Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King

King Novel 39

Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Enoch shouldn't be behaving like this if he doesn't feel what I do.

He steadies me effortlessly, but the second he realizes just how close we are, he recoils like I burned him. His body jerks back so fast I nearly topple over again. It's almost funny-the big, bad, amnesiac Lycan King acting like I'm a fucking

disease.

"Thanks for the save, asshole," I mutter, brushing dirt off my palms.

He just grunts as an answer, those gaze barely looking at me, his expression is once again unreadable. His reactions are always a gamble. Sometimes he's completely unreadable, like now, and other times, he looks at me like he wants to devour me whole. No in-between.

We go about the rest of the training session in tense, loaded silence, dodging, striking, moving in sync. It should be like every other day, but there's something different. An energy that linger-suffocating with its thickness, even after we finish and the rest of the pack drifts away, sneering in my direction as they pass.

Nothing new.

The rest of the day was like usual ever since the Alpha announced that stupid command: the pack are either pretending we don't exist or shooting me glares that could strip flesh from bone.

Good. Business as usual.

But that's not what sticks with me as I walk back to the packhouse. It's that feeling again.

The one that has nothing to do with my usual paranoia.

Someone is watching me.

I feel it. It prickles along my spine, an unwelcome presence in the shadows, just out of sight, lurking. I glance back toward the deep forest, scanning between the thick trees. Nothing but darkness stretching beyond the clearing.

Still. The feeling doesn't fade.

***

Night falls, and I realize I haven't seen Enoch in hours. Not on the training ground, not in the kitchen, not even perched on his usual windowsill, obsessing over that damn book about the royal family he always reads as though it holds the answers to his missing past.

That's when I find him.

On the bed. Unmoving. A fevered flush crawling up his neck, his skin clammy, his breath shallow.

Shit.

I don't panic. I'm not that girl. But something about seeing him like this makes my stomach twist. He's strong, impossibly strong, but right now, he looks... vulnerable. And I don't fucking like it.

"Enoch," I say, shaking his shoulder lightly. "Hey. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Nothing. He shifts, the movement sluggish, barely there.

Double shit.

I move to call Dr. Lisa. Because sure, it's just a fever, but this is Enoch. Not just any wolf. A Lycan. And something tells me his biology doesn't follow the same rules.

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Chapter 39

Before I can leave, though, a burning-hot hand latches onto my wrist. "Don't," Enoch rasps.

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His fingers tighten, and when I turn, his forest greenneyes-dazed, wild-are locked onto me.

"Stay" he rasps.

weird to my chest. I

doctor, Enoch," I argue, trying to pry

His grip tightens. "No."

time,

of

wrist. "I don't care

coats

groans, low and pained, but

"You" he breathes, "Enough."

My throat goes dry,

Oh,

flicker, and for the first time, I see it. The

Lycan

isn't just a fever. His body is changing, shifting, something

for the first time since I found him bleeding out in the woods, I realize just how unfairly beautiful he is. Even sick, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead,

when he tugs me again, this time harder, until I stumble forward, right into

fingers flex against my wrist,

I crash, landing half on top of him, my palm splaying against his bare chest for balance. Heat radiates off him in

air between us. Just fevered skin, tangled limbs, and his eyes, hazy but intent, watching me as if I'm the only

my ribs, a reckless thing, and for the briefest, stupidest moment, I think

groan. "You're a

closed. His

n't loosen. He holds

should pull away. I should argue, tell him this is a

desperate in the way

just for

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Chapter 39

myself sink into

let myself

on my chest should

he's half a

swallowed the sun. But instead, his warmth seeps into my skin, grounding me, lulling me into a false sense of

slow, rhythmic, tickling the exposed skin

asleep if

blink down at him. "I'll try

shifts, his voice barely above a

creeps up

except the rustling

something else. Something

damp hair, the strands curling

cooking him from the

is buried against me, but his voice is eerily

entire body goes rigid. "Excuse

something foul. Then he repeats it, verbatim, tone flat,

jaw unhinges. The fuck

fast Enoch groans, his arms tightening around my

out from under him. "Who the

answer right away, just shifts, nuzzling against my

"More."

More fucking slander?"

will regret it. That

humorless laugh. "Oh, will he? That piece

"They say." His voice drops lower, almost

my chest. My pulse hammers in my

though my

fuck