(Amara's POV)
Oh Moon Goddess, what do I do?
The thought screamed through my head in a desperate loop.
I stared at the mark on Alexis's neck. My mark. The bruising was already darkening around the edges, and the sight of it made my stomach drop straight through the floor.
I tried to tell myself this wasn't real.
That I had drunk too much and I was still passed out somewhere on a barstool.
That none of this had actually happened.
"Hey." Alexis's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "Little healer. Are you even here right now?"
He was still leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with an expression that was unmistakably amused.
"What's wrong?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. The smirk on his face sharpened. "Don't tell me you're thinking about denying your own handiwork."
My mouth opened. Nothing came out.
He pushed off the doorframe and walked into the room.
He sat down on the edge of the bed.
His scent hit me immediately - cedar and mint, clean and grounding and unbearably close. Every nerve in my body pulled taut.
He tilted his head again, studying me the way a wolf studies something it hasn't decided what to do with yet.
"You do remember who I am, don't you?" he asked.
The question dragged me back.
Five years ago. The Werewolf Academy.
Alexis Storm had been impossible to ignore, even then. Top marks in every subject. Combat scores that made instructors stop and stare. A constant orbit of she-wolves trailing after him wherever he went, like he generated his own gravity.
I remembered my best friend Lucas nudging me once during a training session, nodding toward Alexis with wide eyes.
He's basically a demigod, Lucas had said. You have to admit it.
I had barely glanced up.
Dorian is all I need, I had told him, completely certain.
Lucas had laughed and called me hopeless.
I had thought I was devoted. Loyal. Sure of what I wanted.
Now, sitting in Alexis Storm's bed with his bite mark on display and his eyes fixed on me, I understood exactly how blind I had been.
But that memory opened a different question, one that had been quietly forming in the back of my mind since I woke up.
If he was my fated mate - if this was real, if Cora's reaction last night was real - then why hadn't I felt it five years ago?
We had been in the same building for months. The same training grounds. The same dining hall. Cora had never made a sound. Not once.
Why now? Why here? Why last night, in a dark hallway, when I was half-drunk and falling apart?
I didn't have an answer.