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.

walks toward the hallway as a man headed to execution. I follow, heels sharp, back straighter than

maids lining the corridor stare as if I'm carrying a

Maybe I am.

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

corner. I

Your Majesty," I say lightly. "But I get it. You've

doesn't look at me. Doesn't even

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

Still nothing.

anything. I'm more of a

so suddenly I almost slam

his face is

asks, voice low

waltz back in

the man I've hated, loved,

I whisper. "But I'm not

for a second, I thought he might

real. Something that burns.

and opens

it," he

I step inside.

I do, I realize something

across from

it fucking

after Enoch's little tour back

two seconds on the absurdly plush couch before Brooke decides it's

tea while chatting up her maid about gods know what, when the doors open-uninvited,

And in walks Brooke.

hesitation. Just... a smirk and her

marble.

voice like someone trying to sound sweet but choking on bile. "You're still here? How resilient of

give someone right before kicking their ass

to make

But she recovers fast-too fast-and strolls in as though she's got

I sure hope not.

goes straight for him. Claiming him. Marking

He's mine, you bitch.

nails biting into my

I don't move. I don't flinch. I just watch her like she's a roach

wineglass.

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

blink. Just lifts one brow, a glass of wine halfway to her lips. "So is

Mic. Fucking. Drop.

I swear her eye twitches, but she's too

composure.

a word. He doesn't even react. His face is stone, but his jaw ticks once, and I catch

pissed. Good. Let

Lingers as a fart in

with some made-up excuse about

My ass.

throws one last glance at me

and is waiting

corridor, muttering

wrist and yanks me

My back hits the

Way too close.

His scent slams into me like a drug I swore I'd quit. Fuck. I hate

His eyes are black.

His wolf is awake. Watching.

palace," he growls. Voice low.

fingers twitch at my

me, but close

off him like a warning. "But I see you near my secrets-and I won't

mate. I'll treat you

eye. My chin lifts, my voice

I'm just too fucking stubborn to stay

in his eyes. Pain. Guilt. Rage. I

up as if I just

Good.

***

Dinner is war.

yelling and throwing

Worse.

war where the cutlery's too

screams louder than bombs.

from Enoch, who looks like he's one snarky

a rage

beside him-of

Dowager's having the time

romantic?" she says, motioning between

sweethearts