Chapter 315: Memory Fragments

Chapter 315: Memory Fragments
Tristan's POV

Three sets of eyes turned in my direction—two filled with predatory anger, one with... recognition.

Damn it. Of all the hotels in all of Switzerland, she had to be here.

I'd come to this godforsaken mountain village specifically to avoid her. Yet here she was, looking ethereal in that white dress, just like the blurred figure that haunted my dreams.

The tall blonde one—Hans, I'd heard him called—stepped forward with drunken bravado. "This is not your business, stranger."

I moved closer, positioning myself between him and Lysandra. My wolf stirred restlessly at her nearness, that familiar ache building in my chest. "Actually, it became my business the moment you put your hands on her."

Why am I doing this? The question crashed through my mind as I faced down three drunk strangers. After leaving the hospital, returning to Moon Sanctuary had been unbearable. Everyone tiptoeing around me, shooting those careful, pitying glances when they thought I wasn't looking. The constant headaches were bad enough without their suffocating sympathy.

Worse were the dreams—always the same blurred figure in a white dress, reaching toward me with desperate hands. Her face remained frustratingly unclear, but the ache in my chest when I woke was real enough.

Dad had filled in the gaps about recent events. Rylan's betrayal, the coordinated attack from enemy packs, how I'd apparently fought to protect people I couldn't remember. Varian and I had spent weeks rooting out Rylan's remaining allies, cleaning house with methodical efficiency. But once the immediate threats were handled, the silence at Moon Sanctuary became suffocating.

Switzerland had seemed like the perfect escape. Remote enough that nobody would recognize Alpha Tristan Wolfbane or pity his convenient amnesia. I'd specifically chosen this tiny mountain village to avoid social interaction entirely.

The hotel owner had been so damned persistent. "Sir, you look like you need some warmth. The bonfire will make you feel better." He'd practically insisted I attend tonight's traditional gathering.

Now here I was, protecting the one woman I'd come thousands of miles to avoid.

"We were just having conversation," the short one slurred. "Lady wants company."

"No, she doesn't." Something violent unfurled in my chest at their casual dismissal. "She's made that clear."

Hans laughed, emboldened by alcohol. "You think you're hero? This is Switzerland, not America."

Before I could respond, Lysandra's voice cut through the tension. "Tristan. What are you doing here?"

I turned to face her, fighting the urge to step closer. "I could ask you the same thing."

"I asked first."

"I needed space." The words came out harsher than intended. "Away from people who claim to know me better than I know myself."

Something flickered across her features. Hurt, maybe. Good. She deserved to hurt after whatever she'd done to me.

Hans chose that moment to interrupt with ugly laughter. "So you do know each other! Even better—we can share."

The suggestion made my vision tinge red. "Touch her again and I'll break your fucking hands."

"Big words for—"

Hans lunged forward, his fist aimed at my jaw. I sidestepped easily, grabbing his wrist and twisting until he dropped to his knees with a yelp.

"I said don't touch her. Are we clear?"

The short one produced a switchblade from his jacket. "Let him go or—"

"Or what?" I released Hans and turned toward the new threat. "You'll stab an unarmed man in front of fifty witnesses?"

Their younger companion was already backing away. "Guys, this isn't worth it. Security will come."

But Hans was too drunk and too humiliated for reason. He struggled to his feet, face purple with rage, and grabbed a burning branch from the edge of the bonfire.

"You think you're tough?" Spittle flew from his lips as he raised the makeshift torch. "I show you what tough is!"

Time slowed. The flames roared closer. I raised my hands to block, knowing I wouldn't be fast enough.

Then Lysandra threw herself between us.

The burning branch caught her forearm with a sickening hiss. She cried out—a sound of pure agony—but didn't let go. Her body shielded mine from the flames.

Rage exploded through my veins. I moved without conscious thought, my body responding to her pain before my mind could catch up. My fist connected with Hans's jaw, sending him sprawling backward into the fire pit's stone border. The short one lunged at me with his knife, but I caught his wrist and twisted until bones snapped. He dropped the blade with a scream.

The third man tried to run. I grabbed him by the collar and hurled him into his companions, all three of them tangling together in a heap of groaning limbs.

"Touch her again and I'll kill you," I snarled as I watched them scramble away in terror.

Then I turned to Lysandra. She was cradling her burned arm against her chest, her face white with pain. Without hesitation, I scooped her into my arms, holding her against me as she trembled.

"It's okay," I murmured, though I wasn't sure why. "I've got you."

The moment her body settled against mine, the memory fragments hit like a sledgehammer:

"Run!" A child's voice, desperate and terrified. Small hands pushing against my chest. "Run before they come back!"

Pain exploded through my skull, so intense I stumbled backward. More images crashed through the barriers in my mind:

The same girl, maybe ten years old, tears streaming down her dirt-stained face as she pushed me toward the trees. "Go! Hide!"

Years later, that same face but older, looking up at me with desperate hope: "I love you, Tristan. When will you love me back?"

Red wine cascading down pale skin, dripping from chestnut hair. My own voice, cold and merciless: "You're nothing but a gold-digger who trapped me into this marriage."

Her face crumpling with devastation as the wine pooled at her feet.

"No!" The word tore from my throat as I pressed my palms against my temples. The pain was excruciating, like someone was driving spikes through my brain.