Chapter 13 – Who Are You, Really?
1142 Words
Chapter 13 – Who Are You, Really?
Ava’s POV…
The cold hit first.
Not a breeze. Not a chill from an open window.
Cold water. On my face.
I shot up, sputtering and wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my too-thin shirt. My heartbeat raced as I looked around—bare mattress, no blanket, tiny window. I’d forgotten where I was for a second. Not that it mattered.
Because when my vision cleared, the first thing I saw was Clara.
Standing there with an empty metal bowl in her hands. Looking smug.
“This isn’t your pack, rogue,” she said, like I needed the reminder. “And it’s definitely not a place for you to be sleeping comfortably. You think just because you healed a few people, you get to act like you belong here?”
I didn’t answer right away. My brain was still catching up, but her voice was already grating against my skin.
Clara stepped closer and tilted her head like she was inspecting garbage. “Your rogue Alpha’s gone. No one’s left to protect you. You’re on your own now.”
I stood up slowly, eyes locked on hers. I wasn’t shaking. I’d stopped doing that a long time ago. Let her throw her tantrum. I wasn’t seventeen anymore.
“You know,” I said, brushing my wet cheek, “you don’t have to be a jerk every time you walk into a room.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “What did you just say to me?”
“You heard me. Being Luna doesn’t mean you get to walk around acting like everyone owes you something.”
Clara’s eyes narrowed, the bowl in her hand clinking against her nails as she gripped it tighter. “Who gave you the right to speak to me like that? In my pack?”
I shrugged. “Common decency, I guess.”
She looked like she wanted to slap me, but instead, she gave a tight smile.
“Well, it’s morning. Why don’t you go check on my Alpha?” she said, mocking sweetly. “Or were you planning to lie around all day and pretend like you matter?”
I ignored that and turned to the cot.
Something was wrong.
“Where’s Catherine?” I asked, scanning the room. The sick maid I helped last night—she wasn’t here. The blanket was folded, the pillow undisturbed. No sign of struggle. No scent of illness left behind.
Clara smirked again. I was really starting to hate that face.
“Looking for your little patient?” she asked, stepping into my space. “She serves me. As long as that’s true, she follows my orders. And if I decide she’s done helping, then guess what? She’s done.”
“What did you do to her?”
Clara waved a hand. “Nothing yet. But I don’t need your permission to discipline one of my own. Remember your place, rogue. You don’t outrank me. You don’t even rank.”
With that, she turned and left the room, the sound of her heels fading down the hall.
I stood there for a second, fists clenched. I wanted to run after her, demand answers, shake the truth out of her—but that wouldn’t help Catherine. And right now, Kyran needed me too.
I headed to his room, passing a few maids who dropped their eyes when they saw me. None of them spoke. None of them smiled.
This pack wasn’t what it used to be.
I knocked once and let myself in.
Kyran was sitting up in bed, propped against a pile of pillows. Clara—because she just couldn’t help herself—was sitting at his side, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. He looked tired. Worn. But stronger than yesterday.
His head turned when I walked in. Clara’s eyes snapped to me too, her smile falling into a scowl so fast it was almost funny.
“Coming as you please, don't you know why you are here?” she barked.
I walked in without answering her. I wasn’t in the mood to play games.
I stopped at the foot of the bed and looked directly at Kyran. “How are you feeling?”
He blinked at me, as if trying to place my face. “Who are you?”
That stung more than I expected.
For a second, I thought about telling him everything. About who I really was. What I used to mean to him. What he did to me. But what was the point? He didn’t remember. Maybe he didn’t even want to.
“I’m the healer,” I said simply. “The rogue one. I was sent to check on you, make sure your fever hasn’t returned.”
Kyran looked away from me, then back at the people in the room—Clara, the guards standing along the wall, the Beta hovering near the door.
“Everyone out,” he said.
No one moved.
“I said out,” Kyran repeated. His voice wasn’t loud, but it had weight now. Command.
Clara stood up, eyebrows raised. “You can’t be serious.”
“I want the room cleared,” he said again. “Including you.”
She blinked. “You want me to leave? I’m your Luna.”
He didn’t look at her. Just stared straight ahead like he couldn’t even be bothered to fight about it.
Clara looked between him and me, then scoffed and stormed out. The others followed.
When the door clicked shut behind them, the room felt quieter. Still not calm. But quieter.
I didn’t move.
“You really don’t remember me?” I asked softly.
Kyran’s eyes met mine again. He shook his head once. “No. Should I?”
I didn’t answer that.
Instead, I stepped closer, unwrapping the clean bandage I’d brought and moving toward his injured arm.
As I leaned down to check his wound, he grabbed my wrist—fast, firm. Not painful, but it stopped me cold.
And then, before I could pull away, he tugged me down. I lost my balance and fell onto the bed—onto him—my hands landing on his chest. The weight of his body beneath mine sent a strange jolt through me.
My breath caught.
“Alpha—what are you doing?”
He didn’t answer right away.
His eyes searched mine like he was trying to figure something out. Like I was a puzzle with one piece out of place.
“You smell like her,” he said finally. “Exactly like her.”
I swallowed hard. “Her who?”
“My mate,” he said quietly. “The one I don’t remember. The one I see in dreams I can’t explain.”
He stared at me. I couldn’t look away.
“Who are you really?”
- Writer
