Valentine With The Amnesia Alpha

Daniella's POV

 The man with mesmerizing green eyes and an air of bewilderment sat across from me. I studied his face as he furrowed his brows, trying to make sense of the situation. Could I trust him? Was he dangerous? A criminal, maybe? But his confusion seemed genuine, far too real to be an act. Something about him tugged at my instincts, telling me he wasn't a threat. If anything, he appeared as lost in all this as I was.

Still, I needed clarity. I needed answers. Taking a deep breath, I decided to unleash my inner interrogator. Years of grilling clients to extract the truth in courtroom battles had prepared me for moments like this.

"So, you really don't know your name?" I asked, leaning slightly forward. "You don't even know where you're from? Are you a fisherman who fell off his boat? Or a sailor who got tossed overboard?"

He shook his head, his green eyes clouded with uncertainty. Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his long, unkempt hair.

"Do you remember anything?" I pressed. "Even the smallest detail might help. Like your injuries—when I pulled you out of the water, you were bleeding, badly. Deep wounds on your stomach and legs. But now they're gone, without a trace. Can you remember how you got hurt?"

He squinted, his eyes narrowing as if searching the recesses of his mind. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice low and uncertain.

"I remember... a fight," he murmured, his tone hesitant. "But I don't know who I was fighting. Or why."

"That's a start," I said, nodding encouragingly. "Try to remember more. Maybe you're just in shock. Sometimes, memories can come back in pieces. Don't give up."

He nodded slightly, his expression a mixture of determination and frustration. He sat silently for a moment, lost in thought, but then his shoulders sagged as he let out a defeated sigh.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "There's nothing else. I can't remember."

I gave him a reassuring smile, though I could see the despair etched on his face.

"That's okay," I said gently. "For now, let's focus on the basics. It's already late, and this beach house is the only shelter around here for miles. My nearest neighbor is over a kilometer away, and the closest hospital is across the bay. We'll need to take the boat in the morning."

I paused, watching his reaction as I added, "You can sleep on the couch tonight. Tomorrow, we'll head to the hospital and file a report with the police. Hopefully, your family is already searching for you."

He nodded, looking relieved to have a plan, though his face remained tense.

But just as I began to relax, the faint sound of voices carried through the night air. My heart skipped a beat. Someone was approaching, their loud conversation cutting through the stillness.

The man's demeanor changed instantly. His muscles tensed, and his gaze sharpened like a hawk spotting its prey. He moved with practiced precision, his finger to his lips signaling me to stay silent. With a quick gesture, he motioned for me to hide under the table.

I obeyed, crouching beneath the tablecloth as he joined me. My pulse raced as the voices grew louder.

"Are you sure the alpha is here?" one man asked, his tone rough and impatient.

"We're not sure," another voice replied. "If he washed up here, he's probably dead by now. No one could survive those wounds. Not with a silver blade coated in wolfsbane."

The third voice chimed in, sneering, "Let's just check the house and leave. Once we're sure he's gone, we'll head back and report that the mission to eliminate the alpha was successful."

My breath caught in my throat. They were looking for him. And they wanted him dead.

I glanced at the man beside me. His jaw tightened, and his eyes burned with a mix of anger and unease. He seemed to understand exactly what they were talking about, even if he couldn't remember who he was.

The sound of footsteps grew closer, crunching on the gravel outside. Then the shadow of one of the men loomed near the window. I held my breath, clenching the edge of the tablecloth as tightly as I could.

The voices continued murmuring, their tone impatient.

"They must've moved on," one of them muttered after a tense pause. "No signs of life here."

A few moments later, the footsteps receded, followed by the faint hum of a boat engine fading into the distance.

We stayed still for what felt like an eternity, waiting until the silence was absolute. Finally, I began to crawl out from under the table, only to have the man reach up and gently hold the edge of the table for me, ensuring I didn't bump my head.

The gesture was so unexpected, so oddly tender, that it caught me off guard.

"Thanks," I whispered, flustered.

Once we were both out, I took a shaky breath, trying to process what had just happened.

"They were talking about you," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "They called you 'alpha.' They said they were trying to kill you. That has to mean something."

He frowned, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration.

"Alpha," he repeated slowly, as though testing the word on his tongue.

I nodded, piecing together what little we knew.

"You said you remember a fight. Maybe it was with them. And those wounds on your stomach—they mentioned a silver blade. That must've been what they used on you. Somehow, you survived."

He rubbed the back of his neck, his expression still clouded with confusion.

"So... your name is Alpha?" I asked, tentatively.

He looked at me, and for the first time, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It was fleeting, but it was there.

"Alpha," he murmured, as if testing the name, trying to make it his own.

"Tomorrow," I said firmly, "we'll go to the hospital and the police. Maybe someone out there knows you. Maybe your family is already looking for you."

He nodded, though the doubt lingering in his eyes remained.

"Goodnight, Alpha," I said softly, offering him a small smile before retreating to my bedroom.

As I closed the door behind me, a pang of guilt washed over me. Part of me wanted to stay, to sit with him, reassure him that everything would be okay. But I needed time to process everything that had happened.

Lying in bed, I stared up at the ceiling, the weight of the night pressing on me. Who were those men? Why were they hunting him? And how had he survived wounds that should've been fatal?

I let out a slow breath, my thoughts racing. As much as I cherished my solitude, this stranger had shattered my peaceful world.

Tomorrow, I'd help him find the answers he needed, get him back to where he belonged. And maybe, just maybe, I could get my quiet, solitary life back.

Or so I thought.