Pregnant with the Amnesiac Alpha’s Heir

His hand was on her waist rough, warm, familiar, even though he had never touched her like this before.Her back pressed against his chest, solid and burning, his breath hot against the curve of her neck.

She didn't pull away. 

She leaned into him.

His mouth skimmed her shoulder, barely touching. Her skin prickled with heat, sending a ripple of heat straight to her core.She shivered wanting more.His fingers slid beneath the hem of her nightdress, slow and searching, grazing the soft skin of her inner thigh. Her breath hitched as his hand explored higher, his touch bold but reverent, like he was learning her and memorizing every inch of her body.

She couldn't breathe. 

Didn't want to. 

The forest blurred around them just moonlight and shadows, and the space between heartbeats. Her hands found him in the dark, tracing the hard lines of his chest, his throat, until they tangled in his hair. she gripped it, anchoring herself as his mouth captured hers.

It wasn't gentle.

It was hungry.

Desperate.

His lips parted hers, tongue slipping past, and she moaned into him, her knees weakening as his body pinned hers to the rough bark behind them. Her nightdress bunched around her hips. His hand slid farther, his thumb brushing the center of her core through the thin fabric of her underwear barely a touch, but it stole her breath.

Her head fell back against the tree, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as a tremor rolled through her sharp, hot, aching.

"Ravien…" she gasped, the name spilling from her lips like a prayer like it had always belonged to him.

His name.

He growled in response, low and full of need, his hand slid between her thighs again, and she arched, chasing his touch—

Her fingers dug into his back. 

She didn't want it to stop.

She woke with a sharp inhale, tangled in her sheets, skin slick with sweat, heart pounding like a war drum in her chest.

The stillness of her room in the Alpha House was jarring after the heat of that dream. Pale morning light spilled across the floor, casting soft golden beams on stone walls that had never touched her so intimately.

She blinked up at the ceiling, one hand clutching her blanket, the other still trembling slightly. Her breath came in shallow bursts. Her entire body ached not with pain, but want. 

It had been a dream. 

Just a dream.

But it felt real. Too real. His touch still burned into her skin. Her thighs clenched involuntarily at the memory of his mouth, his voice, the way he moved like he belonged to her.

Lyra sat up slowly, dragging a hand down her face. Her nightdress clung to her, damp and wrinkled. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted.

"Gods," she whispered, pressing her palms to her cheeks.She had never dream like that not ever and certainly not about strangers.

And worse somehow she knew. 

If she looked at him now, she'd remember it. 

The weight of his hands. 

The way he tasted. 

The sound of his voice when he growled her name like a promise.

She shook herself, standing too fast.The dream would fade. It always did.

But this one clung to her skin like a secret.

Later that morning, she walked into the courtyard with her herb basket and felt the pull before she saw him.

He was already there.Standing by the edge of the healer's garden, arms crossed, sunlight catching the sharp angles of his face. Shirtless.

His back was turned, muscles flexing beneath scarred skin as he stretched his shoulder still healing, but already stronger than most of the warriors in her pack.

Lyra's steps slowed.He turned then, and their eyes locked.

A flicker of something passed between them. Recognition. Awareness. Something unspoken but heavy.

He didn't look away.Neither did she.

Heat bloomed again in her chest, trailing down into her belly like an echo of her dream.She forced herself to keep walking.

"You're up early," she said, setting the basket down near the table.

"Couldn't sleep," he replied. His voice was lower than usual. Rougher.

She tried not to let that voice pull her back into the dream.

"Pain?" she asked, moving around the table to busy herself with herbs.

"No," he said. "Just… restless."

She nodded, focusing on the leaves beneath her hands.

"That's normal. Your body's still adjusting."

"Is that what this is?" he asked quietly.

She looked up.He was watching her.

Not her hands.Not her work.

Her.

Her cheeks warmed again. She cleared her throat and looked away.

"You're improving quickly," she said. "The limp's almost gone.

"He stepped closer. "That's not what I meant."

Silence stretched.Her heart thudded.

She didn't ask what he meant. 

"I had a dream," he said, his voice softer now.

Lyra's hands paused.

She didn't look at him. "Most people do."

"I think it was about you."

Her breath caught.His tone wasn't flirtatious. There was no teasing smile. Just quiet honesty, delivered like a confession.

Lyra risked a glance up. His golden eyes were unreadable, but intense. Focused entirely on her.

"I don't remember much," he went on, "but… it felt real."

"Dreams usually do," she said, trying to recover her voice.

He tilted his head slightly. "You didn't dream of me, do you?"

Her hands stilled again.

Her silence was answer enough.

Ravien's lips lifted, just barely. Not cocky. Curious. Like he'd uncovered something he wasn't sure he was allowed to know.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he said after a moment.

"You didn't," she lied.

But she was already too aware of him.

The way he moved the heat that seemed to roll off him now when he stood too close. The tension that sparked between them when neither spoke.

This is dangerous.But she didn't step back.

And neither did he.

That night, she couldn't sleep.Not because of dreams.

But because she wanted them again.Not because she didn't trust him.

But because she was starting to trust him too much.And it terrified her.

Because whatever was growing between them.It didn't feel temporary.

And she had no idea what that meant.