Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King

Chapter 68

Chapter 68

I'm going to throw up.

Not the cute kind, where you get a little queasy and recover with a sip of water. No, this is the full-blown, holy-shit-l-might- die kind of nausea that sits deep in your gut and reminds you that you might just be the dumbest bitch alive.

Because here I am, sitting in a car outside the Imperial Palace, wearing a fucking mask and a dress that costs more than my rent, about to walk straight into the lion's den.

Liam exhales sharply from the passenger seat. "You're thinking too hard."

1 glare at him. "And you're breathing too loud."

Zoe bounces in the back seat, practically vibrating with excitement. "Are you guys seeing this? It's like something out of a fucking fairytale."

A fairytale where the big bad wolf actually eats you, but sure.

The grand palace looms before us, all marble and gold, its high archways illuminated by chandeliers so massive they could crush a man if they fell. Beyond the entrance, masked figures glide through the open doors, the scent of expensive perfume and power thick in the night air.

I grip the hem of my dress, my pulse hammering.

This is it. My way in.

This is how I see him.

My fingers tighten around the edges of my mask as the driver pulls up to the entrance. A valet opens the door, and I step out into a world that doesn't belong to

me.

Masked guests sweep past, their laughter soft, their voices tinged with arrogance. Every inch of this place screams excess. Gilded staircases, crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, men in tailored suits with sharp smiles, women in gowns that cling to their bodies like second skin.

I feel the stares before I hear the whispers.

"She doesn't belong here."

"Who is she?"

"Oh, look-it's her."

Her.

I don't have to look to know who that voice belongs to.

Lady Celeste fucking Vaelor.

I barely turn before she steps into my path, her lips curling in amusement. "Didn't realize they were letting in beggars tonight."

I smile sweetly. "Didn't realize royalty was so desperate for attention."

Celeste's expression flickers. Just for a second. Then she leans in, her heavily jeweled hand brushing my shoulder like I'm something she accidentally touched in a sewer. "You must be lost, darling," she purrs. "This isn't the kind of event where..... what do you call it? Rats are welcome."

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I tilt my head. "That's funny, because I was just about to say the same thing to you."

Zoe makes a choking sound beside me, barely containing her laughter. Liam mutters something under his breath, but I don't take my eyes off Celeste.

She's beautiful, in the way venomous things are-dripping in rubies and wealth, her blood–red gown scandalously fitted, her golden mask catching the glow of the chandeliers. Every inch of her screams privilege, power, and pure, unfiltered bitch.

But it's the way she smirks, the way her chin tilts in quiet amusement, that sets me on edge.

She's planning something.

realize it too late..

One second, I'm standing there, smug and victorious. The next, cold liquid splashes down my front.

I freeze.

Gasps echo around us, the music momentarily faltering.

The scent of wine-rich, expensive, staining-fills my nose. It drips down my dress, pooling at my feet.

Celeste blinks innocently. "Oops."

Oh, she's dead.

Before I can rip her apart in front of high society, a hand clamps around my wrist.

"Come with me. A low voice murmurs. I turn to see the same exact man that keep saving me against this girl. I'm honestly beginning to feel annoyed at him. Beta Jacob.

His grip is firm, unyielding, dragging me away before I can make a public murder

scene.

I yank against him, but he doesn't budge. "Let me go."

His jaw is tight. "Shut up and move."

He leads me through an empty corridor, away from the watchful eyes of the ballroom, until we reach a small room lit only by a dim lamp. A velvet box sits waiting on a table.

Jacob releases me and nods toward it. "Wear this."

1 frown. "What?"

He doesn't explain. Just crosses his arms, waiting.

With a glare, I step forward and lift the lid.

My breath catches.

Inside is the most breathtaking gown I have ever seen-a midnight-blue creation laced with silver thread, adorned with tiny shimmering stars that seem to glow under the light. The fabric is impossibly soft, impossibly perfect, impossibly... Imperial.

The moment my fingers graze the gown, a shiver runs down my spine.

Midnight blue. Silver threading. Celestial embroidery that seems to move under the light.

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fucking statement. A Royal

something I've spent

on the

my fingers, the weight of it far heavier than the silk and thread

tell Jacob to shove his Imperial orders straight up

at Jacob, my throat tight. "Why do

answer. Just turns toward the door. "Get

leaves without another

sharply, my fingers brushing

about this

walking straight into a

But it doesn't matter.

Because Enoch is here.

I'm not leaving

I slide the dress over my body. The material slinks into place like a second skin, molding to my curves in a way that feels almost inappropriate. The bodice hugs me too perfectly, the neckline dipping just enough to tease. The back-well, there isn't much of one,

Goddamn it.

myself

is a trap. I know

into it meekly,

*

ballroom is

polished boots. The air hums with murmurs, the press of nobility and power suffocating in its extravagance. The women are

Enoch.

heart slams against my ribs, the impact so

stumbling.

a goddamn phantom, taller, broader,

and gold suit tailored to perfection. A mask intricately carved, covering

face, obscuring the man I

I know

I feel it.

him, like gravity itself

he doesn't fucking

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Bastard.

my nose, willing my hands

steps light,

A cat-and-mouse game.

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walk through the crowd, keeping just out of reach, my pulse

Each time he turns, I'm already gone, slipping between silk gowns

in the sea

A game of near-misses.

movement-my

Gone.

closer-my skin

Empty air.

this invisible

And then-

locks onto

curve into

me if

The ballroom stills.

shift in the air,

have to ask

the moment. The moment when the

standing still,

Liam beside me. He leans in, his voice a low

tradition dictates you

Like hell I will.

up to my

into

shut up

and wait."

beat of silence.

a hum, spreading like wildfire. A

Omega-defying centuries of tradition.

swear it's trying to claw its way out of my chest, but

My arm extends-palm up, wrist bent elegantly. I'm commanding him to dance with me, not

every gaze in the room bears down

Including his.

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stretches.

And then-

He moves.

crowd as Enoch descends

through the space

footstep is deliberate.

I don't breathe.

don't move.

his gloved fingers brush against mine, sending

veins.

my hand to his lips, pressing

A brand. A warning.

then-he pulls me

our bodies align, the world tilts. Every step is effortless,

follow.

are cold. It's the first thing I

hand into snow and left it there,

burn that

it's not snow.

his

The back of

it, the phantom

bones.