Valentine With The Amnesia Alpha

Daniella POV

 The day before Christmas arrived, though it didn't mean much to me. I didn't celebrate it, and Alpha didn't seem to either. It was just another day for us, and we settled into the quiet routine we'd developed over the past few days.

Our mornings began with a run along the beach. Usually, I could only manage about fifteen minutes before the biting cold pushed me back indoors. Afterward, we'd warm up with steaming cups of coffee or hot chocolate. Alpha never complained about the cold, nor did he seem to struggle with the run, his long legs making my pace look laughable.

By midday, I'd head to the kitchen to cook something simple for us. Cooking for two had become strangely comforting, even if he didn't seem picky about what he ate—though he always appreciated protein-rich meals. After lunch, I'd curl up on the sofa with a book, basking in the silence. Alpha would usually grab a book from the shelves, sitting in his corner of the living room. He'd devoured everything in my modest collection over the past four days—novels, financial self-help guides, even Mr. Martin's old "How to Get Rich" manuals.

At first, I thought it was a habit to pass the time, but I'd catch him frowning thoughtfully at the pages or scribbling notes in a small notebook he'd found. It intrigued me how quickly he absorbed the material, though he never shared what he was thinking.

Afternoons were reserved for napping. Alpha stuck to the living room sofa, and I retreated to my room. It was another unspoken agreement between us: our separate spaces, even in shared silence.

Evenings were my favorite part of the day. We'd sit on the porch together, letting the cool breeze sweep over us. Alpha never initiated conversation, as if sensing my need for solitude. He'd sit cross-legged on the wooden floor, gazing out at the horizon, his presence oddly comforting. If I chose not to speak, he wouldn't either. For someone who had disrupted my much-anticipated alone time, he had a way of blending into the background when needed.

Surprisingly, I no longer found his company annoying. I'd even admit—if only to myself—that I enjoyed having someone to share the quiet moments with. Alpha's calm demeanor grounded me in a way I hadn't expected.

This afternoon, I decided to invite him to join me for yoga.

"It's good for flexibility," I explained, unrolling a second mat for him. He looked at it skeptically, his brows furrowing as if I'd asked him to perform an Olympic-level routine.

"You'll be fine," I reassured him. "Just follow my lead."

To my surprise, he turned out to be a natural. His strength and balance were uncanny, and he moved with a fluidity that seemed effortless. It made me wonder if his amnesia had wiped out memories of previous training because no beginner should have been able to hold poses that well.

As we moved through the routine, I decided to test a few more challenging poses, curious to see if he could keep up.

"Let's try the flying bow," I said, lying flat on my stomach while gesturing for him to stand behind me. "You'll lift my legs and chest at the same time."

Alpha nodded, his expression focused as he carefully gripped my ankles and under my arms. In one smooth motion, he lifted me into the air, my body curving into a perfect bow shape. I felt weightless, suspended in midair by his sheer strength.

"You're surprisingly good at this," I said, laughing as he held me steady.

"You're surprisingly light," he countered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Next, I suggested a partner plank press. "Okay, I'll get into a plank, and you'll—"

"Push you into the ground?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" I laughed, swatting his arm. "You'll do a plank on top of mine. It's a test of balance and strength."

He rolled his eyes but complied, positioning himself carefully over me. I felt the weight of his body hover just above mine as he balanced his hands and feet against mine.

"See?" I said, glancing up at him. "Teamwork."

"Or a good way to break your nose if I slip," he replied dryly.

As we worked through more partner poses—the double boat, the partner backbend—I couldn't help but notice how attuned we'd become to each other's movements. His hands steadied me when I faltered; my cues guided him when he was unsure.

By the time we reached the final pose—a modified airplane—I was lying flat on my back, holding his torso aloft with my feet. He stretched his arms out like wings, laughing for the first time since I'd met him.

"This is ridiculous," he said, but his grin betrayed how much he was enjoying himself.

"You're ridiculous," I shot back, struggling not to laugh as his balance wavered. "Hold still!"

When he finally dismounted, we both collapsed onto the mats, laughing breathlessly. The tension that had initially defined our interactions had melted away, replaced by a strange but undeniable camaraderie.

"Not bad," I admitted, wiping sweat from my brow.

"You're welcome," he said, smirking as he reached for his water bottle.

As we sat on the porch later that evening, I realized something had shifted between us. The guarded silences were gone, replaced by a quiet understanding. For the first time in years, the holidays didn't feel like a season of loneliness or regret.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of amber and gold, I couldn't help but steal a glance at Alpha. He sat cross-legged on the porch floor, his gaze fixed on the waves rolling onto the shore. There was an unexpected peace in the rhythm of our days together—one I hadn't anticipated.

He might have been a stranger with no past and a bizarre belief in werewolves, but somehow, he was becoming a part of my strange little world.

I sipped my tea, feeling a small, reluctant smile tug at my lips. Maybe this holiday season wouldn't be as lonely as I'd thought.