Page 1 of Let It Snow (Eden’s Omegaverse #7)

Present day

I open my eyes. The world around me feels liquid, as if I’m underwater. Everything is blurred yet blindingly bright. I blink, trying to rise out of nothingness, to surface, but I’m not doing a very good job of it.

My body feels a bit sore, maybe fifteen percent pain on the scale, kind of like I’m about to come down with a stomach bug. Every cell feels worn out and drained.

Forcing myself to focus my eyes, I look around. I’m lying on a bed in a small room. Sunlight pours through the window, spreading a yellow glow across the sheets. My fingers twitch on their own, stretching sideways in search of the safe, familiar walls of a nest, but I find nothing.

Where am I? That’s an important question, but maybe even more important is this: who am I?

I try to look for some clue, but I can’t remember anything. It feels like a heavy, sticky fog is clinging to my brain, and every attempt to push through it brings a dull, throbbing pain to my temples.

So instead, I scan the room again: pale blue walls with a poster of some monster from a comic book movie, a nightstand, a small desk, two closets; all pretty standard, and nothing here gives me a clue as to how I ended up here. I will have to find out for myself.

I focus and try to push through the haze.

Pain surges through my skull, but I fight it. At last, I break past the pressure, and from the depths of my mind, my name rises: Summer.

Something more?

No. I keep struggling, but my brain collapses in on itself, like two walls closing in.

Every other memory feels like it’s been written on water by a light finger brush, fading the moment I reach for it.

All I get is just the exhausting blur of gray shadows slipping away, hiding in the back of my mind, evading me, playing a twisted game of cat and mouse.

Slowly, I sit up and glance down at myself.

I’m wearing plain shorts and a loose white T-shirt, long enough to cover me halfway down the thighs.

My knees are bruised, and so are my arms. I stare at my scratched palms for a while.

In the crook of my forearm, there’s a bruised mark that looks like the trace of an IV, as if I’d been hooked up to a drip for a long time.

Wow. Whatever happened to me, it definitely left its mark. I reach up and touch my head. My hair is braided, a long plait falling down my back.

I bring the end of it forward and study it. Caramel-colored strands catch deep golden and cinnamon tones in the sunlight.

Shaky and lightheaded, I get to my feet, feeling like I’ve been poisoned. Still, I want to see what’s outside.

I’m on the second floor of a large building, some mansion, I guess, in a room with a dormer window and a small balcony, and I step out onto it. Below me lies a blue pool, a wide garden full of trees and bushes, and farther down the grassy slope, the surface of a lake glimmers.

Well. It’s beautiful. And the day promises to be perfect; sunlight floods everything. The garden smells of flowers and fruit, and white stone paths wind between the flowerbeds. Idyllic, one would say. Though should I care about beauty while being deep in some strange amnesia?

From a distance, I catch a faint sound, soft, bittersweet music. Someone is playing a harmonica.

The music is both calming and inviting, like it’s calling me. The notes seem almost silver, dancing on the beams of light.

Looking around, I notice something. Whoever stayed in this room before me must have had a clever idea… A white ladder runs down the wall from the balcony, nearly invisible from a distance. Maybe it was useful for sneaking out. And now, it’s useful for me too.

I climb down, not feeling the slightest fear of the height. Somehow, I know I don’t need to be scared.

My bare feet touch the grass, and I throw a quick glance around. The music still plays, nudging me. I cut diagonally across the garden, white gravel crunching underfoot. I don’t stop. The melody tugs me along like a string.

Then I cross the sloping lawn leading toward the lake, careful not to step on a bee, until I reach the soft, sandy shore.

The harmonica is still playing, but I can’t see anyone. The music hangs in the air, as if it has no source.

My eyes scan the surroundings, but in vain. This beach is pretty scenic, with large stones for people to sit on and a few wooden benches. But nobody is hanging around.

I hesitate. Should I keep searching? It’s hot, and the water looks temptingly clear, the bottom’s covered with golden sand, so I wade into the warm shallows, still listening.

I want to find the musician, but it feels like now isn’t the time. Maybe something more is needed.

Step by step, I sink deeper into the lake without taking off my T-shirt.

The heat makes the cool water a relief. It wraps around me, soothing, complementing the music.

The strange ache in my head eases for a moment as I start swimming.

Apparently I know how. I guess you don’t forget things like that.

I swim slowly, savoring the water folding around me. It’s soft, swirling over my body, stroking it, relaxing.

Time drifts by, but I don’t want to stop. The lake calms me to the core. The pain, the noise, the fog in my head, all of it fades. It’s almost like being reset to some starting point, whatever that is.

I reach a small cove where white lilies float on broad green leaves. The water is blue-green, the sand soft beneath.

Strangely, the music follows me here too, like smoke drifting wherever I go, floating over the lake.

At last, I climb ashore. My impatience grows. Now I just have to know where the sound originates.

There’s a small grove nearby. Is that where it’s coming from? Slowly, I slip between the shrubs and into the shade.

And then I see him.

A man sits on a fallen log, his back to me. His hair is platinum blond, tied into a ponytail, the hair reaching his shoulder blades. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist. He’s wearing a pale lavender long-sleeve shirt.

A shiver runs down my spine. The source of the music is this alpha. The melody floats in the air, enchanting, almost seductive. I seem to be caught in a trance.

Should I disturb him? I decide to. Slowly, carefully, I circle widely around the log to glimpse his face.

He must hear me coming, but he doesn’t turn, just keeps playing, lost in the music the way I was lost in swimming.

Hesitant, I stop. I must look ridiculous, dripping wet, my clothes clinging to me.

Then our gazes meet.

And wow.

His eyes are a light violet, striking, almost magical.

And his face… another wow. He’s super handsome. Strong, symmetrical features, masculine, almost sculpted. An aura like a Viking. Perfect, sensual lips, a straight nose.

Hottie. My pulse spikes slightly.

But wait, I think I’ve seen him before. Perhaps he’s one of the people living in the house I was brought to?

My memory offers only vague snippets of information, but I'll try to coax something out of my foggy brain.

Snow.

Is that his name?

Or did I just invent it?

I feel my face flush. I just approached a stranger, on top of that, an alpha!

And I keep staring at him. How awkward. My nostrils instinctively flare, but all I can scent is the fresh, heather tone of his shower gel, which reveals nothing to me about him, not his pheromonal Allure, not his mating status.

It's highly likely that he's on suppressants.

What about me?

Well, it’s kinda hard to scent yourself like this, but I assume I’m an omega. How should I react to alphas?

Not knowing anything about my circumstances makes it hard to respond in any clear way. Still, something stirs in me, a trace of who I used to be whispers in my ear.

The guy’s attractive. My type!

Wait a minute. What the hell am I even doing? One minute has passed, and I’m blatantly staring at this man without a single word. A creep. I open my mouth, wanting to behave like a normal human being, but nothing comes out.

I can’t speak! I try again.

Only a rasp. Another try! Still nothing.

Pain spikes in my head.

Fate, it hurts. My vision spins. I raise my hands to my throat, squeeze my eyes shut, and push through the wall of pain.

"Hi…"

That’s all I manage, and it costs me everything. Aching temples, noise in my ears. What’s wrong with me?

What broke me like this?

Snow stops playing. A faint smile touches his lips.

"Hi, Summer."

Wow the guy has such a low, deep voice.

His eyes roam over my flushed face like he’s reading me, seeing everything I’ve been through, the turmoil, the struggle in me. And maybe he really does.

"Your memory. A reset?"

Reset? What does it even mean?

Still, I nod because it sounds like it fits, or at least like an excuse for my awkward behavior. I open my mouth again, but it does nothing, my breath seems caught in my throat. The fog presses in tighter; uneasiness arises.

Snow nods too.

"It’s okay, Summer. You’re safe. Your brother, Ragnar, brought you here from a mafia fortress, along with his fated mate, Sun. We’re Sun’s family. They gave you drugs to block your memory and erase your identity, so they could use your power."

What? That’s a helluva summary!

I stare at him, gaping, still being a creep. I know he’s telling the truth, but it slips away from me, impossible to hold. Frustration surges, as I press my hands to my temples.

Snow tilts his head.

"I can help a bit with your memory, but I can only bring back one day with this…" He taps his instrument.

Then lifts the harmonica back to his lips. The melody rises again.

This time the notes change, becoming more focused, directed. They pierce into me, cool me, open me. My body trembles, my knees buckle. But along with the weakness, my head clears.

Memories flood back.

24 hours ago

Shouts. The pounding of feet.

More shouting, distant gunfire.

"This way! We have to get out!"

My body jolts as someone carries me in their arms. I can’t move. I’m trembling, feeling cold.