Betrayed By Her Beloved, Alpha

Her head is throbbing as she struggles to open her eyes, only to clamp them shut once more.

"Her eyelids are twitching," a faint, feminine voice pierces the fog of her pain, and with a determined effort, she pries her eyes open to a ceiling swimming in blurs.

"She's awake," another voice murmurs, closer this time. She yearns to turn her head, to see who's speaking, but her neck is too weak to obey. Time drags on, each second stretching until her vision finally sharpens.

With a slow, laborious tilt of her head, she's met by a pair of hazel eyes filled with concern.

"Mother, she’s up," the young woman seated on the floor announces, and shortly after, a woman in her sixties hurries in, cradling a bowl that's steaming with warmth. Her face lights up with a burst of excitement as she approaches the mat where the stranger lies. Setting the bowl down with a clink, she perches beside her and gently touches her forehead.

"Are you alright? Do you hurt anywhere? Hungry?" The questions spill out, each accompanied by an eager smile.

She gazes at the woman, her mind racing. This face, this room—it's all foreign to her. How did she get here? What happened? Her mind gropes for answers, but comes up empty. She doesn't even know her own name, and the void in her memory is terrifying.

"Who are you?" she blurts out after a tense silence, her eyes searching the woman's face for answers.

"That can wait. Hungry?" The woman deflects with a smile, but she shakes her head, her stomach a whirlpool of doubt. Despite her hunger, she hesitates. These people are strangers; how can she accept their food?

"Are you sure you're okay?" The young woman, who appears to be about her age, asks, her expression a mix of worry and confusion.

She nods faintly, almost to herself.

"How long have I been here?" Her voice is laced with curiosity, and the woman and her daughter exchange a knowing look.

"A week," the older woman reveals, and her heart skips a beat.

"What's your name?" the woman inquires, her curiosity apparent.

But her name remains elusive, a secret her own mind keeps from her. The frustration is palpable as she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries to summon any fragment of her past. It's futile; the attempt only deepens her headache. She resigns herself to the unknown for the moment.

"I don't know," she whispers back, leaning against the wall and cupping her face in her hands. She runs her fingers over the healing bruises and wonders at their origin.

"What happened to me?" she asks, lifting her eyes to meet the woman's once more.

"Seven days ago, I was in the woods collecting herbs when I stumbled upon you," the woman starts, pausing to glance at her daughter. "You were there, so still, in a pool of blood, bruises marring your skin..." Her voice trails off, heavy with emotion.

"I thought you were dead, but when I checked, you were still breathing," the woman says, a trace of wonder in her voice. She just stares back, her face a blank slate. She's desperately trying to piece everything together, hoping for a flicker of memory, but her mind is a void. How is it possible to remember nothing at all? Not even her own name?

"Do you really not remember anything?" the woman probes, her brow furrowed in concern, and she gives a slow, helpless nod.

"You'll get through this. Just focus on healing for now, alright? You're going to be okay," the woman reassures her, but the words feel hollow. She accepts the herb with a tentative hand, eyeing the dark liquid in the bowl warily. What if this is a trap? What if this kind-hearted act is just a facade?

"Thank you," she murmurs after taking a cautious sip, passing the bowl back to the woman.

"I'll whip up something for you to eat. Athena, keep her company. I won't be long," the woman instructs her daughter before leaving the room.

"So, since you can't remember your name, how about picking a new one for now? Until your real name comes back to you," Athena suggests, sitting cross-legged and facing her.

She hums noncommittally, nodding slowly, not entirely convinced by the idea.

"How about Aurora? I've always loved that name, dreamed of having a sister called Aurora. Mom's too old to have more kids, so maybe we can be sisters instead. What do you say?" Athena's voice is hopeful, her attempt to lighten the mood almost tangible.

She hums again, and Athena's face breaks into an enthusiastic grin.

"Great! Aurora it is, then," Athena declares, and she just nods in agreement.

Staring into the distance, her mind is a whirlwind of questions. The most persistent one echoes: What happened to her?

Two weeks later

Aurora has been trying to settle into the new life she's found herself in. She's learned about the Grave Claw pack, the wealthiest and most influential group in the werewolf realm, led by the enigmatic Alpha Lorenzo. She's come to appreciate the new family that's taken her in, but the mystery of her past still gnaws at her.

"Do you want to come with us to collect herbs?" Athena asks, lacing up her boots.

"No, I'll wait here," Aurora responds, and Athena snorts in frustration. She had hoped to venture into the woods together, but it seems that's not on the cards today. Over the past weeks, they've forged a strong sisterly bond.

"Athena, let's go! I'm waiting," their mother calls from outside, and with a huff, Athena storms out, not sparing another second indoors.

Aurora sighs as the door shuts behind Athena, the silence enveloping her once more.