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“Yes, I’m Henrik. We are good friends.” He touched the area around his missing ear lobe. “Remember how I lost my ear?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Henrik smiled. “You saved me from an enemy werewolf.”
Nothing rang true. He cocked his head. “I don’t remember.”
“Understandable. You suffer from amnesia as a result of head trauma.”
“What happened?”
“You were pushed off a cliff by two enemy spies.”
“Enemies?” A vague memory of falling down a cliff into the ocean came to mind. They must have been powerful to have pushed him off.
“You suffered a severe concussion.”
He must have hit his head on a rock. Odd. He didn’t have a headache. “How long ago?”
“Four days in a coma. You shifted twice, which is good.”
“I don’t remember my father.” He brought a shaky hand to his forehead. “Where’s my mother?”
“I’m sorry, she died years ago. She was a princess of the Yukon pack. You inherited her thick white coat.”
He closed his eyes. The smells of the tundra and its wildlife flooded his mind. Of a white-furred wolf howling in front of her den. The scent of the white she-wolf’s teat. So long ago. Mother? Sadness clenched his heart. Dead. “Yes, I remember she died.” Yet, her loss felt recent.
“Think of your father.”
A few memories filtered in. Visions of running in the forest with his pack. Of an older alpha calling him, son. “My father is a gray wolf with a white patch on his left shoulder?”
Henrik’s eyes lit up in enthusiasm. “Yes. King Wolfstrom bears that distinct marking. Ja, wonderful, your memories are returning.”
He touched the base of his neck. “Why do I remember my wolf form and everything else, but not my name?” Nor did he recall this man as a good friend. His smell bothered him.
“Don’t worry; it takes time, but yes, soon.”
“I’m a prince, but trained as a soldier.”
“Yes! You’re one of our strongest commanders. Do you remember your pack army?”
He sighed in frustration. “No.”
“Are you ready to see your mate?”
“Mate? I have a mate?” Of all the memories, the bond of a mate should have been unbroken. He had a hunch of a sweet little wolf. No. His mate would be big and powerful.
“Agrippa. White fur. Tall blonde.”
Another vague memory popped in his head. A beloved mate. He closed his eyes and thought with his nose. The scent of sweet wild honey and rose petals gladdened his heart. Mine. “A scent, but nothing more.”
Henrik wrinkled a brow in deep concern. He sighed. “Good. I’ll bring down a piece of her clothing and that should help.”
“I want to see her.”
“Agrippa is on a hunt, but she’ll be back tomorrow.”
“She left me?” How could his true mate leave his side?
