatment.
The patient was male. Too large for the stretcher. Broad shoulders. Long limbs. Expensive clothing torn and soaked through with dark blood. His chest rose unevenly, muscles twitching beneath skin like something inside him was restless.
His closed eyes slowly opened and Penelope found herself immobile under those eyes. That eye colour was first for her.
Gold.
Not hazel. Not light brown. Not reflecting.
Gold.
Her breathing slowed.
That wasn't lighting.
That wasn't normal.
"Penny," a doctor snapped. "We need the heart monitor stabilized. Now."
She swallowed and knelt to check the wiring. The monitor was working fine again, there was nothing wrong on that end. She needed to check the probes attached to the patient.
The moment she leaned closer, she accidentally saw the wounds clearly.
They weren't clean. They weren't external.
They looked torn—ragged edges curling outward, as if something had tried to claw its way free from inside his body.
Claw marks.
Her fingers tightened around the cable.
"Heart rhythm's unstable," a nurse said.
"He's reacting to something—" someone yelled.
The machine screamed.
The man's body arched violently in the bed. A sound tore from his throat—low, raw, animal. The lights in the room flickered and windows rattled.
Somewhere deep in the building, metal slammed. Penelope reacted without thinking. She reached for the patient.
Her bare wrist brushed his skin.
Agony exploded.
Not hers.
His.
The man convulsed, spine bowing as if something invisible crushed him down. The sound he made wasn't human. It was fury. Pain. Resistance.
At that moment, right outside the window something unexpected happened. The moon vanished from the skies. Not eclipsed. Smothered. Total lunar blackout.
Every monitor in the room flatlined at once. Then—
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Steady.
"What the hell…" someone whispered.
Penelope stumbled back not knowing what was happening, her heart pounding.
The man's breathing gradually slowed, deepened. Somehow the man who looked on the verge of death regained control over his body and those wounds stopped bleeding.
As if something savage had been forced back into a cage. The room fell into the deathly silence with all the eyes focused on the patient whose eyes were solely trained on Penelope.
Before anyone could understand what was happening, his hand shot up. It closed around Penelope's wrist.
Hot.
Burning.
Unbreakable.
Gold eyes snapped open and locked onto her face with terrifying clarity.
The room tilted.
"You," he said, voice rough and deep, as if not meant for human ears.
"What are you?" he questioned, leaving Penelope wondering if he lost some of his screws.
Her throat tightened with the intense gaze that was keeping her glued to her place.
She should scream. Pull away. Call security.
Instead, she told the obvious truth.
"I fix machines."
Something crossed his face briefly, masking his expression. Pain. Relief….and perhaps hunger.
At that moment, the doors to the room burst open from the outside.
Men in black suits flooded the ward, moving too fast, too coordinated as if they were in some sort of mock drill.
"This patient is under private protection," one said calmly. "We'll take him."
"You can't just—" the doctor began.
"No," the man on the gurney said softly, interrupting everyone.
They froze.
His grip loosened. Penelope staggered back, her back drenched with sweat. The whole event weighed heavily on her mind. It made no sense.
The man studied her like a rule that had just failed.
"The moon didn't claim you," he murmured.
Penelope didn't understand. However her instincts screamed danger.
"What does that mean?" she whispered.
His lips curved. A smile without warmth.
"It means," he said as darkness pressed in from every corner of the ward, "you belong to no one."
The gurney rolled away. The blackout lifted. The moon returned.
And across the city—
Every werewolf felt it.
A fracture.
The night the moon lost control.
And the human it could not touch