His Mate, His Prey

Don’t You Recognise Me Darling? [Pt. I]

[Violet]

The sound of a gunshot rang through my ear just half a second after the shove.

For a heartbeat, everything froze. Then the earth gave way beneath my feet, sending me falling over the edge of a steep hill.

There was no time for verbal panic as my body tumbled down a steep incline of rocks, dirt, and loose roots. My skin was bruised and my bones ached as I braced myself for a painful landing. But I wasn't falling alone. The man—the one who shoved me, the one who took the bullet—was hurtling down beside me.

We rolled and tumbled but instead of a rocky landing, I hit something cold. Water.

A river to be exact.

My back hit the shallow edge with a painful slap, forcing the air out of my lungs as well as a pained gasp. I coughed up muddy water, gasping as I pushed myself up on trembling elbows. What came next was a sharp sting—my ankle. Twisted. No—sprained.

"s**t," I hissed, biting down on my bottom lip after catching a glimpse of its swollen form.

It wasn't the pain that annoyed me, it was the fact that escape would be near impossible with a bad ankle.

I dragged my body to the riverbank, soaked to the bone, my clothes clinging to my skin like second flesh.

Looking up at the cliff I'd fallen from, I couldn't help but gasp in disbelief at how high it had been. I should've died. I could've snapped my neck or bled out or drowned. But I was alive.

The only problem now was that my injuries weren't healing.

I looked down at the collar shackled tightly around my ankle, whatever it was, it was truly something to be able to lower me to the strength of a mere human woman. That was why the pain lingered, why my bones didn't shift and mend.

I needed to pry it off. Somehow.

I pushed myself up, wobbling, testing weight on the ankle—big mistake. My leg buckled and I hissed in pain. And that's when I saw him.

For a second, I flinched at the sudden notice of another presence, but then—he wasn't moving.

My shoulders eased as I turned to the man in the water.

He was lying face-up with both eyes closed. Blood ran from his temple, and his shirt soaked red. Surely, he was dead...

I gulped at the thought and my eyes narrowed, unable to fully fathom his earlier behaviour.

Why had he saved me? Letting your mate die had become the norm of society, especially when both parties were strangers.

And he—my dear mate— was a degenerate. Scum. Someone who partook in twisted games like the claiming chase, who loved to hunt females as sport and then have his way with them. He deserved to die.

I turned my back on him.

But the sound of more gunshots, distant but not far enough, made my skin crawl.

He'd taken the bullet for me.

He'd saved me.

Did I really want to be the kind of person who left him here to die after that?

'Would that make me any different from Theodore?'

Theodore?

I scoffed bitterly. Why did that name still echo in my head? Why did it still linger even now, when all that was left of my love for him was resentment?

"Just this once," I muttered through clenched teeth. "He must have died anyway." Reluctantly, I turned back and limped to the water's edge. Grabbing his arm, I heaved, muscles screaming. He was heavy, dead weight, and with my ankle throbbing like hell, it took every ounce of strength just to drag him half out of the water.

I collapsed beside him on the rocky bank, soaked and breathless.

Moonlight filtered through the trees and cast silver over his face. He was... beautiful.

Even now, unconscious, with blood matting his dark hair to his skin, he looked like a predator at rest—sharp cheekbones, wet long lashes that resembled that of a woman's, lips set in a thin, fierce line.

I crouched beside him, heart pounding, unsure if he was already gone.

Why did he save me? Did he want to claim me himself? Hunt me like the rest?

That thought enraged me. "Are you alive?" I lifted my hand to slap across his face, but there was no response even after tapping with moderate force.

His chest didn't rise and the moonlight bounced off his golden ring. I carefully reach out, struggling to get it off his fingers so I could sell it once I escaped. I doubted a man of his calibre would wear fake gold.

Still, it was odd how it fit perfectly despite the difference in thickness of our fingers. Then I leaned in, tearing open his shirt, pressing my ear to his chest.

There it was—faint, but there—a heartbeat.

Damn it.

If he was still alive, I was obligated to at least revive him. 'Damn my conscience.' I pressed a palm flat on his chest and the other over the first.

I had no experience with reviving those who'd drowned and couldn't help but wonder how he'd drowned in such shallow water.

I swallowed hard and pushed the wet strands from my face. Pinched his nostrils. Pressed my lips to his.

One breath. Two.

But he didn't move.

Suddenly, I recalled the bullet wound on his skull. The fact that his heart was still beating was simply a miracle.

I peeked to the side of his head, brushing my fingers through in search of the injury and suddenly, his body jerked.

He gasped as if just waking from a nightmare and I stumbled back with a cry of pain from my damaged ankle, landing hard on his chest.

And then his eyes snapped open, revealing a pair of crimson orbs that resembled something out of a nightmare.

Panicking, I tried to pull back once again but his hand gripped my waist. The other pressed a jagged rock against my throat.

Breathing hard, I stared into eyes that no longer looked human.

He wasn't smiling.

No charm. No warmth. Just raw, untamed instinct.

My heart raced, not just in fear—but in regret.

I should've left him in the river.

For a moment, neither of us moved and I pondered what ways I could escape unharmed and with a sprained ankle nonetheless. Yet, nothing came to mind.

His grip was iron around my waist, and I could feel the tremble in his muscles—the animal barely contained within him.

Did he plan on having me here? And while we were being hunted?

My heart thundered in my chest, but I didn't beg. I didn't scream.

There was no point and my ego wouldn't let me.

But then, he spoke:

"Who... are you?"

The question caught me off guard.

Was he asking my name? Or was it because we were mates? My lips parted, unsure whether to lie or tell the truth. But before I could answer, he also asked:

"And who... am I?"

I blinked and for a moment, my mind froze.

He wasn't playing a game. He wasn't trying to intimidate me. He genuinely didn't know.

He didn't remember who he was.

The realization sank in slowly.

The fierce man pinning me above him—the same man who was my mate—had no memory.

And just like that, the terror I'd felt... shifted.

'Ohh? How convenient.' I held back a smirk at the notice of an opportunity.

This powerful man—He could be anything I told him to be.

My heart settled into a slow, steady beat as I tilted my head, just slightly, forcing a soft breath through my lips as I lifted my ringed finger. A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth as I leaned closer, eyes locked on his glowing, confused ones.

"Don't you recognize me, darling?" I whispered sweetly. "I'm your wife."