After I Lost My Memory, I Stopped Loving My Alpha

The world came back to me in fragments—sterile white ceiling tiles, the steady beep of machines, and a throbbing pain that seemed to pulse through every fiber of my being.

I tried to move, but my body felt foreign, disconnected. Bandages wrapped around my head like a crown of gauze, and my left arm was suspended in a sling that pulled at muscles I couldn't quite feel.

Where was I?

The question floated through my mind like smoke, impossible to grasp. I knew I should know the answer, but it slipped away every time I reached for it.

"You're awake." A woman's voice, gentle but clinical. A nurse appeared in my peripheral vision, her scrubs a soft blue that somehow made my eyes water. "How are you feeling?"

"I..." My voice came out as a croak, raw and unfamiliar. "I don't... where am I?"

"You're at St. Mary's Hospital. You were in a car accident three days ago." She checked something on a clipboard, her expression professionally kind. "Do you remember anything about what happened?"

I searched the fog in my mind, grasping for memories that felt like trying to hold water in my hands. Nothing. Just an endless gray void where my past should be.

"No," I whispered. "I don't remember anything."

The nurse's expression shifted, concern creeping into her features. "That's not uncommon with head trauma. The doctor will want to speak with you. Let me get him."

As she left, I stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together who I was. The name tag on my wrist read 'Ivy Chen,' but it felt like reading about a stranger. Was that really me?

Then, like a lightning bolt splitting my skull, a voice crashed into my mind.

*Stop this pathetic charade.*

I gasped, my hands flying to my temples. The voice was male, rough with anger, and it seemed to come from inside my own head.

*I know you're awake, Ivy. Drop the act.*

"Who... who's there?" I whispered to the empty room, my heart racing.

*Don't play dumb with me. This whole memory loss thing is just another one of your desperate attempts for attention, isn't it?*

The voice was so vivid, so present, that I looked around wildly for its source. But the room was empty except for the steady hum of medical equipment.

*Answer me!*

The mental roar made me cry out, clutching my head as pain lanced through my skull. "I don't know who you are! Please, just... stop!"

Silence fell like a heavy curtain. Then, quieter but no less hostile: *You really don't remember.*

"Remember what? Who are you? How are you in my head?"

A pause that stretched like eternity. *My name is Ryker. And you're my... you were my...*

The voice cut off abruptly, leaving me alone with my confusion and the growing certainty that whoever this Ryker was, he was important. The way he'd said my name carried weight, history, pain.

"Ryker," I whispered, testing the name. It meant nothing to me, just syllables in the air.

The door opened, and a middle-aged man in a white coat entered, followed by the nurse. His kind eyes immediately assessed me with professional concern.

"Miss Chen, I'm Dr. Martinez. How are you feeling?"

"Confused," I admitted. "I can't remember anything. And there's someone... someone talking in my head."

Dr. Martinez and the nurse exchanged a look. "The voice in your head—is it familiar at all?"

"He said his name was Ryker. He seemed... angry with me. Like he knows me."

The doctor made notes on his chart. "Miss Chen, I need to ask you some questions. Do you remember anything about yourself? Your family? Where you work?"

I shook my head, each movement sending fresh waves of pain through my skull. "Nothing. It's all... empty."

"What about the concept of mates? Pack bonds? Does any of that mean anything to you?"

The words stirred something deep in my chest, like an echo of an echo, but I couldn't grasp it. "I... maybe? I don't know."

Dr. Martinez sat down beside my bed, his expression growing more serious. "Ivy, you've suffered significant head trauma. Retrograde amnesia isn't uncommon, but in your case, it seems quite extensive. The voice you're hearing—that's likely what we call a mate bond. A mental connection between werewolves."

"Werewolves?" The word should have sounded absurd, but instead, it felt... right. Like a key turning in a lock I didn't know existed.

"You are one, yes. And so is the man trying to communicate with you. The bond allows mates to speak mind-to-mind, share emotions, sometimes even physical sensations."

I stared at him, processing this impossible information that somehow felt completely natural. "So Ryker is my... mate?"

"According to your emergency contacts, yes. Ryker Mills. He's been here every day since the accident, though he left about an hour ago."

Ryker Mills. The name still meant nothing, but the mate bond Dr. Martinez described explained the voice in my head, the anger that felt personal and cutting.

"Doctor," the nurse said quietly, "should we tell her about the other matter?"

Dr. Martinez nodded gravely. "Ivy, there's something else. When you were brought in, we ran comprehensive tests. You're pregnant."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "Pregnant?"

"Yes. And based on the ultrasound..." He paused, studying my face carefully. "You're carrying twins."

The room spun around me. Pregnant. With twins. By a man whose voice in my head was filled with anger and disappointment. A man I couldn't remember.

"How far along?" I whispered.

"About eight weeks. The babies appear healthy despite the trauma."

My hands moved instinctively to my stomach, which showed no sign of the life growing within. Two babies. Two lives that depended on me, and I couldn't even remember who I was.

*Ivy?* Ryker's voice returned, softer now, uncertain. *The doctor just told me... is it true?*

I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the cascade of revelations. "Yes," I whispered, not sure if I was answering the doctor or the voice in my head.

*Twins,* Ryker's mental voice was barely a whisper. *You're carrying twins.*

For the first time since I'd heard his voice, the anger was gone, replaced by something that sounded like wonder. And fear.

"I need to rest," I told Dr. Martinez, suddenly exhausted by the weight of this new reality.

As the medical staff left me alone, I stared down at my stomach, trying to process the magnitude of what I'd learned. I was a werewolf. I had a mate named Ryker who seemed to have complicated feelings about me. And I was pregnant with twins I couldn't remember conceiving.

The voice in my head had gone quiet, but I could sense him there, a presence hovering at the edges of my consciousness. Waiting.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember something—anything—about the life I'd apparently lived. But there was only darkness, and the growing certainty that whatever had happened between Ryker and me before the accident, it hadn't ended well.