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.

If anything,

point, he stops using weapons altogether. Instead,

cracked from earlier, and applies just enough pressure to

my face carefully, "what has

a breath. Spit

is a soft

tsks, shaking his head like I'm some defiant

Then-he moves.

shoulder, deep enough that

rips from my throat before I

the edges of my vision, taunting me, coaxing me to let

But I don't.

I can't.

I won't fucking break.

Not now.

Not ever.

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as if I'm an insect he's debating on crushing beneath his boot. The silver blade glints as he twirls it between his fingers, deliberate, savoring the moment.

remarkable pain tolerance," he muses, voice smooth and unhurried. "Most would be begging by

glare up at him, jaw tight, blood pooling in my mouth.

just smile, all teeth, even

built different," I

chuckles. Like this is amusing. Then, without warning, he drives his claws into my shoulder again, straight through flesh and muscle,

can stop it, white-hot agony flooding every nerve. My body jerks, instincts screaming at me to get

I fucking hate him.

of blood thick between us. "Now, tell me

about the Lycan King."

bile crawling up my

The claws twist deeper.

Another scream.

waits, as if

I won't.

pulls his hand back, my blood staining his fingers, and inspects it like he's admiring a painting. Then,

says, stepping back. "Perhaps she'll feel more

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

ground.

already walking away, done with

door

Footsteps fading.

outside, relaxed.

I'm too

They're wrong.

Step one: Wriggle free.

wrists are slick with blood. Good. Less friction.

wounds. The pain barely

of me now.

Step two: Silence.

be controlled in

No sudden noises.

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Chapter 43

awake and plotting.

Get the fuck

move. Fast. My legs shake, but I force them to hold. The chains clatter softly as they hit the floor. Too soft for the

door, breath shallow. It creaks

hallway. Empty.

Now or never.

ahead, dark and

I run.

not graceful. It's not fast. But I

in my ears. Every step sends a fresh jolt of

I can't stop.