My Lycan Mate of Suicide Forest

August's eyes were wide, mouth agape, heart hammering in her chest. She had just imagined that, right? Crows don't talk.

'Do you remember whose it is?' the same voice asked in her head. The crow was still staring at her intently.

"Crows don't talk," she said aloud, either reassuring herself of that fact or reminding the crow, she wasn't sure.

Maybe if it were talking, she could convince it to stop, because this was not okay. It was not okay to hear voices. What had happened to her in those woods?

'Will you not put it on?' the bird's black, iridescent head dipped as if gesturing to the shiny chain in her hand before its blue eye landed back on her.

"What?" she asked, frowning at the bird that hadn't moved. "You want me to put it on?"

Rather than hearing another wordless answer, the crow just tilted its head ever so slightly. It was waiting to see if she would do it. When she didn't, it hopped past her and started tapping on the door with its beak. She watched it in horror, unsure of what to do.

It felt like she had become a prisoner of an Edgar Allen Poe poem. The crow would not stop tapping on the glass door, having abandoned the telepathic communication that startled her and opting for this behavioral alternative.

The staccato of rapping noises quickly went from terrifying avian behavior to simply annoying, and August groaned, pushing herself to her feet and walking over to join the crow by the door.

"What? You want inside?" she chuckled, pulling the door open and watching as the black bird flapped around the infirmary like it was searching for something.

It flapped and fluttered in front of the table next to her bed, tugging at the drawer with its beak. She watched it trying to get the drawer open for a few moments before she walked over and helped, easily pulling the drawer open with her fingers, which the bird thought was quite unfair.

Once the drawer was open, the curious bird flew up and perched on her shoulder to get a look into the drawer from above. There was something else in there that she needed to see. Perhaps it would help jog her memory more than the medallion.

August saw it immediately: a silver ring.

She picked it up and turned it over in her fingers. There was a sun engraved on one side.

"Why does this seem so familiar to me?" she whispered to herself, and then she slid the ring on her middle finger as if she knew exactly where it would fit. "Did someone give this to me, crow?"

The black bird, still perched on her shoulder, didn't answer. But it bent and pecked at her hair, fussing with it and pulling it to the side.

"Stop!" she chuckled, raising a hand to her neck to protect herself from the sharp beak. And when she did, a jolt of electricity shot through her. There must be a sensitive spot there—a wound of some kind—that was still healing.

As she ran her fingers over that spot, her feathered companion flew off down the hall and back out the door. She followed and closed the door behind it, leaning against the glass panes with her hand against her neck. What the hell had just happened?

There were no mirrors here. She wanted to see what this spot on her neck looked like. Every time her fingers ran over that spot, it sent shivers through her.

All of this was so disorienting. She got back into bed, pulling the covers up to her chest as she sat against the head board and twirled the ring around her finger that the crow had wanted her to find. It had also asked if she remembered who the necklace belonged to.

What did all of this mean? Had she truly lost her mind?

She pulled her hand above the covers that was still gripping the medallion and stared at the silver design once more. Had the crow wanted her to put it on? She chuckled softly at how intently she was focused on this bird's strange behavior, even entertaining the idea that it had spoken to her. But what the hell?

She pulled the chain over her neck, letting the medallion fall against her chest. And in that instant, a universe of the unseen appeared before her eyes. She gasped, her eyes taking in every small particle of energy that emerged, illuminating a world of energetic auras around her.

And then every memory over the past few months rushed to meet her at once.

"Graeme," she choked on the name, all of him flooding her at once as if it had been waiting, dammed up and waiting to be released on her. She sobbed, feeling it all at once—every memory, every particle of her being entangled with this male who was her mate. How could anyone try to keep this from her? How could she have forgotten?

Her mate, her pack, her unborn child… she placed a hand over her stomach protectively.

"Penelope," she growled, teeth clenched in anger.

Penelope had made her mother forget her. This had to be her doing. August sprang up out of the bed and stalked toward the ornate doors at the end of the hall, determined to find those who were responsible for this betrayal. She had come here willingly, why would they need to alter her memory?

Penelope felt the exact moment her enchantment on August and Graeme failed, as if an invisible burden on her shoulders suddenly lifted. She was carrying the finished stew to the infirmary, this time more familiar with the way so as not to get lost.

When the enchantment lifted, Penelope almost fell over in surprise. And then, while still carrying the tray of stew, she ran as fast as she could the rest of the way. She had to catch August before Zagan realized the enchantment was off.

Penelope didn't know what Zagan would do next. Would he imprison August? Would he use one of his methods for controlling memory on her? Would he find out about the baby? And if he did, then what…

Penelope's thoughts were going wild with possibilities. When she finally arrived at the infirmary and reached to open one of the giant doors, it flew open and knocked her off of her feet.. August was standing there, glaring at her with golden rage-filled eyes.

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