The Alpha Who Forgot Me

I knew the dark magic was real when my mate, the love of my life, held a silver blade to my throat and asked me who the hell I was.

Rain fell in sheets, cold and unforgiving, drenching the thin, tattered dress I wore. It clung to my skin like a second layer of ice, but the chill of the mud seeping into my knees was nothing compared to the frost in Alpha Nash’s eyes.

I was on my knees at the border of the Silver Creek Pack—the very place I had once ruled as Luna. Now, I was nothing. A rogue. A filthy intruder.

The bond inside me—the golden thread that had once connected my soul to his—was screaming. It wasn't a hum of contentment; it was a agonizing tear, a violent thrashing against the walls of my mind. *Mate! Mate! Close!* my wolf howled, desperate to reach him.

But Nash looked at me as if I were a rotting carcass spoiling his front lawn.

"State your business," he commanded. His voice was a low rumble of thunder, deeper than I remembered, rougher. It vibrated through the rain and struck my chest like a physical blow. "Or die where you kneel."

I lifted my head, water streaming down my face, mixing with the tears I refused to let fall. It had been four years. Four years of running, of hiding, of raising our son in the shadows while my heart slowly crumbled to dust. I had prepared for this moment. I had rehearsed what I would say, how I would explain the Witch, the spell, the missing years.

But looking up at him, all my preparation evaporated.

He was magnificent. Time had been cruel to me, but it had only honed him. His shoulders were broader, filling out a black leather jacket that strained against his muscles. His jawline was sharper, dusted with dark scruff, and his eyes—those piercing grey eyes that used to hold galaxies of warmth for me—were now void of anything but lethal indifference.

"Nash," I whispered. My voice cracked, broken by the wind and the lump in my throat. "Please... it’s me. It’s Remy."

The silence that followed was deafening. The rain seemed to pause, the leaves ceasing their rustle as the world held its breath.

Nash tilted his head to the side, a predator examining a peculiar bug before crushing it. His lip curled into a sneer. "Remy?"

He said the name like it was a curse.

"Remy is dead," he said, his tone void of hesitation. "I buried her three years ago. Or are you a scavenger picking through the bones of my past?"

My heart stopped.

*Dead?* He thought I was dead?

The Witch’s spell was more insidious than I had imagined. She hadn’t just erased me from his mind; she had rewritten his history entirely. She had planted a false grave, a false memory to fill the void I left behind. He grieved for a ghost while I knelt in the mud, flesh and blood, right in front of him.

"I'm not dead," I choked out, forcing my trembling body to stand. I swayed on my feet, weak from hunger and the journey, but I needed him to see me. Really see me. "Look at me, Nash. Look at my face. You know me. You have to know me."

I took a step forward.

The growl that tore from his chest was inhuman. It was a warning sound, a vibration that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. He shifted his weight, his hand resting lazily on the hilt of the silver dagger at his belt.

"Take one more step," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "and I will sever your head from your shoulders."

"Please," I begged, ignoring the danger. The bond was pulling me toward him, a magnetic force I couldn't resist. "Don't you feel it? The pull? The bond? We are mates, Nash! We are fated! She—Veronica—she did something to you. A Witch named Morana! She took my face from your mind!"

At the mention of Veronica’s name, a flash of irritation crossed his face. "Watch your tongue, rogue. Do not speak the Luna’s name with your filth."

"She isn't your Luna!" I screamed, the sound tearing through my throat. "I am! I am your mate! I carry your mark!"

Before he could stop me, I yanked the collar of my dress down, exposing the mating mark on my shoulder. It was a jagged scar now, silver against my pale skin, but it was there. The proof of our union.

Nash’s eyes dropped to my shoulder.

The air between us seemed to crackle with electricity. For a split second—a fraction of a heartbeat—the lethal mask slipped. His grey eyes widened, his pupils blowing wide. His hand twitched at his side, reaching out before he snatched it back.

*He remembers,* my soul sang. *He feels it!*

"The bond..." he whispered, his voice strained, confused. He took a half-step toward me, his brow furrowing as if he were trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. "Why do you... smell like rain and wild jasmine?"

Hope flared in my chest, hot and bright. "Yes! That's me! You used to say that—"

His expression slammed shut, the shutters coming down with the force of a steel trap. The confusion hardened instantly into revulsion. He shook his head as if physically clearing a fog, then glared at me with renewed hatred.

"Perfume," he spat. "That's all it is. A trick. A witch's glamour to make a rogue resemble a dead woman."

"Nash, no—"

"I remember that scent," he snarled, stepping closer, closing the distance until his towering frame loomed over me. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, but his scent was marred by the smell of another woman—Veronica’s lavender perfume clinging to his clothes. It made me want to vomit. "My Remy wore jasmine. You... you are a poor imitation. A cheap knockoff wearing her face."

He grabbed me.

His hand fisted in my wet hair, yanking my head back until my neck was bared to the rain. I gasped, tears finally spilling over as pain shot through my scalp. He leaned in close, his face inches from mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath, could see the gold flecks swirling in his stormy eyes.

"You smell like her," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "And I hate you for it."

The pain of his rejection was a physical blow, worse than the silver blade, worse than the hunger. It was a hole opening up in my chest, consuming my heart. My wolf whimpered, retreating deep inside me to escape the mate's wrath.

"Do it then," I whispered, closing my eyes. The rain washed over my face, hiding my tears. "If you truly think I am an imposter, then kill me. End this misery."

Nash hesitated.

For a heartbeat, his grip on my hair loosened. His fingers trembled against my scalp. I felt it—the bond fighting the spell. It was a war being waged inside him. His body knew me. His soul knew me. But the Witch’s magic was a cage around his mind, and it was too strong.

He let out a roar of frustration, pulling his head back as if burned.

"You should have stayed dead," he growled.

The air whistled as he withdrew the silver dagger from his belt.

I opened my eyes just as he raised the blade above his head. The lightning flashed behind him, illuminating the deadly intent etched into his beautiful, hateful face. He wasn't going to capture me. He wasn't going to interrogate me. He was going to erase me, just as his mind had erased my memory.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the cold steel to sever my neck. I sent one final prayer to the Moon Goddess—not for myself, but for Sayler. *Keep him safe. Hide him in the bushes. Don't let him come out.*

I held my breath.

The blade whistled through the air, descending toward me.

But the death blow didn't come from the Alpha.