Chapter 3 Eclipse syndrome

I rushed through the corridors of the hospital, following the nurse's directions to the intensive care unit. My mind was still reeling from the abrupt transition, from Theo's luxurious suite and passionate embrace to the sterile, antiseptic-scented halls.

I found my mother in the waiting area, her small frame hunched over, hands clutching a paper cup of untouched coffee. She looked up when I approached, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen.

"Claire." Her voice broke on my name as she stood, pulling me into a desperate embrace. "Thank the goddess you're here."

"How is he?" I asked, fear clawing at my throat.

Before she could answer, a doctor approached us—a middle-aged human woman with kind eyes and exhaustion etched into the lines of her face.

"Ms. White?" She extended her hand. "I'm Dr. Peterson. I've been overseeing your father's care."

I shook her hand, noticing the slight hesitation—the typical human reaction when touching a werewolf, even if they'd worked with our kind before. "Please, tell me what's happening."

Dr. Peterson's expression grew grave. "Your father has been diagnosed with Eclipse Syndrome."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Eclipse Syndrome—a rare neurological disorder that affected only werewolves, named for the way it eclipsed both human consciousness and wolf instinct, leaving the victim trapped between worlds. I'd studied it briefly in my advanced biology courses.

"That's impossible," I whispered. "Eclipse Syndrome affects less than one in ten thousand werewolves."

"I'm afraid the tests are conclusive," Dr. Peterson replied gently. "The MRI shows the characteristic degradation of the neural pathways that connect the human and wolf consciousness. Your father is in the early stages, but the progression is... rapid."

My mother's sob cut through me. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying to provide strength I didn't feel.

"What's the treatment plan?" I asked, forcing clinical detachment into my voice.

Dr. Peterson hesitated. "Eclipse Syndrome has no cure, Ms. White. There are experimental treatments that can slow the progression, specialized care to maintain quality of life, but..."

"But what?" I demanded.

"These treatments are extremely expensive," she admitted. "And not covered by standard insurance. Without them, your father will deteriorate quickly. With them, we can keep him comfortable and possibly maintain some cognitive function for months, maybe years."

"How expensive?" My voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.

When she named the figure, a monthly sum that exceeded my mother's annual income, I felt the ground shift beneath my feet. My mother's grip on my arm tightened, her fingers digging painfully into my skin.

"We'll find a way," I assured her, the words automatic. "Somehow."

After discussing the immediate care plan, Dr. Peterson left us to visit my father. Seeing him, the strong, wolf who had taught me to hunt, to track, to survive, reduced to a motionless figure in a hospital bed shattered something fundamental inside me. His skin had a grayish cast, and the monitors surrounding him beeped with mechanical indifference to our grief.

I stood by his bedside, holding his unresponsive hand, whispering promises I had no idea how to keep. My wolf, still dormant from Adrian's rejection, offered no guidance, no strength. I had never felt so utterly alone.

After my mother fell into an exhausted sleep in the chair beside his bed, I stepped outside the room, needing a moment to breathe. The hallway swam before my eyes as the enormity of our situation crashed over me. How could we possibly afford this treatment? How could I watch him waste away if we couldn't?

My phone vibrated in my pocket. Unknown number. I nearly declined the call, but desperation made me answer.

"Claire." Adrian's voice, smooth and familiar, sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. "I heard about your father."

Of course he had. The werewolf community, especially at the Alpha level, had ways of monitoring what happened to every pack member in their territory.

"What do you want?" I asked, too exhausted for pleasantries.

"To help," he replied simply. "Meet me at the coffee shop across from the hospital. One hour."

He hung up before I could refuse. I stared at my phone, torn between pride and pragmatism. Every fiber of my being revolted at the thought of facing Adrian again, of asking anything of him. But my father's life hung in the balance. Pride was a luxury I couldn't afford.

An hour later, I sat across from Adrian in a nearly empty coffee shop, cradling a cup I hadn't ordered. He looked immaculate as always—tailored suit, perfectly styled hair, the Crescent Moon Pack insignia glinting on his cufflinks. No sign of the emotional turmoil I'd experienced in the aftermath of our parting.

An awkward silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken accusations.

"Eclipse Syndrome," he finally said, his voice clinically detached. "Nasty business."

I remained silent, waiting.

"The treatments are prohibitively expensive," he continued. "Even for a family of moderate means. For your mother, a single Omega with no pack support..." He let the implication hang in the air.

"We'll manage," I said stiffly.

Adrian laughed, the sound devoid of humor. "No, Claire. You won't." He leaned forward, his blue eyes—once so beloved to me, calculating. "But I can help. I can cover all your father's medical expenses. The best care, the most promising experimental treatments. Whatever he needs."

Hope flared briefly before suspicion doused it. Adrian never offered anything without expecting something in return.

"Why would you do that?" I asked, wary.

His lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Because despite everything, I care about you, Claire. And just as you might have guessed deep within you, I want something in return."

There it was. I braced myself. "What?"

"You." The single word hung in the air between us. "After I marry Nicole, I want you to become my mistress."

The coffee I'd just sipped turned to acid in my stomach. I stared at him, certain I'd misheard. "Your what?"

"My mistress," he repeated calmly, as if discussing a business arrangement. "Nicole and I have an arranged marriage. Political, beneficial to both packs. But she and I have... an understanding about discretion in other matters."

Disgust rose like bile in my throat. "You want me to sleep with you while you're married to another woman? After you publicly humiliated me?"

"I'm offering you a solution, Claire." His tone hardened. "Your father gets the care he needs. You get financial security. I get..." his eyes raked over me possessively, "companionship that Nicole won't provide."

The coffee shop suddenly felt airless. The man across from me, the man I'd loved for three years, had planned a future with—was a stranger, cruel and calculating.

"No." The word came out stronger than I expected. "Never."

Adrian's expression darkened. "Don't be foolish. This is a generous offer. Your father will die without proper care."

"Then I'll find another way," I snapped, standing abruptly. "I would rather work ten jobs than degrade myself for you."

His laugh followed me as I walked away. "Good luck with that, little Omega. You'll find the job market suddenly very unreceptive."

The threat lingered in my mind as I left, but I dismissed it as petty intimidation. With my newly earned pharmaceutical degree and research experience, surely I could find work to support my family.

The following weeks proved how wrong I was.

At first, I blamed coincidence. The pharmaceutical company that had practically guaranteed me a position suddenly filled it internally. The research lab found my qualifications "impressive but not quite what they needed." The university hospital claimed a hiring freeze.

But after the twelfth rejection—when the manager of a coffee shop looked at my application, made a phone call while I waited, then awkwardly informed me they had just filled their last position—the pattern became impossible to ignore.

Adrian was sabotaging me. The Crescent Moon Pack's influence extended far beyond what I had imagined, reaching into every business large enough to provide the salary I needed to cover my father's care. One word from the Alpha's son, and doors closed in my face.

Exhausted and defeated, I returned to the apartment I shared with Jennifer, collapsing onto the couch. My father had been moved to a long-term care facility that we could barely afford, receiving only the most basic treatments. Every day without the specialized care he needed was another day lost to the progression of his disease.

"No luck?" Jennifer asked, setting a cup of tea beside me.

I shook my head, too drained for words.

"Claire, you have to tell me what's going on," she insisted, sitting beside me. "You've been running yourself ragged for weeks. The rejections don't make sense—you were at the top of our class."

The dam broke. I told her everything—Adrian's cruel proposal, his thinly veiled threat, the systematic rejection from every potential employer.

Jennifer's expression shifted from concern to fury as I spoke. By the time I finished, she was pacing our small living room, practically vibrating with rage.

"That manipulative, entitled knot-head," she snarled, her wolf clearly close to the surface. "He thinks he can just ruin your life because you had the audacity to say no to him?"

"What choice do I have?" I whispered, defeat crushing me. "Dad's getting worse. The basic care is already draining Mom's savings. Another month, and we'll have nothing left."

Jennifer stopped pacing, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "You know... I might have an idea. It's not ideal, but it pays extremely well."

"I'm desperate enough for anything right now."

"My cousin works security at Wolf Elite," she said carefully.

I raised an eyebrow. "There are different departments in there. The nightclub, hotel, bar, etc."

"I know, bestie and that's why they're always looking for smart, attractive staff, and the tips are insane. Like, pay-your-rent-in-one-night insane."

"You want me to be a waitress? Or..." I hesitated, "something else?"

"Just cocktail service," she assured me quickly. "Nothing shady. And it's all werewolves, so the management is strict about harassment. The place is owned by one of the oldest packs in the city."

"I don't know, Jen..."

She sat beside me, taking my hands. "Claire, you'd make in one weekend what you'd won’t even believe. Plus, it's off the grid, Adrian can’t go after you there. Cash tips, private payroll. The Crescent Moon Pack wouldn't be able to track you there."

I thought of my father, lying motionless in that hospital bed. Of my mother's worn face as she calculated and recalculated our dwindling finances.

"How do I apply?"

Jennifer grinned, already reaching for her phone. "You have an interview tomorrow night. 9 PM sharp. I’ll ask bout the details. All you have to do is prepare yourself."