Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King

Chapter 94

Chapter 94

I don't blink.

Can't.

His eyes are locked on me like I've crawled straight out of hell and dragged the devil's pitchfork with me.

And maybe I have.

Because standing here, in the Grand Dowager's room, her porcelain teacup halfway to her lips, while Enoch Blackwell- King of the fucking Lycans-glares at me like I just pissed in his holy water.

Yeah. This might actually be hell.

"Come in," she repeats, deceptively warm.

I step in. One foot, then the other. My heels click warning shots on the polished marble, all of last night still stitched into the seams of my blazer. The one I ironed this morning. As though I didn't sob for twenty straight minutes before pulling on my pantyhose:

But appearances, right?

I keep my chin up. It's not much, but it's all I've got.

"Grandmother," Enoch says, low and flat. That voice. It doesn't rumble anymore. It cuts. Cold and sharp, like winter air sliding down the back of your neck.

"Taryn," the Dowager croons, still smiling. "I'm so pleased you accepted my offer. The palace could use some fresh air, wouldn't you say?"

I don't miss the way her eyes flick toward Enoch. She's goading him. And I'm the bait she wrapped in satin and ribbon.

"Thrilled to be here," I say sweetly, glancing at the King as though he didn't throw me out just days ago. "Can't wait to get started."

Enoch's jaw ticks.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

His voice is pure gravel.

Okay, this is it.

I turn to him slowly, savoring the venom. "Aw. Miss me already?"

He takes one step forward. Big. Broad. Stupidly regal. Like the hallway bent itself to his will the moment he walked in.

"Did you break in again," he grits out, "or did someone finally lose their mind and let you through the front door?"

I raise my brows, smiling like a cat with a dead mouse in its mouth. "Neither. Turns out saving your grandmother's life buys you a seat at the palace table. Who knew?"

He opens his mouth, and the Dowager cuts him off with a clap of her hands.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Enoch. She's not here as a guest. I've decided she'll be my personal aide."

I blink.

Wait-what the fuck?

"I'm sorry-what?" Enoch and I say at the same time.

She just sips her tea like this is her goddamn telenovela and we're her favorite characters.

"She'll assist me with my correspondence, join me in meetings, and accompany me to my treatments. After what she did for me, I want her close."

Close.

Great.

I feel Enoch's stare boiling through my skin.

"She's a liar," he snaps, turning fully to face her. His voice is low but lethal. "She's

not here for you. She's here for information. For a story."

My throat burns, but I smile wider.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you own your grandmother now too? Or are you just mad I'm still breathing the same air as your royal ego?"

His nostrils flare.

"Taryn," the Dowager says, dabbing her lips with a napkin, "would you be a dear and take a short tour of the new wing? Your quarters have been prepared. Enoch will show you the way."

"What?" he growls.

My jaw drops. "Wait, hold up-what?"

She waves a dismissive hand. "You know it better than anyone, darling. And you could both use the time. I'm sure you've missed each other terribly."

I make a choking sound. Enoch just looks as though he's seconds from calling in a hit.

Still, when she stands and begins chatting with her head maid, I know better than to argue.

She's the Dowager. This is her game. And I just became her new pawn.

execution. I follow, heels

the corridor stare as if I'm carrying a bomb strapped

Maybe I am.

we're a good fifty paces from the room. I count every step just

turns a corner. I turn

sent a guard, Your Majesty," I say lightly. "But I get it. You've missed my charming company.

at me. Doesn't even

your ego, which is honestly impressive. I didn't think

Still nothing.

or anything. I'm more

I

turns, his face is inches from

funny?" he asks, voice low and dangerous. "You think you

back in here like nothing

the man I've hated, loved,

whisper. "But I'm

a second, I thought he might

real. Something that burns.

turns and opens the

it," he

I step inside.

second I do,

across from

it fucking

Enoch's little tour back to the

two seconds on the absurdly plush couch before Brooke decides it's her fucking cue to ruin the air

as some majestic goblin queen on her throne-of-a- chair, sipping tea while chatting up her maid about gods know what, when the doors open-uninvited,

And in walks Brooke.

a smirk and her sharp-ass heels

marble.

to sound sweet but choking on

kind you give someone right before kicking

trying to make fetch happen,

eyes narrow just slightly. But she recovers fast-too fast-and strolls in as though she's got a permanent residency and Enoch's cock

I sure hope not.

goes straight for him. Claiming

He's mine, you bitch.

nails biting into

I don't flinch. I just watch her

wineglass.

says, tilting her head toward the Dowager. Her hand stays on Enoch like it's glued. "She's...

halfway

Mic. Fucking. Drop.

swear her eye twitches, but she's too polished to let

composure.

react. His face is stone, but his jaw ticks

pissed. Good.

Lingers as a fart in a sealed car before finally

excuse about wardrobe

My ass.

throws one last glance at me before walking out-like

and is waiting for

down the corridor, muttering under

hand grabs my wrist and

dim. The air's thick. My back hits the

Way too close.

I swore I'd quit. Fuck. I hate that I still react this way to him.

His eyes are black.

His wolf is

in my palace," he

fingers twitch at my

leans closer, not touching me, but close enough

a warning. "But I see you

you like every other enemy

dead in the eye. My chin lifts, my voice sharp.

too fucking

his eyes. Pain. Guilt.

as if I

Good.

***

Dinner is war.

yelling and

Worse.

where the cutlery's too loud and the

screams louder than bombs.

across from Enoch, who looks like he's one snarky comment

a

sitting beside

the Dowager's having the time

she says, motioning between me

sweethearts