The Alpha's Forgotten Mate

Chapter 1: The Wolf Who Remembered. Mira POV. Seven years ago, I left through these gates with blood on my lip and shame trailing behind me. Now I stood before them again, a healer's bag on my shoulder, the truth swallowed and a lie ready on my tongue. "Name?" the guard asked. "Mira Vale. The new healer." He checked his list. "Quarters are behind the east wing. Stay out of the royal halls." "Of course." I smiled politely while my heart hammered against my ribs. Lyra, breathe, I told my wolf. He is here, she said. I kept walking. The stone floors, the torches, even the scent of pine smoke were exactly as I remembered, as if the palace had been waiting for me. I would not break. I had promised myself that. That night, sleep wouldn't come. I sat on my narrow bed, rubbing the faint mark on my wrist, the one that burned sometimes for no reason. My adoptive mother, Elara, had always called it a birthmark. She had also told me never to return. But Elara wasn't the one who dreamed of Kael every night. He had been pale when he rejected me, his hands trembling. And just before the cruel words left him, his eyes had begged me for something I never understood. I needed to know why. At dawn, a servant boy burst into the healers' hall. "The King is hurt! He needs a healer, now!" Every healer froze. Lydia, the only friend I'd made in two days, caught my arm, her auburn curls trembling. "Don't go, Mira. The senior healer is away, and the King isn't kind to strangers” "I know." "You know?" I didn't answer. The boy was staring at me, eyes wet. "Please. You're the only one here." My legs moved before my mind could stop them. The throne room was half empty. Warriors ringed a tall man clutching his side, blood seeping between his fingers. Black hair. Broad shoulders. A jaw that could cut glass. Kael Draven. He was older now, harder. The boy I'd known had become a king. He looked up. Gold eyes met mine, and the room vanished. His body went rigid. A low growl rolled from his chest, so deep that every warrior stepped back. "Everyone out." "Your Majesty," his Beta began. "Out." They left. The doors shut. Only the two of us remained, and the sound of my pulse.I approached slowly, hands shaking, so I gripped my bag. "Please sit, Your Majesty. I need to see the wound." He didn't sit. He only stared. "Who are you?" Seven years, and he doesn't know me. It hurt more than the rejection. I steadied my voice. "Mira Vale. A healer." "Mira," he said slowly, as if tasting the name. His gaze dropped to my hands, then my face. "Have we met?" "No, Your Majesty." It was the first lie I told him, and it tasted like ash. He stepped closer. Blood, cedar, and something warm that belonged only to him filled my senses. Lyra pressed against my chest, begging me to go to him. Don't, I told her. "My wolf," Kael said, almost to himself, "is going insane." My throat tightened. "That's the blood loss." "No." His eyes sharpened. "It's you." I forced myself to kneel and examine the wound, a deep gash across his ribs. The edges were gray, and black was creeping through the skin around it. Silver poison. "Who did this?" "An assassin. He's dead." "It will spread unless I act fast." I looked up. "I have to touch you." Something like fear crossed his face. "Do it." I pressed my palms to his skin. Heat surged up my arms, and my wrist blazed. The poison hissed and melted away like smoke. I had never healed anything so fast, or in such a way. Kael gasped. His fingers closed over my wrist, right on the mark. "What did you do?" "I don't know," I said, and it was the truth. He didn't let go. His thumb brushed the burning mark, and for a heartbeat his eyes closed. When they opened, they were full of pain. "I dream of someone," he said quietly. "A woman whose face I can't see. Every morning I wake feeling I've lost something that was mine." The words struck like a slap. I pulled my hand free. "You're healed, Your Majesty. Please rest." "Mira." I stopped at the door without turning. "Why does my wolf remember you," he asked roughly, "when I don't?" Tears stung my eyes. I almost turned. I almost told him everything. Instead, I left. In the hallway, I leaned against the wall and pressed my hands to my mouth. He truly didn't remember. So the rejection hadn't been a cold choice. Something was wrong. "Mira?" Lydia hurried toward me. "What happened there?" "Nothing." "Then why are your hands glowing?" I looked down. Silver light ran beneath my skin like moonlight on water. And from the Moon Temple, far across the grounds, a low bell began to ring. Lydia went white. "Mira," she whispered, "that bell hasn't rung in three hundred years." Behind us, a quiet voice said, "Then it has finally begun." We turned. At the end of the hall stood a tall man in a black robe, silver-haired, gray-eyed, his smile never reaching his eyes. He was looking straight at my wrist. "Welcome home, child," said Darius Draven. "We have been waiting for you for a very long time.