Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King

King Novel 43

Chapter 43

Chapter 43

The first thing I notice is the silence.

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Not the eerie, expectant kind that stretches before a storm. No, this one is absolute. It's the silence that sucks the air out of the room, choking you in the process and, pressing down like a dumbbell on my chest. We're surrounded by that exact kind

of silence.

The rogues, who were laughing as they beat the shit out of me minutes ago, now stand rigid. Their heads are bowed, their eyes averted. Their spines are all straight as if a single twitch would be a death sentence.

And then, he steps forward.

His figure is still draped in darkness, and his presence alone is making the air colder. He moves unhurriedly, as if he already owns the space, owns every pathetic body in it-including mine.

My stomach twists.

I know before he even speaks-this man is not like the others of the rogues.

He doesn't carry the wild, unpredictable aggression of the rogues. No snarling, no gloating. Just cold, controlled authority. And it's terrifying.

He stops in front of me. From this close, I catch the details-the sharp old wrinkles of his face-around late fifties, the subtle lines around his mouth that suggest he smirks often, but never kindly. He's older, though not ancient, with dark hair streaked in silver and eyes that seem too intelligent for someone who enjoys this kind of cruelty.

A wolf in sheep's clothing.

His lips curl into something that might be considered a smile if it weren't so devoid of warmth.

"Do you know who I am?"

I don't answer.

I can't.

His presence alone is enough to make my battered body scream for me to stay silent. But it's not fear that keeps me quiet. It's the knowledge that whatever I say will never be the right answer.

"You are quite the little nuisance, aren't you?" He murmurs, as if we're discussing something as mundane as the weather.

He tilts his head, studying me as though one might study a bug before deciding whether to crush it or pull its wings off first.

Then, he smiles.

And that's when I know-I'm about to experience true pain.

It starts slow.

Not like the rogues, who threw punches and kicks earlier, without any real plan beyond the thrill of watching me hurt.

No, this man doesn't need brute force. His methods are fucking'precise.

A silver blade glints in the dim light before pressing into my arm, sinking in just enough to make my nerves scream. He doesn't push it deep, just lets the tip slide across my skin, splitting it open like paper.

"Ah!" I groan, lowering my had to bite down on my bottom lip.

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Pain flares, hot and sharp fucking pain.

I suck in a breath through my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

He watches the blood bead, then trail down my arm as if he's admiring a fucking painting.

"Do you know what I like about silver on wolves?" He quietly asks, "It doesn't just cut. It lingers."

He twists the blade slightly, and my muscles seize, White-hot agony pulses through my body, and radiated out from the wound. It's spreading like wildfire beneath my skin.

Still, I say nothing.

Fuck, be strong, Taryn!

He hums, pulling the knife away, as if he's only getting started.

The next wound is on my thigh. Then my ribs. Each cut is methodical, each placement is goddamn intentional. He's testing my limits, seeing how much I can také before I break.

And I won't.

I fucking won't.

mild. If anything,

point, he stops using weapons altogether. Instead,

ones already bruised and cracked from earlier, and applies just enough pressure to make

watching my face carefully, "what has changed about

out a breath. Spit blood at his

is a

little girl." He tsks, shaking his head like I'm some

Then-he moves.

shoulder, deep enough

from my

taunting me, coaxing me

But I don't.

I can't.

I won't fucking break.

Not now.

Not ever.

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twirls it between his fingers, deliberate, savoring the moment.

remarkable pain tolerance," he muses, voice smooth and unhurried.

up at him, jaw tight, blood pooling in my

energy. I just smile, all teeth, even as my lungs protest

I'm just built different,"

chuckles. Actually chuckles. Like this is amusing. Then, without warning, he drives his claws into my

stop it, white-hot agony flooding every nerve. My body jerks, instincts screaming

I fucking hate him.

in, the scent of blood thick between us. "Now,

about the Lycan King."

swallow past the bile crawling up

The claws twist deeper.

Another scream.

waits, as if

I won't.

it like he's admiring a painting. Then, he

says, stepping back. "Perhaps

legs nearly give out, but they don't care. One of them laughs as he shoves me forward. I barely catch myself before

ground.

already walking away, done

door

Footsteps fading.

guards outside, relaxed.

I'm too weak

They're wrong.

Step one: Wriggle free.

wrists are slick with blood. Good. Less

metal bites into open wounds. The pain barely registers. It's

of me now.

Step two: Silence.

controlled in silence.

sudden noises.

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Chapter 43

awake and plotting.

Get the

wrists slip free, I move. Fast. My legs shake, but I force them to hold. The chains clatter

to the door, breath shallow. It creaks open an inch,

hallway. Empty.

Now or never.

halls stretch ahead, dark

I run.

graceful. It's not fast.

roar in my ears. Every step sends a fresh jolt

but I can't