Chapter 5: He Didn't Remember

Valkyrie

My world had ended—or so I thought.

But when the morning sun filtered weakly through the frosted windows, I realized life would continue, whether I was ready or not.

Last night, I barely remembered reaching the servants’ quarters. The moment my body hit the bed, exhaustion pulled me into oblivion.

My birthday was ruined.

My mate was gone.

And Ragnor... he had gone mad.

What a day.

The chill in the room forced me to shiver as I hurriedly stood and pulled on my plain gray uniform, the coarse fabric scratching against my skin.

"Time to work, Val," I whispered to myself, forcing my legs to move.

The scent of cleaning supplies and stale air greeted me as I stepped out, a stark reminder of my place within the pack hierarchy.

Being a maid in the Blue Fire Pack wasn’t glamorous, but it was survival. I had long since resigned myself to the monotony—scrubbing floors, laundering clothes, and ensuring every surface of the grand mansion gleamed under the ever-watchful eyes of the Luna Dowager.

Today was no different.

I began my day tackling the endless corridors, my bucket of soapy water sloshing with each step. The mansion was a maze of polished wood and marble, a stark contrast to the lives of those who served within its walls.

But my thoughts refused to stay in the present.

Last night’s events replayed in my mind: Ragnor’s desperate plea, the Luna Dowager’s icy dismissal, and... the kisses I had never thought I’d experience. With him. The most powerful man in the pack.

My ex-mate. Alpha Ragnor.

The memory burned, a fresh wound that refused to heal.

“Valkyrie!” Fiona’s sharp voice cut through my reverie. The head maid stood with arms crossed, her eyes narrowing in disapproval. “Daydreaming won’t get the floor cleaned.”

“Yes, Fiona,” I muttered, grabbing the brush with renewed determination.

By mid-morning, I had moved to the Alpha’s private wing—a place reserved for the most trusted servants. Cleaning his quarters always felt like an intrusion into a world far removed from my own.

The faint scent of cedarwood lingered in the air, mingling with traces of his cologne, a mix of sandalwood and amber. It stirred something deep within me, a longing I couldn’t suppress.

The room was immaculate yet undeniably masculine. A stack of books rested on the nightstand beside an ornate dagger.

My fingers brushed against a photograph of Ragnor and his late father, the former Alpha. Their smiles were rare but genuine, a glimpse of the bond they had shared before war claimed too much.

As I reached for the higher shelves, climbing a stool to dust, the creak of the door startled me.

I spun around to see Alpha Ragnor standing there, his towering frame filling the doorway. He looked... different.

His usual brooding intensity was replaced by calm curiosity, as if last night’s madness had been nothing more than a distant dream.

“Alpha,” I stammered, quickly setting down the duster and lowering my gaze.

“Valkyrie?” His voice was smooth, but there was no recognition in it. It was as if I were a stranger to him—or perhaps, just another maid.

“Did I disturb you?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

He stepped further into the room, his presence both commanding and unnervingly comforting. “No, not at all.”

I nodded, trying to continue my work, though my heart raced with every movement he made.

"Duncan mentioned you were... helpful last night," he said, his tone casual. "Were you here?"

My chest tightened. Did he not remember?

“It ... it was nothing, Alpha. Just doing my duty.” The lie tasted bitter, but what else could I say?

He tilted his head, studying me with those stormy gray eyes that once held all the warmth in my world. “Still, I owe you. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, let me know.”

The sincerity in his voice stung more than it should have. The man I had fought so hard to save was here before me, yet he felt like a stranger.

“Thank you, Alpha,” I murmured, bowing my head.

As I turned back to my task, the stool wobbled beneath me. My heart lurched as the world tilted.

“Whoa!” I cried, bracing for the inevitable crash—but before I hit the ground, strong arms caught me.

I looked up to find Ragnor holding me, his expression unreadable.

“You should be more careful,” he said softly, his voice closer than it had been in years.

I couldn’t respond, my breath stolen by the sudden proximity and the memories it stirred.

For a moment, everything else faded.

Ragnor’s arms tightened around me, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of my uniform.

I could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the steady beat of his heart against mine. His scent, a mix of sandalwood and amber, wrapped around me like a cloak, intoxicating and familiar.

“You always had a knack for trouble,” he murmured, his voice low and tinged with something I couldn’t place.

I swallowed hard, unable to look away from the storm in his gray eyes. The way he gazed at me now—intense, searching—made my skin tingle and my pulse race.

“I’m fine,” I whispered, though my voice betrayed me, trembling under his scrutiny.

His lips quirked, a ghost of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Fine, huh?” His grip loosened, but he didn’t let go completely.

Instead, his hand moved to my waist, steadying me as he guided me off the stool and back onto solid ground.

I should have stepped away.

I should have put distance between us.

But my legs refused to move, and neither did his hands.

“Ragnor…” His name slipped from my lips before I could stop it, a fragile thread connecting us to the past.

Something flickered across his face—recognition, perhaps, or regret.

He reached up, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. The touch was so gentle, so deliberate, that it sent a shiver down my spine.

“You used to call me that,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Back when…”

He didn’t finish, but he didn’t need to. Back when he was going mad, then... I need to get him back.

My heart twisted painfully. “I should go,” I said, stepping back, breaking the spell.

But before I could move farther, he caught my wrist, his grip firm but not unkind. “Don’t,” he said, his voice rough.

"Not yet.”