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.

headed to execution. I follow, heels sharp, back straighter than ever, even

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

Maybe I am.

of us says anything until we're a good fifty paces from

corner. I turn

I say lightly. "But I get it. You've missed my charming

at me.

bigger than your ego, which is honestly impressive.

Still nothing.

or anything.

stops so suddenly I almost slam into his

face is inches from

funny?" he asks, voice low and

waltz back in here like nothing

stare at him. At the man I've

I whisper. "But I'm not walking

a second, I thought he might say something.

real. Something that burns.

he turns and opens the door to

is it,"

I step inside.

the second I do, I realize

right across from

it

after Enoch's little

not even seated two seconds on the absurdly plush couch before Brooke

perched 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

And in walks Brooke.

a smirk and

marble.

sweet but choking on bile. "You're

smile, but it's the kind you give someone right before kicking their ass off

to make

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

I sure hope not.

him. Claiming him. Marking

He's mine, you bitch.

nails biting into my

just watch her like she's a

wineglass.

this really a wise appointment, Your Grace?" Brooke says, tilting her head toward the Dowager. Her hand stays on Enoch like it's

wine halfway

Mic. Fucking. Drop.

eye twitches, but she's too polished to let it break

composure.

but his jaw ticks once, and I catch

Good. Let

Lingers as a fart in

made-up excuse about wardrobe arrangements and "diplomatic

My ass.

way she throws one last glance

a bomb and is waiting for

muttering under my

wrist and yanks me into

lights are dim. The air's thick. My back

Way too close.

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

His eyes are black.

His wolf is awake. Watching.

in my palace," he

swallow. My fingers twitch

closer, not touching me, but close enough that I can

I see you near my

treat you like every other enemy

eye. My chin lifts, my voice sharp. "You

I'm just too fucking

eyes. Pain.

up as if I just slapped

Good.

***

Dinner is war.

like yelling

Worse.

war where the cutlery's too

screams louder than bombs.

who looks like

a rage

beside

the time

romantic?" she says, motioning between me and Enoch

"Childhood sweethearts reunited by fate and