The nightmares had become relentless. Every night for the past week, I jolted awake with Brooks's name on my lips and phantom pain radiating through my body. The images were always the same—his hands pushing me, the sensation of falling, and that devastating emptiness in my womb where something precious had been torn away.

Three weeks until our mate ceremony, and I was falling apart.

Sage paced restlessly in my mind, her agitation feeding into my own anxiety. *Something's wrong, Miranda. These dreams... they feel too real.*

I pushed her concerns aside as I made my way to the pack healer's clinic, hoping for something stronger than the chamomile tea that had proven useless against my tormented sleep. The morning sun filtered through the clinic's windows, casting long shadows across the herb-lined shelves.

"Healer Morrison?" I called softly, stepping into the familiar space that smelled of dried lavender and medicinal roots.

He emerged from the back room, and I immediately noticed something off about his demeanor. His usually steady hands trembled slightly as he wiped them on his apron, and his eyes wouldn't quite meet mine.

"Miranda," he said, his voice pitched higher than normal. "What brings you here today?"

"The nightmares are getting worse," I admitted, wrapping my arms around myself. "I keep dreaming about... about losing something important. Something that feels like it was mine to lose."

Healer Morrison's face went pale, and he fumbled with the glass jars on his counter. "Nightmares are common before major life events. The mate ceremony is causing you stress, that's all."

But his hands shook as he reached for his usual blend of calming herbs, and sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool morning air.

"Could you prepare something stronger?" I asked, watching him carefully. "These dreams... they're so vivid. So real."

The jar slipped from his fingers, shattering against the stone floor in an explosion of dried petals and glass. "I'm sorry," he stammered, dropping to his knees to clean up the mess. "Clumsy of me."

Something cold settled in my stomach. Healer Morrison had never been clumsy. In all my years visiting his clinic, I'd never seen him drop so much as a single leaf.

"Let me help," I offered, kneeling beside him.

"No!" The sharpness in his voice made me flinch. He immediately softened his tone, but the damage was done. "I mean, you might cut yourself on the glass. Why don't you... why don't you organize the supply cabinet while I finish this? The herbs need sorting anyway."

It was clearly a task meant to keep me busy and away from him, but I nodded and moved to the large wooden cabinet that housed his extensive collection of medicinal supplies. As I began arranging the bottles and pouches, my fingers found something unexpected—a hidden compartment behind the main shelves.

My heart hammered as I carefully opened it, revealing a leather-bound journal and several vials of unfamiliar herbs. The journal fell open in my hands, and my blood turned to ice as I read the meticulous entries.

*Patient: Miranda Williams*

*Treatment: Memory suppression blend - wolfsbane extract, moonbell root, forget-me-not essence*

*Dosage: Administered weekly in calming tea*

*Duration: Six months*

*Notes: Patient shows no awareness of suppressed memories. Treatment effective.*

The dates listed corresponded exactly with gaps in my memory—periods where days seemed to blur together, where I'd wake up feeling like I'd lost time. My hands shook as I flipped through page after page of detailed records documenting my systematic drugging.

Six months. He'd been poisoning me for six months.

"Miranda?" Healer Morrison's voice seemed to come from very far away. "How's that organizing coming along?"

I turned slowly, the journal clutched against my chest like a shield. His eyes immediately went to the book in my hands, and all the color drained from his face.

"You've been drugging me," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Suppressing my memories."

He dropped the broom he'd been using to sweep up the glass, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. "Miranda, I can explain—"

"Explain what?" My voice grew stronger, power beginning to simmer beneath my skin. "Explain why you've been systematically erasing parts of my mind? Explain why there are six months of treatments documented here that I never consented to?"

"It wasn't my idea," he blurted out, backing away from me as silver light began to emanate from my skin. "I was following orders. Alpha Brooks... he said it was for your own good."

The world tilted sideways. Brooks had ordered this. Brooks had commanded the healer to drug me, to steal pieces of my memory, to make me forget... what?

"What memories?" I demanded, advancing on him. "What did he make you take from me?"

Healer Morrison pressed himself against the wall, terror written across his features. "I can't tell you. He made me swear. He said... he said if you remembered, it would destroy you completely."

"Destroy me?" I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You think I'm not already destroyed? You think living with these nightmares, these phantom pains, this constant feeling that something's missing from my life isn't destroying me?"

Tears streamed down his weathered cheeks. "I'm sorry, Miranda. I'm so sorry. But I can't... I won't be the one to break you completely."

I stared at him, this man I'd trusted with my health and wellbeing, who had betrayed me in the most fundamental way possible. The journal in my hands felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, each page a testament to the conspiracy that had been waged against my very mind.

Whatever Brooks had made me forget, whatever memories lay buried beneath months of chemical suppression, I was going to find them. Even if they destroyed me completely.

Because living as half a person, haunted by dreams of losses I couldn't name, was no life at all.

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the healer's journal hidden beneath my mattress like a guilty secret. Brooks slept beside me, his breathing deep and even, completely unaware that his carefully constructed lies were crumbling around him.

Sage stirred restlessly in my mind, more alert than she'd been in months. *The herbs are weakening,* she whispered, her voice stronger than I'd heard it in ages. *I can feel the barriers breaking down.*

"What barriers?" I asked silently, but even as the words formed in my thoughts, images began flickering behind my closed eyelids—fragments of memories that felt both foreign and intimately familiar.

Flash: Brooks's face twisted with rage, his Alpha aura pressing down on me like a physical weight.

Flash: My hands protectively cradling something precious, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Flash: The sensation of falling, terror and heartbreak mingling as I tumbled down stone steps.

I gasped, my eyes flying open as phantom pain lanced through my abdomen. The memories felt real—more real than any dream I'd ever experienced. My hand moved instinctively to my stomach, and for a brief, devastating moment, I could swear I felt the echo of life that had once grown there.

*Our pup,* Sage whimpered, her anguish bleeding into my consciousness. *We lost our pup.*

The words hit me like a physical blow. I rolled away from Brooks, pressing my face into the pillow to muffle the sob that tore from my throat. How could I have forgotten something so monumental? How could the loss of my own child have been erased from my mind?

Brooks stirred beside me, his arm reaching across the bed. "Miranda? What's wrong?"

I forced my breathing to steady, wiping away tears before turning to face him. In the moonlight streaming through our bedroom window, his familiar features looked almost foreign—the face of a stranger who'd stolen pieces of my soul.

"Just a nightmare," I lied, the words bitter on my tongue. "Go back to sleep."

He studied my face for a moment, and I saw something flicker in his dark eyes—guilt? Fear? Whatever it was, he buried it quickly behind his Alpha mask.

"You've been having a lot of nightmares lately," he said carefully. "Maybe you should see Healer Morrison again. Get something stronger."

The casual suggestion made my stomach turn. He was still trying to drug me, still trying to keep me compliant and forgetful. "I'm fine," I managed. "Really."

Brooks watched me for another long moment before settling back against his pillow. Within minutes, his breathing had returned to the deep rhythm of sleep, leaving me alone with my fragmenting memories and growing horror.

Over the next few days, I began following Brooks whenever he left the packhouse. My omega training had taught me to be invisible, to move through shadows without being noticed—skills that now served a darker purpose than I'd ever imagined.

On the third day, I tracked him to the old mill on the outskirts of our territory. Hidden behind a cluster of pine trees, I watched as a familiar figure emerged from the abandoned building—Talia Green, her auburn hair catching the afternoon sunlight like flames.

My wolf snarled as Brooks pulled her into his arms, the same tender embrace I'd witnessed at the hotel. But this time, I was close enough to hear their conversation.

"You can't keep doing this to her," Talia was saying, her voice carrying a note of manufactured concern. "The guilt is eating you alive, Brooks."

"I don't have a choice," he replied, his voice rough with emotion. "If she remembers what happened, if she remembers what I did..."

"What you did was an accident," Talia interrupted, but there was something calculating in her tone. "Your Alpha rage got the better of you. These things happen."

"I killed our pup," Brooks whispered, the words so quiet I almost missed them. "I pushed her down those stairs and killed our unborn child. How is that an accident?"

The world tilted sideways. My legs gave out, and I collapsed against the rough bark of the pine tree, my hand pressed to my mouth to stifle the scream building in my throat.

Talia's voice continued, soft and poisonous. "You owe me this much, at least. After everything your family put me through, after forcing me to leave... spending time with me is the least you can do. Miranda doesn't have to know."

"She's starting to remember," Brooks said, and I could hear the panic creeping into his voice. "The healer says the herbs are becoming less effective. Her wolf is fighting back."

"Then we'll have to be more careful," Talia replied. "Or find another solution."

I didn't wait to hear what that solution might be. On trembling legs, I made my way back through the forest, Sage's anguished howls echoing through my mind as more memories surfaced with each step.

I remembered now—the joy of discovering I was pregnant, the careful plans I'd made to tell Brooks about our pup. I remembered his reaction when I'd confronted him about calling out Talia's name during our most intimate moments, the way his face had contorted with rage when I'd demanded the truth about his feelings for her.

And I remembered falling—the terror, the pain, and the devastating emptiness that followed.

By the time I reached the packhouse, my cheeks were wet with tears for a child I'd been forced to forget, and my heart burned with a fury that no amount of herbs could ever suppress again.