ZALE's POV;
I returned to my office, my thoughts a storm of emotions. The image of Amora—fragile, terrified, and barely clinging to the remnants of her sanity—was etched into my mind. The weight of responsibility pressed down on me, heavier than anything I had faced before. My Beta, Wilder, trailed behind me, his presence a solid, steady anchor amidst the turmoil of my thoughts. He knew me well enough to recognize when I was lost in contemplation, so he remained silent, allowing me to process everything.
I sank into the leather chair behind my desk, the cool material doing little to soothe the heat of anger and frustration burning inside me. How could things have gotten so out of hand? I was the Alpha, the leader of one of the most powerful packs in existence. I was supposed to protect those under my care, yet here was Amora—my mate—broken and confused, her mind fractured by trauma. The realization that I hadn't been there for her when she needed me most gnawed at my conscience like a relentless beast.
"Alpha?" Wilder's voice pierced through the haze of my thoughts. His tone was measured, respectful, yet tinged with a concern that mirrored my own. "What will we do now about the Luna?"
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, bringing the full weight of the situation crashing down on me. What would we do now? How could I protect her, guide her, when she didn't even remember what had happened to her?
I forced myself to focus, my mind latching onto the one thing that might offer some answers. "Call in the pack doctor," I ordered, my voice low but firm. "I need to ask him some questions. We need more information before we can make any decisions."
Wilder nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Understood, Alpha." He turned on his heel and left the room to carry out my orders, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Minutes passed, each one dragging on like an eternity. My mind was a whirlwind of possibilities, each one more troubling than the last. What could have happened to her that was so horrific her mind chose to erase it? And how could I help her when I didn't even know what we were up against?
The door creaked open, and Wilder returned, the doctor following closely behind him. The pack doctor was an older man, his once-black hair streaked with silver, the lines on his face evidence of years spent tending to the pack's wounds, both physical and mental. He was a man of science, grounded in logic and reason, yet even he looked uneasy as he approached me.
"Alpha," the doctor greeted, bowing respectfully. "The Beta said you wanted to see me. Is something wrong? Is the young lady… is she okay?"
"She's stable," I replied, though the words felt hollow in my mouth. "But there's a problem."
The doctor's expression grew serious, his professional demeanor taking over. "What sort of problem?"
"She doesn't remember what happened," I said, my voice tightening with the weight of the revelation. "She has no memory of how she ended up in that situation. Is there anything you can do to help her recall those lost memories?"
The doctor's brow furrowed, a sign that he was already running through the possible explanations in his mind. "You mean she can't recall anything at all?"
"You heard me," I said, my patience wearing thin. The frustration of the situation was starting to bubble to the surface, threatening to spill over.
"I-I apologize, Alpha," the doctor stammered, clearly sensing my rising irritation. "I just wanted to be sure I understood correctly."
"I'm going to ask you a few questions," I said, trying to keep my temper in check. "I need to understand where the issue lies."
"Of course, Alpha," the doctor responded, his tone carefully measured. "Please go ahead."
"Up until when is her memory intact?" I asked, my mind racing as I tried to piece together the timeline. "She only seems to have no recollection of what happened four days ago. She recognized Wilder, so we know she remembers people she's close to."
The doctor nodded, his expression thoughtful. "That's a significant clue. If she doesn't remember that specific day, it's likely that something traumatic happened to her. In cases like this, the brain sometimes locks away those memories as a form of self-preservation, to protect the individual from reliving the trauma."
His words were clinical, detached, but they struck me like a physical blow. Whatever had happened to Amora that night, it had been bad enough that her mind had chosen to bury it deep within her subconscious. The thought of her suffering alone, unable to recall the events that had led her to such a state, filled me with a mixture of anger and sorrow.
"Is there a chance she could remember?" I asked, my voice quieter now, the anger giving way to a deep-seated worry. I didn't want her to relive that pain, but I needed to know what had happened to protect her properly.
"Yes and no," the doctor replied, his answer vague yet troubling.
"What do you mean?" I pressed, needing more clarity, more answers.
"I've treated many patients with similar conditions," the doctor explained, his tone taking on the weight of experience. "Sometimes, the memories return on their own, given time and the right triggers. But in other cases, they remain buried, perhaps forever. It all depends on the severity of the trauma and how her mind copes with it. Forcing her to remember could do more harm than good, so it's crucial that we proceed with caution."
I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking under the weight of my thoughts. The doctor's words only added to my growing sense of helplessness. I was used to being in control, to solving problems with decisive action, but this was different. I couldn't force her to remember, couldn't command her mind to unlock those hidden memories. All I could do was wait—and that was a kind of torture in itself.
"I have to do something," I muttered to myself, the words escaping before I could stop them. The idea of standing by, powerless, was unacceptable to me.
"That will be all, doctor," I said, my voice tinged with confusion, frustration, and a simmering anger that had no outlet. "You can leave."
The doctor bowed once more, sensing that the conversation was over. "I'll take my leave, then," he said before turning and exiting the room.
As the door clicked shut behind him, I turned my attention to Wilder. "I want you to dig into her past. Find out everything you can about the people she was close to—friends, family, anyone she might have interacted with regularly. Leave nothing to chance. We need to understand who she is, what her life was like before this…incident."
"Yes, Alpha," Wilder responded immediately, already moving toward the door to carry out my orders. He was efficient, dependable, everything I needed in a Beta, especially in times like these.
But before he could leave, a sudden thought struck me. Something that had been nagging at the back of my mind since the moment we found her. "Wait," I called out, stopping him in his tracks. "Has anyone from her family reported her missing?"
Wilder paused, his brow furrowing as he considered the question. "No, Alpha," he said after a moment. "I asked our spies to keep an ear out for any news, but there's been no word of her being reported missing. It's as if her disappearance has gone unnoticed."
The realization hit me like a hammer. How could her family not be looking for her? What kind of people would allow her to vanish without a trace and not raise the alarm? The idea that her own flesh and blood might be indifferent to her plight only fueled the fire of my anger.
"Investigate her family," I ordered, my voice cold with determination. "I want every detail—where she was born, who raised her, every connection she has. Leave no stone unturned. If her family won't protect her, then I will. And I'll make sure they understand the consequences of their neglect."
"Yes, Alpha," Wilder replied, his expression mirroring the seriousness of my command.
"Contact Jax if you need help," I added, knowing that the situation was too delicate to be handled by anyone but the best. "I want results, and I want them quickly."
"Good," I muttered, more to myself than to Wilder. But before he could leave, a loud noise echoed through the room—a shattering crash, followed by an eerie silence. My heart skipped a beat, a primal instinct kicking in as my senses went on high alert.
The sound had come from my room.
"Shit," I cursed under my breath, my mind immediately jumping to the worst-case scenario. My body moved before my brain had fully processed the situation, the adrenaline pumping through my veins like a powerful drug.
"Amora!" I bolted from my seat, the panic setting in as I raced toward the source of the noise. If anything had happened to her… I wouldn't let anyone—or anything—take her from me. I wouldn't fail her again.