Pregnant with the Amnesiac Alpha’s Heir

The forest always gave Lyra more peace than people.

Here, beneath the whisper of leaves and the gentle kiss of sunlight through the trees, the forest didn't ask her to be something she wasn't. It didn't care that she had no wolf. The forest didn't judge. The moss didn't whisper behind her back. The wild things asked for nothing but silence, gentleness, and the patience to listen.

So she came here every morning basket in hand, shawl wrapped around her shoulders to gather herbs and breathe in solitude.

But today, something was off.

The birds weren't singing. The breeze had stilled. Even the usual rustling of rabbits and fox kits in the bushes was gone as if the woods themselves were holding their breath.

Lyra slowed her steps, her senses tightening. Something clung to the air beneath the trees metallic, sharp. Iron. The unmistakable scent of blood.

She moved quickly now, slipping through the narrow path that curved along the southern ridge of the territory. Just ahead, the ravine cut deep into the hillside. Her chest tightened not quite from fear, but from something deeper in gut, Instinct. Something was wrong.

That's when she saw him.

A man lay sprawled beneath the slope, limbs tangled in a mess of thorns and fallen leaves, like the woods had tried to keep him for themselves. He wasn't moving. One leg bent the wrong way. Blood streaked across his ribs and soaked into his forehead. His cloak dark leather hung in tatters, sliced through by thorns... or by something sharper. He looked like he'd fallen straight out of the sky. 

Lyra's breath caught.

She hesitated only for a second before kneeling beside him, brushing leaves from his face.

He was young mid-twenties, maybe. Strong-jawed. There was something striking about him, even beneath dirt and blood. His skin was pale from blood loss. His chest rose, barely. Each breath shallow and fragile, as if he was holding on by threads.

"Gods," she breathed. "You're dying."

She pressed her hand gently to his wound.

Heat bloomed beneath her skin steady and bright, like a small sun waking in her palm. Her power stirred. Soft golden light spilled over him, casting a gentle glow across the torn flesh. The bleeding slowed beneath her touch, the wound starting to knit together.

But it wasn't enough. Not here. Not alone.

Alone in the forest, she couldn't save him. He needed more than she could give in.

She looked at him again.

He was a stranger. He could be a rogue, a killer, a threat. Her father would never allow this. She should leave him. She knew that. She should run and get her brother, her father or someone with authority. Someone with sense.

But her hands wouldn't let go.

"Moon Goddess," she whispered. "Please don't make me regret this."

Lyra took off her shawl and pressed it to his side, then slipped her arms beneath him as best she could.

"You don't get to die here," she said softly. "Not today."

By the time she reached the edge of the village, half dragging , half pulling her arms ached and her dress was soaked in his blood.

Rynn spotted her first from the watchtower. He came down fast, expression unreadable until he got close. Then it turned to disbelief.

"Lyra?" His gaze dropped to the man slumped against her. "What the hell—"

"I found him near the ravine. He's hurt—badly."

Rynn's jaw tightened. "He's not one of ours."

"I know."

"You don't know who he is."

"He's dying," she said, voice sharper now.

The words hung in silently heavy between them. Neither of them spoke, but it was clear she wasn't going to back down...

Their father, Alpha Caelen, approached with three guards. His eyes narrowed the moment they landed on the stranger.

"Who is this?"

"I don't know," Lyra said quietly. "But he needs help. I couldn't just walk away like I didn't see someone dying."

"He could be a spy. A rogue. Or worse—a threat."

"Then keep him under the watch and guard. Do whatever you need to feel safe. But I won't leave him to die ."

The silence stretched long and tense. Lyra met her father's gaze. For a moment, she felt the Alpha in him push against her.

But she didn't look away.

Finally, he exhaled. "Take him to the healer's hall. But he stays under watch and if he shows even a hint of danger he's gone."

Lyra nodded once. "Thank you."

He was unconscious for three days.

During that time, Lyra stayed close. She worked in silence changing bandages, cooling his fever. She checked his wounds when no one was looking. Her gift, cautious and quiet, flowed into him through the tips of her fingers. Not enough to heal him fully. Just enough to keep him from slipping away.

The others kept their distance.

Some were afraid.

Some were curious.

But no one came near not while Lyra sat by his side.

On the fourth morning, as she stepped inside with a bowl of warm water, a soft sound came from the bed.

A groan.

The man stirred. His face twitched. His eyes fluttered open slowly.

Gold and Vivid.

They locked on hers confused, unfocused, but clear.

"Where…?"

"You're safe," she said, voice low as she stepped closer. "You were hurt badly. I brought you here."

He flinched, his hand flying to his side. His eyes scanned the room, unfocused and frantic. "I don't… I don't remember…"

Lyra stopped cold. "You don't remember what happened?"

He looked at her again, something like fear or maybe panic rising in his chest.

"I don't even know who I am."

The words hit her like a gust of wind.

No name. No past.

Just bloodied, bruises, and those golden eyes that tugged at something deep inside her.

She sat beside the bed, steadying her voice.

"Well," she said gently, "until you remember… I guess you're stuck with me."

He didn't answer.

But he didn't look away.