The Luna He Forgot

The first indication that something was wrong with my husband was that he apologized for being naked. Not that Callan spent an unreasonable amount of time naked. We were wolves. Nudity stopped being particularly interesting sometime around puberty, when everyone learned that shifting back into human form came with exactly zero concern for modesty. Still, there were rules. Don't shift in front of the elementary school. Don't leave your clothes in the forest and then complain when someone steals them. And if you wake up naked next to your wife of eight years, you definitely don't yank the sheet over your waist and say, "I'm sorry." I opened one eye. "What did you do?" Callan stared at me. I waited. He continued staring. My second eye opened. This was usually the point when he'd grin. Callan had one of those smiles that had probably gotten him out of trouble his entire life. It had certainly gotten him out of trouble with me more times than I cared to admit. There was no grin. "Callan?" He looked down at himself, then at me, then around our bedroom. His bedroom, technically. It had belonged to him before we were mated. But I'd spent eight years slowly removing everything that made it look like a college fraternity house with money. His gaze stopped on the photograph sitting on my nightstand. Our wedding. He picked it up. "Where was this taken?" I laughed. He didn't. My stomach tightened. "Okay. You're freaking me out." He looked back at the picture. It was one of my favorites. Callan wasn't looking at the camera. He was looking at me. My hair was falling out of the elaborate twist his mother had insisted I wear, my veil was crooked, and I had grass stains on the bottom of a dress that had cost more than my first car. Callan looked disgustingly handsome. I looked drunk. I wasn't. I'd just been stupidly happy. His thumb moved over the glass. "That's me." "Very good. Do you know what year it is?" His eyes snapped to mine. "Mara." I exhaled. "Okay. Not funny." "Who's Mara?" Something cold slid down my spine. I sat up. The sheet fell to my waist, and his gaze immediately darted away. That scared me more than the question. Callan had seen every inch of me. He had seen me twenty pounds heavier. He had seen me with the flu, sweating through one of his T-shirts. He had held my hair while I threw up after bad shellfish in Monterey. He had once walked into the bathroom while I was waxing and asked if I needed help. There were no boundaries left between us. There hadn't been for years. I pulled the sheet up. "Look at me." He did. "What's my name?" His jaw tightened. "I don't know." "Callan." "I'm not joking." Neither was I anymore. I reached for him. He moved back. It wasn't much. Barely six inches. It felt like six miles. "Don't." I froze. His nostrils flared. Wolves knew each other by scent almost as much as sight. Pack. Family. Mate. Even after years apart, scent could pull a memory from places the mind had forgotten existed. Callan knew my scent better than his own. He should have known me before he opened his eyes. Instead, he looked confused. Not repulsed. Not angry. Just confused. And cautious. Like I was a stranger sitting naked in his bed. "Callan, smell me." His eyebrows went up. "Excuse me?" Under any other circumstances, I would have laughed. I couldn't. "Just do it." He inhaled. His expression changed. For half a second, something flashed across his face. Recognition. My heart slammed against my ribs. "See?" Then it disappeared. He shook his head. "I don't understand." "What do you feel?" "I don't know." "Your wolf?" His eyes unfocused slightly. I knew that look. He was reaching inward. For Silas. I'd always thought Callan's wolf was the more reasonable half of the pair, although saying that to Callan usually resulted in him reminding me that Silas had once chased a mountain lion halfway across the territory because it had looked at him wrong. Callan went still. Too still. "Silas?" He didn't answer. "Callan." "He's upset." "Because you don't remember me." "I didn't say that." "You don't know my name." "You told me your name." My temper sparked. Good. Anger I could handle. Fear was harder. "Fine. Who am I?" "I don't know." "Who am I to you?" "I said I don't know." "Then ask him." "What?" "Ask Silas who I am." His jaw flexed. For one absurd second, I thought he was going to refuse. Then his eyes went distant again. I waited. Five seconds. Ten. "Well?" Callan looked at me. "He won't answer." My heart dropped. Silas adored me. Not tolerated. Not accepted. Adored. Callan used to complain that his own wolf took my side during arguments. Once, after Callan and I fought and he slept in his office, Silas had taken over sometime during the night, shifted, scratched at our bedroom door until I let him in, and curled his giant black body around my side of the bed. Callan woke up naked on the floor the next morning. I took a picture. It was still my contact photo for him. "Something's wrong." "No shit." That sounded more like my husband. Except he immediately frowned, like he regretted swearing in front of me. I climbed out of bed and grabbed my robe. His eyes followed me. Not with desire. With suspicion. I hated it. "Where are you going?" "To get Elena." He stiffened. "You know my mother?" I stopped tying my robe. "Yes." "How?" I stared at him. "She's my mother-in-law." Silence. Callan looked at the photograph again. Then at the wedding band on his left hand. He twisted it slowly. "How long?" "What?" "How long have we been married?" "Seven years." "And we've been..." "Mated for eight." His head came up sharply. "No." The word hit harder than it should have. I folded my arms. "No?" "I would know." "Apparently not." "I'd feel it." There it was. The thing I'd been trying very hard not to think about. The mate bond. Mine was still there. Muted by fear, maybe, but there. It was the familiar pull beneath my ribs. The invisible thread that had connected me to Callan since the night we'd recognized each other as mates. I could feel his agitation through it. Or I thought I could. Suddenly I wasn't sure. "Do you feel me?" He stared at me. "The bond." His face answered before he did. "No." I sat down. Not gracefully. My legs simply stopped cooperating, and the edge of the mattress happened to be behind me. Callan moved instinctively toward me. Then stopped himself. That was worse. I pressed my fingers against my sternum. Mine was there. It had to be. I closed my eyes and reached for it. Callan. The bond felt strange. Not broken. I'd known people whose mates had died. I'd heard them describe the moment the bond snapped. This wasn't that. The thread was still inside me. It just didn't seem to lead anywhere. "Get your mother." His voice softened. "Maybe we should call the pack doctor." "She's downstairs." "Who?" "Your mother." He stared at me again. "She lives here?" "No. She came for dinner last night." "Why?" "Because it's Sunday." He waited. "Your mother has dinner with us every Sunday." Nothing. "Your sister comes too. She brings the twins, they destroy my living room, your mother complains that we spoil them, and then she sneaks them dessert when she thinks I'm not looking." His mouth opened. I kept going. "You grilled steaks. I made potatoes. Your mother brought that horrible kale salad she insists everyone loves even though literally nobody eats it." His mouth twitched. My heart jumped. "You remember?" "No. But that sounds like my mother." A laugh escaped me. It came out dangerously close to a sob. I turned away. No. Absolutely not. I was not going to fall apart. Something was wrong with Callan. That was all. People lost memories. People got concussions. Brain tumors. Infections. Weird wolf diseases I'd never heard of because I wasn't a doctor. We'd figure it out. We always figured things out. "Mara." The way he said my name stopped me. Not because it sounded familiar. Because it didn't. He said it carefully, like he was practicing. I hated hearing my name in my husband's mouth and realizing it belonged to a stranger. "Get dressed," I said. "I'll get Elena." I made it to the door before he spoke again. "Wait." I looked back. "Last night." "What about it?" "Did we..." He glanced at the bed. For one second I didn't understand. Then I did. Despite everything, I almost smiled. "No." His shoulders relaxed. I should have been offended. Instead, I was relieved too. Trying to explain our marriage was already bad enough. I didn't need to add a discussion about whether he'd accidentally had s*x with a woman he no longer remembered. "You fell asleep during a movie." "I don't fall asleep during movies." "You do when you insist you're not tired." "What movie?" "Something with submarines." "That's not very specific." "They were underwater. Things exploded. You picked it. I wasn't paying attention." That tiny twitch came back to his mouth. There you are. Then his eyes moved past me. To the dresser. More photographs. Callan and me in Maui. Callan and me at his sister's wedding. Callan and me holding his newborn niece. Callan and me covered in mud after the northern boundary flooded three winters ago. Eight years of our life was scattered around this room. He walked to the dresser. I watched him pick up one picture after another. His face changed with each one. Not recognition. Evidence. He was looking at evidence. Of me. Of us. "What do you remember about yesterday?" I asked. He put down a picture. "I met with Marcus in the morning." "About?" "The eastern patrol schedule." Correct. "Then?" "I went into town." "Why?" "Picked up the new alternator for the Jeep." Also correct. "What did you have for lunch?" He frowned. "Burger at Miller's." I knew that too. He'd texted me a picture because the restaurant had put pickles on it after he'd specifically asked for no pickles. "Then what?" "I came home." "And?" His forehead creased. "I don't know." "Think." "I am thinking." "Who was here when you got home?" "My mother." "Who else?" "Sarah. The twins." "Who else?" He looked at me. Nothing. I swallowed. "I was." He said nothing. "I was standing in the kitchen when you came through the door. You walked behind me, put your freezing hands under my shirt, and I nearly stabbed you with a potato peeler." His eyebrows rose. "You kissed my neck and asked if that meant I still wasn't in the mood." His expression became almost comical. Despite myself, I said, "Apparently you've forgotten that you're annoying too." He rubbed his jaw. "I remember coming home." "Do you remember dinner?" "Yes." "Who sat beside you?" He closed his eyes. For a moment I saw him struggling. Then his face went pale. "What?" "I remember the table." "Okay." "My mother was across from me. Sarah was at the other end because she kept getting up for the boys." "And me?" His eyes opened. "There's an empty chair." The room seemed to tilt. "What?" "I remember an empty chair beside me." "No." "Mara—" "No. I was sitting there." "I believe you." "Your hand was on my thigh under the table." His gaze dropped. "Your mother kicked you because she thought you were doing something inappropriate." "I believe you." "Stop saying that." "What do you want me to say?" "I want you to remember!" The words exploded out of me. His face hardened. Mine probably did too. There we were. Husband and wife. Mates. Alpha and Luna. Standing six feet apart like we'd been introduced at a cocktail party neither of us wanted to attend. A knock sounded at the bedroom door. "Callan?" Elena. I opened the door so fast she stepped backward. She was still wearing the clothes she'd had on at dinner, although her silver-blonde hair had been pulled into a messy knot. "Mara? What's wrong?" "Something's wrong with Callan." Her eyes immediately moved past me. "Callan?" He came closer. "Morning, Mom." Her shoulders dropped. "You scared me." "He doesn't remember me." She looked at me. "What?" "He woke up and doesn't know who I am." Elena laughed. Actually laughed. "Oh, for God's sake, Callan. It's too early for this." "I'm not joking." Her smile disappeared. She looked between us. "Callan." "Mom." "Who is Mara?" His jaw tightened. "I don't know." The color drained from Elena's face. Finally. Someone else understood. She pushed past me. "Sit down." "I'm fine." "Sit." Callan was an Alpha feared by several neighboring packs. He sat. Some powers transcended rank. Elena grabbed his face between her hands. "Do you know who I am?" "Yes." "Your sister?" "Sarah." "Your Beta?" "Marcus." "Your father?" Callan's expression shifted. "He died eleven years ago." Elena nodded. "Where were you born?" "Here." "What's your full name?" "Callan James Blackwood." "When did you become Alpha?" "Twenty-four." "How old are you?" "Thirty-six." She looked at me. "He's thirty-eight." Callan's head snapped toward her. "No." "Yes." "No, I'm thirty-six." My pulse quickened. "Callan," I whispered. He stood. "When did my father die?" "Eleven years ago," Elena said. "What year?" "2023." He stared at her. "That's impossible." "Why?" "Because it's 2032." Nobody spoke. Then Elena said quietly, "It's 2034." Callan went completely still. Two years. He had lost two years. Except that made no sense. We had been together for eight. "Ask him about the flood," I said. Elena looked at me. "What?" "The northern boundary flood. Three years ago." Callan frowned. "I remember it." My breath caught. "What do you remember?" "The river came over the bank after four days of rain. We evacuated seventeen houses. Marcus broke his wrist." Correct. "Where was I?" He shook his head. "You were there." "No." "I was." "I remember the flood, Mara." "Then remember me." His eyes closed. I watched him search. When he opened them, I already knew. "I don't." Elena sank into the chair beside the window. "That's not possible." I laughed once. It wasn't funny. "Apparently it is." Callan began pacing. He did that when he was trying to solve something. Three steps one way. Turn. Three steps back. My husband. Even when he didn't know he was my husband. "I remember Marcus breaking his wrist," he said. "I remember carrying Mrs. Holloway out of her house. I remember the water reaching the steps of the council hall." "I was standing next to you." He pressed his fingers to his temple. "I don't see you." "You gave me your jacket because I was soaked." "I remember taking it off." "And giving it to me?" His face twisted. "No." Elena whispered something. I turned. "What did you say?" She shook her head. "Nothing." "Elena." She looked at Callan. Then at me. There was something in her expression I couldn't identify. Fear. But not the same fear I felt. This looked different. Older. "What?" I demanded. She stood. "We need Dr. Harris." "That's not what you said." "Mara—" "What did you say?" Her eyes met mine. "I said this shouldn't be possible." A strange sensation moved across my skin. Not a chill. Something deeper. My wolf, Nyla, had been unusually quiet since I'd awakened. Now she stirred. Not frightened. Alert. She knows something. The thought came so clearly that I nearly spoke it aloud. "Nyla?" My wolf didn't answer. She pushed forward instead, sharpening my hearing, my sight, my sense of smell. Callan. Elena. Rain outside. Cedar from the fireplace. The lavender oil I'd put on my wrists before bed. And something else. Faint. Sweet. Almost like burnt sugar. I knew that smell. I just didn't know from where. I turned toward Callan. It was on him. Barely. Around his throat. I stepped closer. He immediately backed away. "Don't." "There's something on you." "What?" "I don't know." I reached toward his neck. His hand closed around my wrist. The contact hit me like lightning. For one impossible second, the bedroom disappeared. I saw fire. Trees. Callan on his knees. Blood on his mouth. A woman's voice saying something I couldn't understand. Then me. Not as I was now. I was standing barefoot in the forest. And hundreds of wolves were behind me. I ripped my hand away. The bedroom crashed back into place. I stumbled. "Mara?" Elena caught my arm. Callan stared at me. "What happened?" I couldn't answer. My heart was pounding too hard. Nyla surged beneath my skin. Not toward Callan. Away from him. That had never happened. Not once. "What did you do last night?" I asked. Callan's expression hardened. "I already told you." "After dinner." "I watched a movie." "Before that." "I don't know." "Did you leave the house?" "No." "Did someone come here?" "No." "Did you drink anything? Eat anything? Did somebody give you something?" "Mara." "Think." "I am." The sweet smell was fading. I stepped toward him again. This time he didn't move. I leaned close to his throat. Burnt sugar. Flowers. And something metallic underneath. I knew it. Suddenly I knew it. Not the scent itself. Where I'd smelled it. "Last night." Elena went rigid beside me. I looked at her. "After dinner, you brought out a bottle." Her face went blank. "What bottle?" "The cordial." Callan frowned. "What cordial?" "Your mother brought it." Elena's eyes locked on mine. "It was a gift." "From who?" "I don't remember." "Yes, you do." "Mara, this is ridiculous." "Who gave it to you?" She didn't answer. Callan looked between us. "Mom?" Elena's heart rate changed. I heard it. One moment steady. The next, racing. My wolf rose so abruptly that a growl vibrated through my chest. Elena took a step backward. And that was when I knew. Not what had happened. Not why. But one thing with absolute certainty. My mother-in-law was afraid. Not for Callan. Of me. "Elena," I said quietly. "Who gave you that bottle?" Before she could answer, Callan made a sound behind me. A strangled gasp. I spun around. He had dropped to one knee. "Callan!" I reached him before I remembered that he didn't want me touching him. This time, he grabbed me first. His fingers locked around my arm hard enough to bruise. His eyes weren't brown anymore. They burned the deep, molten gold of his wolf. Silas. Relief crashed through me. "Silas." He stared at me. For one heartbeat. Two. Three. Then his wolf spoke through Callan's mouth. One word. My name. "Mara." I almost collapsed. "You know me." His grip tightened. Silas looked terrified. I'd never seen that expression on Callan's face. Not even when his father died. Not even during the rogue attack that nearly took his leg. "What happened?" I whispered. His mouth opened. The gold in his eyes flickered. "Silas, stay with me." His fingers dug into my skin. Then, through clenched teeth, my husband's wolf forced out four words. "Don't let her leave." The gold vanished. Callan's eyes rolled back. And he collapsed in my arms.