My head was splitting, cracked open and raw, like a nerve laid bare. Desperately, I scoured my fractured memory for anything that might bring clarity, anything familiar. It was like flipping through old photographs-some blurred and indistinct, others startlingly crisp, too vivid to be real.
I remembered the night it all went dark, the night I lost my memory. Dad and I had gone camping, something we’d done countless times. The smell of woodsmoke lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp scents of wet leaves and earth. I could still see the sliver of moon hanging in the sky. I even remembered the wet, wild scent of the grizzly bear as it lumbered into the clearing. It had locked its small, dark eyes on us, probably seeing easy prey-helpless humans out in the woods. It hadn’t known my dad was a werewolf, that he could tower over it in his true form. I hadn’t shifted yet, paralyzed more by fear for my dad than for myself. I didn’t see the jagged rock behind me until I tripped, cracking my head as I fell. The agony had been instant, sharp and searing, just like the pain hammering through my head now. Some memories remained so sharp, so clear, while others felt as distant as a half-remembered dream.
“I-I don’t know what’s happening, Isabella.” My wolf’s voice wavered, dulled by the sharp ache stabbing through my mind. “I can’t help; there’s nothing there for me to heal.”
This wasn’t just a dream-I was being pulled backward, into a memory lost in some dark recess of my mind. Every detail stood out with impossible clarity, yet the whole thing felt foreign, like a puzzle with missing pieces.
I tore myself out of bed, nearly stumbling as I tried to make it across the room without collapsing. I kept quiet to avoid waking Chiara and Enrico, but the room felt suddenly too small, its walls pressing in on me. I needed air-cool, fresh air. I peeled my sweat-soaked clothes off, changing hastily into a t-shirt, sweatpants, and shoes before slipping out the back door. The night air filled my lungs, cold and clean, dulling the pain in my head as it chilled the sweat still clinging to my skin. The memory of snow-covered landscapes, my mother’s face, and those haunting brown eyes faded as the spring air swept through me.
My feet carried me toward the edge of the forest behind the neighborhood. I told myself I wouldn’t go far. Just enough to clear my mind, enough to remind myself I was here, in the present, in Leonardo’s pack. The crunch of twigs underfoot barely registered as I kept close to the trees, repeating to myself: “This is real”.
Voices reached me-a quiet murmur in the night. One voice was low, almost pleading, while the other was sharp, biting. My curiosity grew, and I found myself stepping closer to the forest’s edge. The familiar sight of Leonardo’s back porch came into view, dimly lit and empty except for the two figures standing there. I knew I should turn back, walk away from their private moment. But I couldn’t, even as I watched Bianca’s fingers trail down Leonardo’s arm in a touch that felt too familiar, too intimate.
Leonardo’s jaw was set in a hard line, the shadows sharpening his features. His face was void of expression, like marble, his skin pale against the soft glow from the wall light. Bianca’s small hand cupped his face, tracing the sharp edges of his jaw and cheek, her eyes filled with a vulnerability that caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected her emotion to affect me, to pull at an old wound I thought had healed.
I shifted slightly, and Leonardo’s gaze snapped to where I stood hidden in the shadows. Those sharp grey eyes found me even in the dark, piercing through the trees like he could sense my very presence.
“Leave, Bianca.” Leonardo’s voice was cold, colder than I’d ever heard it. He didn’t look at her as he spoke, his words slicing through the night like ice. “I won’t say it again. Forget to use my title, and you’ll regret it. Now go.”
Bianca’s soft voice responded, but I couldn’t make out the words. She glanced toward the forest, a hint of confusion in her eyes, but I didn’t flinch. I barely noticed her strangled sob as she left, her figure fading into the shadows. The old Isabella might have pitied her, but the part of me that had hardened over time felt nothing.
“Are you going to come out, kitten? Or will I have to chase you down?” Leonardo’s voice was a low drawl, the darkness in his tone softened by a glint of that unnerving interest he seemed to reserve only for me.