Light filtered through my eyelids, a gentle warmth coaxing me back to consciousness. My head throbbed with each heartbeat, and my mouth felt dry as desert sand. I tried to lift my hand to touch my temple, but even that small movement sent pain shooting down my arm.

"Easy there," a deep, gentle voice said from somewhere to my left. "You took quite a knock."

I forced my eyes open, blinking against the brightness of the room. Wooden beams crossed a sloped ceiling above me, and a fire crackled in a stone hearth nearby. The air smelled of pine and something herbal.

"Where..." My voice came out as a rasp.

"You're safe," the voice said. "Frost Fang territory. Northern Glaciers."

A man moved into my field of vision—tall, broad-shouldered, with warm brown eyes and a worried expression. His hair was a rich auburn, streaked with strands of gold where the firelight caught it.

"What's your name?" he asked, offering me a cup of water.

I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came. No name. No past. Just... emptiness.

"I..." I struggled, my hand instinctively reaching for something that wasn't there. "I don't know."

The man's expression softened. "Memory loss. Not uncommon with head trauma."

He helped me sit up, supporting my back with pillows. Through the window beside the bed, I could see snow-covered mountains and a sky so blue it almost hurt to look at.

"You were attacked by rogues at our border," he explained. "Our patrol found you just in time."

I took a sip of water, trying to piece together anything about myself. But there was only fog where memories should be.

"What should I call you?" he asked.

I looked out the window again, where the late afternoon sun was casting long shadows across the snow. My gaze drifted upward to the sky, where a crescent moon was already visible despite the daylight.

"Luna," I whispered, the name appearing from nowhere. "Call me Luna."

---

Weeks passed in a blur of healing and learning. Roland—for that was his name—never pushed me to remember, never showed frustration when I couldn't recall even the simplest things about myself.

"We'll start with the basics," he said one morning, leading me outside into the crisp cold air. "How to survive in the ice."

He taught me how to track animals by their scent patterns in the snow, how to build shelters from ice and branches, how to identify edible plants that survived beneath the blanket of white.

"Your body remembers even if your mind doesn't," he observed as I instinctively avoided a patch of thin ice on the lake. "That's good."

At night, we would sit by the fire in his cabin, and he would tell me stories of the Frost Fang Pack—not his stories, he emphasized, but theirs. He wanted me to feel connected, even without memories.

Sometimes, when our hands accidentally brushed as he passed me a cup of tea or adjusted a log on the fire, I felt a strange flutter in my chest. A warmth that had nothing to do with the flames.

---

"Alpha, we need to discuss the latest reports," Marcus said, standing at attention before Max's desk.

Max didn't look up from the stack of research papers he'd been pouring over for months. His once-powerful frame had grown gaunt, his eyes hollow from lack of sleep.

"Sasha's condition continues to deteriorate," Marcus continued, his voice gentle but firm. "The healers say we need to prepare for—"

"I won't hear it," Max snarled, finally looking up. His eyes flashed dangerously. "There must be something else. Something we've overlooked."

Marcus placed a folder on the desk. "These are the latest tracker reports from the Northern Glaciers."

Max grabbed the folder with trembling hands. For six months, he'd been sending search parties north, following every rumor of a lone female wolf matching Tessa's description.

"Possible sighting near Frost Fang territory," Marcus read over his shoulder. "Female wolf, approximately twenty-five years old, traveling with their Beta."

Max's heart stuttered in his chest. "It's her," he whispered. "It has to be."

---

The cabin was warm and filled with the scent of stewing meat when the door burst open without warning. I jumped, nearly dropping the ladle I'd been using to stir dinner.

A man stood in the doorway—tall, dark-haired, with eyes that seemed to burn right through me. Power radiated from him in waves that made the air feel heavy.

"Tessa," he said, his voice breaking on the name.

I blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry, you must have the wrong person. My name is Luna."

His eyes widened, then narrowed dangerously. "Tessa Meyer," he growled, taking a step forward. "Look at me."

Roland moved instantly to my side, his body tensing as he positioned himself between us.

"You need to leave," Roland said quietly.

The stranger ignored him, his gaze fixed on me. "I am your Alpha," he said, his voice deepening with command. "You will return with me now."

Something in his tone made my head pound, but I felt no recognition—only fear and confusion.

"I don't know you," I said, pressing closer to Roland.

"Tessa!" The stranger roared, his Alpha Voice vibrating through the cabin. "Remember who you are!"

But I didn't remember. And his command slid off me like water off oil, leaving me untouched.

Roland's growl rumbled through the room as he stepped fully in front of me, protecting me from my own mate.

The air in the cabin thickened as Max's body began to contort. His bones cracked, muscles rippled beneath his skin, and in seconds, a massive black wolf stood where the man had been. The transformation was fluid, practiced—the mark of a powerful Alpha.

I stumbled backward, my heart hammering against my ribs. Something primal and terrifying rose within me at the sight of him.

"No," I whispered, pressing myself against Roland's back. "No, please..."

Roland's hands found mine, steady and warm. "You're safe," he murmured. "He won't hurt you."

But I couldn't breathe. The black wolf's eyes—Max's eyes—fixed on me with desperate intensity. He took a step forward, and I cried out, ducking behind Roland completely.

"She's not lying," Roland said firmly. "She doesn't remember you."

The wolf whined, a sound so mournful it made my chest ache despite my fear. Then, as quickly as he'd transformed, Max shifted back to human form.

He was naked, but seemed not to care. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face haggard with grief.

"Tessa," he whispered, reaching into his pocket. "Please."

He held out his hand, and in his palm gleamed my Luna pendant—the crescent moon with embedded moonstones that I'd left behind.

"I thought..." His voice broke. "I thought if I brought this..."

I shook my head, backing away until I hit the wall. "I don't want it."

"You left it," Max said, tears streaming down his face now. "You left everything behind."

Something about his tears made my head pound. I pressed my palms against my temples, trying to ease the sudden pressure.

"The scent," Roland said quietly. "It still has her scent."

Max nodded, extending his hand further. "Just smell it. Please."

Against my better judgment, I stepped forward. The pendant dangled from his fingers, spinning slowly. I leaned closer, inhaling cautiously.

The scent hit me like a physical blow—my own scent, mixed with pine and earth and something distinctly Max. The Blood River forest. Our cabin. His arms around me.

Fragments flashed through my mind: running through trees, Max's laugh, a ceremonial dress laid out on a bed...

My knees buckled. The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was Max's face, transformed from despair to desperate hope.

---

I woke to voices arguing nearby.

"She needs time," Roland insisted, his tone low but firm.

"There is no time," Max countered. "Sasha is dying."

The name sent a jolt through me. Sasha. My sister.

I opened my eyes to find myself in a different room—a small healing chamber with herbs hanging from the rafters. Roland sat beside my bed, while Max paced at the foot.

"She's awake," Roland said softly.

Max froze, then slowly approached. "Tessa?"

I pushed myself up against the pillows. "I remember... pieces."

"Enough to understand?" he asked, his voice raw.

I nodded slowly. The diagnosis. The betrayal. The flight. But also—"Sasha is really dying?"

"Yes." Max's eyes filled with tears. "The Wolfsbane Rot... it's killing her wolf. She has days, maybe weeks."

"And you want me to..." I couldn't finish the sentence.

"Say goodbye," Max whispered. "She needs closure. We all do."

Roland's hand found mine, squeezing gently. "Whatever you decide, I'm with you."

I looked between them—Max desperate and broken, Roland steady and supportive. The choice should have been easy, but my heart was a battlefield of conflicting loyalties.

"I'll go," I finally said. "For Sasha. Not for you."

Relief flooded Max's face. "Thank you."

"But I won't be alone with you," I continued, my voice stronger now. "Roland comes as my guard."

Max flinched but nodded. "Anything."

"And you don't touch me," I added, the memory of him with Sasha still fresh in my mind. "Not ever again."

---

The journey back to Blood River territory was silent and tense. Max had arranged for a large SUV with tinted windows—protection from curious eyes as we crossed pack lands.

I sat between Roland and the window, as far from Max as possible. Every few miles, pain would lance through my chest—the mate bond stretching and pulling.

"You're pale," Roland observed, offering me water.

I took it gratefully, avoiding Max's gaze in the rearview mirror.

"Here," Max said, handing back a blanket. "The air conditioning is cold."

I flinched away from his outstretched hand. "Roland will give it to me."

Roland took the blanket, his eyes never leaving Max's face as he draped it over my shoulders.

"You should eat something," Max tried again, producing a small bag of fruit and nuts.

I turned to Roland. "Would you get me something from the pack?"

Roland reached for his own bag instead. "I have dried berries here. Better than his processed food."

Max's hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. I could see him watching in the mirror as Roland gently fed me berries, his fingers brushing my lips with each offering.

The bond pulsed painfully again, and I winced.

"It hurts," I whispered to Roland.

"I know," he murmured back. "But you're strong enough to bear it."

Max's eyes flashed in the mirror—his wolf responding to my pain. But he said nothing, just drove faster toward the territory that had once been my home.