"Mnnnh..." Dakota softly sighed, her gaze sweeping across the massive crowds that filled the mountain lodge's great hall with their chatter and laughter.
Today was her sister's engagement party. Three years she'd been back home, three years since they'd found her wandering the northern trails, disoriented and bleeding from a head wound she couldn't explain. Three years of living with the emptiness where her memories used to be.
"Dakota, are you feeling alright? Do you need to step outside for a bit?" A gentle, concerned voice sounded beside her.
She turned to find Maya, her older sister, elegant and poised in a deep blue dress that perfectly complemented her dark hair. Maya had been nothing but patient since Dakota's return, never pushing her to remember, always understanding when Dakota couldn't recall family gatherings or childhood memories they'd supposedly shared.
"I'm fine," Dakota said, managing a smile that felt more genuine than most she'd worn lately. "I wouldn't miss this for anything. I'm happy for you."
"Thank you for being here," Maya said softly, squeezing her hand with sisterly affection. "I know crowds still make you uncomfortable sometimes."
Dakota nodded in acknowledgment. They were the only two sisters in their family, along with three brothers who were scattered somewhere among thewell-wishers and pack members. Their father, Richard, was the pack alpha, a stern but loving man who'd been overjoyed when she'd been found alive, even if she couldn't remember him or the life they'd shared before her accident.
The doctors said her memories might return someday. Three years later, she was still waiting, still trying to piece together a life from the fragments others told her about.
"Where is he?" Dakota asked, glancing around the crowded hall. "Shouldn't your fiancé be here by now?"
A strange flutter went through her chest as she said the words, though she couldn't understand why the phrase "your fiancé" would trigger such an odd reaction in her body.
Maya checked her phone, a small frown creasing her otherwise smooth brow. "He texted a few minutes ago. Running late, pack business, as usual. He should be here any minute though." She smiled warmly, that expression of happiness that had been practically permanent on her face these past few months. "You've met him before I think, you know. Several times over the past few years. He's been really good to our family, especially to you after everything."
"I have?" Dakota felt that familiar frustration rising in her chest, that helpless feeling of being told about experiences she should remember but couldn't access no matter how hard she tried. "I'm sorry, I don't....."
"Don't apologize," Maya interrupted quickly, her tone gentle but firm. "It's not your fault, Dakota. None of this is."
Before Dakota could formulate a response, excited toddler babbling cut through their conversation, drawing both sisters' attention.
"Mama! Mama!"
Dakota turned to see a small boy, maybe three years old, tottering toward them with the determined, slightly unsteady gait characteristic of toddlers. Dark, messy hair stuck up at odd angles, chubby cheeks flushed with excitement, and clutched in his small hands was a stuffed wolf toy. The sight of him caused Dakota's heartbeat to stutter irregularly, missing a beat before resuming in a rhythm that felt somehow wrong, as though her body was reacting to something her conscious mind couldn't grasp.
"There's my sweet boy!" Maya crouched down immediately, her arms opening wide, and the toddler crashed into her embrace with a delighted giggle. "Were you good for the nanny?"
"Good!" the boy proclaimed proudly, his small chest puffing out with three-year-old pride. Then he spotted Dakota standing nearby and suddenly went shy, pressing his face against Maya's shoulder while peeking out at her with cautious curiosity.
"Cooper, you remember Aunt Dakota, don't you?" Maya said gently, smoothing down his wild hair with practiced maternal ease.
Cooper peeked out from his hiding place, and Dakota found herself looking into eyes that made her breath catch painfully in her throat. They were silver, not gray or blue-gray, but pure, striking silver that reminded her of moonlight on snow, of winter frost, of something she couldn't quite name but felt certain she should recognize.
The toddler studied her with that peculiar intensity children sometimes possessed, his head tilting to one side in an unconscious gesture that sent an inexplicable jolt through Dakota's system. Then, unexpectedly, he reached out a small hand toward her, his chubby fingers opening and closing in clear invitation.