ECHOES OF THE FORGOTTEN PACK

The first thing she tasted was blood.

Sharp. Metallic. Not hers.

Zara jolted upright, gasping, her body slick with sweat and her hands clenched in the silk sheets of an unfamiliar bed. The scent of pine, ash, and something darker clung to her skin like smoke. Her heart slammed against her ribs, but it wasn’t just fear. It was instinct.

Something was wrong.

She didn’t know where she was.

She didn’t know who she was.

The room was too perfect—stone walls draped in velvet curtains, a fireplace still smoldering, and a chandelier hanging above like a crown made of ice. But it wasn’t beautiful. It was wrong. Wrong like a smile that hides a knife.

Zara shoved off the covers. Her bare feet hit the cold floor as she staggered to her feet, eyes darting. The air was still, unnaturally so. Her breath fogged in front of her. She reached for the nearest object—a heavy candlestick—gripping it like a weapon.

Movement behind her.

She spun.

A man stood in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in black like a walking omen. His silver eyes glinted like moonlight on a blade, and the moment they locked with hers, Zara’s chest tightened. Not with fear.

With recognition.

But she didn’t know him.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up,” he said, voice like gravel soaked in sin.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, stepping back.

“You don’t remember me.” Not a question. A statement laced with something—disappointment? Relief?

Zara raised the candlestick higher. “Back off.”

His gaze flicked to the makeshift weapon, then back to her face. No emotion. No movement. Only a slow breath that curled in the air like smoke.

“You were taken from me. Now you're back,” he said. “That’s all that matters.”

“Taken?” Zara laughed harshly. “I don’t even know who I am, and you’re talking like I belong to you.”

His expression shifted—a flash of something animalistic rippling behind those silver eyes.

“You do,” he said.

“No. I don’t.” Her grip on the candlestick tightened. “You said I was taken? From where? From you?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Three years ago. You vanished. And I tore down half the continent looking for you.”

Every word slammed into her like a freight train, but she didn’t show it. She had no memory. Not of being taken. Not of this man. And yet… her body responded to him. A dangerous kind of heat simmered beneath her skin, primal and completely uninvited.

“Get out of my way.”

“You walk out that door,” he said, “and they’ll kill you before you reach the woods.”

“Who?”

A pause. Then:

“My enemies. And yours.”

Zara stared at him, pulse pounding. She didn’t believe him. Couldn’t. But something deep, feral, stirred inside her. Like an echo from a forgotten place.

“What did you do to me?”

He tilted his head slightly, almost like he was studying prey.

“I’m not the one who cursed you.”

Cursed.

Her mouth went dry. “Cursed me?”

“You don’t remember me because someone made sure you couldn’t,” he said. “They stripped your memories. Hid you. Probably hoped I’d stop looking. But I never did.”

Zara’s legs weakened, but she didn’t fall. She wouldn’t fall—not in front of him.

“I don’t remember a single thing about you,” she hissed. “Not my name. Not this place. Not—” she motioned around wildly “—whatever the hell this is. But I’m not staying. I don’t care if I have to run through fire—I’m leaving.”

He took one slow step forward.

She raised the candlestick.

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Zara.” His voice was low. Steady. “You can hit me. You can run. But it won’t change the truth. You’re not just my mate. You’re a weapon. And if you leave now, they will find you before you ever discover what you really are.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“You don’t feel it?” His voice dropped, rough and raw. “The mark on your neck? The way your wolf wakes when I’m near?”

“I don’t have a wolf!” she snapped—and then froze.

A tremor moved through her limbs. Her head throbbed. Her breath came faster.

He said nothing. Just watched.

Zara staggered back, pressing a hand to her chest. It felt like something inside her was crawling to the surface, something ancient and alive and furious.

“I’m dreaming,” she whispered. “I’m hallucinating. This isn’t real.”

“Look in the mirror,” he said.

She did.

And what she saw made her heart stop.

A woman stared back with wild, green eyes glowing faintly gold. A bite mark burned red on her neck. Veins like ink twisted up her collarbone, like something beneath the skin was waking.

She stepped away from the mirror, breath sharp. “What the hell is happening to me?”

He didn’t answer.

“Answer me!” she screamed.

A deep howl echoed in the distance—long and mournful.

She turned toward the sound.

“Don’t open that window,” he said suddenly.

Too late.

Zara flung the curtain aside.

The forest outside was black. A thousand glowing eyes stared back. Shapes moved—tall, hunched, fast.

Wolves.

But not like any wolves she’d ever seen. Their bodies were too big. Their eyes too bright. And they were watching her.

“Who are they?” she whispered.

“The ones who want you dead,” Damon said. “Because they know who you are, even if you don’t.”

She closed the curtain with shaking hands, backing away from the window.

“I’m giving you a choice,” he said. “Stay. Let me help you remember. Or run—and find out the hard way what you were meant to become.”

Zara stared at him, breathing hard.

She was cornered.

She was cursed.

She was being hunted.

And the only person who seemed to know why was the stranger who said she belonged to him.

Zara lowered the candlestick, but not her guard. “You’ve got one day,” she said. “Tell me everything. Or I’m gone.”

A slow, satisfied smile crept across his face.

“I don’t need a day,” he said. “I just need you to stop lying to yourself.”

He turned and walked away.

Zara stood in the middle of the room, pulse racing, the echo of wolves howling still ringing in her ears.

And for the first time since she woke up, she was certain of one thing:

She wasn’t safe.

Not here.

Not anywhere.