ZALE's POV;
"Who was it? Who was chasing you?" The question slipped from my lips before I could stop it, my voice sharp, demanding answers. I had waited patiently, giving her time to gather her strength, but the need to know, to understand, was too overpowering to hold back any longer. I needed answers—now.
She blinked at me, confusion clouding her gaze. "Who? What are you talking about?" Her voice was soft, unsure, as if she was struggling to make sense of my words.
I leaned in slightly, trying to keep the frustration from creeping into my tone. "I'm asking about the person who was chasing you that night." I repeated, more slowly this time, each word deliberate and heavy.
For a moment, she just stared at me, her brows furrowing as she tried to piece together my question. "Someone was… chasing me?" she asked, her voice tinged with bewilderment.
What the hell? My mind reeled, frustration boiling just beneath the surface. Is she playing with me right now? I muttered to myself, trying to keep my temper in check.
"I… I…" Her stammering was punctuated by a visible struggle to form a coherent thought. Her voice trembled, and he could see the effort it took for her to try to grasp the fading threads of memory. The blankness in her eyes was both disconcerting and pitiful.
"Was… someone chasing me?" Her voice was tentative, as if the concept was entirely foreign to her. Her confusion was evident, and she seemed genuinely bewildered by the very notion of being pursued.
I felt a pang of frustration mingled with sympathy as I watched her. She seemed genuinely lost, her struggle to remember stark against the urgency of the situation. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely a murmur. "I don't remember anything. I don't even know what happened that night."
Her admission hung heavily in the air, thick with an unsettling void. The room seemed to close in around them, filled with the oppressive silence of unanswered questions. The weight of her blank memory was a stark reminder of the elusive nature of the truth they were desperately trying to uncover.
"Are you saying you have no idea who or what was pursuing you?" I pressed, trying to make sense of her predicament. My frustration was tempered by a growing concern, and I moved a step closer, my gaze never leaving her face.
She nodded weakly, her shoulders slumped as if the very act of admitting her own forgetfulness was a crushing burden. "I don't remember… I'm sorry. I just don't know."
The silence that followed was almost deafening, filled with the hum of unanswered questions and the weight of her uncertainty. Her inability to recall the details was a painful reminder of how elusive the truth could be, and the frustration of not knowing gnawed at me.
But before she could continue, she asked, "What happened?" Her question took me by surprise, the fear and uncertainty in her voice sending a jolt of concern through me. Why was she asking me what happened when she was the one who had lived it? The one who held the answers I so desperately sought?
"Wilder?" Her voice broke through my thoughts, calling out to my Beta with a mix of desperation and confusion. "Please, can you explain to me what happened? Why am I here, and in this state?" Panic seeped into her tone, her words trembling with fear. "Please."
Wilder, who had been standing quietly by my side, exchanged a look with me—one that conveyed the same confusion and concern that I felt. He didn't have the answers either; that much was clear.
A tense silence stretched between us, broken only by the sound of her labored breathing. Then, almost as if a switch had been flipped, her demeanor changed, her eyes widening as a new thought seemed to strike her. "Wait a minute… How long have I been out?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch with a sudden urgency.
Wilder cleared his throat, hesitating for just a moment before answering. "Ermm… four days, three nights," he replied carefully, as if bracing for her reaction.
"Four what?" Her voice wavered between disbelief and alarm as she tried to sit up, her body suddenly animated with panic. She swung her legs off the bed, her movements shaky and uncoordinated as she attempted to stand.
"What do you think you're doing?" I asked sharply, a mix of anger and worry bleeding into my tone. Her sudden burst of energy was alarming, especially given her fragile state.
"What do you think I'm doing? I'm getting my ass out of here and going home," she shot back, her voice laced with a defiance that caught me off guard. But her bravado was short-lived. The moment she tried to put weight on her legs, her knees buckled beneath her, and she began to fall.
Instinctively, I moved to catch her, wrapping my arms around her just before she hit the ground. Her body was trembling, her strength completely sapped, and for a moment, she simply leaned into me, her head resting against my chest as she tried to steady herself.
"Your body isn't fit to move," I said, trying to keep my voice calm even as my heart pounded in my chest. "Go back to bed. We'll answer your questions, but right now, you need to rest."
I could feel her hesitation, the way her body tensed as if she was going to argue, but she was too exhausted to fight back. With a small, defeated sigh, she allowed me to help her back onto the bed, sinking into the mattress with a weary groan.
"Where am I?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. The strength that had briefly animated her seemed to vanish, leaving behind only a fragile, trembling shell of the girl I had carried here.
Her question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything she didn't yet know. I glanced at Wilder, silently asking him for guidance, but his expression was just as conflicted as mine. How much should we tell her? The question echoed in my mind, but there was no easy answer.
"You're safe," I finally said, choosing my words carefully. "You're in a secure location. No one can hurt you here."
Her eyes met mine, and for the first time, I saw the depth of the fear that had been consuming her. It was a fear so profound that it seemed to reach into her very soul, twisting and distorting everything it touched. My chest tightened at the sight of it, a strange, unfamiliar emotion stirring within me.
"But why?" she whispered, her voice cracking under the strain of the emotions she was trying to hold back. "Why would anyone want to hurt me?"
I didn't have an answer for her, at least not one that would make any sense to her right now. The truth was too complex, too tangled in a web of danger and secrets that she wasn't yet ready to face.
But I knew one thing with absolute certainty—I would find whoever had done this to her. And when I did, they would pay dearly for the terror they had inflicted on her. I would make sure of it.
"Just focus on getting better," I told her, my voice gentler now, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. "We'll figure out everything else later."
She nodded slightly, her eyelids drooping as exhaustion pulled her back under. I watched as she drifted off to sleep, her breathing evening out, but the lines of worry on her face never fully disappeared.
As I stood there, watching over her, a part of me knew that this was only the beginning. Whatever had happened that night, whatever danger had chased her into the woods, it was still out there, lurking in the shadows. And until I had all the answers, until I had made sure she was safe, I wouldn't rest.
But for now, I would let her sleep. Let her find some peace, however fleeting it might be. Because when she woke up again, there would be more questions, more fears, and more truths that neither of us were ready to face.
And I had a feeling that those truths would change everything.